The Wolf Princess

by Cathryn Constable

  “I’m sorry,” Sophie said.

  “Not as sorry as me.” The princess chewed her lip and stared hard at Sophie. “Sometimes I think it would be better for everyone if there were not even one Volkonsky left. Perhaps things would be simpler …”

  “You mustn’t say that!”

  “You are right.” The princess inclined her head. “I must not say that. They might hear me.” She glanced up at the massed ranks of Volkonskys. “But don’t you think there comes a time when a family should just cease to be? A time when they have outlived their usefulness? Why shouldn’t the Volkonskys move over and let someone else have a chance?”

  As she said the words move over, she gave Sophie a little shove. It was so unexpected that Sophie’s candle tilted and hot wax splashed onto her hand.

  “But Princess!”

  “Let me introduce you,” she went on, ignoring Sophie’s protest.

  Sophie looked around at the hundreds of portraits. “You know who they all are?”

  “I know they’re all related to the last Volkonsky princess.”

  “To you,” Sophie whispered.

  “Is there another princess in the room?” There was a teasing note in her voice. “But tell me … which do you like the best?”

  Sophie walked through the gallery, staring up at the portraits. She came to a stop by a picture of a young man with dark hair brushed across a high forehead, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He stood in a frogged military uniform, long-limbed and relaxed but with an easy confidence. A saber was looped to the side of his breeches.

  Covering the portrait was a mass of bullet holes.

  “Yes, Sophie,” the princess breathed. “Our brave Prince Vladimir.”

  So this was the young, brave prince. He had the softest, kindest face, Sophie thought. No trace of hardness or ruthlessness in those eyes. The way the prince’s head was tilted, as if he had just heard something interesting, reminded her of her father’s photograph, the one on her windowsill at school. Sophie had the unsettling notion that perhaps this painted prince could hear anything she said.

  “Do you think he was handsome?” the princess asked her.

  Sophie said, “I’m not sure …”

  “Does he remind you of anyone?”

  Sophie stepped right up to the portrait. She could now distinguish the brushstrokes that made up his mustache, the dabs of pigment that flushed his cheeks. She gingerly put a finger up to the holes in the canvas. How many bullets there had been! She could have told the princess that something in his appearance reminded her of her father, but she knew that would sound ridiculous. Her father, an English poet, and a not very successful one at that, had nothing to do with this brave Russian soldier.

  “He doesn’t remind me of anyone,” she said, shaking her head. “But then, he’s not likely to. I don’t know many Russian princes who were murdered in front of their own paintings.”

  Next to this portrait was another one, equally large, with a sheet hanging over it.

  “They were painted as a pair,” the princess said, and snatched at the sheet. She watched Sophie’s face closely as the painting was revealed.

  It was a portrait of a woman in a simple white gown — but the face had been cut out with ugly slashes. All that could be seen above the dress were tendrils of dark blonde hair and a rope of heavy gray diamonds that hung around the woman’s neck all the way down to her waist. The necklace was so long it had been looped up to the side.

  Marianne and Delphine had caught up with them.

  “What happened to her face?” Delphine cried.

  “What a horrible thing to do,” Marianne said.

  So this was the young woman Masha had called the wolf princess, Sophie thought. The young woman who had been brought to the palace as a young girl, nursed a wolf, and married a prince. How could anyone be so cruel? Sophie sensed a savage anger behind the slashes.

  “I can understand it,” the princess whispered. “The rage that someone else could be so rich. Why wouldn’t you want to cut their face out of a painting?”

  “It wouldn’t get you very far,” Marianne said primly.

  The princess shrugged as if she thought Marianne’s logic of no interest. She came closer and traced the rope of diamonds around the painted neck. “Imagine what one could do with those,” she whispered. “A rope of diamonds long enough to hang a man. They would fetch a fortune.” A single, sudden tear welled up in her eye and splashed onto her cheek. She put a diamond-laden finger up to the corner of her eye. “Oh, what’s the use! They’ll never be found.”

