The Ice King (2 page)

Tanya pulled herself together with a great effort. "I shall have to— to find employment," she said in a broken, choking voice. "Yes, that's what I must do. Of course," more firmly this time, but with a desperate, frightened note underlying the brave words.

“I have a letter from your Great-Aunt's sister at Taganrog offering to take you as her companion," the man of business said. "She sent the money for your fare, and says she is prepared to keep you, but she makes no mention of any — er — remuneration . . ."

“How kind!" Countess Maria's anxious face dissolved into a relieved smile. "There, something always turns up, just when things seem at their blackest!" Count Alexei, seeing the expression on Tanya's face, caught his wife's eye and almost imperceptibly shook his head. She fell silent at once and her smile faded.

“Are you agreeable to going to Taganrog?" Count Alexei asked his niece gently.

She sighed. "It's very kind of her to ask me, and I've nowhere else to go," she replied. "It's just that — oh, I'm silly, I know — but it was so dull there when we went to stay. She never goes out, or receives visitors, and she has no books or pictures. There's nothing to do or see, no one to talk with, nothing to look forward to ... I'm sorry. I'm being very foolish and ungrateful.”

The conversation passed to other matters, but later in the day, Countess Maria had an earnest private discussion with her husband, as a result of which she sought out Tanya, who was sitting by the stove in the empty library, staring across the room and trying not to think about the future. She started when the Countess spoke to her, and took a few seconds to understand what she was saying.

“I've been talking to Alexei, dear," she began. "We're both very concerned for you, and not at all happy about what has happened. We should like very much to help you, but to be quite honest, there isn't very much we can do. You see, Alexei is not at all a rich man, for he was the youngest son, and his father – your grandfather, dear – was a very bad manager. He gambled too, far more than he could afford. We've three children of our own to launch into the world. Our son will come of age next year, and our elder daughter is nearly seventeen, so we had intended bringing her Out this Season, but . . ." She hesitated, and then took the plunge. "Well, if we leave that until the summer, and don't give a ball for her until next winter, we can at least do a little something for you. Will you come and stay with us for the rest of the Season, and put off going to Taganrog until Lent?”

Tanya stared in astonishment, scarcely able to believe her ears. "I – I don't understand," she stammered. "Stay with you where?"

“Well, at home in the country until after Christmas, and then in Petersburg," Countess Maria enlarged.

“St. Petersburg!" Tanya breathed the name as if it were "Heaven". "Oh, how kind you are! Will you really take me to Petersburg?"

“We don't live in great style there," Countess Maria explained. "We've quite a small house just off the Nevsky Prospect, nothing grand, but we do move in the best of society, so at least you'll have a little fun and meet some interesting people.”

Tanya's face had lit up with joy and wonder, but this suddenly faded as she saw the obstacles in the way. "I've no suitable clothes," she said sadly. "Only ordinary things like this, and nothing less than three years old." She indicated the dress she was wearing – a plain woollen thing, made by herself and twenty years behind the fashion.

“You won't need a great deal," Countess Maria said bravely. "Just a few gowns, and we can manage those– we're not exactly paupers! I dare say my sewing-woman can alter some of my own things to fit you. She's very clever at making-over, and fashions are very simple at the moment." She caught Tanya's eye, and they both saw the absurdity of what she had just said, for the Countess was small and plump, and Tanya was quite five inches taller and much slimmer. They both dissolved into laughter.

In fact, the idea was not as absurd as it first appeared. On consulting the fashion-plates when they reached the Kirovs' country home at Pomeranye, a day's ride south of St. Petersburg, the ladies found that skirts had risen to just above the ankle and were finished with a padded roll at the hem, which could be of a different material from the rest of the dress; or a stiffening of buckram could be applied to the hem to make it adopt the proper bell-shape, and this might quite fashionably be concealed by a frill. If a little of the contrasting fabric of the roll or frill was used to trim the bodice or add the epaulette-like jockeis to the shoulder-line, most of the difficulties were overcome. Even some of Tanya's Great-Aunt's old silks, dating from the time of Catherine the Great, were still usable, and contained yards of material in their wide skirts.

