‘I wish that girl had had the baby and allowed Tom and me to adopt the poor unwanted little thing,’ Sarah sighed wistfully.
‘But would Tom have allowed it?’
‘I believe he would allow anything that made me less tearful all the time, but I’ve become so terribly homesick, more than ever before. There are days when I no longer want to get up in the morning, dreading the day ahead. At least when we were living in France an aunt and several English friends visited me from time to time. I was able to go home to see my mother during her last days, but here my father’s funeral was long over before I heard that I had lost him. Now I feel so completely isolated from my roots.’
‘Why haven’t you told me this before? I could see that something was wrong.’
‘Because I know I’m being weak and foolish to feel abandoned all the time.’
‘But you have made so many friends in the English community.’
‘Acquaintances – not friends. Over the past weeks I have refused so many of their invitations that sometimes they forget to ask me now, which is a relief to me. Tom and I have never been apart as much as we have been since coming to Russia. He is so impatient with me at times and he never used to be. Even when he’s working not far away, he doesn’t come home for two or three days at a time as often as he used to do.’
Marguerite was deeply concerned, able to see that her friend was suffering from melancholia. ‘Have you talked to Tom about feeling lonely?’
‘Yes, but he says he has so much to do now and that it will be different in the winter when we can be together all the time.’ She raised her linked fingers up and down in her distress. ‘But I don’t want another horrible winter in Russia. I want to go home to England! I had a letter last week from my brother’s wife Anne. She has just had her seventh child. If only I could have been there with her! She and I have been friends from childhood. It would be such a joy to me if Tom and I could live nearby and, since my brother David is away at sea again, I could help her with them.’ She dropped her face into her hands with a sob that shook her through. ‘I hate this vast country with its cruel snows and its millions of poor, suffering people owned like chattels. I think of England with its gentle countryside and soft weather and how the primroses come in the spring and so much more.’
Marguerite moved to put a comforting arm about Sarah’s shoulders. ‘Does Tom have any idea how homesick you are?’
‘No. I’m so afraid of making him angry with me. He is so short-tempered at times. He never used to be. Everything I say or do seems to annoy him.’
Her words revealed a deterioration in their marriage that struck at Marguerite’s heart. She knew the change in Tom came from his present distress over her rejection, but with time that breach could be healed between the two for whom she cared so much.
‘I think you should write him a long letter and tell him all that you have told me. I’m sure he will be more understanding than you suppose. He will have felt homesick too at times. I’ve heard it said that no man longs more for his own country than the Englishman abroad. Perhaps when his summer work is finished he could take you home for a winter vacation.’
Sarah looked up hopefully. ‘Do you think he would consider that?’
‘Tom is a kind man. Ask him and see what he says.’
Sarah wrote to Tom that same day, a long plea for him to grant her this dearest wish to go home for a visit. When a reply came he wrote that he was considering her request. It left her hopes high.
From the start of Sarah’s visit Konstantin had not been pleased to find a permanent guest under his roof, although he was courteous to her at all times. As a result he came home less and less to the Dashiski Palace. Nor did he and Marguerite meet often at her little apartment as now she rarely stayed overnight, not wanting to leave Sarah too long on her own. There had been no more talk from him of receiving a city residence through the Empress’s munificence, and Marguerite did not pursue the matter, knowing he would be angry if she refused to move into a property with him all the time Sarah was her guest.
It was early September when Tom arrived. Joyfully, Sarah ran to meet him. They were coming across the hall together, he smiling down at her with his arm about her waist, when Marguerite came to the open door of the salon. Seeing her, his face tightened.
‘This is the first time I’ve seen you since your marriage,’ he said, but made no attempt to offer good wishes, ‘and now there is an important decision to be made. Sarah has her mind set on a visit home. I thought it over carefully and we shall leave as soon as our possessions are crated and ready.’
Sarah gave a delighted cry. ‘Darling Tom! How good you are to me!’
Marguerite was intensely relieved. ‘You have made a wise decision. In all honesty I should be afraid for Sarah’s health and state of mind were she to stay here much longer without seeing her homeland again.’
He nodded in understanding before turning to Sarah with a softer look, for she was now too overcome with happiness for speech. ‘It shall be more than a visit. Our house in St Petersburg will not be needed any more. I’ll never take you away from England again.’
‘Oh, Tom!’ Sarah exclaimed breathlessly, hugging him close, her cheek pressed against his shoulder. ‘How wonderful! We’re going home at last!’ She closed her eyes ecstatically. ‘Home!’
While Tom supervised the packing and crating of their furniture and effects, Sarah stayed on with Marguerite for the last few days. It was already autumn.
When Jan came riding up to the Dashiski Palace Marguerite saw him from the window of her designing studio and went to greet him. He was handing over his tricorne hat and riding gloves to a servant in the entrance hall, his tall frame silhouetted against the sunshine outside.
‘Welcome, Jan,’ she said genuinely, glad that he harboured no ill will towards her.
He turned buoyantly, throwing out his arms as if he would have embraced her. ‘How well you look, Marguerite! The country air suits you, I can see.’
