Miss Blaine's Prefect and the Golden Samovar

by Olga Wjotas

  I noticed a bit of scorching to his hair and beard.

  “In any event,” he went on, “I am very glad that your excellency had gone out before the fire began. I rushed to get the repair work done before you returned.”

  There was no need to go into what had happened: he would only get upset.

  “I can see you’ve done a grand job,” I said, and nodded to the man he had been talking to. “Is this a serf friend of yours?” I asked Old Vatrushkin. “Should I give him three roubles?”

  The dark-haired man spat out a short phrase, which I recognised first as Italian and secondly as extremely rude.

  “Wretch!” roared Old Vatrushkin. “How dare you use language like that in front of her excellency!”

  “I’ll use whatever language I like. I’m a freeborn Milanese, a master craftsman, not a serf,” said the man, still in Italian.

  This could give me a clue as to the date.

  “Tell me, have you had a Risorgimento yet?” I asked, also in Italian.

  The Milanese ignored my question. “Lady, you aristocrats make me sick,” he said.

  “Hold on a minute,” I said. “I’m no aristocrat. I’m a woman of the people.”

  An ornate carriage rolled past and a familiar head appeared. “My dear Princess Tamsonova!” called the princess. “Just heard about young Sasha, dreadful waste – still, plenty more fish in the sea. I’m hosting a small dinner party for a hundred on Thursday and of course you must be the guest of honour.”

  The master craftsman stared at me with loathing.

  “It’s really not how it sounds – funny story – you’ll laugh,” I began, but he interrupted, “You people should go down on your knees in front of your so-called serfs. Old Vatrushkin here has been racing round to hire the finest international craftsmen in town for you. We don’t come cheap in the first place, and for a rush job like this, we charge well over the odds.”

  Old Vatrushkin shook his head. “I hired every local artisan in town as well, and they required very little beyond their usual rates.”

  “He’s paid every one of us out of his own pocket, and now he doesn’t have two kopecks to rub together,” said the Milanese.

  I turned to Old Vatrushkin. “Is this true?”

  He shook his head vigorously. “An outrageous lie. I have nine kopecks left, more than enough for my needs.”

  “Where did you get the money?” I asked.

  “Your excellency has been so generous to me, showering me in kopecks and roubles. I also had a small store of money from selling paintings in Paris.”

  The Milanese, who had boorishly kept his head covered while talking to me, pulled off his cap and bowed to Old Vatrushkin.

  “Even with only nine kopecks, you’re worth ten thousand of her,” he said.

  Old Vatrushkin’s fist landed straight on the master craftsman’s nose. “Ill-mannered cur! You’ve been paid – why are you still hanging around? Crawl back to your gutter.”

  Maybe it was just amoebas and me who were safe with him. Discreetly, I tore off a piece of my underskirt and handed it to the Milanese to staunch his nosebleed.

  “You’d better go,” I whispered. “There’s no reasoning with him when he’s in this sort of mood.”

  The master craftsman staggered off.

  “So,” I said conversationally to Old Vatrushkin, “you speak Italian? I’m impressed.”

  “No, no, no, it’s no achievement on my part,” Old Vatrushkin said. “Once I knew French and Latin, Italian was simplicity itself. Il piacere più nobile è la gioia di comprendere.”

  Leonardo’s apophthegm was extremely apt: the noblest pleasure is indeed the joy of understanding.

  “Maybe it took me a wee while to understand why I was here, but everything’s sorted now,” I said.

  “Not quite, your excellency,” said Old Vatrushkin, tears welling up in his eyes. “Your bedroom is no longer completely wood-panelled. I was unable to locate a craftsman suitably skilled in woodwork to reconstruct it.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” I said. “I know just the person to sort it out.”

  “And . . . and . . .” With an obvious effort, he forced himself to continue. “The golden samovar – for reasons I cannot begin to explain, it was wedged beneath an open window. The eagle’s beak was stuck fast in the wall, and when I attempted to detach it, it – it broke off.”

  “Don’t worry about that either,” I said. “The samovar and the beak served their purpose.”

