Russian series 03 - The Eagle's Fate (15 page)

Andrei hesitated, and Nadya willed him to accept. If he were here she would see him every day, and he would see Tatya.

‘It’s a little awkward,’ he said. ‘My hands—I can’t manage very well yet. Meals, and cups and door-handles…’

‘I’m sure it would be easier here than in barracks,’ Tatya said gently. I hardly ever open a door with my own hands, because there are footmen to do it. Your food can be cut up small before it come to the table, so there’ll be no fuss about it, and —well, we’d love to have you here. We ought to have a man about the place,’ she added in a positive fashion. ‘In case anything happens, you know!’

Nadya and Irina looked at her in surprise, knowing that there must be at least fifty men in and about the house already, and Andrei actually laughed.

‘What use do you think I’d be?’ he asked. ‘If you had a burglar, I suppose I could say “Boo!” to him and frighten him off, but that’s all!’

He moved in the next morning, bringing his valet and his own carriage and horses, and seemed to improve in health every day, losing the pallid, fine-drawn look of an invalid and even putting on a little weight, but only enough to fill his uniform properly again. In the mornings he usually drove out somewhere, or went to the Guards’ riding-school to practice riding without hands, returning for luncheon. He spent his afternoons in the garden-room at firs, reading or fiddling with a pile of spills or a pack of cards, learning to pick up and hold these small things, but soon he began to accompany the ladies when they drove about the city to show Irina the sights, to shop or to make calls. He went with them to the thanksgiving for the Emperor’s birthday, to the theatre, and to evening entertainments, but never to dine out. When Tatya entertained above-stairs, he usually put in an appearance, although he did not always stay to the end if he felt tired. He seemed content, but Tatya confided to the others that he was very much quieter than he had been.

Nadya found a great deal of pleasure in seeing so much of him, in watching and listening when he talked with Tatya and Irina at meals, or during the occasional afternoons when bad weather or fatigue decided them to stay at home and amuse themselves quietly in the garden-room. He talked to Nadya as well, but in a curiously abrupt manner, as if he found it difficult, and she was surprised to find that he quite often withdrew from the circle of Tatya’s beaux to sit with her. He even invited her to stand up with him for a mazurka when Tatya gave a ball one evening, although he did not attempt to dance with anyone else. They managed very well, with Nadya’s hand resting on his wrist instead of being clasped in his hand. It was all far more than she had hoped for, so she was able to suppress the occasional though that it was really very little. Her only fear was that she might betray her feelings to him, but she thought she could probably manage to keep them hidden for the few weeks that the Season would last.

A week before Andrei arrived in Petersburg, the news had arrived that a battle had been fought on the River Beresina, but few details were known, and it was only gradually that it became clear that Admiral Chichagov had not after all annihilated the French, but they had somehow got past him and were able to escape to Kovno and the border. The amateur strategists were furious, and talked of nothing but the dismal incompetence of the Russian Army and all its commanders, becoming more divorced from reality as the days passed.

Andrei had missed the earlier denunciations, but he heard one of the later flights of vituperation, listening to it with a noticeable tightness about his mouth as if he found it hard to keep his tongue in check. Then he sat down beside Nadya—they were at a reception at Countess Scherer’s—and said in a quiet, angry tone, ‘What do they know about it—smug, well-fed, warm!–-‘

‘Nothing,’ Nadya replied equally quietly. ‘They wouldn’t talk so if they did.’

‘They can’t imagine what it’s like, marching and fighting in this sort of weather!’ he went on bitterly. ‘They don’t realise that there was no need for the Admiral or the Marshal to throw away the lives of any more of our men—the French destroyed themselves!

‘It started when they left Moscow too late to reach proper winter quarters before the snow came, and then failed to break through to the south. They might have wintered in what was left of Smolensk, but my friends tell me that their advance-guard seized all the supplies they could find and left nothing for the rest! All our Army had to do was keep them moving and stop them finding anywhere to stop and reform, and the Admiral did that to perfection by capturing Minsk, which was their main supply depot!

