The Wolf Princess

by Cathryn Constable

  The princess continued, “Ivan Ivanovich has explained everything to you.”

  Ivan nodded, but the princess had spoken as if there were no need for him to confirm anything, as if what Ivan had told them had explained their being left on the train, thrown off onto an isolated platform, and brought here to this forgotten palace.

  The princess’s mouth slid up playfully, a one-dimple smile. “But you can’t possibly want to go back to Saint Petersburg! Boring lessons at School 59?” She shook her head as if someone had suggested she allow herself to be stung by bees. “Oh, and perhaps there are trips to museums you are longing to go on? Believe me, the Yusupov Palace is overrated, wouldn’t you say, Ivan?” Ivan nodded as if such a visit would, indeed, be more of a punishment than a pleasure.

  “And anyway, I have extraordinary things planned for you.” She clenched her fists as if she couldn’t contain her excitement. “Do you think anyone will take you for a midnight picnic on a frozen lake if you go back to your Miss Ellis? Or arrange for an orchestra of automata to play to you as you gamble for diamonds? Or take you for rides in a vozok through the Volkonsky forest? What about skating by twilight? Do you think you will get to do any of these things in boring Saint Petersburg?”

  Sophie felt her pulse quicken. A midnight picnic? She looked across at Marianne, who was fidgeting uncomfortably. Back in London, Sophie felt uneasy when her friends weren’t entirely happy. But right now, it was as if she wanted to do these things with the princess more than worry about Marianne.

  “Perhaps Russian grammar lessons are more to your liking?” the princess teased. “There will be plenty of those if you go back to Saint Petersburg. I warn you that the Russian language is very hard: Would you really prefer learning short-form adjectives or the perfective aspect of the verb to being wrapped in furs and bearskins and drinking cherry cordial in the snow?” She whispered, “Of course, I will send you back if you really don’t want to stay …”

  “Can we at least phone our parents?” Marianne said, not looking up. She seemed unable even to meet the woman’s gaze. “I promised I would call when I arrived. My phone doesn’t work.”

  “Nor mine,” Delphine added.

  “Marianne” — the princess stepped toward her — “of course you must phone your parents.” Her voice was like being wrapped in velvet. Warm, reassuring, making everything right. “As soon as we can get the phone lines working …”

  She said something in Russian to Ivan. He nodded as if he would take care of the request.

  The princess shook her head. “The snow … and we are so remote …” She took Marianne’s hand in both of hers. “There is no need to look so anxious!” She laughed and Sophie found herself smiling, just because it was such an appealing sound. “We are going to have the most wonderful time.”

  The princess spoke quietly to Ivan in Russian once more. He bowed and opened a pair of mirrored doors. The glass shivered in the panels, and their reflections shook, too. The princess let go of Marianne’s hand and disappeared into the room beyond.

  “What are we meant to do?” Marianne asked Delphine.

  “Stay where you are,” Delphine said, trying to peer into the room. “You have to wait until you are summoned.”

  “Why does it have to be so formal?” Marianne mumbled, pulling at her tunic. “This thing is really scratchy. Do you think I can take it off?”

  Ivan coughed discreetly and indicated that the girls should follow the princess. Delphine walked forward confidently, the silver sarafan swishing on the floor. Sophie could see it was too long for her. She and Marianne followed her into a much smaller, darker room, almost entirely taken up by a large round table. In the center was a large candelabrum, the candles glowing, the wax dripping down the gilt branches. All over the table were piles of paper, some bundled and tied with ribbons, others in perilously high stacks. The princess was sorting through a small pile in front of her, looking slightly distracted. Ivan leaned across to push the candelabrum closer.

  “Thank you, Ivan, but I don’t need your help,” the princess said. The sharpness of her tone seemed to wound Ivan, and he stepped back from the table into the gloom. “Just a little boring paperwork,” the princess muttered to herself, still shuffling papers. “Ah yes, here we are!”

  She pulled out several sheets of paper.

