‘Whose is she, then?’
‘I’ve just told you: she is the Countess’s.’
‘She warned me that you’d claim innocence and deny the child was yours.’
I let out a gasp. ‘It’s not me who denies her, it’s the Countess! Weren’t you listening to a word I said? I didn’t give birth to her, so if that’s what she told you it was a lie, at which I have to say she is an expert.’
‘Who is the father? Tell me the truth.’ He glared at me, the kind of look that sent a shiver down my spine, being far colder than the winds that came down from Siberia.
‘You should ask that question of Countess Olga, but I’d say either Dimitri Korniloff or Viktor the chauffeur. Unless you know of any other men in her life?’ My gaze was equally challenging, wishing him to understand how it felt to be doubted.
‘Why would I?’
‘You don’t include yourself as a possible candidate then?’
‘Of course not.’ He sounded shocked by the suggestion.
‘So, you expect me to believe in your innocence, swearing you are not engaged in an affair with her, even though she has implied many times that you and she are intimate. I’ve trusted you Stefan, so why can’t you trust me?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s hard to believe in your innocence when I’ve seen the evidence of your betrayal with my own eyes.’ Getting up from the bench, he began to pace to and fro, kicking stones from the path in his anger. Then, standing before me, he said, ‘I’m sorry Millie, but I’m deeply disappointed in you. I thought you and I had something special. Obviously I was wrong. The Countess suspects that you’ve had a fling with the Count, and I can certainly vouch for your closeness to him in the weeks before you left.’
I gasped out loud at this accusation. ‘What are you suggesting ‒ that I had an affair with Count Vaska? How dare you?’
‘You cannot deny that it was his influence which forced her ladyship to take you back into her employ.’
‘What if it was? He is Count Belinsky, the person in charge. He’s been like a father to me.’ I was utterly horrified by the direction this conversation had taken. That dreadful woman had planted seeds of doubt and bitterness in Stefan’s head that I could do nothing to dislodge.
‘Why would he defend you so vehemently if he didn’t have good reason?’
‘Because he’s a kind man, loves his children and needs me to care for them. I swear to you, Stefan, this is not my child!’ We were standing facing each other now, almost shouting in our distress.
‘The Countess insists she is, that this was the reason she took you to Yalta: so that she could protect your reputation, and the Count’s too, presumably.’
‘It was her own reputation she was protecting, not mine!’
‘So you say, but I asked the wet nurse ‒ Vera, is she called? She told me it was definitely you who gave birth, not the Countess.’
I let out a sigh of exasperation. ‘Vera is only repeating what she’s been ordered to say. Besides, she wasn’t present at the birth, so can hardly claim to be a witness. Please don’t tell me you’d rather take her word, and that of the Countess, than mine?’
‘To be honest, I don’t know who to believe, but it . . . she . . . this baby . . . has absolutely nothing to do with me.’ And turning on his heels, he strode rapidly away, his furious figure quickly swallowed up behind a copse of trees.
I felt as if I’d been struck. How could Stefan think so little of me? It was devastating that the Countess had got to him first with her lies and scheming. Goodness knows what tale she’d told him. But why would Stefan choose to believe her rather than me, the woman he claimed to love? Did this mean that he didn’t love me at all, that he’d been lying to me all along? Perhaps he and the Countess had indeed enjoyed an affair?
I walked slowly back to the flat alone, deeply depressed. Then picking up little Katya from her cot, I buried my face in her shawl and wept silent tears of anguish.
The shooting started as we sat eating a somewhat frugal supper, since there were few supplies in the flat. We were all terrified, fearful of what might happen next. The two maids who had accompanied us were shaking with fright and almost in tears, far too scared to risk stepping out into the yard to replenish the log baskets. The fire in the drawing room soon died and we all began to shiver with cold. There would be no undressing for any of us that night, and precious little sleep. In the end we gathered together a few mattresses and blankets and spent the night in the cellar. It seemed the safest place to be, even if the Countess did complain endlessly of discomfort and cold. Unable to sleep, she sat wreathed in blankets dictating a long list of instructions for the morrow, to which I only half listened, guessing they would be quite impossible to fulfil.