  “But it is all my fault,” he said. “After you instructed me to stay away, I obeyed for longer than I should have done. I shall never forgive myself. Your beautiful home.”

  “Never mind,” I said. “I don’t expect to be staying here much longer.”

  Old Vatrushkin was immediately alert. “Where are we going, your excellency?”

  He looked so excited that I couldn’t bring myself to tell him he wasn’t going anywhere.

  “First things first,” I said. “I’m throwing a party tomorrow afternoon.”

  “I shall go and get the messages,” he said. “Messages is the boys.”

  “I’m going to have an early night,” I said. “Just bring them in at breakfast time.”

  I watched him leave and then went into the house, relieved that he wouldn’t be with me when I saw the renovations. In those television makeover shows, you can always tell when somebody really hates what’s happened to their house, however much they say it’s lovely.

  But despite having had the mansion renovated at breakneck speed, Old Vatrushkin had brought his painterly eye to bear on everything; each room was an oasis of peace and tranquillity. I particularly liked the hyacinthine colour he had chosen for the salon. I could just imagine it in my kitchen at home.

  Unfortunately, all of the furniture had been destroyed. The salon and the anteroom seemed particularly austere. And then I realised that Old Vatrushkin’s beautiful paintings had also been destroyed. The place cried out for art.

  My gorgeous wood-panelled bedroom was now just an ordinary room. Without a bed. It definitely needed Lidia to restore its xyloid charm. But I can sleep anywhere, a skill I developed during geography lessons. I curled up in the corner and whispered into the ether, “It’s okay, isn’t it, what I’ve arranged with Kirill Kirillovich? After everything that Old Vatrushkin’s done?” I felt a sensation of warmth and comfort and knew that it was indeed okay.

  The next day began with Old Vatrushkin bringing in the messages and cooking utensils. I made him a breakfast fry-up, since it’s only the sedentary twenty-first-century lifestyle that makes it dangerous. Old Vatrushkin burned up calories almost as fast as Sasha had disappeared.

  And over the fried potatoes, I explained that I would sort out the party food, since I had a list of things for him to do in town. I handed him the paper on which I had carefully set out my instructions. He read through it, then rubbed his hand across his forehead.

  “Oh, your excellency,” he said brokenly. “What will I do?”

  “You’ll do what you’re supposed to do,” I snapped. “You’ll obey me without question. Now get on with it while I wash up.”

  There was no cleaning to be done since the house was pristine. So I concentrated on making a batch of rye scones and a celebration cake with a cream cheese filling and “Congratulations on Your Engagement” in cream cheese on the top.

  Mid-morning, my new dress was delivered, sprigged muslin with Brussels lace at the neck and wrists. It was good to change out of the soot-stained one, which still reeked of smoke. I nipped out to give it to the nearest female beggar I could find, but she was less than enthusiastic.

  “I suppose I could turn it into dusters,” she sniffed.

  “Sorry, I thought you were totally destitute. I didn’t realise you had anything to dust,” I said.

  She pointed at the ground where
she was sitting and I saw it was indeed very dusty. I felt glad to have been of help.

  Then, just as I got back to the house, a delivery cart arrived with two sofas. Once the delivery men had installed them in the salon, the foreman hesitantly produced a bill and seemed surprised that I was happy to pay it immediately.

  “And of course it is minus nine kopecks, since your excellency’s serf paid that as a deposit.”

  The first guests to arrive were Lidia, Nanny and Tresorka. I took them into the bedroom, where I explained about the log cabin look and the wooden bed like a sleigh. Lidia, eyes sparkling, wrote down notes and started measuring up.

  There was a knock at the front door. Old Vatrushkin was still out, working through the list I had given him, so I let the general in, and took them all up to the salon for champagne and scones. I got the general to open the bottle, a Jeroboam of Veuve Clicquot.

  “I’m not sure that my little chicken should have any, after all the strong drink she had yesterday,” said Nanny.

