“Uncle Matvey’s come from St. Petersburg,” Natalia piped up. “Karena’s doing research for him on a new book about the Messiah.”
Tatiana narrowed her eyes at Karena. “The what?”
“Messiah,” Karena said pleasantly. “The promised Deliverer spoken of in the Jewish Torah, the Old Testament.”
“Oh. A Jewish problem.”
“No, it’s not that way at all—” began Karena, but Tatiana interrupted her.
“If anyone wishes to become truly spiritual,” she said, “Rasputin the starets is the one who can disciple them. He is so gifted by God. Even the czarina depends on him.”
A starets, from what Karena had heard, was a spiritual guide who gathered followers. Many of these men, usually self-proclaimed, were not officially recognized by the Russian Orthodox Church because they were outside the monastic hierarchy, living at times like hermits or traveling monks.
While Tatiana chattered on about Rasputin and mysticism, Karena turned her attention out the coach window. Several ethnic groups of Russians seemed to be represented in Kazan, their street clothing bearing witness from each district. Chinese, Bukharese, and black Africans, all mingled with Russian merchants, peasants, landed gentry, and aristocrats. What an interesting city. It’s going to be a delightful holiday!
The Roskov summer home artfully bespoke aristocracy. Kazan rugs covered the wide floors; golden, hand-carved wood shone with a warm gloss; and eastern tapestries hung on the high cream walls. Silver and crystal glittered from carefully placed lamp stands.
The servants carried Karena’s and Natalia’s portmanteaus up the graceful, winding staircase, and the housekeeper, flanked by two maids, stood at rapt attention as Madame Zofia imparted last-minute orders for the dinner and dancing this evening.
Zofia’s black hair was sleeked and rolled elegantly at the back of her swan neck and studded with a silk net of tiny seed pearls. One large milky pearl was mounted on gold near her lace collar. Her dove gray gown gave the onlooker the sensation that she might have been Princess Zofia Peshkova-Roskova.
Karena’s eye drifted to a painting on the wall of her aunt and uncle. Beside Zofia, Viktor, in uniform with his honey red mustache and deep-set eyes, looked as noble and unsmiling as a Romanov. Karena suspected that was why the great painting was prominently placed. Nearby, in a painting all her own, was Tatiana.
Her instructions complete, Madame Zofia joined the girls at the staircase to walk them to their rooms.
“Two balls in two nights,” Natalia said, awed.
“My dear niece,” Zofia replied as they mounted the stairs, “in St. Petersburg, there are balls every night. One grows accustomed to such demands. If I did not give frequent balls and entertainments while summering here in Kazan, I would be rejected socially and left out when we return to our winter residence.” She smiled. “One looks forward to a quiet holiday in the Crimea.”
Tatiana laughed at Natalia’s expression. Karena only smiled.
“At certain seasons of the year,” Tatiana said, “we dance our way from ball to ball, six days a week, for months. If it isn’t a ball somewhere, it’s the opera or dinners or sleigh rides.”
“One must have very good shoes,” Natalia said.
They laughed, and Madame Zofia put an arm around her waist.
“On the wheat farm, we have none,” Karena said. “Balls, that is. Kiev, of course, is very different, though we do attend the opera as a family. So you see, we are very excited about the dancing. And grateful, Aunt Zofia.”
“My dears, we are delighted to have you with us for two weeks. I wish you could extend your stay until September. I was telling Tatiana only last week that we so seldom see you.”
“They can’t stay until September,” Tatiana said. “Karena is helping her uncle research a new book.”
“Oh, is Matvey writing another book? Splendid. Then you and Natalia should come to St. Petersburg this Christmas season. I’ll badger Josef about coming, too,” she said of her brother. “And he simply must force Yeva to come with him. The last time your papa visited me, he came alone.”
Karena’s mother, because she was Jewish and had married Josef after his first wife died, was uncomfortable with the Roskov family. She felt they had never accepted her. Karena did not know if that were true. She, herself, had always been treated well by Papa Josef’s two older sisters, Aunt Marta and Aunt Zofia.
“Mother’s an old stick-in-the-mud,” Natalia said as they went down the long upstairs hall, their footsteps softened by a golden carpet. The wall sconces burned cheerfully, and not a corner of the hallway held a shadow of gloom.
