Carola Dunn (6 page)

“I wager you don’t speak any Russian, shrimp.”

“Dobry dyen,”
said Esperanza promptly.

“I can make up nonsense words, too.”

“No, she’s right,” Rebecca put in. “It means good day.”

John stared at her. “You speak Russian?”

She flushed. “Grand’mère was Russian. My mother’s mother. My grandfather was a diplomat, like Sir Andrew.”

“Papa is a dip’mat,” the child confirmed. “Where’s Ned and Baby Mary? It’s a lot of steps.”

Her honorary uncle picked her up and set her on his shoulders. “You speak Russian?” he asked Rebecca again.

“Yes, or I did. Grand’mère was an aristocrat and spoke French with my mother—the Russian aristocrats prefer French, I collect, or did in those days—but by the time I was born she wanted to speak the language of her childhood. As a matter of fact, I was brought up in a mixture of English, French and Russian.”

“Famous! I expect Teresa and Andrew will be glad of your tutoring while they are here.”

“Oh no, I could not presume to instruct them! Besides, I never learned to write it. Pray do not tell them.”

“You are by far too retiring,” said John severely. “Here we are, shrimp. I expect your cousins are having their tea, with all sorts of good things to eat.”

He and Rebecca stayed only long enough to be sure that Esperanza was comfortable with the other children and Nurse. However, when they reached the nursery door she jumped down from the table and ran after them with a milk moustache and a jam tart in her fist. She tugged at Rebecca’s sleeve, fortunately with the other hand.

“Wait,” she commanded stickily.

Rebecca crouched down to her level. “What is it, Miss Esperanza? You will be all right with Ned and Mary, you know. Your mama is just below-stairs.”

“I know that! You can call me Chiquita, Aunt Beckie. I like you. Will you come and kiss me good-night?”

Properly flattered, Rebecca promised to come.

“The ultimate accolade,” said John as the door closed at last behind them. “Must you return to your dragon now? I daresay I had best seek out Andrew and see if he can give me a few pointers on this diplomacy business.”

* * * *

He found the new baronet in the library with Tom. His brother stood up as he entered.

“Graylin has news for you, John,” he said. “I’ll take myself off and leave you to it.”

With a slightly unsteady hand, John poured himself a glass of Madeira from the decanter on the side table. News brought by Andrew could only be from his Grace or the Foreign Office. He was about to learn his fate.

“Consul in Cameroon?” he enquired with feigned nonchalance, taking a seat.

Andrew laughed. “Can you imagine how the duchess would react if you were sent to a deadly hellhole like that? Cheer up, it’s not so bad. But I shall let you read it for yourself.” He handed over two letters, one closed with the impressive seal of the Foreign Office.

John broke the seal and read the brief letter. He too laughed, though a trifle wryly. “St Petersburg! Was it my mother, I wonder, who decided that I shall be safer with you to watch over me, or his Grace who conceives that you might keep me out of trouble?”

“I am not in their Graces’ confidence, though you could ask Teresa whether her aunt had a say in the matter. It was my superior at the Foreign Office who told me where you are to be sent. Surely you do not imagine that because you are my wife’s cousin I mean to be your nursemaid? Nor have I any interest in controlling your behaviour except insofar as my position at the embassy may demand it.”

John flushed. “I beg your pardon. I must sound like a sulky child. Perhaps you know, for the letter does not say, what my work will be?”

“I will not pretend that I do not know, but I have been instructed not to give you your orders until we arrive in Russia.” Andrew grinned at his indignation. “You are in no position now to demand the privileges of a relative!”

“I daresay I shall be set to transcribing reports,” John grumbled. “I hope they will be secret, at least. I suppose I must read his Grace’s letter.”

This missive was also short. As he had half-expected, it advised him to consider Sir Andrew his mentor, for the duke held a high opinion of his nephew-in-law. The irritating effect of a number of paternal homilies was softened by a draft for a thousand pounds drawn on a St Petersburg bank.

John was nearly irritated enough to tear up that evidence of his father’s continued affection. Fortunately he recalled in time the state of his purse, for though his income was generous and his gambling luck notorious, he had expensive tastes. He folded the note carefully and tucked it away in an inside pocket.

