‘We have to promise each other that we shall never forget Sarah again! Never!’
For a few moments he neither moved nor looked up at her. Then he rose to his feet to stand facing her. Both knew there could be no going back to the guarded friendship of before. Barriers had been broken down. But as he reached for her again she drew back a step once more, shaking her head. He regarded her gravely.
‘No matter what we say or what promises we make, you and I both know that this isn’t the end between us. There’s too much feeling between us. Nothing need stop when we have to leave Oranienbaum. There are always ways to meet that will not hurt anyone else.’
‘You mean Sarah!’ she said almost angrily. ‘Why don’t you say her name? No, Tom. This short time we’ve spent alone here is all that there could ever be for us. We must not meet on our own here or anywhere else again!’
‘What difference would that make to what is between us?’ He had dismissed her outburst and continued to love her with his gaze.
She uttered a sound in her throat like a sob and turned to run back the way they had come. Swiftly she gathered up her paintings and the rest of her belongings into her basket, snatched up her hat and set off down the long, grassy slope, her feet slithering in her haste. He had followed in time to watch her go. She ran all the way as if fleeing as much from herself as from him.
Next morning Tom went to the plateau as usual, but saw from a distance that there were several ladies of the Court waiting together. It could only mean that the Grand Duchess was with Marguerite and as he had urgent matters to see to elsewhere he decided to return later. He had to see Marguerite as soon as possible. She must be persuaded into seeing that his other life with Sarah need not be a barrier to keep them apart.
Catherine had been to see how Marguerite’s work was progressing. She knew for certain now that she was pregnant again, but although there should have been no need to hide her condition this time she was in no hurry to let it become public knowledge. It was why she had wanted Marguerite to be at Oranienbaum with her in case she needed discreet adjustments to her garments. In the meantime the cape would set a fashion while at the same time it would be a useful garment in disguising the inevitable expansion of her figure. Later she would take pride in her condition, knowing it would please everybody, especially the Empress.
As Catherine left the plateau again, she thought of the moments in the forest on her first ride after arriving at Oranienbaum when she had broken the news to Sergei that she was pregnant.
‘So soon?’ he had shouted furiously in the echoing forest, making her clamp her fingers over his mouth even though no one was anywhere near. She understood his fury, for he knew as she did that once her condition became known she would be cosseted and made to rest, concern for the baby uppermost, and steps taken to keep them apart, their love-making totally curtailed.
‘Hush, my darling,’ she cooed to him. ‘We have the rest of the summer here at Oranienbaum. Let us make the most of it.’
He was difficult to pacify. It was if he wanted to completely reject the part he had played in her present condition. The Empress’s condoning of their liaison was akin in his mind to his having been put to stud, and he found it humiliating. Now, all too quickly to suit him, there was to be living proof of their union!
Seeing him so tight-lipped with fury, Catherine wondered again if he still loved her, but with her own passion for him far from assuaged she thrust her misgivings aside.
For the whole of the day Tom was occupied in directing workers in the installation of a great fountain. When it was time to call a halt until the morning he went to bathe and change out of his working clothes before he set off eagerly for the plateau. There he ran all the way up the slope.
It took him a little time to find Marguerite, for every day she searched new areas. When finally he sighted her he halted abruptly, seeing she was not alone. One of the maids from the Palace was assisting her. Neither had seen him and he drew away to wait until Marguerite dismissed the maid and he could take her into his arms again.
But Marguerite had seen him out of the corner of her eye. She had chosen the only possible way to guard against any more meetings on her own with him.
Turning her head as she and the maid left the plateau, she saw him waiting not far away. For a long moment or two her gaze held his and then, although it tore at her, she looked ahead again. That glimpse of the torment in his face had shown her that he realized that she was resolved that all was over between them almost before it had begun.
He stood as still as one of Oranienbaum’s marble statues, watching her until she was gone from sight.