  The three girls looked at each other, horrified.

  “Please don’t cry, Princess,” Sophie said, touching her arm.

  “But the lost Volkonsky diamonds! She didn’t take them with her! They’re here … somewhere! They have to be!”

  She turned to face Sophie, a stricken expression on her face. “I’m in such trouble,” she whispered. “Don’t you see?”

  Sophie felt a chill crawl across her shoulders.

  “What do you mean?” Marianne said.

  “You’re a princess.” Delphine sounded confused. “You’re a beautiful princess. How could you be in trouble?”

  “I owe a lot of money,” she whispered, “which now I must pay. I had hoped for more time … just a little more time. But the general will soon be here … He gave me a lot of money to search for the Volkonsky fortune. Oh yes. You need money to find money. I had to pay people for documents, bribe officials to ensure their loyalty. And it was all for nothing. I promised the general everything I have, everything I don’t have … but it isn’t enough. He is not a patient man.”

  Sophie saw a patch of red appear on the princess’s cheek. She was appalled.

  “But you can sell some paintings!” Marianne said. “People pay a lot for old paintings, don’t they?”

  The princess shook her head, twisting the diamond rings on her hand. “The paintings here are worthless. There is nothing else here I can sell. And I have run out of time.”

  “But there must be something you can do!” Sophie said. She looked at the two portraits, one slashed by a saber, the other ripped by bullet holes. Perhaps the Volkonskys were unlucky or cursed, she thought. You heard of families like that: whole generations lost or ruined due to one mishap, one mistake, which, even though small, was like a compass error, and just became greater with each passing generation. Was the beautiful Princess Anna Feodorovna fated never to find happiness?

  The princess stepped toward the portrait and put a shaking finger up to the damaged canvas. The squares of gray oil paint had been enlivened by dots of white to replicate the diamonds’ lazy sparkle.

  “Where are they?” she whispered. “Princess Volkonskaya … please … tell me! Where are your diamonds? If you won’t tell me where you hid them, I will look just like you. Not so beautiful then …” She turned to Sophie, anger and desperation in her eyes. “Why can’t you help me?”

  “Me? But what can I do?” Sophie said, shrinking, and watched the princess’s expression turn ugly.

  “You really do know nothing,” she said. “You’re no use to me.”

  “Princess!” They turned and saw Ivan in the doorway. He had smoothed his hair and his jacket was properly buttoned now.

  “Is it time?”

  Ivan nodded. “He is here.”

  The princess didn’t move. It was as if she had been paralyzed. “Already?”

  Ivan nodded again. He looked almost as desperate as the princess. What was it about the general’s arrival, Sophie wondered, that could have upset both of them so much?

  A door slammed below.

  “Anna!” A man’s voice bellowed out, strong, sonorous. “Ann-aaaaaa!”

  Sophie saw the princess put her hand to her chest as if to calm herself. She glanced back at the portrait of the last Princess Volkonskaya and her lost diamonds. Then, taking a deep breath, she walked unsteadily toward the door. Ivan offered her his arm, but she pushed him away and disappe
ared into the gloom of the palace beyond.

  At the bottom of the broad stairs, a man in gray military uniform waited. He stood with his legs planted slightly apart, as impregnable as a gun battery. He took off his cap and gloves, put the gloves into his upturned cap, and smoothed his black hair with his hand. The light from the muslined chandelier fell onto the floor at the man’s feet. He could have been standing in snow. He tapped his foot, impatient.

  Sophie, Delphine, and Marianne looked over the balcony and down into the atrium.

  “He’s very handsome,” Delphine whispered.

  “They suit each other,” Marianne replied.

  “General!” The princess ran down the stairs to join him, her voice light and trembling. Ivan followed slowly. He looked wary of the general, Sophie thought. But protective of the princess, too: His hand kept moving toward the top of his hip in a practiced gesture, as if he might still find his soldier’s pistol there.

