The Ice King (21 page)

She shook her head, for she could not think of an adjective sufficiently unique and unsullied by over-use and mundane associations. "I wouldn't mind his not loving me. It would be enough just to be with him . . . Only yesterday, I thought that in a few days I should have to go away and never see him again!”

She shed a few tears of sheer joy and then calmed herself, and went upstairs to the sitting-room, where Countess Maria looked up from her sewing, saw the light in Tanya's face, and regarded her with an odd mixture of doubt and pleasure.

“He didn't take very long," she remarked.

“He told me what presenting me implies," Tanya said. "And I told him I would go to the ball and be presented, and . . . Oh, Maria! I'm so happy! I can hardly believe it!”

Countess Maria kissed her and said, "And I'm happy for you! Dear, dear Tanya! He didn't tell you anything else, then?" with
a
return of her look of doubt.

“No," Tanya replied. "He can't really say any more until I've been presented, can he?”

Countess Maria hesitated for a moment, and then said slowly, "Tanya, I'm more pleased than I can tell you that Nikolai wishes to marry you, and I'm sure that if you accept him, he'll do everything he can to make you happy, for he's a very good, kind man, but – but he isn't perfect, dear! If you find there are some things about – about his past life which . . . well, which are unpleasant and distressing, do try to forgive him for them. There have been times when he was so unhappy and lonely that I don't know how he managed to live through them, and if you find that during those times he did some things that he's ashamed of . . ." She seemed uncertain how, or, indeed, if, to go on.

“I'll try to understand," Tanya replied. "I can't imagine him doing anything really dreadful, but if there were some bad things, and he chooses to tell me about them, I'll remember what you've said.”

Countess Maria nodded, and decided to leave it at that.

PRINCE NIKOLAI'S conscience began to trouble him from the moment he left Tanya, but he tried at first to ignore its demands. When he reached home, he went to his room, summoned Pyotr, and told him what he would require the servant to pack for the weekend at Czarskoe Selo. Pyotr noted down the list and added a number of things which his master had forgotten to mention, and then waited for the Prince to come out of the reverie into which he had fallen.

At length the Prince said hesitantly, "Countess Tanya has agreed to allow me to present her to the Emperor at the ball on Tuesday.”

Pyotr crossed himself and murmured a brief prayer of thanks, and then asked, "What about the boy?”

Prince Nikolai made no reply, but gave him a doubtful, sidelong look, at which Pyotr said bluntly, "Yes, Nikolai Ilyich, it's not my business, or my place, but you'll have to tell her."

“How?" Prince Nikolai asked in a despairing tone. "I shan't see her again until the ball, and in any case, I don't think I have the courage." His imagination conjured up a picture of Tanya regarding him with contempt and disgust.

“Write it, then," Pyotr said. "Just write it down as it happened. She'll have to know sooner or later — better now than afterwards.”

Prince Nikolai sighed. "Yes, you're right. After luncheon I'll . . ."

“Now," said Pyotr inflexibly.

The Prince sighed again and went on leaden feet to his study, sat down at his desk and set out a few sheets of paper and a fresh pen, then said a silent desperate prayer for help, picked up his pen and began to write.

“My dearest Tanya,

“I have to write to you because I lack the courage to tell you to your face, precisely why I am not the good, considerate, kind man you seem to think me. I am more sorry than I can express that I have to hurt you in this way, but you must know the truth.

“You know already something of my upbringing, so it will not surprise you that my father chose my wife for me, and I accepted his choice without question. Anna was very beautiful and I thought myself to be in love with her – I know better now what love really is. She had a great attraction for men and I was as ensnared as any, even when I discovered her real nature. I was too weak to break away, and I cannot tell you the depths to which I sank in my efforts to retain her interest, or the humiliations she forced on me before she would grant me even a share of her favours.

“Eventually my feeling for her turned to hatred, and I grew so revolted by my enslavement that I left her. I was wretched and lonely, so hurt that I became numbed to any kind of feeling or emotion, and this condition seemed to worsen as time passed. I travelled a great deal, and then went into the Army on the Emperor's advice. He has always been extremely kind to me, and I think he saved my reason by giving me the occupation of a regiment to command. Meanwhile Anna continued her vicious career, as if her appetite increased with feeding.

“As you know, I was wounded at Borodino, and lay on the brink of death for some time, too sunk in apathy even to pray for the ultimate release. Thanks to Maria (although I felt no gratitude then, or for long after), I survived, recovered, and went to White Gates for the long, slow period of recuperation.

“One day, in the March of 1813, Anna arrived there without warning, and told me that she was with child by one of her lovers. She demanded that I return to Petersburg and recognise the child as mine. When I refused there was an indescribable scene, and eventually she stormed away in a fury.

“When she had gone I wandered out of the house in a trance-like state, due, I believe, partly to the shock of Anna's rage, but even more, I later realised, to the effects of the laudanum which I was then taking far too frequently for the pain of my wound. My recollection of what followed is far from clear, and has become more like the clouded memory of a dream than of a real happening.

“As I wandered down towards the lake, I met a peasant girl, one of my own serfs. She had a shawl over her head and carried a basket, but I cannot recall her face, to my shame. She stopped me and said something – I cannot remember what – but her voice was gentle and kind, and I went with her into a nearby barn, where she soothed and comforted me like a child as we lay together in the hay, and eventually I took possession of her.

“It meant nothing to me emotionally – I might as well have been dead for all that I could feel at that time – but it gave me a vague feeling of physical relief and comfort. During the next few weeks, I encountered her again, perhaps half-a-dozen times, and much the same thing happened. I have tried since to find out about her, but I do not even know her name. My steward has told me that she was a virgin and clean, but he will add nothing more than that, save something to the effect that it was 'meant', which he cannot or will not explain.