Tanya soon found herself looking into the mirror at a stranger who was dressed in the latest fashion, in silks and lace which made the best of her tall, shapely figure, and whose hair was drawn up into a fashionable chignon and fell in shining brown curls to frame a face made attractive more by a lively, interested and humorous expression than by classical beauty, for her nose was decidedly tip-tilted and her mouth too wide for the fashion of the day.

The Kirovs usually stayed at Pomeranye until after Christmas, partly for preference and partly for reasons of economy, but their way of life there differed completely from the dull monotony of the sort of country life Tanya had grown used to enduring. Their days seemed to be filled with chatter, laughter, music and dashing about. Sometimes they were frantically searching for Countess Maria's gloves while the sledge-coach waited to carry them off to visit friends a few miles away; sometimes they were playing some absurd, amusing game which had to be cleared away in a tearing hurry because they expected guests themselves. There was skating on a nearby lake, and sliding on the ice-mountain which they built in the paddock at the back of their shabby little house. Tanya felt that she had never had so much to do or laughed so many times in a day in all her life.

In the evenings, the family gathered in the big room which seemed to be the heart of the house and served as salon, playroom, music-room, and even ballroom as occasion demanded. Count Alexei would sit by the stove, smoking his long pipe and reading a book, occasionally looking up to smile at the antics of the others. Countess Maria had always some piece of embroidery or fine stitchery in hand, but was ready to put it aside and join in a game or to move to the pianoforte and play for Tanya's dancing-lessons.

These were conducted by Fedor, the twenty-year-old son of the house. He was a good-looking young fellow, well up in the latest fashions, but level-headed and more interested in horse-breeding than anything else. He undertook to instruct Tanya in the waltz, the mazurka and polonaise, and the various set-dances which remained in fashion, and pranced about the room with her in great good humour, shouting out ". . . And
one
and two and three, and
one
and two and three . . ." or whatever the beat might be, until they were giddy and out of breath with laughter and exertion.

The younger daughter, Irina, was an elfin child of seven, very fair-haired and pink and white in complexion, like her mother. She spent much time at her lessons and playing with her dolls, but had a charming habit of volunteering a contribution to whatever conversation was going on which was usually quaintly old-fashioned or naïvely funny. She was quite unspoilt and well-mannered, and it never needed more than a word from her mother to return her to the proper 'seen but not heard' situation expected of a child. She often sat herself by Tanya to confide the latest news of her waxen and wooden family, and several times quietly informed her of the identity and relationship of visitors when the others forgot, or were too busy to do so.

Marisha, the elder daughter, was dark-haired and pretty, with large brown eyes and a rather serious, self-possessed manner. She seemed a little reserved at first in her dealings with Tanya, who felt ill-at-ease with her. She was very conscious that her own coming to join the family had involved the postponement of Marisha's come-out, which the younger girl might well resent. Being a forthright person, Tanya thought it best to bring the matter into the open, and took the first opportunity of being alone with Marisha to mention it.

“Do you mind very much that your parents invited me to stay?" she asked.

Marisha looked surprised. "Mind?" she asked. "Why, I'm glad they did!"

“Really?"

“Yes, really and truly. I just wish it could be possible for you to stay with us for always. It must be terrible to have to live such a dull life as you have all these years."

“But my coming here has spoiled your come-out.”

Marisha smiled and shrugged. "I don't mind," she said. "Oh, I quite enjoy parties and dancing and being in Petersburg, but there will be plenty of time for all that for me, and you have only until Lent. Please don't spoil it for yourself by worrying about me, for truly there's no need!" and Tanya was convinced that she really meant it.

*

It was now barely a week before Christmas, and Irina at least was beginning to look forward to the festivities, particularly when several mysterious boxes were delivered to the house by a carrier, and put away without even being opened.

“Are they Christmas gifts?" the child asked.

“Maybe," her father replied, his eyes twinkling.

“The label on the big one was written by Cousin Nikolai," Irina commented. "I know his handwriting. Does that mean he isn't coming here for Christmas?"

“He never comes here for Christmas," Fedor pointed out. "You know he always goes to his own home."