  “Your Miss Ellis is extremely strict! Extremely thorough.” She smiled as she laid a piece of paper in front of Marianne. “She would only allow me to take you skating if you signed these papers.”

  “Shouldn’t it be our parents who sign them?” But Marianne took the pen that was offered and put her name at the bottom of the paper.

  “I think your signature will do nicely.”

  The princess turned the paper over without bothering to read it and put it on top of a different pile. Then she smiled broadly as she beckoned Delphine forward. “It is just a formality. I am not expecting any accidents!”

  Delphine took the silver pen she was offered and signed her name where the princess indicated. The princess nodded and picked up the paper. Sophie watched her every movement, fascinated: The angle of her head, the thick rope of hair, the cut of her clothes made her look quite different from anyone Sophie had ever seen before. She was smiling as she scanned the page, but it was a quiet, private smile. Then, as she read quickly to the bottom, the princess’s forehead crumpled in a frown. “But there has been some mistake …”

  She tore her eyes away from the page and looked up at Ivan. Sophie saw anger flare in the depths of those large gray eyes.

  “You are the wrong girl!” The princess spoke quickly.

  Delphine took a step back. “I … I …” she stuttered.

  “What are you doing here, dressed like that? That is not your sarafan.”

  The woman crunched Delphine’s consent form into a ball and threw it on the floor.

  Sophie panicked. She wanted to pick the paper up and return it to the princess so they could go on as before. But could it be that perhaps they weren’t meant to be here after all? Perhaps it was Lydia Sedgwick who had been invited. Or Nadine? Perhaps they would be sent back to Saint Petersburg straightaway and some other girls would get the joy of skating with the princess.

  “I’m not the wrong girl. I’m Delphine.”

  She looked at her friends as if she suddenly doubted who she was. Sophie wanted to help her friend, but she couldn’t get her tongue to work.

  “I’m here with my friends,” Delphine managed to say. “The school trip.”

  “Is this some sort of joke?” The princess’s face was blank, but her lips looked thinner and her voice was sharp. “Ivan?”

  Ivan looked distraught. “I followed your instructions,” he started to say. “I brought them here safely …”

  The princess was staring at each of them in turn again, as though if she looked at them hard enough she could find something she had lost. Her gaze rested on Sophie. The frown dissolved, a smile spread slowly, and Sophie again felt as if she couldn’t hold the woman’s gaze. It was too bright, too penetrating.

  “So you …” the princess whispered, stepping toward Sophie. “You are Sophie Smith.”

  “We swapped clothes,” Sophie heard herself say. “Delphine looked nicer in that sarafan, so we swapped.”

  The princess nodded slowly. “No more tricks,” she said. “We won’t have so much fun if you play tricks on me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sophie mumbled, although she didn’t know what she was apologizing for. There had been no “trick.”

  “It’s nothing!” The woman smiled at her. “I have a copy.”

  She turned and pulled another piece of paper out of the pile, then pushed it toward Sophie.

  Sophie looked down at the paper. Everything was in Russian, fat black capital letters she didn’t recognize or back-to-front letters that made no sense. The paper was thick and had a watermark in the middle. It all looked extremely official, not at all like the slips that the school usually sent out for parents
and guardians to sign back in London.

  “Sign the form,” the princess said quietly.

  Sophie hesitated, then wrote her name neatly at the bottom.

  The princess snatched the paper out of Sophie’s hand, folded it in half, and slipped it into a large leather wallet. Then, as if suddenly remembering the other forms, she picked them up and slipped them in with Sophie’s, hurriedly smoothing the crumpled sheet Delphine had signed.

  For the first time the princess laughed — a loose, rapturous, full-throated laugh. “Now the fun can begin!” she cried. “I want to find out all about you! I want to know every detail of your lives. You are my new London friends!”

  She tucked the leather wallet securely under her arm.

  “But now, I must leave you for a little while. I have paperwork to attend to, and it is almost the end of the day. You must eat and rest.”

