Carola Dunn (14 page)

“There was a coachman. It was perfectly proper, and Teresa said I might. Is it not odd, John, that I was not at all afraid? To think that eating breakfast alone with Cousin Tom used to make me shake in my shoes! I believe it is your doing. I feel safe with you, so I am more confident with other gentlemen who have never offered me harm.”

He sat down and took her hand. “I am glad of it. But beware of overconfidence. There are so-called gentlemen who do not deserve your trust.”

“Count Solovyov, for one?”

“Yes. I believe you can rely upon Kolya, but most of these Russians are paradoxical folk. You think you know what they are about, and then you are confounded.” He stood up again and moved about restlessly, feeling her gaze following him.

“You have made many friends among them, though?” she asked.

“Friends—call them acquaintances rather. I spend so much time with Russians that I scarcely see my compatriots at the embassy. Besides, they despise or envy me because I seem to do nothing useful. I do not know how it is, but though I live much as I used in London, I find it tedious. Only the work I am doing is worthwhile.”

“Hush!” she said in alarm.

He nodded abstractedly. “I must suppose it is because my companions are so different in temperament from what I am accustomed to. Nor can I like their code of honour, though I cannot claim that all Englishmen subscribe to my own, let alone obey it. The Russians will not lie to a gentleman, true, but they think nothing of lying to a female or a serf. And then, they will not bear the slightest insult, yet they seem to me to go out of their way to insult others in an effort to prove their bravery. They seek out opportunities for duels, while any decent Englishman does his best to avoid them.”

“To be sure.” Rebecca’s amusement was ill hidden.

“Oh, I know what you are thinking,” he said ruefully. “I’m a fine one to talk, am I not? But that was not meant to be a serious affair, after all.”

“I know, John. I am teasing. That does not mean I am not interested in what you are saying.”

“I need to tell someone. You see, it has made me question my own code. Why should it be a matter of honour to pay one’s gambling debts and not one’s tailor? Why is it acceptable to cheat a husband but not at cards?” He hesitated. “I should not be saying such things to you. I never keep my tailor waiting overlong, I assure you.”

“I do not pretend to understand what gentlemen think honourable. Why is it permissible to beat a wife but not a servant?” She was pale and trembling.

Again he sat down beside her and took her hand. “I am a villain to trouble you so, Beckie. I hoped you had put that behind you.”

“It is not so easily forgotten.”

“There are few marriages like your uncle’s, I wager. Look at Andrew and Teresa. Muriel is perfectly happy with Tom, and my parents go on quite comfortably together. But enough of that. Try to put it all out of your mind. Kolya is planning an excursion into the countryside and I have already accepted. He means to invite you and the Graylins, among others. Do say that you will go.”

“I expect so. Both Teresa and Andrew grow tired of the city.”

“And you?”

“I do miss the countryside, even though I have discovered that I thoroughly enjoy parties and balls and the theatre. It would be nice to spend part of the year in the city and part in the country.”

“That is what I have always done, and it suits me very well.” He stood up. “It will be interesting to see how the Russians amuse themselves in the fields and woods. I had best let you go back to Esperanza now. I promised her not to keep you long.”

“She does enjoy your visits,” Rebecca said as they went out into the hall. “She told me you are her favouritest uncle, and her favouritest gentleman except Papa.”

“I am very fond of her, and of young Ned, too. I daresay Mary will improve with age. You know,” he added in surprise as he took his hat and gloves from the servant, “I have enjoyed my evenings here with you and Esperanza and Andrew and Teresa above anything else I have done in St Petersburg!”

Pondering this extraordinary fact, he took his leave.

Chapter 12

Jaded he might feel, but John continued to frequent the company of the young Russian officers. His patience was beginning to bear fruit. Nearly every day he had some tidbit to report to Andrew, and a pattern was emerging.

While news of troop movements and garrisons were useful, Andrew was eager to gain an insight into the plans of the military command headed, of course, by the Tsar. He urged John to see more of Prince Nikolai.

“I hate to spy on a friend,” John said gloomily. After their midnight discussion, he was once again on intimate terms with Kolya.

