Miss Blaine's Prefect and the Golden Samovar

by Olga Wjotas

  “But I’m your serf, madam, and I must do as you say,” she announced. It was the first I’d heard of it. “Although it would ease my conscience if you were to give me another three roubles.”

  I produced a single note from my reticule and handed it over. “Three roubles now, three roubles once we get there and you convince them I’m a mate of the countess’s.”

  “That’s not fair!” she whined, and I was obliged to point out that nobody said life would be fair. The deal was duly agreed.

  “And not a word to anyone,” I warned. “This trip is secret.”

  The maid pouted. “You want me to keep my mouth shut? That’s worth another twenty kopecks.”

  It was verging on blackmail, but I was depending on her silence. I dropped a coin into her outstretched hand. And then another thought struck me. “Do you know how to get in touch with Sasha, the countess’s protégé?”

  She sniggered. Nobody seemed to appreciate my perfect French accent. “Of course.”

  “Great. Could you go and give him my best wishes for a speedy recovery?”

  She gasped. “Why, what’s happened to him?”

  It was better not to mention Old Vatrushkin. There was enough strain between him and the maid already. I explained Sasha had been in a bit of a collision with a wall. The maid screamed.

  “I must go to him!” she yowled as she rushed off. It was quite refreshing to see her doing what she was told for once.

  I changed my clothes by myself and then went to find Old Vatrushkin. That was the next problem. He didn’t want me to go out. Not ever. He wanted me to stay behind locked doors while he stood ready to protect me. And he was still distraught at not having protected me earlier and begged my forgiveness. First, I told him that there was nothing to forgive, but he wouldn’t accept that. Then I told him I forgave him, but he wouldn’t accept that either. Eventually, I just had to shout at him, and he relaxed a bit.

  “But please, your excellency, be careful,” he said as we set off. It struck me that he was the second person that day to have told me that.

  I geared myself up to avoid making rash promises about Lidia not dancing with anyone but the general, but when we got to Lidia’s, there was no sign of Nanny.

  “She’s behaving very strangely,” sighed Lidia. “She told me she couldn’t talk to me, and when I told her she could always talk to me, she said I was the stupidest chicken she had ever met, and ran off to her room.”

  So that had worked out well. And when we got to the concert hall, the posters announced that the avant-garde composer whom the princess had been avoiding was Beethoven. Not only that, but he was conducting this performance of his Fifth Symphony. I felt quite faint with excitement. I’m a total fangirl when it comes to Ludwig van – have been since I learned to play Für Elise at the age of five. Any thought of my mission went clean out of my head. All I wanted to do was immerse myself in sublime music.

  “This is going to be really brilliant,” I told Lidia as we made our way to our seats. “You’ll love Beethoven. He’s got great hair.” When we walked through the door into the imperial box, it was like emerging on to a film set. The light from the auditorium was practically blinding, and the hubbub from all the concert-goers was practically deafening. Everybody turned to see who had arrived.

  Lidia shrank back, daunted by the exposure, and grabbed a chair by the door where she was concealed by the curtain. As a stalwart of the school dramatic society, I was unfazed, and pulled my chair to the front of the box. The young wives waved and nudged their husbands, who bowed respectfully. In a box straight across from me was the countess, who shielded her face with an ostentatious flourish of her fan so that she didn’t have to acknowledge me. And there, sitting beside her, was not the count, but Sasha, thankfully looking none the worse for his encounter with Old Vatrushkin. He deftly shifted his seat behind the countess and gave me a discreet nod, along with a gloriously forgiving smile. Equally discreetly, I waggled my fingers at him as though I was adjusting my coiffure.

  A formally dressed gentleman appeared on stage and the noise died down.

  “I am the bearer of bad news,” he said. “The orchestra will no longer be conducted by Maestro van Beethoven. He has failed to arrive, and although we sent messengers to his rooms, there was no reply.”

  What did you expect, I felt like shouting. He’s deaf – he can’t hear them. I would have offered to go myself and climb through his window, but the orchestra was already filing in. I was thrilled to see contrabassoons, whose first symphonic use was in the premiere of Beethoven’s Fifth in 1808.

  I settled down to enjoy the concert, but I was the only one. Everybody kept on chatting, paying no attention to the glorious music. Well, maybe not that glorious since I felt the conductor’s artistic interpretation was very pedestrian, and he’d got the second violins too loud. But I still wanted to listen to the symphony rather than other people’s conversations.

  “What are you doing?” asked Lidia in a perplexed tone.

  “Ssh,” I whispered. “I’m listening to the music. Don’t talk until they stop playing.”

  The next thing she did was stand up and wave her arms about. This was definitely the last time I was taking her to a concert if she couldn’t behave. I turned round myself to remonstrate with her and found Sasha standing there, holding the thick yellow curtain cord.

  Other people might be philistines but there was no way I could bring myself to natter during a concert. I shepherded Lidia and Sasha out into the corridor and closed the door behind us. I was going to miss the contrabassoons, which perform only in the Finale, but that couldn’t be helped.