  Sophie looked out of the small window. She saw the twilight had deepened. The stars were brighter, like pinpoints of light through a prism. Time seemed to operate differently in the Volkonsky palace. History swirled around like snowflakes; the daylight was held prisoner by the winter. Sophie sighed. It seemed so wonderfully, beautifully, romantically different from anything she had known. And yet, she felt, somehow not different at all.

  The princess smiled at Ivan. “You will take care of my precious guests for the moment?”

  “Of course, Princess.”

  “Think of them as lost diamonds I have found in the snow …” The princess raised the leather wallet to her lips and kissed it, then gazed at Sophie. “Thank you for coming,” she whispered, and ran lightly to the door.

  The White Dining Room, surely capable of seating at least a hundred diners, was almost entirely empty, apart from a table at which just three places had been set. There were shadows on the walls where paintings had once hung. At the far end of the room, snow had blown through a hole in a high, broken window and lay in a drift on the dark floorboards. Candles guttered in the candelabrum, the wax already dripping down onto the curved silver branches.

  “This place is so run-down.” Marianne leaned across to speak to Sophie and Delphine, dropping her voice as Ivan glanced around. “I suppose the princess has lost all her money.”

  Delphine shook her head. “She must have money,” she said. “Did you see her dress?”

  Marianne shrugged her reply.

  Delphine said, “That dress was expensive. Definitely haute couture.”

  “Perhaps she’s too cheap to do the place up,” Marianne said as she picked up a large starched linen napkin and put it on her lap.

  Sophie watched as Ivan moved silver dishes around on a large sideboard. She wondered about the other servants he had mentioned. And could a princess, could this princess, be cheap? She didn’t want to think it of her, just as she didn’t want to think of Prince Vladimir dying like a coward.

  “If the palace has been empty for so long,” Sophie said, “and if the princess has only just returned … perhaps she hasn’t had time to make any repairs.” She looked at the faded pattern on the walls.

  “You can tell she’s a princess,” Delphine said, glancing across at Ivan’s back. “Just by the way she looks. Did you see her rings? But I wonder why she wants to live here. She’d have much more fun in Saint Petersburg.”

  “Perhaps she doesn’t want fun,” Sophie said.

  “What else could she want?” Delphine looked around, her quick gaze taking in the almost empty, no longer grand room.

  “I like the way that everything was once so beautiful, but now it’s so neglected and sad. It seems so much more romantic that way,” Sophie said, more to herself. “And the story of the last Volkonskys. I wonder how the princess and the child survived in the forest?” She couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it.

  “But what’s the point of being a princess,” Delphine said, “unless you winter in Gstaad and spend the summer on Cap Ferrat? Who’s going to see you here? There’s no point.”

  “Not everyone is interested in ‘being seen,’ Delphine,” Marianne said, sounding peevish.

  But Sophie thought Delphine had a point. It must be a strange existence living in so isolated a place. Perhaps not if you were Marianne and interested in books. Sophie knew she would be happy here, too — there was so much to discover, so much history, and the park was beautiful. She could walk for hours in the snow. But the princess? What could have made such a woman come back to live alone in this ruined palace? She seemed so alive, so vibrant, the sort of woman who could enter a room and have everyone under her spell. Sophie could just imagine her in Saint Petersburg, at the heart of the city.

  She picked up a spoon. It had the head of an animal engraved on it, not a lion or a dog … another wolf, perhaps. Sophie thought that it must be things like these that had drawn the princess away from life in Saint Petersburg. The knowledge that she belonged to a family who had wolves engraved on the cutlery. She didn’t think she would ever feel that way about Rosemary’s flat. Her guardian was suspicious of anything ornate.

  “You have found the wolf!” Ivan smiled.

  “Is it the family crest?” Delphine peered at her spoon. “There’s a family I know in Paris who have porcupines on everything!”

  “Why did they choose a wolf?” Sophie asked.

