The House of Special Purpose (10 page)

‘Madam,’ I cried, beginning to walk towards her with my prize, but I managed to cover only a few feet before one of my escorts grabbed me roughly by my injured arm, causing me to cry out in pain and drop the chestnuts once again. ‘What are you doing?’ I asked, turning furiously towards him, for, without knowing why exactly, I hated for her to see me weakened by something so simple as another man’s grip. ‘They belong to her.’

‘She can buy some more,’ he said, dragging me back to our horses, as hungry as I had been when we had stopped. ‘Know your station, boy, or you will be taught it quickly enough.’

I frowned and looked over to my left, where the woman and her charges were entering the carriage once again and driving away, the eyes of all the crowd upon them, as well they might have been, for each girl was more beautiful than the last, except the youngest one, who outshone them all.

A few moments later and we were riding along the banks of the Neva River, my eyes fixed upon the granite embankments and the cheerful young couples who were strolling along the paths engaged in conversation. The people seemed happy here, a fact
which surprised me, for I had expected a city torn apart by the war. It appeared, however, as if none of that unpleasantness had come to St Petersburg, and instead the streets and squares were filled with laughter, joy and prosperity. It was all that I could do to control my mounting excitement.

Finally, we turned into a magnificent square, where stretched out before me stood the Winter Palace. Despite the darkness of the evening, the full moon overhead allowed me to observe the green-and-white-fronted citadel with widened eyes. How anyone had constructed such an extraordinary edifice was beyond my comprehension, and still I seemed to be the only one of our number to be taken aback by its splendour.

‘This is it?’ I asked one of the guards. ‘This is where the Tsar lives?’

‘Of course,’ he said gruffly, shrugging his shoulders and displaying the same lack of interest in talking to me that he and his partner had shown throughout our journey. I suspected that they had taken it as a great indignity to be left with such a mundane task as escorting a boy to the capital, while their fellows continued on in the retinue of the Grand Duke.

‘And am I to live here too?’ I asked, trying not to laugh at such an outrageous idea.

‘Who knows?’ he replied. ‘Our orders are to deliver you to Count Charnetsky and after that, you can make your own way.’

We passed by the red granite of the Alexander Column, which stood almost twice as tall as the palace itself, and I stared up at the angel who presided at its summit, clutching a cross. Her head was bowed, as if in defeat, but her pose was one of triumph, a cry to her enemies to make themselves known, for the power of her faith would ensure her safety. Following the guards, I stepped below an archway which led directly into the body of the palace itself, whereupon my horse was taken from me. I was met by a portly gentleman who looked me up and down as I straightened myself from the long journey and seemed entirely unimpressed by what he saw.

‘You are Georgy Daniilovich Jachmenev?’ he asked as I approached him.

‘I am, sir,’ I replied politely.

‘My name is Count Vladimir Vladyavich Charnetsky,’ he announced, clearly enjoying the sound of the words as they tripped off his tongue. ‘I have the honour of being in charge of His Imperial Majesty’s
Leib Guard
. I am told that you performed a heroic gesture in your home village and have been rewarded with a place in the Tsar’s household, is that correct?’

‘It is what they say,’ I admitted. ‘In truth, the events of that afternoon all went by so quickly that I—’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he interrupted, turning around and indicating that I should follow him through another door into the warmth of the interior palace. ‘You should know that such heroics are part of the everyday responsibilities for those who guard the Tsar and his family. You will be working alongside men who have put their lives at risk on any number of occasions, so do not think that you are anything special. You are simply a pebble on a beach, nothing more.’

‘Of course, sir,’ I said, surprised by his hostility. ‘I never thought that I was anything more than that. And I do assure you that—’

‘As a rule, I don’t like having new guards imposed on me,’ he announced, huffing and puffing as he led me up a series of wide, purple-carpeted staircases, maintaining such a pace that I was forced to run a little to keep up with him, an unexpected fact considering the great difference in both our ages and weights. ‘I grow particularly concerned when I am forced to oversee young men who have no training whatsoever and know nothing of our ways here.’

‘Of course, sir,’ I repeated, running along after him and doing my best to appear suitably deferential and subordinate.

