Requiem in the Snow

by Catrin Collier

  ‘My room’s even bigger.’

  ‘You’ll soon take it for granted, just as we did living in the court when we moved from Pontypridd to Merthyr.’

  ‘I don’t think so. This house is a mansion. Mam would have loved it.’

  ‘Mam would have been too terrified of breaking something to move in it.’

  ‘I never thought I’d be lucky enough to work as a maid in a place like this, let alone live in one of the best rooms.’

  ‘Thanks to Mr Edwards this is our chance to make something of ourselves, Anna. In a year or two you could be a nurse and I might be a foreman on my way to being a manager. Between us, we could even earn enough to buy, not rent our own house.’

  Her eyes rounded. ‘You think so?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be anything as grand as this,’ he qualified, as if he were already earning, ‘because it will take me years to reach a position as high as Mr Edwards, but hopefully I can get something comfortable and big enough for the four of us.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have to be grand, just ours.’

  ‘I’d rather it was grand than damp like the court.’ Sensing she wanted to tell him something he waited for her to speak.

  ‘I’m going to the hospital tomorrow with Dr and Mrs Edwards.’

  ‘From what Mr Thomas said, the builders haven’t made much progress, so don’t go expecting too much.’

  ‘I’m worried, Richard. What if I’m not clever enough to become a nurse?’

  ‘You’re clever enough. I lost count of the number of times Mrs Edwards told Mam she couldn’t manage the kitchen of the Boot without you. You’ve proved you can turn your hand to anything. Face it, Mam wasn’t well for years and it was you who did most of the work in the house.’

  ‘Housework isn’t like nursing. Proper nursing.’

  ‘You know a lot about caring for people and looking after them when they’re ill. It was you, not Mam, who nursed Owen and Morgan through the cholera.’

  ‘I tried to look after the others …’

  Richard hated talking about the brothers and sister they’d lost. ‘You’ll have Mrs Edwards to teach you,’ he interrupted. ‘She and Dr Edwards like you. They wouldn’t have brought us here if they didn’t.’

  ‘I hope I don’t disappoint them. It would be too awful if they regretted bringing me.’

  A clock began to strike downstairs. Richard counted off the chimes. Anna joined him, as she used to when they were children and stood before the town clock in Merthyr.

  ‘1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 – 10 – 11 – midnight. Mr Edwards wants to make an early start. We should have been asleep hours ago.’

  ‘Can I stay with you? Just for tonight?’ she begged. ‘I’ll sleep in my room tomorrow.’

  ‘Have you left the light burning in your room?’

  ‘I brought my candle with me, it’s next to yours.’

  ‘Blow them out.’

  She did as he asked and settled next to him, keeping her hand in his.

  He lay quietly, hoping she’d begin talking about whatever was bothering her. But she didn’t, and as her breathing steadied into the soft regular rhythm of sleep, he allowed his thoughts to drift.

  Could either of them ever forget the Paskeys? He suspected they’d done more to Anna than beat her. But he was too afraid of the anguish in her eyes every time their name was mentioned to question her.

  Then there was Alice. He was determined their separation was temporary. He loved her and no one – not her father, and certainly not the Paskeys – would stop him from marrying her.

  He imagined himself helping to build the ironworks, sink collieries, and sending Alice a ticket that would enable her to leave Merthyr and come to him. He pictured their reunion – the expression on Alice’s face when he showed her the house he’d bought.

  It was preferable to trying to cope with thoughts of the Paskeys and the destruction they’d wrought in his and Anna’s life.

  Chapter Four

  Hughesovka and Glyn Edwards’ house

  September 1870

  The rain had stopped, the sky was clear. The Mujiks had been right. The dark clouds had blown over, but not before they’d created havoc in Hughes’s expedition.