“In May, the Emperor summoned me to join him with the Army in Germany. He had heard of Anna's pregnancy, and wished to be sure that I would not give recognition to her child. I stayed with him until December, when I heard that Anna had fallen on the staircase at the Ruschev Palace. She had lost the child and was paralysed. I returned to Petersburg and did what I could for her, for she was still my wife and my responsibility, but there was little anyone could do for the poor soul, and as you probably know, she took her own life a year later.

“At the end of January, 1814, my steward at White Gates sent urgently to ask me to go there. When I arrived he brought me a baby, the girl's child, my son, and told me that she had died in giving birth to him. He is six years old now. My recent 'business' in Novgorod was to visit him for his birthday. He lives in that city with his tutor's family in the winter, when I am away from White Gates. I freed my serfs because of him, not out of philanthropy, as you may have thought. It was the only way I could show my gratitude to his mother's family, whoever they are.

“He is named Ilya, after my father, and he is
a
fine, bright boy, much like me in looks, and a child any man could be proud to own his son. It is the circumstances of his begetting which fill me with shame beyond telling, not Ilya himself. A few of my closest friends have seen him, and must know he is mine, but only Vladimir Sergeivich has ever asked about him, for you will know Vladimir well enough by now to realise that he likes everything to be clear and orderly.

“I have to tell you that, much as I love you, even for your sake I cannot abandon my son. I love him. I owe a debt to his mother that I can never repay as it is, and I cannot add to it and to my burden of guilt by giving him up, even if it costs me the chance of a happiness beyond anything I ever dreamed might be possible for me.

“If you now feel that you do not wish me to present you to the Emperor, I will understand and not blame you, for you will now know that I am riot the man you thought me to be. Do not put yourself to the trouble and distress of seeing me, or of trying to write to me, but simply do not come to the Palace on Tuesday night. A note to the Court Chamberlain saying that you are indisposed will be sufficient for courtesy. There will still be the possibility for you to stay in Petersburg by becoming my aunt's companion. She is a very kind woman, despite her formidable manner, and she has a great liking for you. You need not fear any embarrassment from encountering me, for I shall go abroad.

“If however, you would like to attend the ball but not be presented, pray do so. I shall not come near you, unless I see that you are wearing the ornament which I shall send you with this letter. If you can forgive me and accept me as I am, with all my faults and shameful history, then wear it, and I shall present you and dare to go ahead with my plans, thanking God for your kindness. Whatever you decide I will accept, for you must believe that with all my heart I am

"your

“Nikolai."

He read through what he had written. It seemed extremely stilted and lacking in conviction, but he could see no way of improving it, for his self-control was near to snapping and it would do no good to give way and scrawl incoherent and tear-stained pleadings. Better to leave it at this restrained, rather cold account, giving Tanya the facts and leaving her to judge him without appealing to her emotions.

One drawer of his desk was kept locked, and he now took the key from his waistcoat pocket and opened it, removed a small case bearing the name of the Imperial jeweller, and relocked the drawer. Then he opened the case. It contained a brooch in the form of a rose, complete with stem and leaves. The petals of the flower were set with
pave
rubies and it was mounted
en tremblant,
so that the slightest movement made the stones flash and sparkle as the light caught them. The leaves and stem were of green-enamelled gold, with ruby thorns and gold veins, and
a
diamond dew-drop sparkled on one leaf. He had intended it
as a
betrothal-gift for Tanya. There was
a
small card in the case, and he wrote on it, "If you do not wish to wear this, or even keep it, then sell it or give it away, but I beg you will not return it to me.”

He folded his letter round the case, enclosed the whole package in an outer wrapping, sealed and addressed it, and then rang the bell on his desk. Pyotr at once entered the room instead of the servant whose duty it was to answer the door. He gave him the packet without a word, and Pyotr took it, nodded approvingly, and made the sign of the Cross over his master.

“You'd better eat some luncheon now," he said. "I'm not hungry."

“No doubt, Nikolai Ilyich, but the Emperor is dining late tonight, and it won't do for you to faint in his presence!”

Prince Nikolai managed a faint, wry smile, and murmured "Tyrant!" but he went obediently to the dining-room and managed to choke down a little of the excellent meal served to him there, while Pyotr went to the Kirovs' house to deliver the package. He had not returned when Prince Nikolai left to go to the Palace, where he found that the Emperor had not yet come back from escorting his mother from the Yelagin Palace to Pavlovsk, her favourite home. The Empress Catherine had employed the Scottish architect Cameron to build a palace for Marie Fedorovna and the Grand Duke Paul soon after the birth of the present Emperor. It was only two or three hours' drive from Petersburg, and not far from Czarskoe Selo.

Prince Nikolai passed the time in earnest discussion of the news from abroad with one of his friends from the Foreign Ministry, trying to prevent himself from imagining Tanya reading his letter. The news did little to improve his feeling of depression; rumours had arrived of a revolt in Spain against the Bourbon monarchy, the old, mad king of England was said to be dying and his son, the Regent, talking wildly of divorcing his wife as soon as he succeeded to the throne. That might well cause a revolution in that strange, foggy country.

Boris arrived during the last part of this conversation and overheard the end of it. He waited until the Foreign Ministry official had gone to talk to the Hanoverian Ambassador, and then said to Prince Nikolai, "Was that the fat prince we were presented to in London when we went with the Emperor in '14? The one everybody booed and threw things at whenever he went out?"