Authors: Sara Judge
Forcing herself to concentrate on what Tassya was saying, she turned her head to listen as the girl prattled on. Dunya was not with them as there was no room for a fourth person, and both Conrad and Valerie could assist Tassya.
‘They are all Jewish shops in Kamenka and the Jews sell everything,’ she was saying. ‘What do you want to buy, Valerie?’
Valerie pondered. There was nothing she really wanted for herself and little point in taking anything back for Olga. The Imperial family possessed everything money could buy – apart from freedom and good health for the tsarevich.
‘I can’t think of anything at the moment,’ she said. ‘What about you, Tassya?’
‘Paper and envelopes,’ said the girl. ‘So I can write to you when you go away.’
Valerie smiled. ‘And I promise to answer every letter,’ she said.
‘Will you really? Then I shan’t feel that you have gone so very far away,’ said Tassya softly.
It would be a pleasing form of contact for both of them, but particularly for Tassya, with her lonely life stuck in the wheelchair. However, Valerie’s heart lifted in hope, perhaps quite soon they would meet again in St Petersburg.
Maybe this evening, if Tassya were not too weary, maybe she could go next door and tell her about the miraculous powers of Grigorii Rasputin?
When they reached the main street of the village, Conrad carried Tassya and her chair over the snow and into one of the small, single-storeyed shops. Valerie followed, her eyes roaming all over the items for sale. She intended giving Pyotr’s sister her writing paper, but hoped for something extra, as well. She wanted some little gift with which to surprise her.
After studying the soap and bottles of perfume, the pencils and crockery, the candles and lamp-holders, all jammed together on the shelves, she saw what she wanted. She stepped away from Tassya, who was busy bartering with the Jewish shopkeeper, and touched Conrad’s arm.
It would be easier to deal with him than with a stranger, and Valerie’s Russian was still very shaky.
After showing Conrad how many kopecks she had, Valerie pointed at the bottles of perfume then put her finger to her lips and nodded in Tassya’s direction. The big man understood and beamed at her before speaking to the second attendant. At once several bottles were brought out for her inspection.
Unfortunately, the price of that plus the writing paper and envelopes, was more than she could afford. But with much shaking of her head and showing the amount in her hand, and with Conrad’s bearlike figure looming over them, Valerie managed to purchase all three items.
Luckily Tassya had surprises of her own and was not curious about Valerie’s shopping.
‘I have bought you something special for when you go away,’ she said, clutching a small paper bag on her lap. ‘But you are not to see it until you leave Mavara.’
‘Then I will give you mine at the same time,’ said Valerie, ‘and it will be like Christmas!’
As they left the shop it was already turning dark and there was a bitter wind blowing down the street. Conrad lifted Tassya’s chair onto the troika, then handed both girls extra furs to place around their knees and shoulders. Then he clambered up in front and called to the horses to make for home.
‘It’s going to snow again,’ said Tassya, sniffing the air. ‘I hope we have a blizzard and get snowed in. Then you won’t be able to leave us.’
Valerie smiled at the bright face beside her, thankful for the extra furs and for the warm coat Olga had given her. Winters in Russia were far colder and fiercer than English ones, and her grey wool coat would have been useless in these icy temperatures.
Perhaps the wind was blowing all the way from the Siberian wastes, she thought, and was about to bring up the subject of Grigorii Rasputin, when Tassya interrupted her.
‘If we were snowed in for days Pyotr would fall in love with you and forget all about Sophia Lukaev,’ she said.
‘Has Sophia been to Mavara?’
‘Only once, but her visit seemed to last for ages. Her parents were with her and Mother was all silly and trying too hard to please,’ said Tassya. ‘It was most embarrassing.’
‘I am surprised they didn’t announce their engagement then,’ said Valerie, with a sick feeling in her heart.
‘Pyotr is awfully stubborn and won’t be pushed,’ said his sister. ‘The more Mother, and Sophia, and her parents, tried to please him the colder he became. Mother was very cross with him after they’d gone.’
‘If they are not engaged what makes you think she will become his wife?’
‘Because I heard Mother telling him he
must
propose to Sophia this year or she’ll have to sell Mavara.’