‘They’d no proper winter clothing, and virtually no food by the time they reached the Beresina! They were tearing the horses to pieces as they dropped from exhaustion and starvation, and fighting over the raw flesh, until there were no horses left! Imagine them—starving, frozen, demoralized—that’s what one man’s insane ambition led them to! Our own Army’s in a bad enough state, even with proper clothing and food…’

He seemed to have been talking to himself, his eyes fixed on some dreadful scene invisible to anyone else, and Nadya guessed that he must have been receiving letters from his friends with the Army, although he had never mentioned any of this before. He suddenly turned towards Nadya, and asked, ‘Do you remember Sasha Tuchin?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘He’s lost a leg. Frostbite and gangrene. I heard this morning.’

Nadya gave a gasp of horror, and he said, “I’m sorry. I’m not very tactful…The news upset me. Excuse me.’ And with that, he got up and walked out without taking leave of his hostess.

Nadya took it upon herself to make his excuses to Countess Scherer, saying that he felt unwell, and then managed to infiltrate Tatya’s beaux and have a private word in her ear.

‘We’d better go home and see how he is,’ Tatya said at once. She caught Irina’s eye and indicated, with a lift of her eyebrows, that something was amiss. Irina detached herself from the group she was with and came over. Tatya told her what had happened, and they took their leave and went home.

Andrei was sitting in the garden-room, picking up spills in an aimless fashion. He stood up as they entered and said, “I’m sorry I left so abruptly. I suddenly felt that I couldn’t stand another minute of it.’

‘It’s no matter,’ Tatya replied. ‘Anna Scherer always seems to collect together the loudest voices and emptiest heads in Petersburg! She quite understood that you’re still not altogether well, and I’m glad you left instead of putting up with the nonsense they were talking. Poor Sasha—I’m so sorry about him. Will he be all right?’

‘They say so—the gangrene had only reached his ankle and they removed the leg at the knee, so he stands a good chance.’

A footman brought in the usual tea, which always seemed to appear as soon as Tatya returned from anywhere. As she was pouring water from the samovar to the teapot, she enquired, ‘How did you get home?’

‘I walked.’

Tatya almost dropped the teapot.

‘Walked! But it’s snowing and you had no outdoor clothing!’

‘I had my cloak, and I wore my pelisse under it. Besides, it’s not far, and I didn’t have time to get cold.’ Andrei smiled a little, and seemed to have recovered his composure. ‘There’s a letter for Irina over there, and I think I recognize the eagle’s claw!’ He nodded towards the console by the door.

‘Eagle’s claw?’ queried Irina, hastening to fetch her letter.

‘We used to tease Lev about his writing, years ago,’ Andrei explained. ‘It was dreadfully untidy, like birds’ footprints, and Orlov means ‘of the eagle’, of course.’

‘He doesn’t write untidily now,’ Irina answered absently, breaking the seal and opening the letter. She had not heard from Lev for more than seven weeks, since his brief announcement that he was going to join Admiral Chichagov.

‘He went to Venice for a year, and came back with a much improved style,’ Andrei replied, watching Irina’s face. ‘How is he?’

They all waited in some suspense while she finished a hurried scanning of the single sheet, and then listened attentively as she read out the part which was not private.

‘Sorry about the long silence. Admiral moves with extreme rapidity in all directions. Slightly wounded in left arm (again). Nothing much as it was a French musket-ball, but made me feverish, so I missed most of the affair on the Beresina. Boris was there—not a scratch on time, tell Tatya, but fourteen holes in his greatcoat skirts and one through his hat! Conditions are dreadful—bitter cold, deep snow—not fit to put a cat or even a Frenchman out in! Shouldn’t be much longer now as we’re in Vilna, clearing up the mess left by our late visitors. Don’t worry about the arm—it’s healing well, despite the cold.’

There was a short silence as Irina finished reading and then she said shyly, ‘It’s such a relief to hear from him.’

‘I think he might have written before, even if he was busy,’ Tatya said reflectively. ‘It’s been weeks since he last wrote.’

‘It would have been rather difficult’ Nadya observed. ‘For by the time he reached Admiral Chichagov, I suppose the whole French Army was between him and us, wasn’t it?’

‘Oh well!’ Tatya replied airily. ‘I suppose we must forgive him. At least he’s safe and well and only slightly punctured! Why did he specify that it was a French musket-ball? What else could it have been?’