I was proved correct as the next day we heard that the Bolsheviks had set themselves in charge across the city, guarding buildings of importance, and every bridge that entered the city. They’d also taken over the telephone and telegraph offices, banks, post offices and railway stations.
Later we learned that Kerensky, a leading member of the Duma, together with several other ministers, had retreated to the Winter Palace with only a small guard as protection. The rest had either fled the city or surrendered without a fight and joined the other side.
But even if we knew nothing of all this at the time, Stefan and I saw the warships in the harbour when we ventured out in search of food, as we were obliged to do even though we were barely speaking to each other. We heard the guns firing as we cooked a stew for our dinner, which left us in no doubt that defeat was inevitable. Stefan slipped out again, seeking further news, while Nyanushki and I tried to distract Irina with a game of dominoes. The Countess was taking a rest in her room. As we played, the old nanny glanced at the baby asleep in her crib beside us. Then, leaning close, she whispered, ‘I can see this child isn’t yours. Besides, you think too well of yourself and guard your reputation, I know.’
‘Thank you, Klara. I’m glad someone believes in my innocence.’
She raised her eyebrows in surprise. ‘Are you saying that Stefan doesn’t? Why, even a blind man could see how you feel about each other.’
Irina gave my arm a little shake to recapture my attention. ‘Come on, Baryshnya, it’s your turn.’
I postponed any further discussion until the game was over. At twelve years old Irina was rapidly growing up into a lovely young lady, but there was nothing she loved more than reading, and was soon curled up happily absorbed in her book. I spoke in quiet whispers so that Irina wouldn’t hear anything she shouldn’t. By the time I’d finished relating the conversation between myself and Stefan, Nyanushki was pink with anger.
‘That is the Countess all over. She always has to win, at any price. It’s been plain for some time that she wants Stefan for herself. Handsome young men are like gold nuggets to her: she must grab them all for herself.’
‘I will do everything in my power to stop her from having him.’
A sad expression came over the old woman’s face. ‘I can understand how you must feel, but it will not be easy to stand up to her. I have been with her most of my working life and there was a time ‒ seems hard to imagine it now ‒ when I too was courted by a handsome young man. She offered him employment, took him to her bed, and then when she was bored, dismissed him. I never saw him again. She has a charm about her that few men can resist.’
‘Oh, Klara, how dreadful!’ My heart went out to her. The fact that she’d suffered the same experience somehow created an even greater bond between us.
‘Don’t let her win,’ she whispered in my ear as I gave her a hug. ‘She is the very worst kind of autocrat, and Stefan is a lovely man. You fight for him, dear.’
At that moment the object of our concern came rushing back into the schoolroom. ‘The ships are firing at the Winter Palace,’ Stefan cried. ‘I saw Kerensky in his fancy uniform drive away in his car at gre
at speed. I very much doubt we’ll see him again.’
Leaping to my feet, I ran to him out of instinct, touching his dear face, checking his hands and arms. ‘Are you safe?’
The gaze that rested on mine was filled with confusion and unspoken questions. ‘I’m fine. It seems the entire city is now under the control of the Bolsheviks. Some are calling it the October Revolution, others a coup d’état in which Lenin has seized power with scarcely a drop of blood spilled.’ Pushing my hands away, he continued, ‘I’ll go and inform the Countess.’
Feeling utterly rejected, I stood and watched him go to her, my heart sinking to my boots. However you cared to describe the situation, we all realised that life was never going to be the same again. Not only had Russia lost a world ruled by the Tsar, albeit one with flaws, but no one could begin to guess what we would get in its place.
As for me, I grieved for the loss of trust from the man I loved.