  Glyn had told Koshka he was exhausted. He knew he should be. But the fresh air had woken his senses, his skin tingled, and he felt restless as he walked the short distance from the hotel to his house. A rough track spattered with puddles cut a swathe through the half-built wood and brick buildings that lined the settlement. Walking was slippery work but the street was crowded. Despite the hour, groups of workmen squatted around oil lanterns on piles of bricks and wood, sharing vodka pails, plates of bread, salt, and dried mushrooms.

  In the space of a few yards he heard Russian, French, German, Dutch, Polish, and Ukrainian, along with a few dialects he didn’t recognise. A Cossack played a violin, dancers slid in the mud around him and when one fell, the others laughed.

  The street was relatively quiet around his house and he paused outside the wooden palisade that enclosed the substantial grounds of his new home. The balcony that ran the full length and width of the upper storey offered a vantage point that would give a bird’s eye view of the comings and goings of the town – when Mr Hughes finished building it. He imagined himself relaxing there in a chair on a warm evening, a glass of iced wine at his elbow, a book on his lap.

  He opened the gate and walked up the drive. A lane to the right led to the back of the house, the banya, and the stables. He turned left and walked to the front door.

  The rain had beaten down a few low-growing bushes at the front of the house. Should he employ a gardener? Was it worth trying to grow flowers and vegetables when soon – hopefully very soon – the ground would be affected by pollution from the works?

  Lamps burned low inside the porch but the rest of the house was in darkness. Glyn assumed the servants slept at the back and everyone else was asleep. He suppressed yet another pang of envy for his brother and his close, loving relationship with Sarah. He tried to quantify his feelings. Hopefully he and Betty would live for years, but what would they make of their allotted time, separated as they were by estrangement as well as distance?

  He had enough to occupy him: collieries to sink, ironworks and a town to build, a house to organise to his ideas of comfort and décor. He’d be busy, but would he, could he, be happy without a wife at his side? And Betty? Would she be happy in the Boot Inn? Would she be lonely? Would she be tempted to take a lover?

  To his surprise, when he considered the idea, the more he saw it as a possible and welcome result of their separation. He’d rather think of Betty happy as not. He was hardly in a position to take the moral high ground when he recalled how many brothels he’d patronised since he’d begun working for Mr Hughes.

  Hotels were lonely and impersonal. The best ‘houses’ created an illusion of domesticity, comfort, and the loving care of a woman until the money ran out. Would he find a new favourite among Koshka’s current crop? A pretty, obliging girl who’d keep a few hours a week just for him?

  Glyn tried the door. It was locked, as it should be at that time of night. It was only then he remembered he’d left the house without giving a thought to Praskovia or the discussion about extra staff.

  He rang the bell. A shadow moved behind the door. It opened. Pyotr swayed in front of him, half-asleep, dishevelled in crumpled shirt and trousers.

  ‘I’m sorry, I should have taken a key,’ Glyn apologised.

  Pyotr smiled but it was obvious he hadn’t understood a word. He waited for Glyn to enter, closed and locked the door, and retreated to a small windowless room off the inner porch. He returned, carrying a candle in a hurricane lamp. Bowing, he handed it to Glyn.

  Glyn glanced into the room. There was a chair, a bed and a table. He hadn’t even asked Praskovia what arrangements she’d made to man the doors or secure the house at night. Carrying the lamp, he entered the drawing room. He looked at the brandy and whisky decant
ers and decided he’d drunk enough for one evening. If sleep eluded him he’d use the time productively. He’d relax in the banya and collect his thoughts.

  The side door that led to the outside and the bath house was open. Given the number of drunks in the street the lack of security disturbed him. Anyone could walk up the path, enter, steal the household goods and murder them in their beds.

  He took the key from the inside of the door and locked it behind him. A strip of light showed beneath the ill-fitting door of the banya. He pushed it open. A candle flickered in a glass bowl on a shelf above the hooks. He undressed and carried the lamp Pyotr had given him into the washing room. Rinsing himself off, he stepped into the steam room.

  A haze of misty light shone high in the corner illuminating a pale, naked body on the topmost shelf. He recognised Praskovia. She made no attempt to cover herself when she sat up.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir. I thought you wouldn’t visit the banya again this evening. As everyone else in the house is in bed I presumed it would be empty.’