  “Anna! Anna!” the general crooned. “What have you done to me?” His voice was bright, cruel, his English faultless. He stroked the fur draped over the princess’s shoulder, took her hands, and looked at the diamond rings. “Very beautiful,” he smiled, but it was like a salute: something he had learned to do. “I can see that life at the Volkonsky Winter Palace suits you — and that you have been spending my money.”

  The princess snatched her hand away as if she had touched something hot. The general laughed. And then, even though he had not once glanced up and did not appear to have noticed the girls standing in the shadows on the balcony, he looked up now and stared straight at Sophie.

  “Don’t sulk! Don’t hide! Come down!” he cried.

  The girls looked at each other. They knew already he was the sort of man who gave orders and expected to see them carried out quickly. They walked down the stairs toward him.

  The general put his arm around the princess. “Anna Feodorovna is the only woman in Russia who could make me travel so far!” He squeezed her shoulder and she winced. “I swear! No other woman in all of Russia can command General Grekov!”

  “Grigor,” the princess whispered. “Please … I hate it when you make fun of me.”

  The man ignored her; he seemed to enjoy showing off to the girls, displaying his power over the princess. “She snaps her fingers, stamps her foot. I say … ‘Woman! I have wars to fight! Do you think I can divert my military train just to pay you a visit?’” He laughed, dropped his arm, and stepped away. “But what am I to do? When Anna Feodorovna summons me, I must come!”

  He took a deep breath, expanded his chest, and seemed to fill more than the space surrounding him. He surveyed the atrium with a long, appraising stare and said, “So! This is the magnificent Volkonsky Winter Palace that I have been told so much about!” He sauntered over to a large gilt mirror, its glass mottled and watery. He leaned closer to his own reflection. “She promises me bears and wolves and diamonds!” He turned around. “But so far all I find are three schoolgirls!”

  He strolled toward them.

  “You must be our French guest,” he said to Delphine. “Just as I imagined you would be … very stylish.”

  Delphine flushed. She was about to speak, but the man had already taken Marianne’s hand, raising it to his lips in an old-fashioned gesture of courtesy. Marianne, flustered, grabbed it back.

  “Marianne? The clever one!” He laughed. “It’s the glasses! They give you away!” Marianne blinked and moved closer to Delphine.

  “So this …” He took a step back, as if to admire a painting. “This is the enigma! The famous Sophie Smith!” He reached over and pinched her cheek. Sophie flinched. On his fingers was the perfume of a heavy eau de cologne. With a shock she saw that his eyes were only pupils, with no color. “Not much to look at and all alone in the world, with no one to protect her.” He brushed a speck of dust from his immaculate jacket.

  Sophie felt her heart in her throat. This man was dangerous. A wolf.

  He turned his head slightly toward the princess. “I hear from my associate that three girls have arrived at the Volkonsky Winter Palace as guests of the Princess Anna Feodorovna Volkonskaya.” He stopped for a moment, as if he might have expected someone to speak. “I await a telephone call to invite me to the party.” He stared at the princess.

  “I don’t have any information for you,” the princess said.

  “But they have been here for over twenty-four hours!”

  “I haven’t found —”

  The man’s voice cut across. “If she knows nothing” — he frowned — “why is she still your guest?”

  Why was the general so interested in their arrival? Sophie thought. And who was the associate who had given him the information? She looked at her friends, but Delphine shrugged and Marianne shook her head to show that they, too, were unsure of what was happening in front of them.

  Ivan stepped out of the shadows, glancing at Sophie anxiously.

  “Ivan!” the general cried. “The war veteran! Our noble hero!”

  “That’s enough, Grigor,” the princess snapped. “He has helped me.”

  “Don’t worry, Ivan!” the general said. “I am here now! The princess will be properly looked after.”

  Ivan glared at the man. “I have looked after her properly — and our guests.”

  Sophie wanted to agree, but her voice seemed to have stuck in her throat.

  “But it’s just a joke.” Then the general frowned. “Forgotten something, hussar?”

  Ivan stood to attention and saluted. The action was swift and assured, but his eyes were dead.