  “Shona Fergusovna!” Sasha gave me his most radiant smile. He really was stunning. “And Lidia Ivanovna! Excuse me, Lidia Ivanovna, I did not know you were here with Shona Fergusovna. I took advantage of the music to slip away from the countess in order to reply to Shona Fergusovna’s kind enquiry about my health.”

  Of course he had been obliged to do it surreptitiously. The countess would be livid if she thought he was talking to me.

  “I hope you’re feeling better,” I said.

  “All the better for seeing you,” he said, bowing to us both to indicate he wasn’t just referring to me. This was encouraging.

  “I’m sure you’re even happier to see Lidia Ivanovna since the princess never gave you a chance to chat to her earlier,” I said. I gave her a nod, encouraging her to join in the conversation.

  “What were you doing?” She pointed to the curtain cord.

  He looked down at it as though seeing it for the first time. “Oh, this? When I came into the box, I saw it had fallen down from the curtain, and I picked it up in case someone tripped over it. There have been too many accidents today.”

  “There certainly have,” I said. “That was very thoughtful. Since we’re all out here, why don’t we go and beat the crowds for an interval drink?”

  “I think I would like to go home,” said Lidia. “I am not used to all these crowds.”

  “Don’t be silly,” I said. “We’ve got a party to go to. Sasha, would you like to come with us?”

  That heart-stopping smile again. “I can think of nothing I would rather do, but of course I must escort the countess.”

  “We’ll see you there,” I said. We might as well move on. The concert was a wash-out with all the chatting. Not to mention the second violins.

  When we were settled in the drozhky, I slyly asked Lidia what she thought of Sasha. She grimaced.

  “Are you all right?” I asked in concern. “Some bad borshch?”

  She shook her head. “I am quite well, thank you.”

  “That’s good. So, what about Sasha, then?”

  “There’s something about him,” she said slowly.

  “Yes, isn’t there?” I agreed. “He’s so handsome. And I’m sure he thinks you’re very beautiful.” I gl
anced at her perfect profile, her alabaster skin. Their kids would be adorable.

  “Shona Fergusovna,” she said, “I didn’t notice the curtain cord on the floor.”

  “Neither did I,” I said. “Thank goodness Sasha did. He’s very observant. He notices you, you know. I wouldn’t be surprised if he asks you to dance this evening.”

  “Nanny would not wish me to dance with him,” she said. “I may only dance with the general. Perhaps tonight he will ask me to marry him.”

  “Please don’t do anything rash,” I begged. “If the general asks you, tell him you want some time to think about it. And if anyone else asks you to dance, it would be rude to refuse.”

  She squeezed my hand affectionately. “I do not understand why I should delay accepting the general. But I know your celestial wisdom far exceeds mine and of course I shall obey.”

  The princess’s palace was full of footmen. It was impossible to avoid them. They followed you with chairs, in case you needed a sit-down between the door and the staircase, or on each stair, or between the landing and the nearest sofa. They came at you from all angles with trays of champagne, hors d’oeuvres, ices. The princess attempted a grand entrance from the other side of the ballroom, but there was such a press of footmen that it was difficult to see her, apart from her elaborate pink ostrich-feather headdress bobbing over them.

  After we had exchanged princessly greetings and she had gone to speak to humbler guests, I deposited Lidia with a group of young wives who went into ecstasies over the fashionable shade of her latest fichu and wanted ones just the same.

  Then I lay in wait for the general, and as soon as he arrived, I suggested a nice game of cards and propelled him into the card room.

  The countess’s cadaverous husband was already sitting at one of the tables. “Ah, General,” he drawled. “What is it to be? Boston or piquet?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to learn a new game?” I asked. “How about I teach you animal snap?”

  The count looked down his patrician nose at me as though I had suggested passing the port to the right rather than the left. “Surely you are not joining us, Princess Tamsonova?”

  “Sure am!” I said with my best smile, sitting down beside him. And then to my dismay, I saw that Sasha had come into the card room as well, when he was supposed to be dancing with Lidia.

  “Count!” he said. “I have the honour of bringing you a message from your wife.”

  That woman had a genius for getting in the way.

  The count grunted.

  “She wishes you to know that she will wait in the ballroom until you are ready to go.”

  The count grunted again. What sort of a message was that for the countess to send, anyway? Utterly pointless. I picked up the fresh pack of cards on the table and began shuffling them energetically, to allow Sasha to go back to the ballroom.

  But instead he said, “May I make up a foursome?”

  He was acting with his usual courtesy. A lot of games require four players and he thought we wouldn’t be able to start without him. He wasn’t to know that you can play animal snap with any number from two upwards. He had already sat down, and it would have sounded rude for me to send him away. I also couldn’t tell him to go and dance with Lidia in front of the general. All I could do was to try to get the game finished as quickly as possible.

  “Right,” I said, “same rules as snap except different. When you see a card of the same number, you don’t shout ‘snap’, you shout the animal noise of whoever played the two cards. To save time, I’ll give you your animals. General, you’re a lion, so you go roar. Count, you’re a sheep so you go baa. Sasha, you’re a wolf, so you go aaawoo, and I’m a frog, so I go ribbit.”