So that was that. For the rest of the drive both girls were silent, immersed in their own thoughts. But as the troika reached Mavara and turned in between the iron gates, Tassya let out a gasp.
‘We’ve got visitors!’
She leaned forward in her chair and stared at the brightly lit forecourt.
Two sleighs were drawn up by the front steps, one empty the other being unloaded by a tall man in a long fur coat and fur hat, and a harassed looking Feodor.
‘Who can it be? We never have visitors. Is it a friend of Pyotr’s?’
As Conrad halted the troika and jumped down to lift out Tassya’s chair, the tall man came down the steps and called out a greeting.
‘Good evening, Tassya, remember me?’
‘It’s Andrei!’ cried Tassya. ‘Hurry, Conrad, get me into the house! It’s Andrei Odarka, Valerie,’ she called back over her shoulder, as Conrad carried the chair up the steps.
‘I remember him,’ said Valerie, following them into the house.
In the hallway Pyotr was waiting, concern on his lean face.
‘You are late!’ he said, his blue eyes dark with annoyance. ‘Mother is in a dreadful state with these unexpected guests and you were not here to welcome them.’ He glared at Valerie as if it was her fault.
‘We are back now so your mother needn’t worry,’ she said.
‘And it was such fun spending your money, dear brother, thank you for being so generous,’ said Tassya, smiling up at him.
But Pyotr was not appeased.
‘Go and change for dinner,’ he snapped. ‘Dunya is waiting in your room.’
He did not look at Valerie again, but strode past her to the door and began shouting orders to Conrad about the horses.
‘Sorry to have caused you stress,’ said Andrei, following his friend back into the hall, with Feodor close on his heels. ‘There, that’s the lot now. I’ll take these up to Sophia and then join you for a drink, Petya.’
After Andrei had left the hall, Pyotr was further annoyed to see the two girls still sorting out their purchases.
‘Take Tassya to her room, Valerie,’ he said brusquely, ‘then come and join us in the drawing room when you are ready.’
What a shattering day it had been. As he watched the English girl wheel his sister away down the passage, her back ramrod straight, he decided he needed a drink before Andrei came to join him.
First there had been the maddening behaviour of Valerie Marsh refusing to see him in her room that night. Then he and his mother had spent hours over the books in her study, making him realize just how bad the financial problems at Mavara really were.
Then Tassya and Valerie had been late returning and when horses did eventually arrive, they had been drawing sleighs carrying Andrei and Sophia with enough luggage for a fortnight’s stay.
His mother was now having to organize meals for two extra and unwelcome guests, as well as having fires lit in the normally unheated spare bedrooms, and sorting out blankets and linen for the unaired beds.
After filling a glass of vodka, Pyotr slumped in his chair stretching out his legs and drinking lustily.
Sophie had been to Mavara before with her parents, but that had been in the summer, his mother had been warned in
advance, and in the warmth of a golden July life on the estate had been tranquil and relaxed.
He remembered picnics down by the lake, meals eaten out-of-doors on the verandah overlooking the garden at the rear of the house, and his mother liking both Sophia and her parents.
Now everything had changed. Pyotr tilted his glass and finished the vodka with one jerk of his hand. Now Valerie Marsh had entered his life and, despite their disagreements and her refusal to comply with his wishes, he could not erase her from his mind, nor from his future.
He would have to marry Sophia Lukaev. There was no doubt about that. But he was not prepared to let his Little England go. She tantalized, irritated, and enchanted him, and he had somehow to use all his wits and charm into persuading her to be his mistress.
Slowly Pyotr re-filled his glass and began to feel better.
Valerie wheeled the excited Tassya to her room and left her in Dunya’s capable hands before returning to her own chamber where Dashka awaited her.
At least she had garments that she could wear with pride, thanks to Grand Duchess Olga, and she had Dashka to assist her. But Valerie did not believe the maid would be able to style her hair the way she wished it.
So she gave Dashka her fur and blue travelling suit to deal with and slipped on her long-sleeved cream peignoir. Then she sat on the stool in front of the mirror and turned her attention to her hair. Once that was arranged to her satisfaction, Dashka could help her with the apple-green satin dress.