He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “No time to write a reply before changing for dinner,” he said, his cheerful nature reasserting itself. He stood up and offered Andrew his hand. “I shall depend on you to tell me how to go on, you know, whether you like it or not.”

The baronet shook his hand heartily. “Anything I can do, old chap, anything at all.”

It was not until he was tying his neck-cloth half an hour later that John realized how neatly he had been manoeuvred into asking for advice. If that was an example of Andrew’s diplomatic expertise, he was ready to learn from him.

Of course, though Andrew could not know it, that had been John’s intention all along.

Rebecca and Teresa were in the drawing-room when John went down. Teresa, superb in sapphire satin with her black hair gleaming in the candlelight, kissed him soundly on both cheeks.

“So you go with us. What splendid news! Andrew is still working on his cravat—you always put him on his mettle—but I could not wait to see you.”

Rebecca was disturbed by their open affection for each other. They made a striking pair with a strong family resemblance, both tall and dark and brimming with energy. Sir Andrew seemed quieter, more reserved, very different from his wife, yet Muriel said it had been a love-match. Still, she could not help wondering if Andrew was as pleased as Teresa that John was going to St Petersburg.

John turned to her. “Teresa told you? Of course she did, she is incapable of keeping such news to herself. No tropical wilderness for me!”

She smiled at his relief. “I hope you will like the Russian winter.”

“Little pessimist! I shall hunt bears and wear their skins. Tom! Andrew has told you I am bound for Russia?”

The rest of the party came in and gathered round the fledgling diplomat, offering felicitations and a variety of conflicting advice. Rebecca retreated from the vociferous group. A little envious, she saw them, even Lady Parr, as a close-knit family. They were divided at times by opinions, taste, temperament, distance, but each member was always accepted as part of the whole. Despite her distant relationship she was a stranger, as much because she had not the habit of belonging as because she did not share their mutual past.

This feeling grew stronger when they went to dinner. The conversation turned to reminiscences. They talked of Teresa’s voyage from Costa Rica to London under Andrew’s aegis; of her meeting in Jamaica with Muriel and Lady Parr; of the Little Season in London, during which John had led Teresa from scrape to scrape; and of the Christmas house-party which had ended with Muriel engaged to Tom, and Andrew, to whom she had been betrothed, about to marry Teresa.

Rebecca listened, and ate the delicacies John piled on her plate. As had become his habit, he chose the best bits from the vast variety of dishes before them and pressed them upon her. This evening, however, he did so absently, scarcely looking at her, his gaze fixed on the vibrant loveliness of his cousin sitting opposite.

Teresa had attention to spare for everyone, but it was to her husband she turned for confirmation of a detail, to him she looked to share her laughter. Rebecca observed this, and her vague uneasiness was somewhat assuaged.

Muriel asked after Teresa’s brother, now a Fellow at Oxford. Tom wanted more details of the Graylins’ sojourn in China—he had read the report of Lord Amherst’s embassy, but he knew Andrew had been sent to explore the hinterland more thoroughly than an official expedition could. Everyone had finished eating, but it took a strong hint from her mother to remind Muriel that it was time for the ladies to withdraw.

“Is Gayo going to Russia with us?” John asked Teresa as he held Lady Parr’s chair. “How is the old rascal?”

“Swearing like a Chinaman,” Andrew responded. “Fortunately his intonation is poor and even the Chinese did not understand him. The best that can be said is that it seems, thank heaven, to have driven the Spanish, French, and English profanity from his mind, to some extent. I am quite unable to persuade Teresa to get rid of him.”

“Not that you have tried very hard. He’s in our dressing room,” Teresa added. “Go up and talk to him sometime, John. He has a prodigious memory and will be glad to see you.”

Rebecca was intrigued. Who was Gayo? She must have looked puzzled, for John said with a mischievous grin, “I’ll go up now, and you must come with me, Cousin Rebecca. I cannot wait to make you known to Gayo.”

Muriel smiled and nodded so Rebecca agreed, despite Lady Parr’s frown. Doubtless she would be in for a scolding, but curiosity won.

On the way above-stairs, she thanked John for not committing her to teaching the Graylins Russian.

“You’ll not escape so easy, my girl, for I rely on you to teach me everything you can force into this thick head of mine in the next few days.”