Yes, she thought to herself, but not this house. ‘Come! Sit down and let us talk.’ She led the way through gilded double doors. ‘Sarah Warrington is staying with me. Do say you will stay to dine with us.’
He accepted gladly and drew up a chair nearer hers. ‘Is she in good health?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She told him all that had happened and of the arrangements made.
He nodded approval. ‘That seems an ideal solution. Did you know that Isabelle and Mikail are building up their relationship again? I said goodbye to them only yesterday.’
‘You’re returning to the Netherlands?’
‘I’ll be going from here straight to the wharf as the ship sails at four o’clock tomorrow morning. I heard a couple of months ago that there are some fine Dutch works going up for auction just before St Nicholas’s Day, a couple of Rembrandts among them, and I intend to be there.’ Then abruptly he put a question to her. ‘Now that Sarah is going home, have you ever thought of going back to France?’
She gave a little laugh of surprise. ‘Why should I do that? Konstantin would never want to live there and my home is in Russia now.’
‘Then life is being good to you?’
‘Yes, indeed. It will be better when we have a permanent residence in St Petersburg. I have to admit that I do not feel at home under this roof. Even allowing for it being a country house there is a transitory air about the place as if it’s never allowed anyone to stay and really care for it.’
‘Maybe,’ he answered seriously, not taking his eyes from her. ‘But perhaps it’s more than that. I think the restlessness is in you, just because you haven’t truly settled down.’
She did not want to pursue the matter and told him about her studio. ‘I have your painting on the wall there.’
‘Focus your roots in that,’ he advised, still serious. ‘It will give you a home wherever you are.’
She thought he was right. One familiar object could be an anchor in any alien surroundings. ‘Tell me all that is happenin
g in the art world, and have you done any painting yourself recently?’
She felt completely at ease with him as their conversation flowed. Gone was the old tension of the past. It was if the marriage band on her finger was a talisman working against the turmoil of his intensely male attraction for her. Instead she was serenely conscious of him with every fibre of her being, telling herself that having him as a friend had made him important to her in a way that had not been there before.
Sarah was pleased to see Jan and at dinner he shared his attention equally between her and his hostess, making the duration of the meal the most enjoyable for them both for some time. Afterwards the three of them played cards, he teaching them an amusing game that neither of them had played before and afterwards Sarah played the harpsichord at his request.
When Jan was ready to go it was quite late and since the White Nights had already ebbed away the sky was dark and starry. Jan’s horse was brought for him. He and Marguerite stood alone, facing each other.
‘I wish you bon voyage,’ she said gently, sorry to see him leave. ‘I’ll look forward to the first thawing of the Neva’s ice in the spring. Then I’ll know you’ll be back again.’
For a few moments he did not speak, only looking at her deeply. She knew he was about to kiss her and lost all will to move. Suddenly his arms went about her and his kiss was both hard and tender and, above all else, loving. Then he broke away and swung himself into the saddle.
‘Take care,’ he said, looking down at her. ‘If ever you feel yourself to be in danger, seek the help of the Comte and Comtesse d’Oinville. They alone could have influence on your behalf.’
‘Nothing will happen to me,’ she answered reassuringly. ‘You are the one embarking on a dangerous voyage once again. God be with you, Jan.’
‘And with you, Marguerite.’
He rode away. She had no qualms about having let him kiss her and the pressure of his mouth seemed to linger on hers. She hummed a little tune under her breath as she went upstairs to bed, Sarah having already retired.
Eventually the day came for another farewell when Tom came to take Sarah away to England with him. He was at her side as she and Marguerite stood together at the head of the flight of steps down to the waiting carriage.
‘Always write to me,’ Sarah implored huskily, for both knew that the likelihood of their ever meeting again was remote.
‘I will,’ Marguerite promised and they hugged each other for the last time. As Sarah hurried down the steps Marguerite turned to Tom and gave him her hand. ‘Farewell, Tom. I wish you well.’
He kept his grip on her fingers as he had once in the past, and she was suddenly uneasy. ‘But I’m coming back to Russia,’ he said quietly. ‘Of course I shall stay for a while in England to make sure Sarah is happily settled near her sister-in-law.’
‘But you must never leave her!’ she protested vehemently in dismay. ‘You’re the entire world to her!’
He smiled. ‘Not when she has those nephews and nieces whom she can engulf with love. I’m not deserting Sarah. I shall visit her from time to time. Did you think you had seen the last of me, my love? I could never stay away from you. I know you are going to need me in time of trouble as never before. You’ll not stay loyal for ever to a husband who is more often in the Empress’s bed than he is in yours.’
He turned from her and went down the steps to take a seat beside his wife. Shocked beyond measure by his words, she acknowledged almost automatically Sarah’s wave as the equipage departed. She remained standing there for several minutes, scarcely able to believe that she had heard Tom’s words correctly. There had been no malice in his tone. It was as if he had assumed she knew about Konstantin’s supposed infidelity and was enduring it in silence. But it could not be true!