Heaving a sigh of determination, Valerie began undoing the pins and combs that kept her bun in place, then brushed out her long tresses until they shone like silk in the lamplight. The back locks returned to their normal bun and were coiled neatly at the
back of her head. But the shorter side curls were not going to be pinned back from her face as usual.
Instead, she fumbled in the small drawer in front of her and brought out the two side-pads, which she had brought with her from Tsarskoe Selo. Then with her tongue caught between her teeth, she began folding the loose curls over the pads, one to the right the other to the left, before anchoring them firmly with the grand duchess’s gold-encrusted combs.
Once she had finished, Valerie smiled. The style gave width to her small face, as well as elegance, and with a thick gold necklace around her throat she looked almost regal.
Dashka helped her with the dress then, with velvet slippers on her feet, Valerie stood for the last time in front of the long mirror.
Her bodice and sleeves were of tucked white lace, caught at the wrists and neck with tiny pearl buttons, and over the rest of her slithered the apple-green satin. This had a high waist seam and was buttoned down to the hem, ending in narrow flared skirts, which allowed freedom of movement.
After Dashka had given her the green and white lace fan, Valerie moved towards the door feeling taller and more confident. She didn’t know if her attire was correct for Mavara, but she was certain it would compare favourably with anything Sophia was wearing.
As she opened her bedroom door she heard scurrying footsteps and Dunya, very red in the face, came to a breathless halt in front of her.
‘They are waiting for you, bárishna,’ she said.
‘I am coming.’ Valerie took a deep breath and followed Dunya down the passage.
Countess Irina was the first to see Valerie. She was sitting in her chair facing the door, prepared to make an immediate critical
comment on the foreigner’s late arrival. She had been watching and waiting, determined to put the English girl at a disadvantage and prove to her son, once and for all, that the clergyman’s daughter was not right for Mavara and certainly not the right sort of female to become his wife.
But as she opened her mouth to speak, Countess Irina was stunned into silence.
The girl radiated unusual beauty with her brown hair puffed out at the sides and ornamented with combs of gold. She had the appearance of nobility with her graceful satin-clad figure and thin-wristed hands, one of which was playing delicately with her fan.
If Valerie Marsh were not a foreigner, and if her family had possessed reasonable wealth, she would have made an admirable bride for Pyotr, thought Irina, as her earlier views were dashed by the apparition in the doorway.
Sophia was the next to see her. The men were immersed in conversation at the other end of the room, and Tassya had her back to the door and was watching Andrei Odarka.
Sophia stared. The foreign upstart had done it again, she thought indignantly. But where had she obtained such a divine creation? It was a superbly cut garment with exquisite detail and finish. Had she brought it with her from England?
Furtively, her eyes slid round to look across at Pyotr. What effect would this ravishing creature have on him?
At that moment Andrei caught sight of Valerie over his friend’s shoulder, and he stopped talking at once to gesture towards the door.
‘Miss Marsh has arrived, Petya,’ he said, ‘and I think we must compliment her on her magnificent appearance.’
He looked at his friend. How would Pyotr react? He was half in love with the girl already, and in that stunning outfit she seemed born to be a countess, at the very least.
Pyotr spun round to stare at the open doorway where Valerie still hovered, unsure whether to come in and join the group, or whether they would all now rise and go through to the dining room.
He had still not recovered from her words of dismissal, nor from the unexpected arrival of Sophia. Moreover, the St Petersburg beauty he could have at any time, but did not desire, and the one he lusted after refused his love.
To make matters worse, here she was looking like an elegant, sophisticated society lady, when all he wanted was his innocent, simply dressed Little England.
He might poke fun at her lack of fashion, and turn up his nose at her dowdiness, but beneath the mockery was his longing to protect and cherish such naiveté.
Tonight, Valerie Marsh looked supremely confident and he hated the pride he detected in her, a pride that was one of his own worst failings.
‘Valerie,’ he said smoothly, ‘how nice you look, my dear. No doubt such careful grooming made you late. Shall we eat now, Mother?’ He offered his arm to the countess. ‘I am famished,’ he said, and led his mother past Valerie and out of the room.