It took Marguerite much longer than she had expected to finish collecting the plateau’s many flowers and their leaves, even with the maid’s daily assistance. She had seen Tom twice from a distance, but that was all. Yet she believed he had come to the plateau several times to see if by chance he would find her alone again, but as there was such an abundance of trees and tall bushes it was impossible for her to be sure whether or not he was there. Then one evening a letter was delivered to her. Breaking the seal, she saw that it was signed by Tom. It was very short.
By the time you receive this note I shall be on my way back to St Petersburg to see Sarah for a short while, but do not suppose I shall ever forget that special time we spent together.
Sinking down on to a chair, Marguerite bowed her head as she crushed the letter in her hand. There must have been some magic in that lovely place that had taken all reason from them and left this aftermath of yearning. She had always despised women who enticed away the husbands of friends and she bitterly regretted having come perilously close to that treachery.
Straightening up again, she read the letter through once more and was able to see now with a clearer mind that he seemed to have accepted that there could never be anything more between them. Then another interpretation came to her. Did he mean that in spite of a setback he would not give up?
The thought disturbed her deeply. At night her sleep was restless. Sometimes she would get up and rest her arms on the sill of the open window, seeing the park in the everlasting daylight of the White Nights and listening to the birds singing as if it were morning instead of a little after midnight. Often to welcome the sun, which barely slept itself, a ballroom gathering would pour out of the Palace on to the lawns as if from a cornucopia in their jewelled and colourful clothes, Catherine and Sergei in their midst. Led by musicians, they would all pass out of her sight as they danced on their way in the golden glow. Sometimes Marguerite’s own feet danced as if of their own volition until the music could no longer be heard.
Daily she longed for work to keep her mind occupied and away from thoughts of Tom. With her task at the plateau finally at an end and a network of paths already being laid there, she was impatient to take up her needle again. Having sent the last of the flowers and paintings to Jeanne, she was at a loss with nothing to do. She had not come to Russia to be idle. But Catherine was not yet ready to release her.
‘No, Mam’selle Laurent, I’d like you now to choose one of those little flowers and let it inspire you in a new design for a gown for me. Is the cape finished yet?’
‘It should come from St Petersburg any day now, Madame.’
The design for the new flower gown was finished when Jeanne brought the cape herself, together with the finished shoes. Marguerite was glad to see her.
‘I took the chance to come,’ Jeanne said conspiratorially when they were together in Marguerite’s small salon. ‘We’ve all been so curious about this orange palace.’
Marguerite laughed. ‘As you’ve seen for yourself now, it’s not even pale orange! Whatever made you think it would be?’
‘One of the Russian seamstresses said it was named after the orange tree. I never thought it would be blue and white! So that was a real surprise to me!’
‘I asked about its name when I came here. In this climate an orange tree would be so rare and valuable that only the impe
rial family ever has one. Thus this lovely palace has the same status, which is how it was given its unusual name. But of course it could be orange in colour at any time, because it seems from what I’ve heard that a different hue is often used whenever a palace has to be repainted.’
‘My first thought when I saw this palace was that it looked as if it had come out of a fairy tale. There can’t be another like it.’
‘I can’t answer that, although they say the Catherine Palace is the loveliest of all. There’s even a room set with amber.’
Jeanne threw up her hands in astonishment. ‘What wealth! The Empress has many more palaces than she has toes on her feet!’ Her peasant blood was stirred and she frowned angrily. ‘It’s not right, is it? Just like at home. The rich are rich and the poor can starve.’
‘Don’t let us talk of palaces any more,’ Marguerite said, impatient for news and not wanting Jeanne to start on hotheaded talk just now, for once started on her favourite topic it was difficult to stop her. ‘I want to know what has been happening with all of you. You’re not a good correspondent.’