  He couldn’t stop staring at her or contrasting her figure with those of Koshka’s girls, who were waifs in comparison. Praskovia’s breasts were rounded and full, her waist slender. Her skin so white her body could have been carved from marble. In contrast, her long auburn hair rippled a reddish-gold waterfall over her back and arms.

  Her eyes gazed, bright, piercing into his.

  He stammered the first thing that came into his head. ‘You’re beautiful.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I won’t use the banya again.’

  ‘You must. You live in this house.’

  ‘It’s your house. You’ll want privacy.’

  ‘There’s no need.’ He realised his words could be misconstrued. The last thing he wanted was for his housekeeper to consider him lecherous, although from the way he’d been staring he suspected that’s exactly what she thought of him. ‘You were here first. I’m the one who should go. Please, stay.’ Acutely aware of his body reacting to the sight of hers, he retreated to the washing room and grabbed a towel to conceal his burgeoning erection.

  She followed. He looked away when she took a towel from the shelf and wrapped it around herself.

  ‘Feel free to use the banya any time convenient to you, Praskovia.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be proper, sir. With your permission I’ll continue to use it late at night, but only when I’m certain everyone is in bed. Good night, master. Sleep well.’

  ‘You’ll need the key to the side door. It’s on the shelf that holds the lanterns. I locked it behind me. There are a lot of people in the street, some drunk. We need to discuss security.’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  ‘Not now, tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, master.’ She closed the door behind her.

  He listened to her moving around the entrance room. She was a beautiful girl. If he were free …

  He drove an image of Praskovia naked in his bed from his mind. Praskovia was his housekeeper – his employee. He had a duty to protect, not exploit her.

  But duty didn’t prevent him from wishing she worked for Koshka, not him.

  Glyn Edwards’ house, Hughesovka

  September 1870

  Praskovia tied on her wrap. The master might be older, wealthier, and more experienced in the ways of the world than Ivan but she knew from the way he’d looked at her, that naked, she’d had the same effect on him.

  She considered what her mother had said. Before the master’s arrival, she’d hoped once he’d seen her capabilities as housekeeper, and sampled her mother’s cooking, he’d appreciate the level of service they could provide. But now …

  After Ivan had been killed she’d never expected to be attracted to another man. The moment the master had stepped into the hall and they’d looked at one another something happened. Her mother had recognised it, but her mother boasted that she’d inherited the “second sight” that had passed down the female line of their family.

  She recalled one of her father’s stories. She missed him, not the drunk he’d been the last years of his life, but the mentor and teacher who’d known so many magical tales.

  ‘The prince was dressed as a swineherd … he lived among swineherds … he’d been brought up by swineherds … he thought it was his fate to be a swineherd, but the moment he lifted his eyes to the princess he saw his future in her eyes. His tomorrows and hers entwined as they lived happily ever after in a glittering world of castles, jewels, golden coaches, royal blood …’

  There would be no royal blood, jewels, golden coaches, or castles in her life; of that much she was certain. But had she seen her future in the master’s eyes? Did a mysterious magical spirit exist? Had some essence emanated back from the life she and the master would one day share?

  Her mother had never listened to her father’s stories, or looked for more than Alexandrovka could give. Had Yelena been right when she’d scolded Pavlo for trying to escape from reality? She, like her father, wanted to believe in a world where dragons, fairies, snow maidens, and firebirds existed alongside princes and princesses.

  She entered the house, wondering if she should heed her mother’s warnings or follow her own instincts. Her bedroom was next to the pantry where the china and silverware was stored. There, she sat in front of the mirror, brushed her hair, splashed on a little of the cologne Alexei had brought her from his travels in Germany, and gazed at herself.

  Satisfied with her appearance, she picked up the spare set of keys she’d intended to give the master earlier, left her room, opened the door that connected to the main house, and slipped into the study. She set the keys on the desk next to the brandy decanter she’d carried in earlier, blew out the candle she’d brought, curled up in one of the chairs, and waited.

