The Amber Keeper

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘Drive on,’ the Countess ordered, turning her back on their demands.

  ‘Perhaps they are hungry,’ I ventured to suggest, thinking of the twenty kopeks the children were given every single day to spend on sweets, which would probably feed a family for days.

  ‘They are not my responsibility,’ she hissed, ‘and they smell.’

  The latter was certainly true, but then soap was expensive and not a first priority if you had children to feed. I managed to slip a few kopeks into the hand of the nearest peasant woman, earning myself a glare of reproof from my mistress.

  The Count’s attitude was entirely different. As president of the zemstvo or local council, made up of land owners and businessmen, which took place every month in a local hall, the Count was very much involved in caring for the community. Decisions would be made on such matters as local taxation, education, road maintenance, agriculture and veterinary issues, as well as the running of the local hospital.

  He also regularly presided over a small court in his own home, where tenants could bring their problems for his help and support. It was clear to me that he was very much respected and loved. Everything about him on these occasions seemed different. He was dignified but approachable, his demeanour very much that of the local squire who cared about his people. I loved to watch him at his duties, and on one day in particular, I couldn’t help but hear the sobs of a young woman and her children crying.

  Seeing me hovering at the door, the Count gave a wave of his hand, indicating I should enter. ‘This woman’s children are sick with hunger. Her husband has died and her father-in-law is threatening to throw her out of the house if she doesn’t find paying work soon. Unfortunately, try as she might, the woman has been unable to find any. Later when the crops are ready for picking there will be plenty, but not right now. I’ve sent for the fellow, in order to make it very clear he cannot evict her without my permission, even if she were not his own daughter-in-law. But could you take the children to the kitchens and find them something to eat?’

  ‘Of course. I’d be happy to do so.’

  I greatly admired the way he patiently listened to their tales of woe, even though I didn’t understand much of what was being said, and the way he handed out justice with every sign of fairness and compassion.

  The father-in-law was interviewed and suitably chastened, and the children went happily home with full bellies and a basket of food. The stink of poverty lingered long after they’d gone but my heart went out to them. How fortunate I was to have such a good job, to be so safe and secure, and so well fed.

  We ended that summer with a visit to the Crimea on the north coast of the Black Sea, a favourite with the Count and Countess, where we stayed in a large villa just outside Yalta. The Romanovs, too, loved to spend time in Livadia, their Crimean palace, a beautiful white stone building situated on the heights above the town. I believe they’d been there in the spring, but I’m not sure whether they were in residence during our own visit. Apparently the Tsar and Tsarina socialised only occasionally, preferring to use the palace as a means to escape their duties and enjoy what might pass for a normal family life.

  I wish I could have said the same about the Belinskys. The Count was more often than not busy in his office, and apart from a little spoiling of her beloved son the Countess largely ignored the children, as always. The roads in the region were generally poor so she was at least obliged to curtail her passion for driving out every afternoon. Instead she lay about in the sun, looking upon the villa as a place to relax.

  And it was indeed delightful. The sun shone on Yalta beach, the boulevards hummed with children accompanied by their British governesses, and the resort was as busy as ever, many people coming to nurse their tuberculosis.

  All of these normal pleasures and problems paled into insignificance when at the end of July we learned that Austria had declared war on Serbia. Within hours Russia had begun to mobilize its troops to defend it, just as Stefan had predicted, and on the first day of August the Kaiser declared war on Russia.

  We quickly returned to Petrograd, as we must now call it. The name had been changed because the German nature of St Petersburg had begun to offend, and Petrograd sounded more Slavic. At first there were few signs of preparation for war, although later we did see soldiers marching in the streets, singing as they went about their training or made their way to the mobile kitchens specially set up for them.

  On my first visit to the British and American chapel the war was naturally the major topic of conversation between the British governesses, all trying to decide whether they should go home or stay in Russia.

  Ruth and I hugged each other by way of comfort. ‘Such bad news,’ I said. ‘I’d been planning a trip home. Now I suppose that will have to be put on hold for a while.’

  ‘There are ships still available but there’s always the risk of being sunk by a German warship. Even travelling by train is difficult. The one transporting Empress Maria Feodorovna, the Tsar’s mother, stopped in Berlin on its journey back from England and a mob attacked it, throwing stones at the windows. She was eventually saved by the police but nonetheless ordered to leave Germany as quickly as possible, so the train returned the long way, via Denmark.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness. I must tell Babushka. She will be most upset to hear that as she was once one of the Empress Mother’s ladies-in-waiting.’

  ‘Well, the episode has decided me that it’s safer to stay put. In any case, it will all be over by Christmas. Everyone says so.’

  ‘And at least England isn’t involved,’ I remarked in all innocence.

  ‘I’m afraid that is no longer the case. Germany has declared war on France and sent troops to invade Belgium and Luxembourg, heading for Paris. England issued an ultimatum and when it was ignored, declared war on Germany on the fourth of August.’

  ‘Oh no. It’s all happening so fast.’

  ‘Despite the fact most of the royal houses across Europe are related, they are all now in open conflict with each other.’