TWENTY-SIX
Trust is everything, Abbie thought as she watched the sun come up over Great Gable, having been at the shop since before dawn. She was filled with love and admiration for this brave woman who was her own beloved grandmother. What trauma she must have gone through, yet she had readily taken the baby to her heart, despite the effect that would have upon her own reputation. Why didn’t Stefan believe in her innocence? Why should Millie trust him? Thrilled as she was to learn the truth at last about Kate’s origins, she was anxious to know the answer to those questions, which brought her wandering thoughts back to her own dilemma.
Abbie remembered how at the start of their relationship she’d trusted Eduard implicitly, a feeling which had slowly dissipated over the years. Now it was gone forever. She was relieved to discover that she’d hardly thought of him at all in recent weeks, being far too busy preparing for the official opening party, now only hours away. Even her relationship with her father seemed to be slowly improving.
They’d invited the mayor, various friends and organisations in the town, and the local paper, of course, so she was hoping for a good turnout. For the umpteenth time that morning, Abbie went to check a range of rose quartz, red jasper and agate jewellery, carefully adjusted a row of copper bracelets, and then stepped back to admire her handiwork. Apart from the amber, the jewellery in the display bore a suitably local theme.
The Lake District was famous for its copper, lead and silver mines, as well as the quarrying of green slate from Honister, graphite for pencils, and various minerals including barite, calcite crystals, fluorite and quartz. Abbie had obtained some of these stones either locally or from Weardale, further north, from which she’d made bracelets, necklaces and earrings. She felt quite proud of her achievements, her only worry being whether or not they would sell.
‘I’m beginning to feel a bit nervous,’ Linda said, coming up behind her to tweak a few hair clips into place, although they were perfectly well displayed.
‘Me too,’ Abbie admitted. ‘Isn’t that silly? We just have to be relaxed and friendly. When are the caterers coming?’ she instantly asked, defying her own words.
Linda laughed. ‘They promised to be here by nine o’clock to set out the canapés and pour the wine, ready for the opening at ten, so they should be here any minute. Whoops, that’s the phone.’
She was back in seconds, her face grim. ‘Their car broke down just before they reached Skelwith Bridge. They’re stuck in the middle of nowhere between Coniston and Ambleside, although one of them did manage to find a telephone box to ring, after walking a couple of miles. What on earth are we going to do now? It’s all my fault. I should have gone for a local firm, but I chose them because they were cheaper.’
‘It’s nobody’s fault, Linda. It’s just one of those things. Look, I’ll get my car and drive out to see if I can find them.’
‘But we need you here, Abbie.’
‘Can I help, if somebody needs picking up?’ The deep throaty tones were a joy to Abbie’s ears.
‘Oh, yes please.’ Turning quickly Abbie felt something stir inside her at the warmth of his smile as their eyes met. Despite his threat to open up next door, and she could see that work had already commenced, Andrew Baxter, or Drew as she now called him, was proving to be a difficult man to dislike. As well as kindly including her alleged husband in the invitation to dinner that time they’d met by the lake, and buying her daughter an ice cream, he’d called in at the shop almost daily since, to help with the preparations for the launch, or just for a friendly chat. Now he was offering to be their saviour in a crisis. Abbie quickly explained the problem.
‘Right, do you have a map of the area?’
Linda quickly produced one and within seconds he was on his way, promising to return with the caterers, and the wine and food, as soon as possible. Abbie and Linda exchanged an anxious glance. ‘He doesn’t even know the area terribly well. Let’s hope he finds them.’
‘It’s a long road but he’ll surely discover them eventually. In the meantime I’ll start work on plan B, just in case they don’t arrive in time and we have to resort to coffee and doughnuts after all.’ She shot back to the phone.
The next hour flew by in a maelstrom of activity, not least the arrival of a reporter, introducing herself as Clarinda Ratcliffe, who was keen to conduct an interview before Abbie became too distracted with customers. ‘How did you feel losing your mother in such a tragic way?’ was her first question, which threw Abbie completely. Pulling herself together, she replied by saying it had been a dreadful shock but now it was time to move on.