“She won’t leave the manor for anything except to treat cases of illness among the peasants or deliver a baby,” Natalia continued.
“So dedicated. And our dear Karena is following in her footsteps, all the way to medical college in St. Petersburg,” Tatiana said, smiling.
“I hope I shall be accepted this time,” Karena answered.
They came to an adjoining bedroom. The upstairs maid opened the door from the inside and stepped aside. “Everything is ready, Madame Zofia.”
“Tell Gawrie to have my nieces’ trunks brought up as soon as they arrive from the dock. And tell Katerina to send up tea.” Zofia turned to Karena and Natalia. “We won’t keep you talking long. You must have some quiet and rest before the ball tonight.”
The two bedrooms were done in light pink and ivory tulle and joined together by a large vanity room with mirrors. It contrasted sharply with what Karena and her sister had at the manor.
“Tonight will be so exciting,” Tatiana said. “Karena will meet Dr. Zinnovy, and my other surprise guest will stun everyone.”
Madame Zofia sighed heavily. “After last night’s tragedy, I would gladly annul this ball tonight if I could. Unfortunately—”
“Annul it? Mother, impossible! I won’t hear of it.”
“I know we can’t postpone it. Viktor, too, tells me he has an important official coming tonight. Besides, I know exactly what would happen. If I postponed the event, the scandal of last night would spread even faster.”
Scandal? wondered Karena. The lines around Madame Zofia’s mouth tightened, and a glance toward Tatiana showed an unsmiling face. She began to massage her forehead in a poor attempt at theatrics, and Natalia caught Karena’s gaze and tried not to smile.
“Already there are rumors,” Madame Zofia said. “For Tatania’s sake, I must proceed tonight as planned.”
“What scandal? Or should we not inquire?” Karena asked in a sympathetic voice. She had a strong affection for her aunt and felt sorry for her. Tatiana pushed ahead with her plans with little consideration for her mother. As for Viktor, he probably didn’t care what his daughter did, as long as she married an excellent soldier. Karena suspected Uncle Viktor adored Colonel Kronstadt.
“Perhaps it’s better not to discuss it now,” Madame Zofia said with a concerned glance at Tatiana, who had turned her back toward them and dramatically pressed a perfumed handkerchief to her mouth.
“No no, my cousins should know the truth,” Tatiana said. “Tell them, Mother.”
Madame Zofia fingered the lace on her collar. “We had a monumental tragedy last night.” She lowered her voice. “One of the many young men in love with my daughter insulted Colonel Kronstadt in front of her and the guests. It was dreadful.” She placed a slender hand to her forehead and shook her head, eyes closed, but this time Karena read genuine dismay.
“I can see it still—that red wine all over the front of his white dress uniform and face—to force a duel, you see.” She crumpled her lace handkerchief in her palm. “It was the only way Captain Yevgenyev could break Alex’s composure. Alex, of course, had to accept the challenge or be branded a coward.”
Karena stared.
Madame Zofia heaved a sigh. “So … the duel will take place next month in St. Petersburg.” She paced rapidly. “Oh! Awful! Poor Alex. And the scandal stains Tatiana as well.”
Tatia
na, who’d been standing with her back toward them, head bent in a waxen pose, now whirled, full of vigor. “Stains me! I don’t see that. Why should it?”
“Your reputation, darling—”
“My reputation is stained because two very excellent men care enough about me to duel for me? Hah! I like that! See how my mother underappreciates me?” She looked at Karena, then back to Madame Zofia, who wore a pained expression.
“Darling—”
“A good many women can’t even get a man to defend them in a brawl, let alone have honorable soldiers fight a duel over them. A duel is customary when a soldier is insulted. I see no reason to believe either Alex or I have had our reputations ‘stained’ in the slightest.”
Tatiana stopped for breath, her handkerchief hanging limp from her jeweled hand.
Karena looked at her in silence. Natalia slowly sat down on the edge of a green velveteen chair.
Madame Zofia went to her daughter, trying to get her to sit down. “Tatiana, darling, you’re all upset. I’m sorry I brought it up, but you must see that while I’m not suggesting you’re at fault—”
“At fault! Of course I’m not, Mother.”
