Russian series 03 - The Eagle's Fate (24 page)

‘Yes. She amused herself with both of them, and discarded them when she tired of them, in her usual fashion, but they were both still mesmerized by her, and each blamed the other for his own rejection. Eventually the whole thing blew up into a violent quarrel, and at the worst possible time!

‘I expect you remember what was happening that year. We’d been humiliated at Austerlitz the previous December, and there was a lull in the fighting for some months, but it flared up again in November. The Army marched into Poland and the fighting began with the French attack on our position at Pultusk.

‘The quarrel happened a couple of days before that. It led to a duel, of course, despite the efforts of some of the other officers to bring them to their senses. One of them made the mistake of reminding Vanya that he was a poor shot, which made him more determined than ever…Anyway, the meeting took place, and was even more of a disaster than everyone feared. Vanya obviously meant to fire first, for he swung round on the signal and pulled the trigger without even taking proper aim, and in any case, the pistol mis-fired. Your—your brother then shot him through the head.’

Nadya made a sound between a gasp and a sob, for this was much worse than she had expected. Andrei, who had been speaking with his eyes fixed firmly on the toes of his boot, looked at her stricken face, and said quietly, ‘That’s exactly how it was put to me, so you can perhaps see why I assumed that he did it intentionally! However, it wasn’t your fault—you obviously didn’t even know about it until this minute. I should have realised that you couldn’t have know when I virtually accused you of lying!

‘Of course, the whole thing was scandalous from the point of view of the other officers. Imagine—two officers of the Imperial Guard fighting a duel on the eve of battle! Unthinkable! A disgrace to the Regiment! Your brother was killed the next day, so they decided that, as far as the rest of the world was concerned, Vanya was killed in the battle as well, and so it was reported. My parents were upset, of course, but the knowledge that he’d died doing his duty was a comfort, and they still had a son to serve in the Regiment, so I was told to apply for a transfer…

‘Some time later, one of my brother officers took a little too much wine one night and said more than he should have done. I became suspicious, and eventually managed to extract the whole story from him. I’m afraid my reaction was…well, not one of Christian charity! I believed that your brother had deliberately shot down an unarmed man in cold blood—murdered Vanya, in other words! I was pretty bitter about the effect on my own life, too, for I’d no wish to go soldiering, and hated the life!

‘As Maxim Serov was beyond my reach, I turned my hatred on the rest of the family, which eventually proved to be one unfortunate, helpless girl, as much dear Maxim’s victim as Vanya was! More so, in fact, for I realise now that Vanya brought his fate on himself—it takes two to make a quarrel, and he knew what he was doing, presumably.’

The room was so silent when he stopped speaking that the kitten opened its eyes to see what had happened, yawned with a great display of pink mouth and minute teeth, and went to sleep again.

‘I’m sorry,’ Nadya said brokenly.

‘It’s not the best of times to tell you, when you’re still suffering from the shock of a nasty accident, but I’ve thought for some time that perhaps you ought to know the truth. Or perhaps not—I don’t know…It’s all old history now—past and done with.’

‘Your parents still don’t know?’ Nadya asked.

‘No, and never will, if I can help it! My father’s an old man now, old beyond his years, for his health was broken in the Italian Campaign of ‘98. He’s content with things as they are, and there’d be no sense or kindness in telling him that the son he’s so proud of was killed in a sordid, senseless duel over a selfish bitch, and not gloriously in battle! Nadya—I’ve told you because I wanted you to know why I behaved in such an appalling way to you when we first me, but I don’t want you to worry about it. Your damned brother’s done enough damage, and I’ve no wish to extend the effects of it any further. You know, and let that be an end to it. It’s past and done with, and nothing to do with us any more. Will you shake hands on that?”

‘Yes,’ replied Nadya, after a short pause for reflection. ‘Yes, I can understand how you felt—or, at least, why you felt like that. You’re right that it should be put behind us.’

She held out her hand, and it was only then, as Andrei stood up and took a few steps towards her, that he realised what he had said and hesitated, his maimed hand half extended. Nadya kept her eyes on his in the same earnest, slightly anxious-looking gaze, and saw the realisation dawn on him, then the doubt, and finally the acceptance as he completed the movement and they shook hands.

‘Thank you,’ he said unsteadily.

‘Thank you for telling me,’ Nadya replied, sounding like a polite schoolgirl, so that they both laughed in a sudden release of tension.