‘I hate writing. It wears my brain out trying to think what to say. Everybody sent greetings to you, of course. Now I’ll start with Sophie.’ Jeanne began to tick off her fingers. ‘She has become betrothed to her nice Valentin Vaganov, but the marriage is not yet arranged. It suits Sophie, because she’s preparing a trousseau for herself and it’s not finished yet. He wants the wedding to be held when his sister and her husband and their family can come from Moscow and, if possible, when his brother is home from sea. I have come to know the rest of the Vaganov family very well through my friendship with Olga. She has sold some of my lace in her shop and is willing to sell more.’
‘That’s splendid!’
‘As for Violette, she has been going through escorts like a hot knife through butter.’ She gave a snort of disapproval. ‘She has a lieutenant now, a shifty-looking fellow in my opinion, but she seems very taken with him as she is with all her men at first. Rose and Isabelle are with the Pomfret girls for most of their free time, although I’ve noticed that Isabelle sometimes stays away as if she has had enough for a while of their endless chatter of young men and hair styles and clothes and fripperies.’ She sighed, wearied herself by her chatterbox daughter on occasions. ‘But then Isabelle has always had a quieter nature than my Rose, who is still as giddy as a headless chicken. I would knock some sense into her if it could be done that way.’
‘She’s a very pretty girl.’
‘Too pretty for her own good. Mr and Mrs Pomfret are so hospitable and Sophie and I have been to their house for tea.’ She grimaced. ‘I think they wanted to see Rose’s mother and aunt for themselves. We must have won their approval or else we wouldn’t have been invited a second time and yet again last week. There’s always plenty of young company under their roof, where, I’m thankful to say, Mrs Pomfret ensures that the young women are strictly chaperoned.’
‘Maybe Rose and Isabelle will end up with English husbands.’
‘Perhaps they will. There are more young Englishmen working and training with businesses in St Petersburg than I had ever realized.’
‘What of you, Jeanne?’
Jeanne chortled. ‘No romance for me! That’s all in the past as far as I’m concerned. But Jan van Deventer has been asking after you.’
‘Oh?’ In the wake of the emotional turmoil she had been through with Tom she felt barely able to tolerate his forceful presence. ‘How is he?’ she added automatically.
‘As handsome as ever. He came by ship with a load of paintings, which he displayed at the Dutch Embassy, and sold every one. He must be making a mint of money! He’s awaiting another shipment any day now, which is why he has to stay in the city until it arrives.’
‘You told him I was here, did you?’
‘Yes. When I happened to meet him on the bridge one day.’ Jeanne was watching her closely, curious to see if Marguerite showed disappointment that he had not yet come to see her, but there was no sign of it. It was, she thought, as if Marguerite were numb to any feeling at the present time. It worried her. What had happened during this time at this oddly named palace?
‘So you didn’t see any of his paintings?’ Marguerite’s tone was flat.
‘No.’ Jeanne paused. ‘Are you well? Is everything all right?’
Marguerite raised her eyebrows in surprise and forced a little laugh. ‘Yes, of course! And everything will be even better when I’ve seen the cape that you’ve brought.’
The box was opened. Jeanne folded back the layers of white muslin and Marguerite lifted out the cape. All the lovely flowers, which she had collected through the conflicting emotions of pleasure and distress, covered the cream silk in their wonderful colours. Waist-length and collarless, it was a work of art in itself. She slipped it around her shoulders and looked at her reflection in a mirror.
‘It is superb,’ she said quietly. ‘You and Sophie and Violette have created a masterpiece. The Grand Duchess will love it.’
Jeanne beamed. ‘We hoped you’d be pleased.’ She turned to open the second box containing the shoes and held them up. The tiny flowers even covered the heels. ‘The imperial shoemaker did his work well!’
Jeanne stayed overnight and as soon as she had left again next morning Marguerite took the cape to Catherine. As expected, she was delighted with it, putting it on at once and slipping her small feet into the shoes.