‘French ones are smaller than Russian ones,’ Andrei answered,’ so they make a smaller hole. It’s quite an important consideration when you’re at the wrong end.’

A couple of evenings later, they all went to the play at the Stone Theatre, which was claimed to excel over all the other buildings in Petersburg for the sheer magnificence of its interior. Tatya remarked that she thought it a trifle vulgar—too much gilding—but Irina and Nadya were suitable impressed, and Andrei, who had been even quieter since he heard about Sasha’s misfortune, did not express an opinion. They play was interesting and well-acted, but most of the audience seemed more interested in the scenery and costumes, which they discussed at length during the performance.

The play ended at nine o’clock and there was quite a rush as people hastened to leave the building and go on to other engagement. Nadya was afraid that Andrei’s hands might be knocked in the crush in the foyer, and tried to shield him as much as she could without being too obvious about it, with the result that she was quite knocked about and trodden on herself. The arrangements for the carriages ran with their usual efficiency, the drivers being summoned in turn from the little huts in which stoves burned to keep them warm while they were waiting, and each carriage arriving and departing so quickly that its owners had quite a rush to get in.

Nadya was just descending the steps with the other to enter Tatya’s when someone pushed past her to get into the one in front of it, and she almost lost her footing. Andrei caught her by the shoulders to steady her, and she exclaimed, ‘Oh, mind your hands!’ He removed them at once and turned away with a brief ‘I’m sorry’, and she realised that he had misunderstood her.

She sat in her corner of the carriage all the way home, wondering wretchedly how to tell him he was mistaken, and could think of nothing but a straightforward statement. However, that would require at least a few minutes alone with him to make it, and the opportunity simply did not arise during the rest of that evening, the whole of the next day, or the morning after that. Andrei seemed very quiet and withdrawn, but otherwise gave no sign of anything being amiss.

The opportunity arose at last during the afternoon. Tatya’s Aunt Xenia, an elderly and autocratic dowager, had arrived in the city and summoned her niece to visit her, bringing Irina, presumably for inspection. Nadya was not invited, so she basely asserted that she would not go, but would stay quietly at home during the hour or two that they were away. After luncheon, when they had driven off, she fetched her embroidery, took it down to the garden-room, and settled herself in a comfortable chair by the stove. There was no sign of Andrei, so she assumed that he had gone with the others, or was perhaps resting in his room.

It was very quiet, and presently the black kitten emerged from behind the curtains and inspected her for a moment, then jumped into a chair and disposed itself for its afternoon nap.

Suddenly the door opened and Andrei came in, carrying a book.

‘It’s snowing again,’ he remarked, crossing to the table where he sat down, laying his book by his elbow, and started to pick up the spills.

‘Yes.’ Nadya waited for a few moments, summoning her courage, and then said, ‘Andrei—at the theatre—when I mentioned your hands—I meant only that you might hurt them.’

‘Did you?’ he asked, looking her straight in the face.

‘Yes. Truly.’

‘They’re healed.’ He returned to his spills, apparently giving them his attention. ‘They’re a little sore, but it doesn’t hurt to knock them.’

‘But they’re still bandaged.’ Nadya was puzzled.

Andrei looked at her again, and for once his face gave some indication of his feelings. ‘I can’t find anyone who can make me a pair of gloves, and they’re not fit to be seen without.’

‘But you can’t wear bandages on them for the rest of your life!’ Nadya protested. ‘People wouldn’t expect you to go to such lengths, and I’m sure there’s no need!’

‘How do you know? You haven’t seen them!’ he replied bitterly.

‘Show me, then,’ she challenged.

To her surprise, he began to pluck at the knot which secured one wrapping at his wrist, then said impatiently, ‘I can’t undo it. Would you help me?’

Nadya put her work aside and went over to him, untied the knot and unwound the bandage, rolling it neatly as she did so, until it was all off. Then she did the same to the other hand before she looked at either of them properly.

Andrei mutely held them out, side by side, and watched her face, the scar on his cheek twitching slightly from time to time. She looked at each hand in turn, wincing with pity at the scarred flesh, which was cleanly healed and already covered with new shiny pink tissue. Most of the left hand was gone, leaving only the index finger and thumb, and the middle three fingers of the right hand were missing, cut off quite neatly at the roots.