‘I know now that he was never your lover,’ I told her, feeling a sudden need to clear the air between us, perhaps because I no longer thought of myself as her servant. She wasn’t even paying me any wages, her excuse being that she had no wish to draw attention to herself by attempting to draw too much money out.
Her reaction was to laugh out loud. ‘It was great fun to let you think that he was. Hugely entertaining to see how worried and jealous you became.’
I shook my head in bewilderment. One minute I was in awe and admiration of this woman, and feeling genuine sympathy for her over missing her son, and the next her words filled me with fury.
‘You’ve seen him, haven’t you?’ she asked, startling me so much by the question that I felt the blood drain from my face. In my foolishness I’d almost given myself away. I visited him almost every day, of course, always taking care that I wasn’t being followed. ‘I wish I had, but I’ve no idea where he is.’ Turning to Nyanushki I said, ‘I’ve finally made up my mind to push harder for my papers as it’s long past time I went home now that I’m no longer needed here. Would you come with me this time? Obviously your Russian is so much better than mine.’
‘I’d be happy to help, though I have no wish for you to leave, dear Millie. I shall be sorry to lose you.’
As we set out first thing the next morning for the consulate, the Countess was in the library with the chauffeur.
‘Viktor is here early for once,’ I said, pulling up my scarf against a chill wind.
‘I’ve noticed he’s here more and more. I doubt he even went home last night.’
‘Ah, then we continue to turn a blind eye, do we?’
‘I would recommend that we do, yes,’ Nyanushki agreed, giving a little giggle.
It took hours of queuing and argument but finally we were successful and I returned to the flat jubilant, papers in hand.
The Countess was reclining on her sofa as she so loved to do of an afternoon. She did not even open her eyes as she spoke to me. ‘Ah, Dowthwaite, I’ve had word today from the police about Stefan. Apparently they found him in a hideaway by the river. He was duly arrested and put in prison, and this morning he was executed. So that puts an end to him.’
THIRTY-THREE
I felt as if I had nothing left to live for. Where was the point of anything without Stefan beside me? I couldn’t even begin to take in what she’d told me. How could he be dead when only yesterday he had held me in his arms under the bridge and we’d spoken again of our plans for a wonderful future together? Everything had appeared perfectly normal ‒ the snow still feathering our hair as we kissed, the boats sliding slowly along the River Neva, the old woman selling her flowers. Now he was gone from my life forever.
I had never known such pain, both physical and mental. It gripped my heart, my chest, my entire body. Grief consumed me, and I could think of nothing but the hours, days and weeks, years we had spent suffering foolish jealousy, instigated by our employer. What a dreadful waste of the short time we’d been granted together. Precious moments gone forever.
‘Why did we ever allow the Countess to tear us apart with her lies and tricks?’ I sobbed as Nyanushki held me close. She said nothing, unable to find any words of comfort to offer, and merely wept along with me. ‘Now, just as we’d finally overcome all the doubts and lack of trust between us, he’s lost to me forever.’
And the fault could be entirely mine.
It came to me in a flash of understanding that I had indeed been followed, right from the start. ‘That old lady selling flowers was probably the Countess herself. She watched us from a distance, taking note of where I went.’
Nyanushki gazed at me in dismay, tears still marring her pallid cheeks. ‘No doubt she sent Viktor to inform the police, and personally took them to Stefan’s hideaway.’
As the reality of what had happened sank in, it made his death all the more unbearable. ‘They might never have found him but for me.’
‘Don’t blame yourself, dear girl. How could you have known?’
‘He warned me, over and over. Yet I never even suspected an old woman selling flowers.’ How would I ever be able to live with myself? I lay on my bed that night in a torrent of grief, the pain of my loss crushing my heart.
After a long freezing winter, one of the worst I remembered for some time, the thaw finally set in. I could see out of my bedroom window again and a river of water ran over the sill on to the floor as the ice melted. For once my breath did not mist the air, and we had no need to swathe ourselves in blankets the entire time. Even so, the Countess was not happy and began making plans.