“You have yet to report a single word he has said. I must assume he is singularly close-mouthed about matters of state, whatever his opinion of the government. If it helps, I shall release you from any obligation to repeat anything he may let drop. I hope you feel no such qualms about those to whom he has introduced you.”

John spent that very evening at a gaming house with Kolya and a few other members of the Tsar’s staff. As was his habit, not wanting to draw attention to his presence he avoided either winning or losing large sums.

The White Nights were past, but dawn still came early. The sun was already rising when one of the company proposed adjourning to a popular brothel. It was not the first time a convivial evening had ended with such a suggestion. John had always declined; even in London a certain fastidiousness had kept him from the many houses of ill-fame after a disillusioning visit of exploration at an early age. Nor had he set up a mistress in St Petersburg, feeling that the language barrier would prevent the friendly relationship he preferred.

In fact, he had not lain with a woman since that lying jade Minette had deceived him with Rawley, thus precipitating the duel responsible for his presence here.

Kolya, sharing his preference for a more stable liaison, had a ballet dancer under his protection. “I’m off to see Dunyashka,” he said. “Come with me, John? Her little sister is visiting. Is obliging girl.” He sketched a shape with expressive hands.

John went. The dancer’s sister, Katyenka, turned out to be a pretty blonde with merry eyes and red, pouting lips. Her figure lived up to Kolya’s gestures, and she was more than willing to oblige
.
John drank a glass or two of
wine with her, kissed her, gave her a few rubles and departed. It was the yellow hair that put him off, he decided. It reminded him of Minette. Dark hair was really much more attractive, the kind that had gold lights in sunshine. And besides, Katyenka was too buxom for his taste.

As he sauntered home through the pale light of the early morning, he remembered that tonight he had given himself a holiday. Instead of working he would spend a delightful evening with Rebecca and the Graylins.

He was looking forward to Kolya’s expedition, too. He had already visited the Volkovs’ country house. Once he had stayed overnight after an unsuccessful bear-hunt and again after bagging several brace of snipe in a satisfying display of superior English marksmanship. It was a pleasant place. Rebecca would enjoy strolling through the birchwoods.

Half of July passed before a convenient day for Prince Nikolai’s expedition arrived. St Petersburg was full of dust and mosquitoes, the canals were growing odorous, and most of the wealthier Russians moved out of town to
dachas
in the villages of Tsarskoye Selo or Peterhof.

Prince Volkov’s favourite summer home lay in the opposite direction, some twenty miles north of the city on the Karelia Peninsula, between the Gulf and Lake Ladoga. Towards this, one sunny morning, drove a convoy of a dozen carriages:
troikas, kibitkas, drozhkis
and
brichkas
and one large, clumsy
tarantass.

“I did not know you had invited so many!” Rebecca exclaimed as Prince Nikolai’s
troika
took the lead.

“Once I involve my mother, was inevitable,” he sighed. “Still, are all friends of mine, except for count. Mama has inexplicable fondness for Boris Ivanovich.”

Rebecca had not noticed Count Solovyov among the others. She did not like him, and John had as good as told her he was dangerous, but surely he could not do anything to imperil John today. She resolved to put him out of her mind.

Crossing the Neva, they soon left the marshland behind and entered a region of sand dunes and forests. A refreshing breeze sprang up. Rebecca wished she dared remove her bonnet to enjoy it to the full.

“The air smells of pine,” she said. “It is delightfully cool here.”

“Is always pleasant here between lake and sea. Peter the Great had one of his many country residences here, at Blizhniye Dubki. In fact, was near here that he rushed into sea in November to save people from sinking boat, which caused his final illness. Peter mirrored Russian soul, sometimes heroic, sometimes brutal, sometimes sentimental. How sane you English seem in comparison. Even your mad King George merely talked to trees.”

Princess Volkova had gone ahead the previous day, with her daughters and an extraordinary number of serfs. The party arrived to find a sumptuous picnic spread on rustic wooden tables in the shade of a grove of oaks. As Kolya handed Rebecca down from the
troika,
she thought she saw her hostess frown at them. It puzzled her, for the princess had always been friendly. Surely she did not suppose that her son intended anything more than a mild flirtation with the English governess?

