Scarlet in the Snow (24 page)

The image made me shiver. I took a hold of myself. I was letting my imagination run away with me. There was nothing wrong here – this was just a wealthy area, and wealthy people don’t walk because they can afford to have the best vehicles money can buy. Still, I quickened my step and, reaching the right crossroads without incident, turned into the lane where the art gallery should be.

It was there all right, housed on the ground floor of a tall, narrow grey stone house. Unfortunately, though, Lilac Gardens was closed. A curtain was drawn across its big bay window, so I couldn’t even peer inside. But a notice informed me that it was owned by Messir d’Louvat and that the gallery was merely closed for the preparation of an exciting new exhibition that was set to open soon. Underneath was a date and a time – this Saturday at midday. The day after tomorrow.

I looked up at the house. All the windows were dark, and no-one seemed to be home. There was no point in lingering. If I was to be sure of speaking to someone, I’d have to come back the day after tomorrow.

Luel had given me the name of that gallery for a reason. I’d half-hoped I’d find her there. But it was now obvious that was not her intention. Perhaps Messir d’Louvat was the sorcerer. With that name, not only was he clearly an aristocrat, and thus likely to be wealthy, he was also an art dealer. And art dealers, aristocratic or not, were powerful – as far as artists were concerned, they could make or break careers. And occasionally they were also linked to not very savoury people. A few years ago there’d been a scandal in Byeloka concerning a prominent dealer who’d been hand in glove with art thieves and had been sent to prison for it. What if Ivan had discovered that d’Louvat had done something like that and had threatened to expose him, not knowing that the dealer had sorcerous powers?

With ifs and buts you might put Byeloka in a bottle, as Sveta would say. I was letting my imagination run away with me. But there had to be some connection between Ivan and Lilac Gardens, or Luel would not have sent me there. Perhaps I would find out if I turned up on Saturday.

Halfway back to the underground station, I thought I heard footsteps behind me. I turned my head, but all was quiet and there was not a person in sight. Still, I had an unpleasant feeling of being watched, and it wasn’t until I was hurrying down the stairs to the busy platform that my heart rate began to return to normal.

I’d consulted the map and seen that Argent Lane, where the Gerards’ cousin had her pension, was on a line that branched off from the one I’d been on. Arriving at the right station a short time later, I soon found my way to Argent Lane. It was a short, narrow street, and Madame Pelty’s pension was halfway down. The lady herself proved to be a sharp-tongued, round person with a gimlet glare, which softened considerably when she read Madame Gerard’s note.

‘We’re pretty full due to the show,’ she said, ‘but I do have a little attic room I could let you have, to tide you over till another room is freed up.’ And she named a sum that was so modest I thought I hadn’t heard right.

‘Thank you, I’ll take it for the week,’ I said, producing my banknote.

She looked at it carefully before putting it away in the pocket of her apron. ‘That’ll be enough for half-board,
breakfast and an evening meal, as well as the bed and warm water for your ablutions. No bathroom here, but there’s a respectable bathhouse a couple of streets away. No visitors in the room, and no noise at night either. Or any other time, in fact.’ She looked at me sharply. ‘Are you a musician?’ she barked.

‘Er, no,’ I said, bemused.

‘Good. Faustinians often seem to be musicians, for some reason. Violinists, frequently. Glad you’re not one of them. Can’t abide those screechy things.’ She pointed at my bag. ‘That all your luggage?’

‘Yes, Madame.’

‘Good. Can’t abide mountains of luggage, either. Right, then, come in. I’ll give you a jug of water so you can freshen up, and you can go straight on to the room. Can’t miss it. It’s the only attic room without any junk in it. Now, dinner’s in ten minutes. But you weren’t expected, so you’ll have to make do with soup and bread in the kitchen tonight.’

‘No problem, Madame,’ I said faintly, and followed her into the house.

The attic room was very small and the furniture rather basic, but at least it wasn’t cold. The room was up against the chimney, and heat from the fires downstairs had been rising into it. I unpacked, washed my hands and face, then went downstairs to the kitchen, as instructed.

The cook was a youngish woman who seemed friendly enough but whom I could barely understand, for she had
an accent I hadn’t heard before. ‘She’s from the south – they all talk as if they have mouths full of cake,’ the kitchen-maid whispered to me as she ladled out my leek and potato soup, so thick and tasty it was like a meal in itself. ‘But you get used to it after a while. And you’re from Faustina, I hear. I read in a magazine yesterday about the romantic engagement of your Crown Prince. Wonderful story, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it is,’ I said a little dazedly.