  “For the Volkonskys, it is like a signature,” Ivan explained. “Instead of writing their name, they use the symbol of the wolf head.” He smiled at Sophie. “If you look around the palace, you will find wolves carved into the moldings, their paws cast in bronze as door handles … those that weren’t stolen …”

  “The nursery door,” Sophie said. “I saw it! And on the train. But why a wolf?” She looked more closely at the animal. His mouth was open and his teeth were bared in a snarl. He didn’t look at all friendly.

  “That’s what Volkonsky means!” Ivan said. He brought a large tureen and bowls to the table.

  “So the Princess Volkonskaya is a wolf princess,” Sophie murmured.

  “There’s a wolf on the china, too,” said Marianne.

  “The white wolves of the Volkonskys,” Ivan whispered. “Guardians of the palace.” Then he stopped, as if he had said too much.

  “Guardians?” Sophie felt a thrilling sense of terror. For her, the word guardian meant Rosemary. How much more extraordinary to have a guardian who was a wolf! She traced the shape of the animal’s head on her bowl with her finger.

  “After the prince was shot” — Ivan looked uncomfortable — “as the soldiers set about destroying the beauty of the palace, the wolves came in and took their revenge. Not many soldiers survived that night.”

  Marianne shivered. “I’m not keen on wolves,” she whispered.

  “It all happened so long ago,” Ivan reassured her, ladling ruby-colored soup into Sophie’s bowl. “You have nothing to fear now.”

  Sophie picked up the heavy metal spoon and dipped it into the middle of the soup. She took a sip. It was warm, sweet, smoky.

  “What is it?” she asked Ivan as he ladled more of the soup into Delphine’s bowl and then Marianne’s. “I’ve never had this before.”

  “It is borscht,” he said. “Beet soup. The princess wants you to taste a real Russian feast!” He moved cutlery and glasses around with quiet, controlled movements. The room began to fold in around them, as if it were able to welcome them as warmly as any person. Was it the deliciousness of the soup, or the softness of the candlelight, or the heavy tiredness in her bones that made Sophie feel so comfortable?

  “Canis lupus linnaeus.” Marianne stared straight ahead, her eyes unfocused.

  “Canis whatus?” Delphine said.

  “Canis lupus linnaeus,” Marianne repeated. “It’s the Latin name for wolf. Millie Dresser did a project on wolves for Life Sciences.” She shook her head. “But she’s so lazy, she didn’t bother to find any proper information.” She put her soupspoon down in her empty bowl. “It was all just drawings.” She chewed her lip, sounding mystified. “But I do remember
she’d found out the Latin name and written that in mad, squirrelly writing, to cover more of the paper. And she wrote that each wolf has its own howl, like a signature, or a fingerprint.” She closed one eye as she tried to remember. “Their fur is called a ‘pelage.’” She opened her eye. “And they are intelligent hunters that can kill their prey with ruthless efficiency.”

  “Millie Dresser wrote all that?” Sophie said, surprised.

  “I don’t believe it,” Delphine said.

  They looked at each other and laughed, reminded of the hapless Millie Dresser and her attempts to fool the teachers. London felt a long way away. And less real than the place they were now. It felt good to be here, together, after their long journey, with Ivan taking such attentive care of them. Sophie felt her limbs become heavier as she allowed herself to relax in the certainty that all was as it should be.

  Someone had been in their room: The furs and quilts had been turned back and nightgowns laid out.

  Their luggage from the train had been put in a neat pile. Delphine started to unpack. “I don’t think I brought any trousers suitable for skating,” she said. “If only I’d brought those camel cords!”

  Drowsy from their meal and tired after the excitement of arrival, Marianne and Sophie undressed quietly. Delphine took off the silver sarafan and laid it on Sophie’s bed.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. “Although I’m not sure it made any difference.” She gave Sophie an appraising look. “The princess and you … I can’t figure it out.”

  Sophie climbed into her narrow bed. “I like it here,” she said. The sheets had little specks of black on them, damp spots, although they were clean and well aired. “I know it’s not grand anymore … but that makes it feel more like a home.”