  “Why am I a sheep?” demanded the count.

  “Surely it is much more appropriate that I am the sheep,” said Sasha deferentially. “I beg you to be the wolf.”

  The count gave a curt nod.

  “So are we clear about the rules?” I said. “If I put down a seven and the general puts down a seven, what do we say?”

  “Aaawoo,” said the count.

  “No, we say the animal noises of the people who put down the cards. It’s me and the general, so it’s–?”

  “Roar ribbit!” cried the general.

  “Very good. Right noises, but not quite in the right order. I played the first card and the general played the second card, so–?”

  “Ribbit roar?” said Sasha.

  “Excellent!” I said, briskly dealing the cards.

  “What are the stakes?” asked the general.

  “Ten thousand roubles,” said the count.

  I had to intervene, or Sasha would be dragged into financial disaster. “This is just a friendly, since it’s a new game for you all. The winner gets a free glass of champagne from the next passing footman. And so do the losers. Except me, of course. I’ll just have a glass of tea.”

  We started playing. After a few rounds, the general played an ace and the count played an ace. I paused to let them shout out. Nothing happened. “Roar aaawoo,” I prompted.

  “Ah!” said the count. “So when a card is repeated, we make the noise of the people who played the cards.”

  The count definitely hadn’t had the finest education in the world. “Yes, that’s it,” I said wearily.

  The game resumed.

  “Shona Fergusovna,” whispered Sasha. “I think I saw you drop a card.”

  I bent down and looked. “I can’t see anything.”

  “Count, General, perhaps it landed on your side of the table?”

  They bent down as well, but even though the general was nearer the floor than the rest of us, no card could be found.

  “Forgive me, it must have been a trick of the light,” said Sasha.

  He had just played a ten and the count put down another ten. I couldn’t believe it. The card the count played was quite clearly from another pack of cards entirely. “Baa aoooo!” he said in triumph.

  I wasn’t having that.

  “Count!” I remonstrated. “You great big cheat!”

  It was as though I’d said something dreadful. The horror in the room was practically palpable. All of the players at the other tables dropped their cards, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

  The count jumped to his feet, overturning his chair. “What did you say?” he hissed, his thin lips white.

  He needn’t think he could intimidate me. When you’ve survived a bollocking from a Marcia Blaine maths teacher, you can survive anything.

  “I said you’re a great big cheat.” I picked up the offending card and flapped it in his face. “Look, it’s not even from the same deck.”

  “I played,” the count snarled, “from the cards you dealt me.”

  The players at the other tables got up and began edging out of the room.

  “Clearly not,” I said. “And this is not at all sportsmanlike. But if you apologise and promise not to do it again, I’m prepared to let you back in the game.”

  The count’s pale face flushed. “If you were not a woman, I would horsewhip you.”

  I was about to invite him to come and have a go if he thought he was hard enough when the general intervened.

  “How dare you insult a lady!” He stretched up and swatted at the count with a glove, managing to hit his upper arm.

  “Forgive me, Count. If you would oblige me?” he murmured.

  “Of course, General.”

  The count bent down and the general whacked him across the face with the glove.

  “Thank you, Count.”

  “Not at all, General.”

  “And who is your second?”

  The count looked round without any great interest, and fixed on Sasha. “This young man will do as well as anybody. And you, General?”

  I felt I owed the general a debt. “I’l
l be his second,” I volunteered.

  “You?” Contempt dripped from the count’s tongue.

  “Yes, me. Got a problem with that? Is it the woman thing again? We’re not in the dark ages any more. This is 18–” I looked round hopefully to see if someone would complete the date for me, but nobody did. “Anyway, these are modern times. I presume, General, that you’ve got no objection?”

  The general hesitated. “It’s not usual.” Then he beamed. “But no, I have no objection.”

  “Then the two seconds will sort out the arrangements for the field of honour tomorrow morning,” snapped the count.

  My extensive reading hadn’t covered this. “I don’t know what to do,” I said. “Sasha, how about you?”

  Sasha gave a gracefully apologetic bow. “I’m afraid I have never been involved in a duel.”

  “I’ve been involved in hundreds,” snorted the count. “And I’ve always won.”

  “I’ve been involved in hundreds as well,” said the general. “And I’ve always won.”

  “That’s handy,” I said. “So you’ll be able to tell us what to do.”

  “The most important thing is secrecy,” said the general. “At all costs, we must avoid discovery by the authorities.”

  It was just as well that all the other card players had disappeared.

  “I favour the secluded glade in the forest on the edge of town,” said the general.

  “That is one of my favourite duelling locations,” agreed the count. “Would eight in the morning be convenient?”

  “It’s already quite late, and we must get some sleep, so perhaps ten past?”

  “Of course. I am entirely at your disposal.”

  They were so matey that they seemed to have forgotten that some of us still weren’t up to speed.

  “General, I’ve no idea where you’re going – can I come with you?” I asked. “And do I have to bring anything?”

  He shook his head. “I shall bring a brace of pistols and I assume the count will do the same.”

  The count inclined his head.

  “All that the seconds need do is check the weapons and attempt to effect a reconciliation,” the general added.