  “Darling Nanny!” said Lidia. “It was not strong at all – in fact, I could hardly taste the tea.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t actually offer you any tea,” I said. “There was a bit of a catastrophe with the samovar up here, and I need Old Vatrushkin to help me carry up the big one from the pantry. But I thought since this was a celebration, champagne would be more suitable. Nanny, I’m sure one wee drink won’t hurt her.”

  Grumbling, Nanny poured Lidia a glass.

  “I went to see Kirill Kirillovich, the best lawyer in town, yesterday,” I said. “It turns out that Lidia, as Sasha’s sole remaining blood relative, inherits his entire fortune. And it’s a very considerable fortune, since it includes the fortunes of the count and countess, Madame Potapova, and the field-marshal and admiral’s widows.”

  “Weren’t those wills forgeries?” asked Nanny.

  “Strictly speaking, yes. But the money would otherwise go to the tsar, and nobody wants that. Nanny, you’re going to have several thousand more serfs to manage.”

  “Mercy on us!” said Nanny, looking delighted.

  Lidia blinked. “But I am already one of the wealthiest heiresses in the land,” she said.

  “Well, now you’re even wealthier,” I said. “Obviously, it’s entirely up to you what you do with the money, but if I could make a suggestion, you could maybe reinstate the monthly payments to Sasha’s adoptive parents. It would be a nice way to commemorate him, and it would let them keep buying sugar.”

  “Of course!” said Lidia. “Where do they live?”

  “In the village of N–, where you now have an estate. If you’re ever there, you should call in on them. His mum likes having visitors. You can tell her that he died in a tragic accident, but it’s probably best not to mention the pure evil bit. Look out for the priest, though. He’s a bit of a radge.”

  Lidia nodded. “As always, I shall obey your wise words even when I do not entirely understand them.”

  My super-acute hearing caught the sound of the door opening.

  “Back in a second,” I said. “Help yourselves to scones.”

  I ran downstairs and thought for a second that a complete stranger was on the doorstep. Then I realised.

  “Goodness,” I said. “You scrub up well.”

  “Thank you, your excellency,” said Old Vatrushkin. “I scrubbed the soot off the floors and walls as well as I possibly could. It’s good of you to suggest that my efforts have been adequate.”

  “No, it’s just an expression,” I said. “I mean you look – different.”

  It was odd seeing Old Vatrushkin without his long hair, wild beard and moustache, his shabby coat and lamb’s wool cap. But he suited the blue dress-coat and silk cravat, the high boots and the batiste shirt, the close-fitting trousers and the gold watch chain. He had a fine firm jaw and a handsome mouth.

  “How does it feel to be emancipated?” I asked.

  He gave a tentative smile. “Not as bad as I expected, your excellency.”

  I gave him a slap on the shoulder. “Stop that right now. You’re a free man. You don’t call anybody ‘your excellency’. And if you try to call me ‘your excellency’ again, I’ll set Tresorka on you.”

  I escorted him upstairs.

  “Everybody,” I said, “let me introduce my good friend Gregori Gregorievich Vatrushkin who’s very kindly been letting me stay here. He’s the actual owner of this house.”

  “Yes, I have the legal documents to prove it,” Old Vatrushkin said nervously, pulling some papers out of his inside pocket.

  “Gregori Gregorievich is known as a great wit,” I explained and everybody laughed.

  Lidia laughed so much that some champagne went down the wrong way and the general had to reach up and pat her on the back.

  “That was very funny, Gregori Gregorievich,” she said, “when you pretended to produce your title deeds.”

  “Thank you, your–” Old Vatrushkin began.

  “You’re very kind,” I supplied smoothly, giving Old Vatrushkin a warning glare. “He’ll be organising the woodwork side of the renovations, Lidia. I thought you could have a chat with him about that later. But first, let me welcome you all here for this engagement party. This is a happy day, after yesterday, which was a bit fraught. Old Va – old friend, could you see that all our glasses are filled?”

  Old Vatrushkin went round everyone with the Jeroboam.

  “Raise your glasses, please, and let’s drink to the future happiness of the engaged couple. I give you the general and Nanny!”

  “The general and Nanny!” repeated Old Vatrushkin.