“Even so, your friends—and mine—will talk about this for weeks. And if Alex or Karl is wounded in this absurd duel—”
“It won’t go that far,” Tatiana insisted. “I won’t allow it. Sometimes Rasputin can foretell what will happen. I’ll ask him.”
Karena turned away to conceal her emotions. Her cousin hadn’t always been this way, had she?
“If we go forward, we have not an hour to lose.” Madame Zofia turned to Karena and Natalia. “My dears, do you have proper gowns to wear? silk stockings? slippers?”
Natalia sighed wistfully and looked at Karena.
Karena laughed. “Well, not exactly, but we each brought a dinner dress.”
“Really, Mother,” Tatiana said, “they’re not likely to be hauling French gowns from Uncle Josef’s farm. However, I’ve silk stockings to spare. I was going to give them each a pair as a gift anyway.”
Madame Zofia smiled. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be fine.” She glanced at the clock on the table by the window and threw her palm to her forehead, her gold bracelet shining. “It’s already noon. I wonder if Svetlana was able to order the extra piglet. I must go check. That girl is so forgetful. Ah, here is your tea.”
A maid entered with a tray, and Tatiana moved toward the door. “I must begin getting my hair ready,” she called over her shoulder. “If you need anything, come to my room at the end of the hall.”
“Yes, do,” Madame Zofia said warmly. “I shall see you girls later.”
Karena called her thanks as her aunt moved with stately purpose through the door, muttering to herself. “I’ve simply a horrid notion that Svetlana forgot the extra piglet. Well then, I’ll need to settle on lamb, that’s all there is to it. Everyone enjoys lamb.”
The bedroom grew silent except for the sound of tea being poured into china cups by the round-cheeked maid. Her stiff satin skirts made a scratching sound as she moved. She left quietly, shutting the door.
Karena turned slowly and looked at her sister. Natalia’s face was tired and tense. She groaned, massaging her temples. “I wish I’d stayed home.”
Karena drew in a breath and tucked a strand of loose hair back into the braided coil. “Let’s have tea. We’ll feel better. A nice bath and a brief nap, and we’ll be ready to whirl about the fancy ballroom. At least Dr. Zinnovy will be here. I’m still shocked by that.”
Natalia lifted her head. “I’m surprised Tatiana would trouble herself to arrange the meeting for you. I may be cynical, but my first guess is there’s something in it for her.”
“I hardly think so. She seemed quite genuine about having arranged it.” Karena smiled. “And she did promise us each a pair of silk stockings. I’m going to take complete and selfish advantage of her offer. Imagine, silk.” She pulled up the hem of her traveling skirt, exposing her cotton hose, and made a face.
Natalia laughed. “Come on,” she said. “It will take us all afternoon to get ready.”
Alex returned to the Roskov residence that afternoon and entered his bedroom with a scowl. He had laid out his future with the care of an architect, and now, while the structure was just being raised, he felt the tremors of an earthquake.
He threw his jacket on the bed. “If not an earthquake, then a blizzard!”
“Is something wrong, sir?” Konni, the tall valet who had long been in the service of Alex’s stepmother, came from the next room at the sound of the door snapping shut. Konni had cared for Alex in childhood until he went to cadet school. Even now, Konni usually traveled with him when Alex was not staying in officers’ quarters. Alex had requested his assistance on the journey to Kazan mostly because he was fond of the old gentleman.
“What could possibly go wrong?” Alex asked dryly.
Konni’s face was expressionless as he picked up Alex’s coat and hung it properly until he could take it out to brush it.
“My plans were made,” Alex said, “and now, suddenly, something occurs that threatens to send them crashing down in ruin—if I allow it, which, of course, I will not.”
“Just so, sir.”
Alex sighed and rubbed his face. “The aroma of coffee tempts me.”
“The coffee is here, sir, waiting as usual.” Konni went into the adjoining room and returned with a silver serving tray
“This ruinous occurrence, sir … Do you speak of a woman?”
Alex scowled in his direction, undoing the buttons on his shirt. “Now why would you ever think that? Since when does a woman, even a charming young woman, ever ruin a man’s sensible plans?”