‘Let’s have some tea after all that emotion!’ Andrei said, and crossed the room to tug the bell-pull. ‘And could you fancy a game of Boston? Not for money, I hasten to add!’

It was not much of a joke, but it had just enough ironic humour to lighten the atmosphere, and Nadya managed to smile and think to herself that it was a relief that something dreadful had receded far enough to have a funny side to it after all.

Not surprisingly, Tatya thought Nadya looked tired when she returned, and insisted that she go to bed after dinner, but the next day she was feeling so much better that she found lying about on a chaise-longue decidedly irksome. In fact, having gone to bed quite certain that she would be unable to sleep but would lie awake for hours thinking about what Andrei had told her, she had slept remarkably well, and woken rather later than usual with a sensation of relief, as if some heavy burden had been removed. Even the dreadful weather failed to depress her, although there was a bitter wind and heavy snow, and the sky was go grey and lowering that the short hours of daylight were hardly distinguishable from the night.

Because of the weather, and also because she was holding a reception the following evening, Tatya decided to spend a quiet afternoon and evening at home. As it was Sunday, they all went to Church in the morning, even Nadya, who claimed that it didn’t count as excitement.

Tatya did suggest that Andrei and Irina might care to go out somewhere later, but they both glanced at the window and declined.

Some new gowns had come from the dressmaker the previous day, so the ladies spent a pleasant hour or two in the afternoon unpacking them and trying them on, and Andrei, despite his earlier decision to stay in, had to go out after all, as he received a note after luncheon requesting him to visit Count Kosholev, the Grand Master of the Court.

One of the new gowns was a deep rose-coloured paduasoie, decorated with a wide band of embroidery in a paler shade of the same colour round the hem and on the tiny sleeves. Nadya was a little surprised to see it among the gowns intended for Tatya, as it was not at all the usual sort of colour which Tatya favoured, and it was hardly surprising that, when she had it on, Tatya decided that she didn’t much care for it. When Nadya tried it, however, both Tatya and Irina exclaimed how well it suited her, for her skin picked up a touch of warmth and colour from it in a most interesting fashion, so, of course, Tatya insisted that Nadya must have it, saying that otherwise it would simply be put away and never worn at all. So Nadya was persuaded to accept it, which was what Tatya had intended all along.

When they returned to the garden-room to drink tea and rest before dressing for dinner, they found that Andrei had just returned. He greeted them with a beaming smile, and could hardly wait to tell them that he had been offered a post in the Emperor’s Cabinet when he received his discharge from the Army in a few weeks’ time.

‘What shall you do there?’ asked Tatya.

‘Something very interesting—I could hardly have chosen anything better myself!’ he replied. ‘I’m to assist another fellow to select the Emperor’s gifts! You know, whenever he goes abroad, there have to be gifts for the Head of State, court officials and so on, and at home, arriving and departing envoys, ambassadors, visiting royalty, and all the Christmas and nameday presents for Court Officers. I shall spend my days looking at hundreds of beautiful things of every possible kind, and choosing the best of them!’

‘Some of Alexander Pavlovich’s gifts are a little—er—ostentatious!’ Tatya said doubtfully. She meant ‘vulgar’, but could hardly say so.

‘Ah, but it will be up to me to see that they’re not in the future,’ Andrei replied with enthusiasm. ‘I prefer quiet beauty, you know—the sort that needs a second look.’

‘You’ll enjoy that,’ Nadya said, glad that he had been offered something so pleasant, and thinking that she would much enjoy such an occupation herself. ‘What a thoughtful choice!’

By Monday, Nadya was so obviously in her normal health that Tatya agreed that she might go for a drive with them in the afternoon, the weather having cleared again, so they went out for an hour in the light sledge, travelling out beyond the city limits, where the driver could put the two horses through their paces, one going at a curious, very fast trot with the legs on each side moving together, and the other, on a very long rein, curvetting and prancing to one side, in the traditional manner of a Russian racing sledge.

By the time they returned home, Nadya’s cheeks were unusually pink, and her eyes sparkling with the exhilaration of fast movement and the crisp air, and Tatya was persuaded that she might even be allowed to attend the reception, provided that she sat quietly on a sofa throughout, and slipped away to bed as soon as she felt tired.