‘I loathe the discomfort of this miserable flat. It’s time we left,’ she calmly announced one day. ‘We don’t have sufficient food or heat. Having taken the car and many of my possessions, the Bolsheviks could continue to pester us for more. I see no reason to stay any longer. We should leave before they start searching our bodies for the jewellery. I was lucky on that afternoon with the captain that he was in too much of a hurry to sate his lust to bother to undress me, but he could be back at any time.’
I had considerable sympathy with this argument. Neither of us was safe from unwanted male attention. ‘So where would you go?’
‘To the Crimea. I have already spoken to my mother and Nyanushki, but they have no wish to join me as they feel too old and sick to travel. But you can come with me, Dowthwaite. Now that you have your papers, all you have to do is buy us a couple of train tickets.’
‘There were only two trains going anywhere in March, so that won’t be as easy as it sounds,’ I said, starting to protest, but then lost interest. What did it matter where I went, now that I’d lost Stefan? The Crimea was as good a place as any until I could find a ship back to England.
It was late May before we managed to find a train going in the right direction and buy the necessary tickets. It was leaving the very next day so we had just twelve hours to prepare, although there was talk of a dispute between the Bolsheviks and the railwaymen, so the journey could be called off at the last moment. Hoping for the best, I made my farewells to Ruth and Ivy, and all my friends at the British and American chapel. I found it dreadfully hard to say goodbye to my dearest friend.
‘You need to leave Petrograd too,’ I warned.
‘I’m hoping a ship will come soon,’ Ruth agreed, ‘or a train to France or Belgium, anywhere that will take me out of Russia. You aren’t intending to stay in the Crimea, are you? You need to get home.’
‘Oh, I will, just as soon as I can find the necessary transport to take me there. I’ve had no success so far, and it might be easier to find food for little Katya in the Crimea. It’s as good a place as any, for now, and safer than Petrograd.’ We hugged and wept a little, not least over the loss of Stefan.
‘Stay strong,’ she urged me. ‘He wouldn’t want you to give up. Go back home. Live life to the full.’
I hadn’t the first idea how to begin to do that.
The endless packing that the Countess demanded took Nyanushki and me most of the night, before finally we had three trunks ready to send to the station early the next morning. My own possessions I restricted to one piece of hand baggage, leaving behind the books and other requisites for the job that I’d brought with me all those years ago, which seemed unimportant now. Nyanushki also packed us a small picnic hamper of food for the journey, no doubt leaving herself short. The Countess had an overnight bag, and I also had the baby to carry. I tucked my papers and passport into a small pouch that I fastened to my belt, for safety.
‘It’s not going to be an easy journey,’ I said, wondering how on earth we were going to manage this heavy load, although fortunately Ivan was accompanying us. ‘And we must wear as many clothes as possible, despite the fact it will be warm, just in case anything gets lost or stolen.’
‘Don’t let on that you’re a countess,’ Ivan warned. ‘You’re plain C
itizen Belinsky now, don’t forget. If the Bolshevists find out who you really are, they’ll arrest you.’
She glared at him, affronted. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Never more so, my lady, just as they would have arrested the Count had he still been living in the flat when they came looking for him. And remember what happened to your friend Dimitri Korniloff.’
Her brow puckered into a thoughtful frown as she considered this for a moment, then nodded. ‘You’re right, Ivan. Citizen Belinsky it is.’
There were more tears as I said goodbye to Nyanushki. ‘Thank you for being such a good friend, and a good teacher. I’ve learned so much from you.’
‘I’ve learned a lot from you, too, not least how to control the children with love and fun, rather than smacks and punishment.’
We wept even more at these words, remembering our darling Irina. But it was time to leave and move on. ‘I shall write to you. Take care of yourself, and of Babushka.’