  The general nodded and turned to the princess. “You have it? I’ve come a long way, and I don’t want my journey to be wasted.”

  “I have all the paperwork,” she said. She tilted her chin up, a defiant expression on her face.

  The man roared with laughter. “Anna … Anna …” he cried. “Do you think I’ve traveled a thousand miles for paper? No. You’d better have something more substantial to show me.” He leaned toward her. “The diamonds, Anna. You promised me diamonds.”

  “You didn’t give me enough time —”

  “Ah yes! Time!”

  Sophie edged closer to Marianne and Delphine. She wanted to tell this man to stop, but even as she formed that thought she felt powerless. She knew she wasn’t brave enough to make him stop, and even if she tried, he would simply ignore her and carry on.

  “You sound like a dying man on a battlefield!” The general smiled callously. “Faced with a rifle and certain death, they all cry out for more time!”

  Sophie knew he was wrong. What about Prince Vladimir Volkonsky? When faced with those soldiers in the gallery, he hadn’t asked for more time. He had been happy to give his life, to save his family. But against words like family and love, the general would set power and money. She knew there was no point saying anything to this man whose gaze swept now across the faces of the girls. In his cold eyes, Sophie saw the expression of some ancient, ruthless god who blighted lives for amusement. Trying to change his mind would be like trying to change the course of an avalanche with a teaspoon. She took all of this in very quickly, just as she had understood the nature of the wolf at the lake.

  “I should have given the job to Galina Starova,” the general hissed. “Far more reliable. Far more ruthless.”

  Galina Starova? What was she to the general? Sophie looked at Marianne, but neither she nor Delphine appeared to have heard what the general had said. Had she even heard it?

  “Let’s find a quiet corner, Princess …” General Grekov spat the title. “We can discuss business matters more easily in private.”

  He linked his arm through the princess’s and steered her up the broad staircase toward the White Dining Room.

  “Bring me food, brave hussar!” he called out. “Traveling makes me hungry!”

  Ivan’s eyes were fixed on the retreating form of the princess.

  “I can’t hear you, Ivan!” the general jeered.

  “Yes. Sir!
” Ivan cried out. He looked toward the girls, his kind face pained. “Why did she bring him here?”

  “Did she bring him here, though?” Sophie whispered. “It looks more as if he just decided to arrive.”

  Marianne added, “He doesn’t look like the type who would wait for an invitation.”

  The general’s voice floated down the stairs. “Little English girls?” It had a sickening singsong tone to it. “No plotting! Come in here and sing for the grown-ups!”

  The girls walked slowly back up the stairs, candles flickering around them.

  “And anyway,” said Marianne, “why should Sophie know anything about the Volkonskys?” She sounded as confused as Sophie felt.

  Sophie glanced down the corridor toward the gallery. The door was still open. Where were the white wolves now? The princess needed her protectors. But somehow she knew that even that savage creature she had seen at the lake would not be enough to save the princess from this man.

  The princess sat next to the general at the far end of the table. He played with a knife while he waited for his food. The princess looked sullen and moody. Her face is no longer beautiful, Sophie thought.

  “She is in trouble,” Marianne whispered. “She’s done something wrong.”

  “I wouldn’t want to make the general angry,” Delphine added under her breath.

  “Don’t stand in the doorway whispering!” the general cried. “I don’t like females who talk in quiet voices. It makes me feel they’re plotting!” He turned to the princess. “Anna knows I believe in openness and honesty. Anything she says or does must be seen and heard by me …”

  The princess stared at Sophie as if she wanted her to say something to the general. But what? What could Sophie say that would make this man leave them alone?

  Ivan appeared with a large silver tray.

  “At last!” the general cried, even though Ivan had been gone only a matter of minutes. His expression as Ivan started to unload plates onto the table in front of him was one of contempt. Sophie wondered how Ivan could bear serving such a man. She felt she would have been tempted to let the food spill all over his perfectly pressed gray trousers.