“Just so, sir,” Konni said, not fooled at all. “I saw her alight from the coach. Most charming in her red hat.”
“That red hat! And now I can’t get her out of my mind. Miss Karena Peshkova has supplanted Tatiana. How could I have allowed it?” Alex tossed his shirt onto the bed and groaned. “Her eyes, Konni, blue as a periwinkle. And a mouth that needs to be kissed.”
Konni made a clucking sound of sympathy as he poured Alex’s coffee. “And completely the opposite of Miss Tatiana, I should say. While one is dark, the other is fair. While Miss Tatiana is strong-willed and assertive, Miss Peshkova shows sweet discernment and proper sense—”
“That will be enough. If I hear any more of your wisdom, I shall break down and weep in my coffee.” He took the cup from the tray. “How do you know she’s sweet? She might, beneath that aura of fairness, be a pickle.”
“A guess, sir. A girl with a red hat is always sweet.”
“A brilliant deduction.”
Konni lifted a note from the table and carried it to him on a small salver. “From Miss Tatiana, sir.”
Alex opened it and read the brief note. “Rasputin,” he muttered.
“I beg your pardon, sir.”
“The magnanimous Crow sisters are bringing Rasputin to meet the guests tonight, and I am blessed to be among the chosen few. From what I’ve heard, Konni, he’s a boor. It bothers me that Tatiana is so taken by him.”
“Yes sir, I quite understand. And all the more distressing when your military advancement is based upon marrying her.”
Alex glared at him. “You make it sound like I’m about to take on a liability.”
“Oh, no sir! Miss Tatiana is very beautiful.” Konni looked as innocent and saintly as ever.
“This marriage arrangement is deceiving no one.” Alex tossed the note onto the table. “Tatiana has her reasons, as I have mine.”
“And now, sir, there’s the duel to be fought. A very worrisome matter.” Konni frowned slightly.
“That couldn’t be helped,” Alex said. “Yevgenyev’s malice goes beyond Miss Roskova. This is a personal grievance.” He sank into a chair and propped his feet up. Konni refilled his cup.
“I must say, Konni, I was a little surprised to discover Miss Peshkova and her sister were Tatiana’s cousin
s. She’s not mentioned them before.”
“With good reason, perhaps, sir.”
Alex put a hand behind his head and leaned back. He’d been on business for General Roskov all afternoon, and he was not looking forward to the evening.
Weariness, however, was not his only reason for contemplating how he might quietly escape the ball. The next two weeks could, if he allowed it, develop into a situation he wished to avoid. Alex finished his coffee and scowled at the cup. He pondered the moment of awareness that had occurred when he spoke with Karena Peshkova and marveled at how easily his plans could to be put in jeopardy by the arrival of a lovely girl with a red hat.
“The question, Konni, is what do I do about it, if anything?”
“You have my sympathy, sir. Ambition is a harsh taskmaster. Pardon me for saying so, but you are not the only one who wrestles with it. Miss Tatiana also seems an ambitious woman.”
“If I were smart,” Alex told Konni, “I’d pack my bag now and make some excuse to rejoin the Sokolov twins in St. Petersburg.”
Konni looked at him soberly from across the room, then went to the wardrobe and took out the travel bags. “I could always claim you came down with the Russian grippe, sir.”
“English grippe.”
“As you say.”
Alex drummed his fingers on the arm of the leather chair. He looked up at the ceiling and considered his options.
“I have never been a coward when it comes to women,” he said, “and I won’t start now. Who knows? By the time the clock strikes midnight, this attraction may have disintegrated. I’ll come home from the ball with a clear mind, amused to think I even considered her.”
“It often happens, sir. Then again, it might turn out the other way. In which case, you won’t come home amused, sir, but smitten to the core by a poisoned arrow—straight to the heart. Then, sir, there’s no hope.”
Alex narrowed his gaze. “You’re most graphic, Konni. Yes … it could happen as you say, but I won’t allow it to happen to me. She’s just a girl. A little girl with braids.”
“Just so, sir.” Konni replaced the travel bags and closed the wardrobe doors.
The Midwife of St. Petersburg Page 3