“I just thought he might be coming," Irina sounded despondent. "Why does he go to White Gates? There's nobody there.”

Count Alexei exchanged a glance with his wife and said, "There are all his people at White Gates. I expect they like to have him at home."

“But no
family,"
Irina persisted. "Serfs don't count."

“Don't you ever let Cousin Nikolai hear you say that!" Marisha exclaimed. "They count very much, for what would we all do without them? In any case, Cousin Nikolai doesn't have serfs. He's freed them all." Irma had lost interest by now and didn't pursue the matter, but Tanya was intrigued by this strange item, and said, "I've never heard of anyone doing that before! How is it possible?"

“It's rather complicated," Count Alexei told her. "And quite expensive to start with, though Nikolai Ilyich says that over some years the money comes back in rents. It was all made legal a few years ago, but not many people have bothered to do anything about it. Nikolai Ilyich has travelled abroad a great deal, and he has a theory that free peasants are a better proposition all round — for themselves, for the landlord, and even for the State — than serfs. Not many people agree with him, and I'm not too sure myself, though he seems to make it work."

“Nikolai Ilyich is my cousin," Countess Maria explained, seeing that Tanya looked puzzled. "Prince Nikolai Volkhov. You'll meet him in Petersburg, I expect, for he's usually in attendance on the Emperor."

“The Emperor!" Tanya breathed in rather awe-stricken tones. She had not really become accustomed to the idea that she was actually going to see all those fine buildings in St. Petersburg that she had read about, and her mind had not even begun to grasp the fact that there would be people there as well — interesting, even important people. She had seen several engraved portraits of the Emperor, Alexander I, and at one time had even cherished a girlish
tendresse
for that handsome and romantic figure. She was long past such star-struck fancies now, of course, but it was still exciting to think that she might meet someone who actually
knew
the Emperor.

Countess Maria had lapsed into a thoughtful silence and was eyeing Tanya in a rather calculating manner. She apparently came to some conclusion after a few moments, and announced that she had some letters to write, and must not be disturbed for a while.

“One of these boxes is from Boris Kalinsky," she called back as she went upstairs to her room. "You may write and tell him it arrived safely, if you wish." Tanya observed that Marisha looked up with an unusually lively expression at this, and concluded that the words were addressed to her."Is Boris Kalinsky another cousin?" she enquired.

Fedor and Count Alexei both laughed at that, and the Count said, "More than likely! He's a friend of Nikolai's, in fact, but it's something of a joke that he's related, however remotely, to practically everyone of note in Russia, and he seems to be able to work out the exact relationship at a moment's notice!"

“You know very well," Marisha said quite seriously, "that Boris Mikhailovich's mother's sister was your eldest brother's first wife," but she joined in the laughter which followed.

Christmas, when it came, was quite unlike any other Tan
a had ever spent in her life. It began like any other, with the long night service in church, the return to the house to change into new clothes, and to assemble in the dining-room to receive the congratulations and good wishes of all the serfs in the house and from the estate, but after that it was one round of merriment and fun all day long, such as Tanya had never experienced before. The family exchanged little gifts in honour of the Saviour's birthday, and although Tanya had worried about this beforehand, being unable to do more than contrive little things out of scraps of fabric and oddments of ribbon and lace, everyone seemed just as pleased with her pen-wipers and purses and lavender sachets as they were with everything else, and their own gifts to each other were also very simple things.

The boxes which had arrived earlier contained a variety of luxuries from the little specialist shops of the Gostinny Dvor in Petersburg — sugar plums and comfits, a great eel pie, spun-glass trifles and little carved wooden creatures, sugared nuts and scented cachous, and gifts of a more elaborate nature from the strange Cousin Nikolai who owned no serfs — a model sledge-carriage for Irina's dolls, lined with blue silk and equipped in miniature with all the necessities for a long journey, from drinking cups and plates packed in a hamper to a tiny silver chamber-pot in a leather case; a saddle for Fedor, beautiful lace for Countess Maria, a length of white figured silk for Marisha, and a velvet smoking-jacket for Count Alexei.