Climbing the staircases in the palace, I stared in awe at the thick, gold frames that surrounded the mirrors and window-panes. White alabaster statues emerged from the walls and stood
triumphantly on plinths, their faces turned away from the enormous grey colonnades which stretched from floor to ceiling. Magnificent tapestries and paintings could be glimpsed through open doors leading to a series of ante-rooms, most of which depicted great men on horseback leading their men into battle, and the marble floor beneath our feet sounded out as we marched along. It surprised me that a man of Count Charnetsky’s girth – and his was quite an extraordinary girth – could move through the hallways with such dexterity. Years of practice, I decided.

‘But the Grand Duke takes these fancies into his head from time to time,’ he continued, ‘and when he does, we must all fall in line with him. Regardless of the consequences.’

‘Sir,’ I said, stopping for a moment now, determined to avow my manhood, an aspiration which was rather spoiled by the length of time it took me to gather my breath, for I was doubled over with my hands on my hips, gasping for air. ‘I must let you know that while I never expected to find myself in this most exalted of positions, I shall do everything in my power to act with fortitude and propriety, in the best traditions of your forces. And I am eager to learn whatever a guardsman is obliged to know. You will find me a quick study too, I promise you that.’

He stopped a few feet ahead of me and turned around, staring at me with such surprise for a moment that I did not know whether he intended to step forward and slap my face or simply throw me through one of the tall, stained windows that lined the walls. In the end, he did neither, merely shook his head and continued on, shouting after him that I should follow and be quick about it.

A few minutes later, I found myself in a long corridor and was told to sit down in that most exquisite of seats, and I was grateful for the rest. He nodded, satisfied with the completion of his task, and turned around to march away, but before he could vanish out of sight altogether I found the courage within myself to call after him.

‘Sir,’ I cried. ‘Count Charnetsky!’

‘What is it?’ he asked, turning around and glaring at me as if he could not believe the audacity that I displayed to address him at all.

‘Well …’ I began, looking around and shrugging my shoulders. ‘What am I to do now?’

‘What are you to do, boy?’ he asked, taking a few steps closer to me again and laughing a little, but out of bitterness, I thought, not amusement. ‘What are you to do? You will wait. Until you are summoned. And then you will be instructed.’

‘And after that?’

‘After that,’ he said, turning away from me again and disappearing into the darkness of the corridor, ‘you will do what we are all here to do, Georgy Daniilovich. You will obey.’

The minutes that I sat there stretched out endlessly and I began to wonder whether I had been forgotten about. There was no movement on the corridor and, except for the sense that an entire community of dutiful servants was hovering on the other side of every door, little sign of life. Whoever was supposed to be instructing me on my duties showed no sign of appearing and I experienced a growing sense of unease, wondering what I should do or where I should go if no one arrived to take charge of me. I had hoped for a hot meal, a bed, somewhere to wash the dust of the journey off my body, but it seemed unlikely that such luxuries would be mine.

Count Charnetsky, unhappy with my presence at all, had vanished back into the heart of the labyrinth. I wondered whether the Grand Duke Nicholas Nicolaievich was waiting to interview me, but somehow I imagined that he would have returned to Stavka, the Army Headquarters, by now. My stomach began to grumble – it had been almost twenty-four hours since I had last had anything to eat – and I looked down at it, frowning, as if a stern rebuke would encourage it to remain silent. Its low growl,
like the sound of an unoiled door being opened slowly, echoed along the corridor, bouncing off the walls and windows, growing louder and more embarrassing by the second. Coughing a little to mask the groan, I stood up to stretch my legs and felt a great ache pass from ankle to thigh, occasioned by the long ride from Kashin.

The passageway where I was standing did not look down over Palace Square, but was situated instead on the opposite side of the citadel with a view over the Neva River, which was lit up along its banks by a series of electric lights. Despite the lateness of the hour, there were still some pleasure boats sailing along, which surprised me, for it was a cold evening and I could only imagine how brisk the temperature would be upon the water. The people clearly belonged to the wealthier classes, however, for even from this distance I could see how swathed they were in expensive furs, hats and gloves. I imagined the decks of the boats to be lined with food and drink, a generation of princes and duchesses laughing and gossiping, as if they had not a care in the world.