  ‘And we governesses are caught in the middle of it.’

  ‘I’m afraid we are.’

  I wrote anxiously to my parents in the Lake District, explaining the delay in my plans and praying they would be safe. Letters from home were slow to arrive and often heavily censored, but in September I received one which said that Liam had been killed shortly after joining up. I was filled with sadness. Whatever his failings in the way he’d pretended to be in love with me in order to have his wicked way, that didn’t mean that I’d disliked him. He’d been perhaps over-eager and rather too passionate, but a pleasant enough young man, and a good friend. I wrote to his parents expressing my condolences, quietly weeping at his loss, and worrying over how many more young men would lose their lives before this conflict was over.

  I silently prayed that Stefan would not be one of them.

  At the British and American chapel we were encouraged to start knitting socks and balaclavas, which I was happy to do under the careful instruction of Nyanushki, since domestic skills did not come naturally to me. Some of the other girls volunteered to help at the Red Cross. When I suggested that I might do the same, the Countess refused permission.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t spare you, Dowthwaite. I need you here.’

  ‘But your ladyship, this is important. If soldiers are injured there won’t be enough nurses to care for them.’

  ‘That is not my problem. Now please fetch me a glass of water. I’m thirsty.’

  Stifling a sigh, I went to do her bidding, deeply frustrated that fetching the Countess a glass of water she was perfectly capable of getting for herself was perceived to be more important than nursing the wounded.

  I could only hope that the belief it would all be over by Christmas was correct, as the fear that Stefan might feel the need to join up was strong in me.

  Yet in a strange way the war seemed dista
nt, a world away, and life continued very much as usual, the Belinskys appearing oblivious to events. That autumn we continued to spend the occasional weekend in the country where it was still my habit each morning to take the children out on a ride. One particular morning I was later than usual going to saddle the ponies, as I’d let the children over-sleep following a party the night before in which they’d enjoyed singing to the balalaika and been rather late going to bed.

  The moment I entered the stables I froze on the spot. Stefan had his back against the wall, his hands resting loosely at the Countess’s waist: there was no denying that they were kissing. I must have gasped out loud for they suddenly broke apart and she turned her blazing charcoal eyes full upon me. Stefan called out, but I didn’t hear what he said as I turned on my heel and ran.

  ‘Oh, my goodness, that’s dreadful!’ Abbie cried. ‘How could he so callously betray you, and after you were becoming so close?’

  A sadness came over her grandmother’s face at the memory. ‘I confess I was devastated at the time, utterly heartbroken, in fact.’

  ‘I can imagine. Did he apologise, or explain?’ Abbie wanted to know, entirely caught up in the emotion of the moment and feeling pretty devastated herself.

  ‘He did make a fumbling attempt, yes. He found me one afternoon in my favourite place sitting on the bench beside the river, near to tears, deeply engrossed in my own depressed thoughts. I felt cold inside, bleak and lost. The children had been enjoying tea with their parents, from which for once I had begged to be excused, claiming I had a headache when really I was heartsick.’

  ‘Of course you were,’ Abbie said, giving her a hug.

  ‘May I speak with you for a moment?’ he quietly asked.

  My response was cool. ‘I don’t believe we have anything to say.’ The pain of what I had witnessed hurt more than words could express. I thought myself foolish for trusting him and believing, even for a moment, that he truly loved me. I heard him draw in a jagged breath, shuffle his feet on the rough stone path in discomfort.

  ‘I perfectly understand why you wouldn’t wish to speak to me,’ he said, ‘but it wasn’t quite as it appeared. I did nothing. You need to know that, Millie.’

  ‘You were kissing her.’

  He tentatively sat down on the bench, not attempting to touch me or come too near, but it was too close for comfort so far as I was concerned. I was on my feet in a second and walked away, head held high, blocking my ears to his voice as he begged me to listen.

  ‘Did he come after you?’ Abbie asked, but Millie shook her head.

  ‘I rarely saw him in the days and weeks following, but then I did make a point of avoiding him.’

  ‘So that was it, all over between you? How sad. But at least you found out before you became too involved, I suppose.’

  ‘Oh, that was just the start. Things became much more complicated after that.’

  EIGHTEEN

  I was supervising the children one morning as they practised their French verbs, about to read them an extract from Charles Kingsley’s The Water Babies by way of reward, when I was summoned to the Countess’s boudoir. The urgency of the order obliged me to send the maid who’d brought the message to run and fetch Nyanushki to mind the children, so it took a few moments before she arrived and I was free to obey the command.

  ‘Why does she always choose the wrong moment?’ the old nanny complained as she hurried, somewhat breathless, into the schoolroom. ‘Just when I was preparing Babushka’s lunch. I really can’t be in two places at once.’

  Feeling some sympathy with this, I rushed along the corridor and tapped on the Countess’s door.

  ‘Ah, Dowthwaite, there you are at last. I thought you were never coming.’

  ‘I couldn’t just leave the children alone.’

  Dismissing my excuse with a flippant wave of her bejewelled hand, she made a surprising request, or rather delivered yet another unexpected order. ‘I have decided that in future you will act as my lady’s maid.’