‘Oh well, we don’t have Crown Princes here, but we still have amazing stories, don’t you think?’

I nodded, my mouth full of leek and potato.

‘Like about Mam’selle Durant. Imagine, it said in the paper she never once gave up hope, but then she must be used to it I suppose, what with her mother dead long ago and her father always being away in those foreign places. I’m sure I should go to pieces, would you?’

I had not the faintest idea what she was talking about. But I nodded, wisely. ‘Most likely.’

‘They say he’s pretty ill; well, brigands wouldn’t be thinking of your health, would they? Our President said it was an outrage and . . . oops, the boss is looking this way, I’d better get on with my work. Oh, by the way, my name’s Claire.’

‘Alexandra,’ I said, smiling. We shook hands, and she darted off to her work.

Shortly afterwards, I went up to my room. My long journey was really taking its toll, and I longed for bed. Undressing clumsily in the light of the one candle I’d been given, I could hardly keep my eyes open. Even though the
mattress was a bit lumpy, the pillow a little thin and the covers rather worn and frayed, I fell asleep as soon as I hit the pillow, and slept dreamlessly all night.

I awakened to weak sunlight and the cooing of a pigeon sitting on the windowsill.

Today I would start going around the houses of those five young men. If I’d not been so dazed last night, I might have pumped Claire for information. She sounded as if she had all the gossip on tap. Well, I could always try this morning.

First of all, though, I needed to test my language. ‘Good morning,’ I said to the empty air, ‘and how are you?’ Yes, I was still speaking quaint Champainian, with that Faustinian accent. But was it my imagination or did it sound a little more halting than before? So I tried something a little more complicated, and was left searching for words, with Ruvenyan breaking through from underneath. The effect was obviously wearing off.

So now I knew that the sweets lasted about twenty-four hours. I counted the number of F and C sweets I had left. Six of the first, six and a half of the second – just under a week’s supply.

My hands felt clammy and my breath fluttered in my throat. A week, that’s all I had. And where was Luel? Why hadn’t she contacted me in any way? What was going on? Oh, if only I had the rose petal with me! Old Bony said it put me in danger but now I wondered if that was
really true. At least it would have led me directly to Ivan. I could have coped with anything then. I would not feel so discouraged when thinking of everything I had to do, alone, far away from my family and everything I had known.

Oh, my poor mother. I had promised Sveta I would let her know I was all right. And I had completely forgotten! I had in fact not thought of my family at all in the last few days. How shameful. I must remedy it as soon as possible. The post office would be my first port of call. I counted the rest of my money. I would have enough for a telegraph, but remembering the last time I’d sent one, I hesitated. Because you had to order telegraphs specifically and a copy was kept of them, they were too easy to track down. A letter would be slower, but cheaper and much safer, as I could just post it in the box amongst a heap of other mail. I tore a page out of my notebook and wrote some brief words.

Dear Mama, dear sisters
,

This is to tell you I am safe and well. People are very kind and I am hopeful everything will work out. Please don’t worry about me. I am fine and staying in a good place. I will write to you again soon.

With all my love
,

Your Natasha.

There. It would reassure them whilst not giving away too much in the unlikely event the sorcerer discovered it. I folded the letter and put it in my purse. I’d buy envelopes and stamps at the post office.

I washed from head to toe in some warm water, put on the red cashmere dress, and went down to breakfast in the
dining-room, where the other guests were already gathered. They were older than me, mostly middle-aged and elderly couples, except for a family with small twin boys who kept remarkably quiet. I was the only foreigner, but after polite introductions they soon lost interest in me. As Madame Pelty had said, they were mostly country people up for the show, and their talk was of livestock and crops and the weather. I was left alone to my bread and butter and weak coffee, wishing there was creamy sweet porridge, fried eggs and strong tea instead. Breakfast was a poor meal in Champaine, it seemed.

On my way out a little later, I poked my head in at the kitchen door, intending to find Claire the kitchen-maid. But I was told by the cook that the girl wouldn’t be at work today as she’d been laid low with flu. So out I went into the bright day.

Like most people, I’d seen images of Palume in magazines and books – its famous bridges and elegant streets, gold-domed theatre topped with a flight of bronze angels, charming restaurants, splendid department stores, decorated underground stations, and the grand presidential palace. I’d always suspected the reports were overdone, and last night the darkness had hidden the city’s true beauty. But now, though my mind was intent on other things, I couldn’t help noticing how lovely it was.