No one watching such a scene could have imagined that our country had been engaged in a war for more than eighteen months and that thousands of young Russian men were dying by the hour on the battlefields of Europe. It was not quite Versailles before the arrival of the tumbrils, but there was evasion in the atmosphere, as if the landed classes of St Petersburg could not quite believe that unhappiness and discontent were breeding in the towns and villages outside the city limits.

I watched as one such vessel docked directly in front of the palace, perhaps the most lavish of all the boats, and two Imperial guards leaped the short distance from the deck to the promenade as the craft slipped gently into its mooring, then took a wide drawbridge from its resting place to provide safe transport across for its occupants. A heavy-set woman stepped off first and stood to the side as four young girls, all dressed identically in long grey dresses, overcoats and hats, followed her, talking among
themselves. I craned my neck for a better look and was astonished to see that it was the same party from the roasted-chestnut stand. Their carriage must have taken them to the boat for a short journey to end a pleasurable evening, but standing where I was, on the third floor of the palace, I was too high to observe them for more than a few short moments. I wondered whether they had the sense that they were being watched, however, for just before they disappeared out of sight, one of them – the youngest one, the girl whose chestnuts had fallen on the ground and whose gaze had entranced me – hesitated, then turned her head upwards and caught my eye, a look of recognition on her face, as if she had expected me to be there all along. I saw her smile for only a moment before she vanished and I swallowed nervously and frowned, confused by the unfamiliar emotion that swept over me.

I had laid eyes on this girl for only the briefest of moments, and we had barely spoken at the chestnut stand, but there was a warmth, a kindness in those eyes that made me wish I could run down to find her again, to talk to her and discover who she was. I almost laughed at the absurdity of my emotions.
You are being ridiculous, Georgy!
I told myself, shaking my head quickly to rid myself of the images, and with still no sign of anyone to tell me any better, I started to walk along the corridor, away from those dangerous windows and the solitude of my exquisite chair.

And it was at that moment that I began to hear voices in the distance.

Every closed door was as ornate as the last and stood perhaps fifteen feet in height, with a semi-circular frieze placed above the intricate gold mouldings that ornamented each surface. I wondered how many hours of craftsmanship had gone into their elaborate detailing. How many doors like these were there in this palace? A thousand? Two thousand? The idea was too much for my brain to consider and I became dizzy at the thought of how many people must have struggled to complete work on such finery, which existed to serve the pleasures of only one family. Did
they even notice how beautiful it was, I wondered, or did the delicate splendour just pass them by entirely?

Hesitating for only a moment, I turned a corner to where a much shorter corridor awaited me. There were no lights running to my left and its increasing darkness reminded me of some of the more terrifying stories that Asya had told me as an infant to induce nightmares, and I shuddered slightly and turned away. To my right, however, a number of candles were lit along the windowsills and I started to walk along in a spirit of exploration, carefully, quietly, so that my boots would not sound too loudly on the floor beneath my feet.

Again, each door was closed, but it wasn’t long before I tracked the voices to a room a little further ahead. Intrigued, I continued along, pressing an ear to each door, but there was only silence behind them. What happened in each one, I wondered? Who lived there, worked there, issued orders from there? The sounds grew louder and at the end of the corridor there was one door slightly ajar, but I hesitated before approaching it. The voices were more distinct now, although the people from whom they emanated were speaking quietly, and as I looked around I observed a simple room before me, with a prie-dieu placed directly at its centre.

Kneeling upon it, her head buried in its cushion, was a woman. And she was crying.

I watched her for a moment, intrigued by her sorrow, before my eyes drifted to the room’s other occupant, a man whose back was turned to me as he faced the wall, where a large icon was positioned upon a luminescent tapestry. He had the most extraordinary long dark hair and it hung down his back, thick and ragged, as if it was quite unclean, and he was dressed in simple peasant clothes, the type of tunic and trousers that would not have been out of place in Kashin. I wondered what on earth he could possibly be doing here in such simple apparel. Had he broken in? Was he a thief of some sort? But no, that was
impossible, for the lady kneeling before him was dressed in the finest gown I had ever laid eyes on and clearly had reason to be here in the palace; had he been an intruder he would not have been commanding her attention quite so intently.