Slowly she went back indoors. Then, unbidden, there came into her mind any number of small signs that could be slotted together. There was Konstantin’s rapid promotion in the Imperial Guard from captain to colonel in a comparatively short time and his certainty that the Empress would grant him a grand residence before long. She recalled the maliciously amused glances from both men and women on her wedding day and the whispering behind fans that frequently followed her. Now the reason was clear. They had been mocking a woman in their midst too naive to realize that her husband was the Empress’s lover and that the marriage would not change that situation in any way. No wonder Jan had tried to stop the wedding and just this evening had given her that strange warning. He had heard the ugly facts as had Tom. It was an old adage that the wife was always the last to know and in her case it seemed to be true.
Sinking down on to a chair as if in a daze, she recalled how Konstantin had mentioned that the Dashiski Palace had once been imperial property. Now she understood why. It had been a gift to him from the Empress! No wonder he wanted a wife out of the way in the country, allowing him to be unhindered by domestic ties whenever he went to the imperial bed!
A gust of fury consumed her, making her head snap back, high colour glazing her cheekbones, and she clenched her fists. She would not stay under this roof another night! She would go to Jan’s apartment. He had once offered it to her as a place of refuge and she needed it now.
Going swiftly from the room, she gave orders in all directions and, catching up her skirts, she hurried away up the stairs. Two maids followed in her wake to start the packing.
She left Dashiski Palace an hour later and without a backward glance, taking with her Jan’s painting, a valise and a travelling box, the rest of her belongings to be sent on to reach her in time to accompany her home to France. After she had confronted Konstantin she would set off at once. She cared nothing for the hazards of the journey she would make, although winter was already showing itself in the bare-branched trees standing amid carpets of yellow, russet and ochre leaves under an afternoon sky of pale icy blue.
She thought of her Frenchwomen, whom she would be leaving behind. None of them would wish to accompany her. Sophie and Isabelle had their futures settled and Violette was living now in a fine apartment, only coming to the atelier to embroider and avoid loneliness whenever her besotted general was on duty or with his wife. As for Jeanne, she had too much loathing of her husband ever to risk meeting him again in Paris, while Rose, much subdued and subjected to her mother’s strict rules, would be compelled to stay with Jeanne, whether she wished it or not.
Reaching the city and being driven through the streets, Marguerite was amazed to see how much the building of the new Winter Palace had advanced over past weeks, already looking as if it had always belonged there. Its long frontage, still windowless and bare of ornamentation, gave the illusion of stretching for ever where it overlooked the Neva.
The coachman and the groom carried her travelling box up the stairs to Jan’s apartment. Immediately she felt safe and more at home than she had ever done at the Dashiski Palace. That night, emotionally exhausted, she slept in the bed that Isabelle had occupied and did not wake until morning when Saskia, entering the room, exclaimed aloud with surprise at finding her there.
Sitting up, Marguerite scooped her hair back with one hand. ‘I’m here to stay for a few days,’ she explained.
‘I’m sure Mynheer van Deventer would be pleased. I will heat water for your bath and then prepare your breakfast.’
‘But I brought no food with me.’
‘The bakery is almost next door and I was given instructions always to be prepared for your coming.’
As the woman left the room, Marguerite folded her arms across her up-drawn knees, her expression thoughtful. Jan had realized that when eventually she discovered the truth about Konstantin she would not wish to remain under his roof. She closed her eyes in gratitude for his thoughtfulness.
Knowing that Konstantin was normally at one of the city barracks in the morning, she walked there as it was not far from the apartment. An orderly showed her into his office. He was writing at his desk, but he sprang up from his chair, pleased and surprised to see her.
<
br /> ‘You are looking very fine,’ he said, his gaze sweeping her up and down. ‘I was intending to come out to the country to see you now that we can have the place to ourselves again.’ He reached out to take her into his arms, but she drew back. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I want our marriage to be dissolved.’
He stared at her in disbelief. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I will not play second fiddle to the Empress any more! All the world seems to have known about it, except me.’
He raised an eyebrow and a resigned expression settled on his handsome face as he lodged his weight on the edge of his desk to look steadily at her. ‘So old gossip has finally reached you. It was what I have always feared. I admit I was one of her lovers when I was younger. It is only duty that keeps me in her tow these days. Nothing else.’
‘Don’t lie any more,’ she countered in exasperation. ‘As I want nothing from you except my freedom it should be a simple affair for lawyers to end our marriage.’
He narrowed his eyes incredulously. ‘Do you suppose it would be as easy as that for us to part? You’re a Russian subject of the Imperial Throne through your marriage to me and the Empress would never permit it! Apart from anything else, she brought you here all the way from France to design for her, honoured you with one of the highest awards she can give and approved you as my wife. To reject all that would be tantamount to treason in her eyes.’
‘You’re exaggerating!’ she exclaimed impatiently.
‘Indeed not! Mention this matter to her and you’ll find yourself shut away in a convent somewhere.’
‘She would not dare!’
He sighed. ‘You would be at the mercy of a ruthless woman. You must have heard how she seized the throne by incarcerating a child, the rightful Tsar Ivan IV, in a fortress where he exists to this day. It has happened to others who have crossed her in minor ways. Do you imagine that she would deal more leniently with you for displeasing her?’
Marguerite had turned pale, horror possessing her. ‘This is a monstrous regime!’
To Dream of Snow Page 22