Nadya promised to keep to both of these conditions, and when the first guests arrived, she was already comfortably settled on that same sofa on which she had been sitting when Andrei first appeared in Petersburg, and was wearing the rose gown, contentedly aware that she looked her best, despite some bruises on her arm which her long gloves did not quite cover.

‘In another month, at the most, I’ll be able to stop parading about with this stupid pelisse slung over my shoulder!’ Andrei remarked, sitting down beside her. ‘And I’m so tired of hearing these damned spurs jingling at every step, and the sabretache knocking against my leg when I walk anywhere.’

‘I’ve often wondered,’ Nadya said, deciding to ignore his regrettable adjective, ‘what you keep in a sabretache. It is a bag, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but one doesn’t ever keep anything in it!’ Andrei replied. ‘For one thing it would spoil the shape, and for another, it would hit one’s leg more than ever, though Sasha Tuchin has been known to keep buns in his! It’s just one of those useless survivals. In fact, practically everything about the hussar uniform is either useless or ridiculous!’

Nadya said mock-reprovingly, ‘I thought it was supposed to be the most dashing and exciting of all uniforms!’

‘D’you think so?’ he asked, giving her a quizzical look which made her turn her head away a little, conscious that her colour had risen.

She was saved from having to reply by the arrival before her of an anxious-looking gentleman with his arm in a sling, who embarked on a lengthy and confused speech of combined apology and enquiry about her well-being before she recognised him as her cavalier of the ice-mountain.

By the time he had run out of exclamations and she assured him that she was quite recovered, expressed concern about his own injury and enquired about its progress, and been assured that it was no more than a small fracture ( with a suitable expression of suffering patiently borne), she had recovered her composure and Andrei had removed himself with a murmured ‘Excuse me’.

Nadya watched him stroll away across the room with an uneasy feeling that she might have offended him in some way, but apparently he had only gone to speak to an acquaintance who had just arrived, so she was able to pay proper attention to her whilom partner, and to the half-dozen other gentlemen from the sliding party who came to pay their respects and enquire how she did.

By then, the salon was filled with chattering, laughing clusters of guests, standing about or sitting on the gilt sofas and chairs arranged about the room. The noise was considerable, and she was beginning to feel a little tired, but she had no desire or intention of leaving yet, so finding herself left alone for a few minutes, she tried to relax, leaning against the back of the sofa instead of sitting properly upright as she had been taught at the Smolny. A rather loud-voiced gentleman was pontificating to an admiring group of ladies not far away, and she tried to make out what he was talking about, but without much success.

‘I can’t decide,’ Andrei said suddenly in her left ear, ‘whether you look best in sapphire or that pinky-red colour. They’re both becoming.’

‘Thank you!’ she responded, startled, then laughed. ‘What a strange man you are!’

‘Am I? In what way?’

‘Most of the time you speak like other people, in polished, elegant phrases, and then, suddenly, you come out with something so blunt and direct…’

He smiled slightly, making no reply to that, saying instead, ‘Irina’s looking very pretty tonight’, nodding towards the slim figure in golden-brown velvet standing nearby, making polite conversation with a pair of elderly gentlemen. She had little white flowers threaded into her plaited coronet tonight, and looked very well in a colour which emphasised the rich brown of her hair.

‘Yes,’ Nadya agreed, ‘and Tatya is as beautiful as ever.’

They both looked at Tatya, who was still near the open double door, talking to the latest arrival, Count Stroganov. She was wearing blonde crepe tonight, with a gauzy scarf of the same colour, lightened by gold threads, draped around her shoulders.

‘A remarkable female!’ Andrei said, watching her with a little smile which looked so tender that it gave Nadya a pang of mingled envy and regret. ‘Beauty, kindness and intelligence—a rare combination—Good Lord!’

The sudden change in his tone and the surprise on his face carried Nadya’s attention back to the scene by the door, Tatya was still standing there, smiling at something Count Stroganov was saying, but another figure had appeared in the doorway—a tall, well-built man, with a shock of clack curly hair in considerable disorder, with a strong-featured face with straight black brows which made him look a trifle bad-tempered, and a patch of frost-bite scarring one cheek. He was wearing the white uniform of the Chevalier Guard with its silver lace and red collar, a small medal pinned at the neck, but Nadya had never before seen a Guards officer whose uniform looked as if he had slept in it for a week and rolled in the mud several times between. He was also in much need of a shave.