The old lady was in tears when I went to kiss her goodbye and thank her too for her friendship and support over the years.
‘If anything goes wrong and you ever need me, I shall be here,’ she told me. ‘Remember that.’
It was nerve-wracking when we reached the barrier at the station to see how everybody’s bag was opened and searched, every individual item unfolded and examined. I dreaded the moment when our turn came. The Countess, as usual, was completely oblivious to my distress, merely instructing Ivan to put the trunks on board.
‘The train has not yet arrived,’ he pointed out. ‘The porter says it is running two hours late.’
‘And what are we supposed to do in the meantime?’ she snapped.
‘Sit in the waiting room along with everyone else.’
She cast one scathing glance at the crush of people inside, and declined. Citizen Belinsky by name, but still Countess by nature. We perched on the trunks on the station platform for the better part of three hours, and they were indeed searched. None of the trunks contained any jewellery, but the Countess had insisted on packing several precious items including a silver inkstand, tray, candle sticks, cruet sets, and several enamelled gold-encrusted boxes.
‘What if the guards or customs officials search us and find them?’ I’d asked her.
‘We’ll have to take our chances they won’t. I absolutely refuse to leave anything of value behind for the Bolsheviks to steal.’
Fortunately, I’d managed to hide the items pretty well and the official had many other people’s luggage to check so his efforts were somewhat perfunctory, constantly interrupted by questions from my mistress. In the end I suspect he was glad to escape and leave us to it.
Eventually, when we’d almost given up hope, the train steamed into the station, red-hot sparks flying from the wood fire that drove the engine. Ivan loaded the trunks into the luggage truck while we hurried along the platform searching for a carriage that might have free seats.
‘We’re allowed only minutes to board so let’s just get on and I’ll find seats later,’ I urged, almost pushing the Countess up onto the step. It was not easy, as the carriages on Russian trains are much higher and broader than our English ones. ‘You’ll have to help,’ I reminded her. ‘I have the baby to carry, the picnic box, and my own heavy hand luggage.’ With an irritable click of her tongue, for once she did agree to carry her own bag.
‘What about Ivan?’ she asked, when we found ourselves hanging on to a strap in a crush in the corridor. We could hardly breathe, there were so many people squeezed in.
‘Don’t worry, he’ll find us.’
The train gave a jerk as it began to pull out of the station. ‘Well, go and find those seats you promised, Dowthwaite. I will not spend the entire journey like this.’
Stifling a sigh, I dutifully went off to search, thankful that we were at least on our way.
It was a long and tiring journey, and for some reason I felt nervous throughout despite having all my papers in order and nothing suspicious in my own personal belongings. Which was just as well as searchers came on board at every station. If they saw something they disapproved of, or perhaps wanted for themselves, they took it. One man had his fur hat taken, and a poor woman lost her supper that way. Angry words would be exchanged between the railway guards and the soldiers, each calling the other by the now familiar term of ‘comrade’, a name I came to loathe since they were clearly anything but.
A train passed us with open trucks loaded with coffins, which sent a chill down my spine. The more I witnessed of the new Russia, the more eager I was to get home to dull old England. Crimea would be only the start of my own journey. I intended to make enquiries about trains south just the moment we arrived.
I did eventually manage to find us a seat although the carriage was stiflingly hot. Soldiers lay about all over the floor and the air stank of tobacco and unwashed bodies.
‘Nyanushki has packed the tea pot and kettle, but we have no hot water.’
‘Give me the kettle,’ Ivan said. Minutes later he returned with it full and we were able to make tea. I didn’t ask where he’d found the hot water, but was truly grateful. After we had eaten I fed the baby, while he and the Countess chatted. I must have dozed off for when I woke, we were pulling into another station.
‘Stand by; here we go again,’ I said with a weary sigh, kissing little Katya who was still asleep, bless her.
As always several people got off the train to stretch their aching limbs or buy food from the traders that haunted every station platform hoping to sell their wares.