  I stared at her in open dismay. ‘I don’t understand. How can I be your maid as well as governess to your children?’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll cope. I’ve dismissed the girl who has been with me for some years as she keeps disappearing for long periods at a time, claiming her mother is sick.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ I said with genuine sympathy.

  ‘Yes, well, I need someone here every day.’ Flicking back her long dark hair, the Countess handed me her brush, thus indicating my new duties were to begin immediately.

  ‘But I have more than enough to occupy me, teaching and caring for the children,’ I protested, even as I obediently began to tease the brush through her tangled curls. ‘I doubt I would have the time necessary for all the extra work required. May I suggest that you hire someone else for the task, milady?’

  ‘There isn’t anyone else, certainly no one that I could trust or who has your degree of discretion. Dear Stefan is always eager to run errands for me, of course ‒ to do anything I ask, in fact,’ she said, slanting a teasing glance up at me through her mirror. ‘I cannot think how I would manage without him.’

  The Countess, of course, had found the incident in the stables highly amusing, and continued to make snide remarks and drop hints implying there was a great deal more she could say about their intimacy if she so wished, as she was doing now.

  ‘But although he has his uses as a man, and the most delightful skills in those wonderfully gentle hands of his, there are some matters that require a woman’s touch.’

  At these provocative words I felt again that all-too-familiar stab of jealousy, although I was careful not to show it. Drawing in a breath, I answered with a determined firmness. ‘The job of lady’s maid would not suit me, your ladyship. You would only be disappointed.’

  ‘You will do as you are told, Dowthwaite, without argument,’ she calmly informed me, handing me a selection of emerald-encrusted pins for her hair, making it abundantly clear the matter was settled.

  As I obediently clipped her curls in place with clumsy fingers, I frantically sought a way out. No solution sprang to mind. How could I refuse if I wanted to hold on to my job? Although it might make sense for me to leave, in view of how things now stood between Stefan and me, the thought of abandoning the children to this woman, particularly little Irina, didn’t bear thinking about. Who would protect and love that little girl if I left?

  Stifling a sigh of resignation, I gave up. ‘If I agree to accept the job, at least temporarily, could you find someone else to be responsible for all the mending, needlework and laundry? As I once explained, sewing is not one of my strengths, and I will have the children to see to as well. And please don’t ask Nyanushki, as she too has more than enough to do.’

  The Countess was smiling in triumph at seeing me buckle under pressure. ‘That is easily resolved. You can arrange for one of the servants to deal with such matters. But you, Dowthwaite, will be responsible for putting out the clothes I wear, usually four or five changes each day, and for keeping my jewellery in safe and proper order, including my precious collection of amber.’

  I began to tremble beneath the weight of such responsibility, worrying how I was to fit in all this extra work without neglecting the children. Why was it that neither parent gave a moment’s thought to the emotional needs of their son and daughter? This was not what I had bargained for when first I came to Russia, yet it seemed that I had no option but to agree. I made one last bid for freedom. ‘May I think about it, your ladyship?’

  ‘You have twenty-four hours.’

  The following afternoon, it being a Wednesday, I attended the British and American chapel and wasted no time in sharing my problem with Ruth. ‘I really have no wish to play lady’s maid to the Countess. I’ve more than enough to occupy me as governess to her children, but how can I wriggle out of it?’

  ‘You could find o
ther employment,’ Ruth suggested. ‘British governesses are still in demand, and you have good references.’

  ‘I have the one from Lady Rumsley, but the Countess has made it clear that were I to leave without her permission, she wouldn’t give me one.’ I frowned. ‘Actually, there was a time when she seemed to want rid of me. Now she’s giving me yet more work and seems anxious to keep me for some reason.’ I surmised that the beautiful Olga relished being able to lord it over me that she’d won Stefan for herself. The memory of that kiss still burned a hole in my heart; I was finding the knowledge of his betrayal still hard to live with. ‘Besides, the children want me to stay.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. You’ve done so much for them, not least in persuading the Count to take more of an interest in his son with those fishing trips you arranged, which I’m sure Serge appreciated. They’ve grown fond of you over the years.’

  ‘I’m really quite fond of them, too, even Serge in spite of his naughtiness.’ I smiled, pleased that the Count often came to me now with suggestions of other activities which might meet with approval from his son. The pair did seem to be growing closer. ‘And I love little Irina. In order to find new employment I might have to go as far away as Moscow, and I’d never see them again.’

  I might also never see Stefan again, I thought, which despite his infidelity filled me with despair. Perhaps when I’d finally come to terms with the loss of what I’d once believed we had together, then I might be able to cope better. Right now I still clung to some vain hope that all might come right between us.

  Recognising the undercurrent of emotion simmering beneath the surface, my dear friend put her arms about me and gave me a hug. ‘Is there something you’re not telling me?’ she quietly asked. I shook my head.

  ‘Nothing I want to talk about.’

  ‘Perhaps you could talk to Stefan, then. I know he’s very fond of you too.’

  ‘I don’t think that would be appropriate.’