The Ice King (20 page)

“Never mind," Tanya said soothingly, "it was a very kind thought."

“It's a good thing Nikolai's ill," Vladimir said astringently. "The gossips would have made a field-day of it if he'd turned up with half the Imperial hothouses. I owe you an apology." The last was to Boris.

“What for?" he enquired.

“Thought you'd brought them from yourself," Vladimir replied briefly. "Should have known you wouldn't be such an ass!" By which means he made his opinion of the Emperor's bouquet quite clear without actually expressing it.

*

Prince Nikolai's drug-induced sleep was heavy but unrefreshing, and he woke in the morning with the feeling of
malaise
and depression which he knew from experience were the after-effects of the laudanum. His side was still aching abominably, but in spite of it he had his carriage sent round after breakfast and went to call on his Aunt Elizaveta.

He found that redoubtable lady in morning dress and starched
lace
cap, writing a letter in her boudoir. She tilted her face to allow him to kiss her cheek, and said, "I was just writing a note to request you to call on me."

“For some particular reason?" he enquired, taking the chair she indicated.

“I understand that His Imperial Majesty sent for you last night, and that your steward replied that you were too ill to attend him."

“Yes. I jarred myself rather badly yesterday afternoon, and Pyotr gave me a sleeping-draught."

“Laudanum?"

“Yes.”

The Princess shook her head sadly. "I wish there was something less harmful that you could take, but I suppose it is the only effective palliative for the pain. I am sorry you were hurt, nephew. I understand that the dear girl was not harmed?”

Prince Nikolai noted the "dear girl" with a sudden lift of the spirits, and replied, "No, not at all, thank God! Frightened and shaken, of course, but she drank some tea and wept a little, and I think was then quite well."

“Good. What do you mean to do about her?”

Prince Nikolai studied the toe of one boot and replied, "I came here this morning to ask if you perhaps know of a pleasant lady who needs
a
companion.”

There was silence for a few moments, and then he went on, choosing his words carefully and deliberately, "I knew that she would have to leave Petersburg at the beginning of Lent, but I thought she would be going somewhere not too far away, where I might visit her. But I have discovered that in fact she is — was — going to Taganrog, and that I cannot allow."

“What business is it of yours?" the Princess asked bluntly.

“I intended to ask her to marry me after a suitable length of acquaintance," the Prince replied, looking her straight in the eye. "Seven weeks is hardly long enough time for a lady to decide if she wishes to marry a man or no . . ."

“But long enough for the man to decide?" the Princess cut
in
sharply. "She has no objections to the remarriage of widowed persons."

“How do you know that?" the Prince enquired. "I asked her. She likes children, too."

“Oh, good. One would hope for children, of course." Prince Nikolai's eyes returned to the toe of his boot. "Yes. To return to your earlier remark, I do know my own feelings. I'm not sure of hers, but I think I shall try my fortune, despite the brevity of our acquaintance. I should like to have an alternative to offer her in case she refuses me."

“In that case, I shall invite her to make her home with me," the Princess said decisively. "A very pleasant, sensible young lady. I wish you good fortune, nephew. I advise you that in general, an intimate relationship can only succeed if
it
is based on honesty from the outset.”

Prince Nikolai stared at her, a stricken expression in his blue eyes, and then said uncertainly, "Yes. Yes, of course. I'm sure you're tight."

“Now you had better go to the Palace and make your apologies to the Emperor. You should have gone there first, of course.”

Her nephew took leave of her and went to the Palace, where Alexander received him with great kindness, expressing relief to see him so quickly recovered, and Boris took the first opportunity to draw him aside and tell him about the bouquet. "It's a good thing you weren't well enough to take it," he finished.

“I suppose so," Prince Nikolai replied. "How was Tanya Ivanovna?"

“Oh, pretty well," Boris said vaguely. "Vladimir was there, and about half of Petersburg. I know you had to stop the damned horses bolting, but couldn't you have done it a bit more discreetly? It's gone the rounds of the gossips, and they've made it into something between Mazeppa's ride and St. George slaying the dragon!"

“I was a trifle carried away," Prince Nikolai replied meekly. "Over-excitement, no doubt.”