‘We too are running out of food,’ said the Countess. ‘Go and get some more, Dowthwaite. We’ve hours of travel left.’
I was surprised. ‘Really? I thought there was plenty left.’ I was about to open the picnic box to check, but she stopped me in that impatient way she had.
‘There was nowhere near enough, particularly for Ivan, being a man. Stop arguing and be quick about it, or there’ll be nothing left for you to buy.’ Handing me twenty kopeks, she gave me a push, and as always I did as I was bid.
The queues were long, and Katya grew fretful as I moved slowly along the line, but I did eventually manage to buy a little bread and cheese. It cost the entire twenty kopeks, yet I considered myself fortunate as even biscuits cost twice as much as normal. It was as I was about to board that I was stopped by one of the Bolshevist officials.
‘One moment,’ the man said. ‘We need to search you first.’
I thought of the jewels stitched into my clothing, and that of the baby, and my heart sank even as I struggled to smile and be polite. ‘As you see, comrade, I have no luggage with me, save for the baby’s bag. I got off the train only to buy food for myself and my child.’ It would clearly not be wise to mention the fact I was servant to a countess.
‘Then let me see your papers.’
I pulled them from the pouch strapped to the side of my belt, and as he read them I saw his face change. ‘So you are a countess, are you?’
‘What? No, of course not,’ I protested.
‘Don’t lie, citizen. Your papers clearly state that your name is Countess Olga Belinsky, wife of Count Vasiliy Belinsky. In which case, I have to inform you that you are under arrest.’
The prison at the Fortress of Saints Peter and Paul, situated on Zayachy Island in Petrograd, was every bit as terrible as I had feared. Transported in a car over the Ioanovski Bridge, through the courtyard, and from there to the fortress via Peter’s Gate, never had I known such fear. I was numb with terror, even more so for Katya as I held her close to my breast. Over and over I protested my innocence, explaining that I was not a countess, that it was all a mistake. I was English.
Nobody was listening, certainly not the guard who took most of my clothes and possessions from me and locked me in one of the dark and damp cells of the Troubetzkoy bastion. I tried talking to him in Russian, French a
nd English, all to no avail. He simply ignored me.
Strangely, I felt no great surprise over the way the Countess had tricked me. It was typical of the woman I had come to know and despise. For all I admired her beauty, courage and feisty spirit, I’d been a fool ever to trust her. She cared only for herself, and would do whatever she considered necessary in order to save her own skin. The fact I had served her well for almost seven years counted for nothing. Nor did she give any consideration to the innocent child she had already rejected once.
‘I shouldn’t even be here,’ I cried as the door clanged shut. ‘I’m not who you think I am.’
The only response was the sound of his laughter as he strode away, and the clump of his boots echoing in the empty corridor.
I knew that the prison was used to hold ministers of the Tsarist government and members of Kerensky’s Provisional Government. Judging by the number of people I’d seen being lined up for interrogation in the courtyard, including elegantly dressed women, most hadn’t the first idea why they’d been incarcerated. There were traders charged with selling food without a permit, soldiers who had broken the rules by stealing property and selling it for themselves, and people who simply looked bewildered as if they hadn’t the first idea why they were there, rather like myself. Anxiety, fatigue and fear were evident in all their troubled faces.
The first problem I encountered was lack of food. If I thought I knew what it was to feel hunger while living at the flat, it was nothing to how I suffered in prison. Feeding the prisoners did not appear to be a priority, or even a consideration. Bread was distributed by means of coupons, but comprised a mixture of buckwheat, sand, plaster and straw. Quite impossible to eat without vomiting. If you didn’t have friends or family to bring food in for you, you could die of starvation and nobody would care.
I managed to persuade my jailor to bring some milk for the baby, but he offered nothing else. ‘She needs more than milk. She’s a growing child.’
The Amber Keeper Page 33