She quickly forgot the moment as the two young princesses swept her off to join a merry group at one of the tables.

After nuncheon, the livelier members of the party took rush baskets and wandered into the woods to search for mushrooms. The cool green hush beneath the birches was shattered by gay voices. All the Russians knew just what they were looking for. There was much good-natured teasing as they instructed Rebecca, John and the Graylins, before spreading out in small groups among the silvery trunks.

Kolya and his younger sister stayed with Rebecca and John. Rebecca was distracted by the play of light and shadow as the sun shone through the leafy branches, and it was John who found the first mushroom.

They laughed at his air of triumph as he placed it with the utmost care in Rebecca’s basket.

“Take care of it for me, and I shall have it for dinner,” he said, grinning. “All the same, Princess, I’d wager you saw it first and it was only your politeness to a guest that allowed me the prize.”

She giggled, and proved the truth of his guess by filling her own basket with astonishing rapidity.

Kolya had arranged for carriages to meet them at the far side of the wood, to drive down to the seashore when the afternoon had grown cooler. As host he was obliged to be there first, so they did not linger in the wood. They waited a few minutes by the sandy track before the others began emerging from the shade of the trees.

One of the last to arrive was Count Solovyov, escorting a young lady with whom he exchanged amorous glances. However, their dalliance must have been more a matter of words than of deeds, for he carried two respectably filled baskets.

He handed them to his coachman. The serf fumbled, spilling the mushrooms on the sand. Instantly Solovyov lashed out with his cane, slashing the man across the shoulders as he dropped to his knees to scrabble after the mushrooms. A kick caught him in the ribs and he went sprawling with a croak of pain.

Rebecca turned away blindly, sick with shock. John was beside her; she hid her face against his waistcoat and his arms closed about her, strong, comforting, protective.

“Enough, Count!” That was the prince’s contemptuous voice. “Let the man pick them up. You are distressing the ladies.”

But the princess addressed some lighthearted, inconsequential remark to the count’s companion, and there had been no pause in the chatter of the others.

Rebecca raised her eyes to meet John’s.

“They do not care,” she whispered.

“I care.” His arms tightened as he bent his head towards her.

“Rebecca Ivanovna!”

John released her at once, only keeping one hand beneath her elbow to support her.

Kolya’s slanting hazel eyes were full of concern. “I am sorry you should witness this when you are my guest, though, alas, such things will happen as long as Russia has serfs. Are you all right? Shall I drive you home?”

“N-no, I shall be all right. I do not want to disrupt your party, and I should like to see the sea.”

“You may count on me to take care of my cousin,” said John gently.

Kolya nodded and went to see to the rest of his guests. Only the Graylins and the Russian gentleman who had gone with them were not yet arrived. They ambled out of the wood a few minutes later, with empty baskets, and the procession set off for the beach.

Rebecca was more shaken than she was willing to admit. The odd thing was that it was not the image of the beaten serf that kept recurring in her mind, it was the feeling of John’s arms holding her close.

John too was shaken. He had to admit to himself that if Kolya had not spoken at that moment he would have kissed Rebecca, right there in front of everyone. A brotherly kiss, of
course, just to reassure her that she was safe. It was gratifying that she had turned to him in her distress. That was why his heart had swelled with joy until he thought he would suffocate—he was simply glad to be of service for once.

Andrew was the only other person in the world who viewed him as a competent, useful human being. And Andrew kept him very busy for the next couple of weeks. He saw Rebecca only fleetingly, in a crowd, and the remembered impact of her slender body and trembling lips faded.

* * * *

It was a sultry afternoon at the beginning of August when Andrew suggested that they leave his office in the embassy and walk by the Fontanka Canal.

“I have nothing to do for an hour or two,” he said as he opened the door into the outer office, “and it may be a little cooler there. This place is like an oven.”

John followed, bursting with curiosity. They crossed the embassy courtyard, waving away a persistent
drozhky
driver, and were strolling along the Fontanka before Andrew spoke a word about anything other than the weather.