‘It’s a great deal worse.’
‘The Count is right, milady. You should stay safely at home, if only for the sake of the children,’ I said, unable to keep silent any longer.
He smiled his gratitude, but his wife remained unconvinced. ‘I need a holiday!’ It was almost as if the soldiers fighting and losing their lives were doing so deliberately to annoy her.
‘Don’t be foolish, Olga. Millie is right: think of the children. You must put the idea right out of your mind.’
Unfortunately, once the Countess had set her heart on something, nothing would prevent her from getting it, or in this case a reasonable alternative. Since the French Riviera was out of bounds she opted instead for the Crimea. The climate was almost Mediterranean, with sea breezes that stopped it becoming unbearably hot in the summer, and was still pleasant at this time of year. The Count made no further protest, and in late September we packed our trunks and departed.
It was no surprise to discover that Countess Olga’s latest lover, Dimitri Korniloff, happened to be staying nearby. Sufficiently discreet not to let the children see him, nevertheless she made no attempt to hide the fact she’d be out and about with him most days.
‘What if the children should need you, milady?’
‘I shall be here to take tea with them, and to see them at bedtime.’
‘But you will surely wish to play with them occasionally on the beach, or go out and about with them around town?’
Her glance was disdainful. ‘Tired of caring for the children too, now, are you, as well as being my personal maid?’
‘Of course not, but they do like to spend time with their dear mama,’ I reminded her. ‘Particularly when their papa is not around.’
She strode from the room without even troubling to answer. There were times when she treated me as if I was invisible. Perhaps it would have been better if I were, instead of opening my mouth when really I shouldn’t.
The Count joined us for Christmas, anxious to escape Petrogad himself for a while, which was just as well as he looked in need of a rest. In the city the weather was bitterly cold but here in the Crimea the winters were much milder, sheltered as we were from the worst of the bitter north winds by the mountains, although there was often snow on the higher slopes above the town. I admit to finding it all rather exciting and had great fun helping the children to make paper lanterns and home-made Christmas crackers. A tree was brought from the forest which we decorated with walnuts and chocolates wrapped in gold and silver paper. Then we fixed candles onto the lower branches where we could easily reach them. But as I had no wish to risk a fire, I set a long stick with a wet sponge fixed to the end close by, just in case.
The children hung up stockings by the chimney, and, in accordance with tradition, Nyanushki set an old galosh in the empty grate that would later have snow packed round it, so that the children would know when Santa Claus had been.
On the morning of Christmas Eve I took them out into the woods to collect holly, mistletoe and ivy with which to decorate the house. Such plants do not grow in the north of Russia, the climate being too severe, so it was a thrill for me to have echoes of Christmases back home in dear old England.
As the children and I wound the ivy around the banister rails, Stefan climbed the stepladder to pin up the holly and mistletoe over pictures and door frames. When he was done he called me over.
‘Is that enough, do you think?’ I barely had time to answer before he caught me with a kiss. The children thought this very funny and applauded loudly, roaring with laughter. I was not so amused, particularly when a voice rang out behind us in the hall.
‘Ah, so this is what you two get up to when my back is turned?’
Too startled to reply, I dipped a curtsey, carefully keeping my head down so that the Countess could not see how my cheeks flamed. ‘Now look what you’ve done,’ I hissed at Stefan under my breath.
She sauntered over in that graceful way she had, looking as elegant and magnificent as ever in a gown of embroidered gold satin encrusted with pearl beads. Several strings of pearls hung about her neck over a décolletage cut daringly low. The Count and Countess were to attend a Christmas ball that evening and I have to confess I had never seen her looking more beautiful. Placing herself below the mistletoe, she glanced provocatively across at Stefan. ‘Is this where I should stand for my Christmas kiss?’ she asked.
Stefan’s embarrassment was all too plain to see. A crimson stain crept up his throat and over the tightness of his jaw as he darted me a glance of appeal. Aching with sympathy for the awkward situation in which she was placing him, I clumsily attempted to intervene.
‘It is snowing outside, your ladyship. If you are ready to leave now, shall I fetch your coat and fur wrap?’
She didn’t even glance in my direction, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the object of her desire, my own beloved Stefan, as she ordered me to do so. It seemed that, far from saving him, I had accidentally created the necessity to leave him alone with her. We were saved by Serge, who gave a snort of laughter.
‘You wouldn’t dare touch Mama.’
There was a small stunned silence as even the boy’s mother did not quite know how to respond to this sharp retort from her son.
Stefan, however, was quick to take advantage. I could almost sense his relief. ‘Your son is absolutely correct, your ladyship. That would be entirely out of place,’ he said, and giving a little head bow, he tucked the stepladder under his arm and calmly walked away.
As I flew up the stairs to fetch fur coats, hats and wraps, I could almost feel her fury.
Yet another Christmas had passed and the war in Europe continued without any sign of peace on the horizon. Come the New Year, and weary of the extra demands upon my time and discretion from duties as lady’s maid which had already lasted far longer than our agreement, I politely requested a rise.