  Glyn Edwards’ house, Hughesovka

  September 1870

  Dressed only in a robe he’d taken from the banya, Glyn entered his room. He opened the drapes that curtained the bedroom alcove and dropped his clothes on a chair.

  ‘Can I get you anything, sir? A drink, something to eat?’

  Startled, Glyn turned to see Praskovia. ‘Nothing, thank you.’

  ‘I left the keys to the house next to the lamp. They’re all on the ring. The front and back door, the wine cellar, silver vault, and one to a safe set behind that picture.’ She pointed to a frame on the wall. Darkened by the patina of age and smoke from the stove, the canvas resembled a slice of coal waste.

  ‘You could have waited until morning to give me the keys.’ He was embarrassed by her presence in the intimacy of his bedroom when he was almost undressed. It didn’t help that he was acutely aware of her body and exactly how she looked naked.

  ‘If you need me in the night, sir, tap at the door set in the back wall. My room is just beyond it.’

  Other than assuming they were at the back of the house, Glyn hadn’t given a thought to the location of the servants’ rooms in relation to his. He saw the door set discreetly in the wooden panelling and found it disturbing that Praskovia would be sleeping the other side of it.

  ‘If you’re worried about security, sir, there are locks on both doors to this room.’ She moved gracefully to the door that opened into to the hall, and turned the key.

  ‘It’s late. We both have to be up early.’

  ‘Are you sure I can’t get you anything, sir?’

  He couldn’t stop mentally undressing her. His skin burned as he recalled her marble pallor, the gentle swell of her rose-tipped breasts, the inward curve of her stomach … ‘I’ll see you in the morning, Praskovia.’

  She made no effort to leave.

  ‘You and Alexei …’ He fell silent.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Nothing. Sleep well.’

  She walked to the back door, opened it, and closed it behind her. He followed and turned the key in the lock. He hoped loud enough for her to hear.

  John Hughes was an exacting taskmaster. Tomorrow would be a long day, but Glyn also knew that after seeing Praskovia naked h
e wouldn’t sleep. Unless … He grabbed his clothes.

  Koshka said she had a girl who was his type. He hoped she was right.

  Dower House, Beletsky Estate

  September 1870

  Sonya climbed the narrow staircase that led to the attics of Catherine’s house. Alexei was looking through the telescope that had been his grandfather’s.

  ‘One day it will serve you right if a star falls out of the heavens and lands on you, squashing you into sauce.’

  ‘I like looking at the sky.’

  ‘I suppose it’s more interesting than your other hobby.’

  ‘What other hobby?’ He prepared an argument in defence of his interest in engineering.

  ‘Quarrelling with your father. It’s all you’ve done since you returned from Allenstein.’

  ‘He quarrels with me, not the other way round.’

  ‘He quarrels with you because you disregard everything he tells you.’

  ‘Where’ve you been?’

  ‘Talking to the girls, Ruth, Miriam, and Rivka.’

  ‘The girls are here?’

  ‘They were. You would have seen them if you hadn’t hidden up here. Aunt Catherine arranged for them to meet Miss Smith so she could tell them about English customs. It took the governess an hour to explain that the English don’t serve sugar lumps separately but stir them into their tea.’

  ‘That must have been fun.’

  ‘I’ve never been so bored. Miss Smith looked terrified, as though she expected the girls to attack her. She practically ran out of the servants’ dining room when the hour she promised Aunt Catherine was up. The girls stayed longer. I think they were hoping to see you.’

  ‘More like they stayed to sample my grandmother’s marzipan and drink her cherry wine.’

  ‘The cook was worried the quality wasn’t up to the usual standard.’

  ‘You lie so well. Do you have anything for me?’

  ‘Yes, but I warned her if your father tracked you down you’d be back under lock and key in the Beletsky house.’ She handed him a folded piece of paper.

  He kissed it before opening it.