During the afternoon, he accompanied the Emperor on his daily visit to his mother, the Empress-Dowager Maria Fedorovna, who was in residence at the Yelagin Palace on one of the islands to the north of the city. Alexander liked to go without ceremony, in one of his small, light carriages, and Prince Nikolai was his only attendant, so he took the opportunity to ask the Emperor's permission to invite the Kirovs to the State ball planned for the following week.

“By all means," Alexander replied. "And does that include Countess Tanya Kirova?"

“I hope so," Prince Nikolai replied hesitantly. "I should like to present her to you, if I may."

“Ah!" said Alexander significantly. "I wondered if matters were moving in that direction!”

Prince Nikolai looked a little embarrassed and said, "Well, I'm not sure if she'll wish to come. I mean – I've no doubt she would very much wish to attend a State ball and be presented, but possibly not by me.”

Alexander nodded understandingly. "I pray for your good fortune and your happiness, then, Nikolai Ilyich. Ask her, and if she's willing then present her, and I shall rejoice with you," and he patted Prince Nikolai on the shoulder in the pleasant, benign manner which made him so much loved by even the most exasperated of his ministers and friends.

Later, Prince Nikolai had a word or two with the Court Chamberlain, and next morning he went to call at the Kirovs' house with a great deal of nervous apprehension.

Tanya and Countess Maria had been checking the household linen against the steward's books, and were still sitting in his office drinking tea and resting from their efforts when Prince Nikolai arrived and was shown in to them.

“Oh," said Countess Maria, conscious that she was wearing an old morning-dress and a cap that had seen better days. "How nice to see you, Nikolai! I thought you were gone to Czarskoe Selo."

“Not until tomorrow morning," Prince Nikolai replied, kissing her cheek.
He
turned to Tanya and looked at her searchingly. She coloured slightly and smiled in return, saying, "I hope you are recovered?"

“Yes, I thank you." He kissed her hand and then said rather abruptly, "I called to tell you that you'll be receiving cards for the State ball at the Palace next Tuesday. I hope you have no other engagement for that evening?"

“N-no – nothing that can't be altered," Countess Maria assured him. "How very kind of you, Nikolai! It will quite crown Tanya's visit, to attend a ball at the Palace."

“I mean to present her, if she will allow me to do so." The Prince looked at Tanya again.

“Present her!" Countess Maria exclaimed. "Oh, Nikolai! Is that wise? I mean . . . everyone will think . . ." She too looked at Tanya, and wrung her hands together in agitation. "There's already been a great deal of gossip, Nikolai!" Tanya looked puzzled.

Prince Nikolai gave a rueful smile. "Yes, I know, and I'm sorry for it, but I don't mean to let the fear of it rule my life. I've come this morning to explain the implications to Tanya, so do you think I might have a few minutes alone with her, Maria?”

Countess Maria brightened up considerably and said,

“Oh, yes, of course! I'll leave you together in here, for I suppose this will do as well as anywhere." And she whisked out of the door, closing it behind her.

Tanya was looking even more puzzled by now, and she turned her wide, beautiful eyes on the Prince in expectation of enlightenment.

“A gentleman-in-waiting to the Emperor occasionally finds himself in a predicament," the Prince began, fidgetting about with the small pile of books on the steward's desk. "At least, he does once in his life, usually. When he wishes to be married." He glanced obliquely at Tanya, who was still watching him, with a slight frown on her brow.

“He has to ask the Emperor's permission before he speaks to the lady concerned, you see, and the Emperor can't very well give permission unless he has met the lady, for, from the point of view of protocol, she doesn't exist, so to speak, until she's been presented." Another quick glance at Tanya showed that she now looked very uncertain, almost disbelieving. He made a sudden movement and knocked the steward's books off the table, picked them up and went on hurriedly and nervously, "So you see, if I present you, everyone will assume that I mean to ask you to marry me, but of course, you don't have to if you'd rather not.”

Tanya was silent, too overcome to speak.

“I mean," Prince Nikolai resumed, a note of desperation creeping into his voice, "you don't have to come to the ball if you'd rather not, or you can come but not be presented, if you'd prefer not to be, but if you come and
are
presented, then the gossip will practically deafen us, which no doubt will embarrass you fearfully, so I'll quite understand if you'd rather not . . . You'd be under no obligation to marry me, in any case. My aunt would like you to be her companion, so you can stay in Petersburg either way.”