The Countess burst out laughing, clearly amused by what she perceived as a show of impertinence. Money, as I knew only too well, meant nothing to her, but at the same time she hated handing it over to anyone else. The poor, in her opinion, could stay poor, it being no one’s fault but their own that they were in that situation, and certainly no concern of hers. ‘What on earth makes you imagine that you deserve a rise?’
‘Because I am doing two jobs,’ I reminded her. ‘I am still governess to your children and also acting as your personal maid, even though we agreed the latter role was only temporary. But no attempt to find a replacement has been made, and your ladyship is fully aware that I really don’t feel comfortable in the position.’
No laughter this time, only a deep and furious frown. ‘I will say when you are relieved of this duty, and I’m not in the least interested in your comfort.’
But I was determined to make my point. I sent money regularly to my parents, who I knew were carefully investing it for the time when I returned home for good. Sometimes my longing for the Lakes and my worry over my family at this difficult time were almost unbearable, despite my increasing fondness for Russia. I certainly had no intention of being taken advantage of. ‘May I politely remind your ladyship that if I am to carry out both sets of duties, I should be paid accordingly.’
‘I think you have an inflated idea of your own importance, Dowthwaite.’
‘Then perhaps you don’t really need my help, or my discretion and loyalty after all?’ I rather recklessly remarked.
Countess Olga understood exactly the challenge behind these words, as her entire status and honour depended upon my silence. She was also remarkably skilled at ignoring reality and not answering difficult questions.
‘Where are my pearls?’ she suddenly asked, starting to rummage among the clutter on her dressing table.
Irritated by the way she’d so casually brushed aside my request for a rise, my tone was unusually brusque. ‘In the safe, where they should be.’ I went to fetch the
m. To my surprise and dismay, however, I could see no sign of them. All too aware that my mistress was somewhat careless with her jewellery, often leaving it lying about, I didn’t panic too much. ‘They must be here somewhere,’ I said, annoyed. ‘Or did you perhaps lend them to someone?’
‘Of course not!’
‘Do you recall putting them back in the safe after you wore them at the Christmas ball? Or did you take them off and leave them lying about?’ I was searching the room as I asked these obvious questions, but having scoured every drawer, cabinet and jewellery box, and checked the safe several times more, I was obliged to admit defeat. There was no sign of the pearls anywhere.
‘This is your fault, Dowthwaite, entirely due to your incompetence. It is your job to keep my jewels safe, so you must have lost them,’ she accused me in icy tones. ‘Or else you took a fancy to them yourself.’
I gasped. ‘You surely aren’t suggesting that I took them? I would never do such a thing. I haven’t touched your pearls,’ I said, hotly defending myself.
‘Yet were you not attempting to blackmail me just now? So why would I not believe you capable of anything?’
There was a long telling silence in which I recognised the danger my recklessness had led me into, and how cleverly she had turned the tables on me. Keeping my expression carefully bland, I said, ‘I haven’t the first idea what you mean, milady, but I will continue to search for your pearls. They must be somewhere.’
Convinced of my guilt, she punished me by refusing to speak to me for the rest of that day, and the one after that, leaving little notes of instruction on her dressing table instead. And at dinner each evening, by the time it was my turn to be served, there would be no food left.
‘What am I to do?’ I sobbed to Stefan. ‘Apart from any other consideration, I’m starving. I have to keep sneaking off to the kitchen to beg food off the chef, and Anton is wary of offending the Countess so not particularly generous. How can I convince her of my innocence? I’m quite sure she’s about to sack me, if I don’t die of starvation first.’
He pulled me close, pressing his lips against my forehead, making me feel so safe in his arms that I wanted to stay there forever. ‘You could speak to the Count and ask for his support. Either that or find the darned things.’
‘That’s a good suggestion. He has never been anything but kind towards me.’
I trusted the Count, as he possessed the common sense and stability his wife lacked. I rather assumed he’d married Olga out of duty as there was little sign of love between them, a union no doubt arranged by his family since he had the title and connections, and she was a rich heiress, as Babushka had indicated. He must have been very young at the time, as I guessed he could only be in his thirties now. I admired him enormously, as he cared for his staff and tenants and was a good father to his children. What a dreadful waste to be a good-looking man trapped in an unhappy marriage.
As expected, he was deeply sympathetic of my plight, but with a sad shake of his head he said there was little he could do to help. ‘My wife has her own way of doing things, and I rarely intervene. I’ll admit she is somewhat careless with her belongings and I’m quite certain of your innocence. I’ll put in a word for you, Millie, should it become necessary.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ I was always touched by the fact that he addressed me by my first name, and grateful for his belief in me. It seemed all I could hope for.
And then quite out of the blue the very next day Irina came running, the string of pearls dangling in her small hands. ‘Look what I found, Baryshnya. They fell out of Serge’s fishing bag when I was putting it away for him.’
The boy denied all knowledge of them with a surprisingly fierce vigour. ‘I never touched Mamochka’s pearls,’ he insisted. ‘I can’t think how they got there. I swear I wasn’t playing one of my jokes. Nor do I believe you stole them, Baryshnya.’
I smiled at him with gratitude, wanting to believe him. ‘Thank you, Master Serge. Your faith in my innocence is wonderful to hear. It quite warms my heart. I expect the pearls simply fell into your bag by accident. We’ll say no more about it.’