The journalist, however, had other ideas. ‘I was speaking to one of the old ladies she used to visit on the Parade who says she chatted to Kate the day before she died, and that she was excitedly saving up for a trip to Russia, a long-held dream apparently. That doesn’t sound like a woman contemplating suicide, does it?’
Abbie stared at the reporter, momentarily lost for words as she absorbed this new information. ‘As with all fatalities of this kind, it is impossible to understand what she was thinking or feeling. But today is not the time to talk about my mother’s death, if you don’t mind.’
‘Do you think she would have been pleased that you’ve taken over her business?’
‘I should think so, since she left it to me in her will,’ Abbie drily remarked, managing a smile. This interview hadn’t started well, a real downer so far. ‘I am of course aware of how well she ran Precious Dreams, just like my grandmother before her, so I’m delighted to be following in their footsteps.’
‘That’s interesting. So your grandmother started the business when exactly?’ the reporter asked, scribbling madly in her notepad.
‘Back in the twenties, and we’re proud it has survived, as few family businesses do these days.’ Abbie mentally blocked out the overdraft.
‘It can’t have been easy, and your family has not been without its troubles over the years, has it?’ Clarinda Ratcliffe said with a curious little smile.
Abbie felt herself starting to quake a little inside. Surely the woman wasn’t going to interrogate her on the subject of Eduard? Was it still a crime to have an illegitimate daughter? She really had no wish to have her personal life all over the local press. ‘I’m sorry?’ she said, feigning ignorance at the question.
‘I understand that you have only recently returned from Paris where you’ve been living for some time?’
‘Indeed, and it’s good to be back home in the beautiful Lake District,’ Abbie blandly remarked, telling her nothing.
The journalist continued, unfazed. ‘I assume your grandmother also loved to travel, as she went out to Russia as a governess, I believe. Is she here today? I’d love to have a word with her, too.’
‘She will be calling in later. You seem to be very well informed.’
Clarinda Ratcliffe offered a faint smile, chillingly insincere. ‘Since you belong to a notable family in the region, I naturally did some research befor
e coming today. Your mother also once ran off to live on the French Riviera back in the thirties. Seems to be a family trait. Why is that, do you think?’
Abbie blinked. This was the first she’d heard that Kate had ever left home, let alone ‘ran off to live on the Riviera’. Why on earth would she do that, and who did she run off with? More importantly right now, this interview was supposed to be about jewellery and the business. ‘Would you like me to show you round?’ Abbie asked, choosing not to go any further with this line of questioning. ‘We have some wonderful jewellery here, much of it using local stones, as well as this lovely amber from Poland.’ She quickly launched into a description of its healing properties, and how it was said to bring everlasting love.
‘What about the fashion accessory shop that is about to open next door?’ the journalist asked as Abbie was showing her the workshop, seemingly determined to focus on problems.
Abbie really had no wish to go into that either. Glancing at her watch and worrying over whether Drew had managed to find the caterers, she attempted to draw this most unpleasant interview to a close. ‘You’ll have to excuse me now, Miss Ratcliffe, if you don’t mind, as I really must get back to my customers.’ And with a smile she walked away.
The journalist scurried after her. ‘But won’t the competition badly affect your trade?’
With some difficulty Abbie managed to keep smiling, assuring the woman that she had absolutely no worries on that score. ‘This will clearly be the part of town to come for jewellery, bags and accessories. Besides, competition is a good thing,’ she said, giving the expected answer.
Moments later, to Abbie’s great relief, Drew appeared at the door giving the thumbs up. The caterers came bustling in and within minutes it seemed the shop was awash with people, all chattering and laughing and drinking the wine, greatly enjoying themselves and admiring the products on display.
Abbie heaved a huge sigh of relief when finally Clarinda Ratcliffe left, though she worried slightly about what the woman might actually write up. But no matter what family skeletons were dug up by the local press, the party was proving to be a great success. And by the sound of the ringing of the newly acquired cash register, plenty was also being sold. Oh, Abbie did hope so.
The Amber Keeper Page 25