He stopped and looked at her in his old, sombre manner, but with a painful expression of anxiety in his eyes in place of the former dead, hopeless look.

“W – what shall I have to do?" Tanya enquired, sounding much more calm than she felt.

“Oh, go about with her, write her letters, keep her company, I suppose. She's not nearly as fearsome as she appears, once you get to know her."

“I meant at the ball," Tanya said faintly.

Prince Nikolai, having by now convinced himself that there was no possible chance that she would wish to go anywhere near the ball, let alone be presented, looked quite as astonished as he felt.

“To be presented," Tanya added.

“Oh! Well – er . . ." The Prince floundered. "Well, you'd be told where to stand, about halfway down the room, usually, and when the Emperor comes in, he'll make a remark to whoever has asked to present someone, and he – I –will come over to you and offer you my arm, and take you to him. I tell him your name, and you give a very deep curtsey and stay in it until he says something to you – he might even give you his hand – and then you stand up, and – well, that's all, really."

“It doesn't sound very difficult," Tanya said earnestly. "As long as I don't fall over, or wobble."

“I'd steady you if I thought you seemed off-balance," Prince Nikolai assured her, equally earnestly. "Er – do you think you might come, then?"

“I should like to, very much," Tanya replied, and then added bravely, "You're not obliged to ask me to marry you, unless you want to."

“I do want to," he said quietly. "I can't think of anything I've wanted more in my whole life.”

Tanya's big hazel eyes filled with tears which hung on her lashes, not quite spilling over, and then the longcase clock in the corner of the shabby office chimed eleven, and the Prince exclaimed, "I'm sorry to be so abrupt, but I really must go! May I hope to see you on Tuesday, then?"

“Yes," Tanya whispered, "yes, I shall certainly be there.”

Prince Nikolai smiled and said briskly, "I'll be at Czarskoe Selo until the day of the ball, unfortunately. If – if by any chance you change your mind . . ." His smile vanished at the thought.

“I shan't," Tanya assured him, standing up and moving a little towards him. He put his hands on her shoulders and bent his head to kiss her lips, and then left her, over-tipping the footman who helped him put on his outdoor clothes so lavishly that the fellow's eyebrows nearly disappeared under his powdered wig. He later informed the servants' hall at large that Prince Nikolai was either insane or in love, to which Nikita replied repressively to the effect that a mere under-footman was too low a form of life to judge the sanity or otherwise of the Nobility.

Tanya stood staring at the door after Prince Nikolai had closed it behind him. She felt very peculiar, as if she was in a dream or a trance, partly aware of her surroundings, but really not fully connected with them in any way. The longcase clock was ticking very loudly, and the sound seemed to prevent her thinking properly, for it was like a voice inside her head saying "Tuesday,
Tuesday, ,Tuesday ."
It was even an effort to breathe.

The clock whirred and chimed the quarter-hour and she started, blinking and looking about her as if she had suddenly woken in a strange room, and then sat down rather abruptly in her chair as her knees gave way.

“I must have imagined it!" she thought. "Maria was here. We were taking tea." She looked round, and there was the tea-tray, with two cups and saucers. "Then he came in, and . . ." She looked round again, seeking some evidence of Prince Nikolai's having been in the room. The little pile of books on the desk was very higgledy-piggledy, and one still lay on the floor where the Prince had overlooked it. So he had been here.

“He said he would present me to the Emperor. He said he wanted to marry me!" she murmured aloud. "That there was nothing he wanted more in his whole life!”

It was such a very long time since she had learned to accept that nothing wonderful was ever likely to happen to her that even now she found it very difficult to believe that, by some miracle, Prince Nikolai could really care so much for her. How could it be possible that Tanya Ivanovna Kirova, a nobody from nowhere, with nothing, not even a pretence to beauty, could have penetrated that icy barrier of indifference and hopelessness and found a spark of life inside the Ice King after all?

“He didn't say that he loves me," she thought, finding at least one of the flies in the ointment. "But if he doesn't, why. . . ? He must be very lonely, I suppose, and we do have so many interests in common. To be married to him would be. . .”