So was it an accident, I wondered, or yet another practical joke? Against all previous evidence of the boy’s behaviour there was something genuine about Serge’s passionate denial. More likely the Countess had pocketed the dratted pearls to punish me for standing up to her, and then dropped them into her son’s bag. For once, though, it looked as if involving her son in her nasty little scheme of revenge had backfired.
TWENTY
In the early days of the year we returned to Petrograd. The cold snap that had descended over Christmas worsened, with huge solid banks of snow and ice blocking the roads and icicles hanging from the roof. Keeping the children happy was not easy as they soon grew grumpy and quarrelsome from being confined largely indoors, apart from the odd afternoon skating on the frozen River Neva, or playing on ice slides in the park.
While the Countess took to her bed for a rest and I set about unpacking, the Count went at once to the Winter Palace to continue with his duties. He returned later with the startling news that Rasputin had been murdered on 29th December.
‘The fellow was partaking of Madeira wine and cake with Prince Yusupov and one or two of his comrades when he was allegedly poisoned.’
‘Good heavens,’ the Countess said. ‘Are you saying the prince was responsible?’
‘I am saying nothing of the sort, and neither must any of you,’ he quietly warned. ‘It is true that Prince Yusupov and Grand Duke Dmitry have been placed under house arrest while the matter is investigated. We must await the outcome of that, but whoever the perpetrator is, they were certainly determined to finish him off one way or another. When the poison did not have immediate effect, assuming cyanide was actually present in his food, he was shot and then thrown into the freezing River Neva, where he drowned. Whoever did it was determined to finish him off, but I believe the fellow put up quite a fight.’
The Count had gathered the entire staff together, the children already in bed, and every one of us was shocked by this horror story. We stood in silence for some moments, contemplating the ramifications of the loss of the Tsarina’s favourite staretz, with his magnetic eyes and his amazing ability to have prevented the Tsarevitch from bleeding to death on more than one occasion.
‘He was a charlatan and completely mad, so it’s surely no bad thing,’ the Countess remarked somewhat dismissively, as if a man’s life was of no importance even if he had been a monk and an advisor to royalty. ‘Foolish Alix was becoming far too obsessed with him.’
Looking grim, the Count did not disagree. ‘I’ve noticed a shift in the public mood, though, an odd mix of expectancy and celebration in the air, as if Rasputin’s death frees people in some way.’
Stefan said, ‘I suppose the murder could give the would-be revolutionaries an incentive to take the power they have long craved. Why would they trust a man who believes in the divine right to rule? Or a woman who has been obsessed with a mad monk?’
‘I worry about that too, Stefan.’ The Count was looking seriously concerned. ‘I’m afraid the Tsarina’s shy, retiring nature has done her no favours. It’s rather sad but not surprising that people accuse her of being aloof. Some family members have even suggested she be sent to a convent.’
‘But is that quite fair?’ I butted in, speaking out of turn, as always.
‘Millie claims to know nothing of politics but always has an opinion on it,’ Stefan put in with a wry smile.
‘I know only what I’ve picked up by listening to Babushka relating her memories of her life as a lady-in-waiting at the palace, which I’ve found fascinating. But yes, I do think the Tsarina is unnecessarily vilified.’
The Count gave me a nod of encouragement. ‘In what respect, Millie?’
Blushing with embarrassment at finding myself the object of attention, I struggled to organise m
y thoughts. ‘People accuse her of all kinds of things, such as being a German traitor when she’s clearly doing everything she can for her adopted country, like turning royal palaces into field hospitals and working for her Red Cross Certificate.’ Which was more than could be said for the Countess.
‘Indeed that is true. The Tsarina is seen in the hospitals most days in her white uniform, witnessing all the horrors of war firsthand without complaint.’
‘And isn’t she also responsible for running the country while the Tsar is away commanding military forces?’
The Count pulled a face. ‘Yes, but she doesn’t do it very well, unfortunately. The problem is that dear Alix, a devoted wife and mother, is far too protective of her husband. She is so determined that no member of the government should challenge his authority that she chooses ministers who are weak “yes men”, whose only wish is to win favour with the Tsar, which unfortunately divides the nation even more.’
‘Oh, then Stefan is right. I really don’t understand politics.’
With a smile, the Count patted my shoulder. ‘You at least try, dear Millie.’
I might have asked more questions but as the Countess fixed me with one of her fierce glares, I held my silence, nervous of finding myself going hungry yet again.
Over the coming days and weeks the Countess frequently complained she wasn’t feeling well. She lingered in bed of a morning, and constantly called for snacks to nibble throughout the day, due to an upset tummy. She even abandoned her passion for cold baths, which she considered good for her skin, putting them on hold in favour of two hot baths a day. I most certainly ensured that the children took one each night due to the bitterly cold weather, and gave them each a warming cup of hot chocolate before tucking them into bed. I was taking Irina her drink one evening when I found the little girl crouched beside the door of her mother’s boudoir.
‘What are you doing there?’ I gently scolded her, carefully keeping my voice low in case the Countess should hear.
The Amber Keeper Page 19