  “The general and Nanny!” repeated Lidia, sounding relieved.

  “Me and Nanny?” said the general, sounding surprised.

  “The general and me?” said Nanny, sounding thrilled.

  “Obviously,” I said, looking down at the two tiny figures. “You’re made for one another.”

  It was so sweet the way they could look directly into one another’s eyes without one of them having to crane backwards.

  “Just one thing, Nanny,” I said. “I know you’re very devout. The general is a divorcé.”

  “My wife ran away with a miller,” explained the general. “Well, she didn’t so much run away as float away.”

  “She was a very silly woman then, leaving a lovely man like you,” said Nanny. “Bless your heart, don’t worry about having broken one of the most sacred sacraments. I’m sure we’ve all done worse.”

  “Word of warning,” I said. “I wouldn’t mention the divorce to the priest in the village of N–. But if you ever have any trouble with him, just mention my name.”

  But Nanny wasn’t listening to me. She was gazing straight ahead at the tiny general.

  “I can manage your serfs,” she said. “And knit you curtains.”

  “And I,” said the general, his voice husky, “can give you all the mud you want.”

  “And when you’re in the village of K– you can manage Lidia’s serfs just as easily from there as you can from here,” I said.

  “And the serfs near the village of N– as well,” said Nanny. “Three lots of serfs, imagine! I can knit them all fichus.”

  “When you’re not knitting me curtains,” said the general affectionately. Then his face fell. “My verandah!”

  “I’m sure Lidia will be happy to come for a holiday and sort out your verandah while she’s there,” I said. “Speaking of woodwork, Lidia, isn’t it time you and Gregori Gregorievich had a chat?”

  They withdrew to a corner of the room and were soon deep in conversation, Lidia’s eyes shining as she gazed up at him, Old Vatrushkin’s handsome mouth curved in a smile.

  I sat down on a sofa and let the two couples get to know one another undisturbed. Tresorka hobbled over to me and sat at my feet, tongue hanging out, tail quivering.
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  “Oh, all right,” I said. “Just this once.” I picked him up and let him lie on the sofa. It was an atmosphere of bliss and harmony, and I allowed myself to feel a touch of pride that my mission was going so well.

  Lidia and Old Vatrushkin drifted back to join us, and I cut a slice of the celebration cake for everyone. Nanny and the general sniffed at it suspiciously.

  “Gregori Gregorievich and I have had such a lovely chat,” said Lidia shyly. “We have an announcement to make.”

  She looked round at him, seeking reassurance, and he nodded. It was touching to see the deep understanding that had already developed between them.

  “Gregori Gregorievich and I–” Her voice faltered.

  Old Vatrushkin stepped forward and grasped her hand. “We are going into partnership together,” he said.

  He was a man, and men are rubbish at romance, but I was still a bit disappointed. “That sounds very business-like,” I said.

  “Oh, it is!” Lidia assured me. “We shall go to Kirill Kirillovich, the best lawyer in town, to ensure that everything is done properly.”

  “You’re getting a pre-nup?” I asked. She was as unromantic as he was. Maybe that was how it worked when you were one of the wealthiest heiresses in the country.

  “We do not have your vast legal expertise,” said Old Vatrushkin, “and I do not know what a pre-nup is, but if we require one to go into business together, then we will most certainly get one. We are determined that our academy will succeed.”

  “Academy?” I said.

  “Yes, we are setting up the world’s first Academy of Fine Art and Woodwork,” said Lidia. “We will charge rich students extortionate fees. And we will use those fees and my vast wealth to fund scholarships for serfs.” She looked up with pride at Old Vatrushkin. “That was Gregori Gregorievich’s idea.”

  “I thought you were getting married,” I said. “I thought if you didn’t get married, you weren’t allowed out in society.”

  “I shall not be out in society, I shall be inside an academy, which I shall much prefer,” said Lidia. “But we have discussed marriage also. If we find ourselves falling in love, we will certainly get married. Gregori Gregorievich has kindly agreed that in that case, he will take the name of Chrezvychainodlinnoslovsky and so my family line will continue.”