“Languages are not your strong suit?” she asked gaily. Somehow teaching John was quite a different proposition.

He grimaced. “I understand French quite well, but I could never get my tongue around those peculiar sounds. As I remember it, Kolya’s Russian sounded even more peculiar, so you will have your work cut out for you.”

“Kolya?”

“Prince Nikolai Volkov. He came over here with the Tsar—good sort of fellow. I daresay I shall meet him again in St Petersburg, come to think of it. I don’t suppose your grandmother taught you any good toasts?”

She laughed. “Only ‘
za zdorovye’--
your health, which I suspect is rather too tame for your purposes.”

“It will do for a start. First lesson tomorrow morning?
Please,
dear Cousin Rebecca. I can’t promise to keep it secret from the others though, and they are bound to want to take advantage of your expertise.” Not waiting for an answer, he opened the door to the Graylins’ dressing room. “Now come and meet Gayo. He’s the best linguist of the lot.”

Rebecca was glad she had gone with him when Gayo turned out to be a parrot, a colourful green bird with flashes of red and blue on his wings when he spread them in his excitement at seeing them.

“Slimy son of a sea snake,” he shrieked at John.

“That’s affection speaking,” John assured Rebecca, scratching the yellow nape of Gayo’s neck. “He’s most fluent in Spanish, of course, since he is from Costa Rica. His French isn’t bad, either, though. Here, hold out your hand and let him investigate.”

The bird had a wicked beak, but Rebecca refused to cry craven. She stood very still as he inched his way up her arm, though she could not help starting when he crooned “What a pity!” in her ear.

“That was not very polite, but he does seem to have slightly better manners with females,” John observed. As they went back below-stairs, he told her the part the parrot had played in Teresa’s adventures.

After the expected lecture on dereliction of duty, Lady Parr kept Rebecca busy the rest of the evening. It was not until she went up to her chamber that she had leisure to ponder the look she had seen exchanged between Muriel and Teresa when John had invited her to go with him to meet the parrot.

It had been a glance of infinite significance: they thought John was attracted to her. They were quite wrong, of course. All he wanted was a sympathetic audience with whom to talk about his fascinating cousin.

Chapter 6

Everyone but Lady Parr put in an appearance at the breakfast table. Muriel was a little pale but announced bravely that she thought she was over her morning sickness.

“My dear!” Tom was shocked at her frankness.

Amused, Teresa patted his hand. “I fear I tend to have this effect on Muriel, though I have never known it to operate so swiftly.”

“We are all family here,” said Muriel defiantly. “I am sure everyone knows that I am...”

“Muriel!”

Tom’s thunderous expression made Rebecca feel ill with apprehension. However, everyone else was laughing at him.

“...Breeding.” John obligingly finished his sister-in-law’s sentence. “Don’t be gothic, Tom. Of course we know.”

His face sheepish, Tom muttered, “I am glad you are feeling better, my dear.”

“Poor Annie is in a bad way for the same reason.” Teresa saw no reason to let the indecorous subject drop. “She and Rowson were married as soon as we arrived back in England, you know. Rowson insisted on a ‘proper Church wedding’—he refused to trust any of the parsons we met abroad. I have tried to persuade Annie that she ought not to travel, at least until she is feeling better. Aunt Stafford would take her in, and she could join us later.”

“I’m sure she would be welcome to stay here,” Muriel offered.

“She is determined to go with us, and I cannot blame her, for Andrew needs Rowson. I shall not insist on separating them, but I fear she will have a difficult time caring for Chiquita. At least neither of them suffers from sea…
mal de mer.”

Rebecca saw her catch Sir Andrew’s eye and substitute the more acceptable French phrase for the unpleasantly graphic “seasickness.” The gentleman did have some measure of control over his outspoken wife, then. Annie, she remembered, was the black maid who had brought Chiquita into the house, and Rowson must be Sir Andrew’s servant. If she was as ill as Muriel had been, the maid would indeed have a hard time looking after the little girl, who seemed to be as lively as her mother.

Muriel was speaking. “I meant to ask you anyway, Teresa, but since you have brought up the subject—will you not consider leaving Esperanza with us while you are abroad? Edward and Mary would be thrilled.”