‘Oh, how beautiful!’ She turned and twirled before a tall pier glass, spinning the embroidery into rainbows of colour as she tried to catch a glimpse of it from every angle. ‘I’d like a gown to incorporate these flowers over the skirt! Yes! That’s what I want!’
‘May I return to St Petersburg to organize that project?’
Catherine hesitated only briefly. ‘Yes, mam’selle. You have done well and may leave tomorrow if you wish.’
Marguerite was relieved that she could get back to her companions. Although she trusted Jeanne’s skills and management, she did not really care to be forever at Catherine’s beck and call. Two nights ago when she had been unable to sleep, a new design for a gown for the Empress had come into her head, and she had gone from her bed to sketch it out. She believed that when made it should be just as spectacular as the peacock one.
That evening Catherine danced non-stop in her new shoes. Then in the morning a blow fell for her as well as for Peter in a command from the Empress for the grand ducal court to move to the country palace at Peterhof. She needed to have them nearer whenever important matters had to be discussed. The Grand Duke roared and stamped in temper like an ill-tempered child when informed, but he had to obey the woman he loathed. In private Catherine was in despair. She was being torn away from the freedom of Oranienbaum to be under Elisabeth’s ruthless domination again.
Yet she could guess the reason. Although in the main Elisabeth lazily left the governing of the country to her ministers, there were always some matters that needed attention and that she chose to pass on to Peter. Couriers came almost every day with letters and documents for him, all of which he ignored, never breaking the seals. It was most surely her exasperation with him at failing to carry out his duties yet again that had resulted in this curtailment of liberty.
Marguerite had to wait several days until there was a courier carriage going back to St Petersburg. During this time she designed the new gown and gained Catherine’s approval of it. Then at last there was a carriage transporting on its roof a large box of the Grand Duke’s model soldiers that were going back to the Winter Palace in readiness for his return. She could travel with it.
She was in the courtyard, watching her baggage being fastened on to the roof beside the box, when she saw Konstantin Dashiski coming towards her.
‘May I accompany you?’ he asked, smiling widely at her.
She was laughing in surprise. ‘But where are you going?’
‘The same as you! Returning to the city!’
‘In a courier’s carriage, Ca
ptain Dashiski? I think there’s another, grander equipage waiting for you somewhere else.’
‘One set of wheels is as good as another. Do you object to my company?’ He was teasing her.
‘No, Captain.’ She shook her head, her eyes merry, suddenly extremely glad of his light-hearted presence. He would distract her with his company from thinking about all that had happened since her arrival at Oranienbaum and already he had taken away any sad thoughts she might have had at this time of leaving about Tom and what might have been.
‘Not a captain any longer,’ he was saying. ‘The Empress has chosen to promote me. I’m a major now, but to you I’m Konstantin.’
‘Congratulations, Konstantin.’
He bowed his head in pleased acknowledgement. ‘I thank you, Mam’selle Marguerite. I hope that sometime in the future you’ll let me make amends for being unable to take you dancing that evening a while ago. I came from the Empress at Peterhof to bring her command to the grand ducal court, which is why I’m here at Oranienbaum again. But Her Imperial Highness told me you had already left here for St Petersburg some days ago, which is why I didn’t start looking for you.’
‘She did not know, but I’ve been waiting for a carriage. But why are you returning to the city when you have the chance to remain in the country? I’ve heard that mosquitoes are a plague there now. There have been some at Oranienbaum, but usually there was a sea breeze where I was working on the plateau there that kept them at bay.’
‘Back to Peterhof, you mean? No, I’m going to have what’s left of the summer at my own estate.’ He had fully intended to go straight to his country house after leaving Oranienbaum, but he had sighted her and her luggage from a window and decided it would be a deal more enjoyable travelling in her company than being on his own. It was also no great diversion to go via St Petersburg instead, and if he had not known that his mistress was waiting for him in the country he would have stayed on in the city to see more of this intriguing Frenchwoman.
To Dream of Snow Page 15