The Ice King (22 page)

“Yes, the very same," the Prince replied.

Boris glanced round to see if anyone was near enough to overhear, and then sank his voice to a confidential level and said, "I meant to tell you yesterday, but there wasn't time. Sergei Dmitriev turned up at the Kirovs' on Tuesday night, not long after I got there with those damned flowers.”

Prince Nikolai stiffened and frowned. "What did he want?"

“Said he'd just arrived back from Moscow, and had called to apologise for his behaviour at his father's ball, and to see if Tanya was all right after the horses bolting – he'd just heard about it at his club. Vladimir and I didn't spot him when he first arrived, there was such a crush there. I happened to look round and there he was, holding on to Tanya's hand and simpering. I shot over there as fast as I could, and so did Vladimir, who spotted him at the same time, and we came up on either side of him like a pair of bully-boys – he looked quite frightened.

“I asked him what he wanted – quite quietly, of course, and he said to apologise and enquire, you know. He still had quite a bruise round his eye, by the way. Anyway, Vladimir said 'Say your piece and go, then,' and then I added `Quickly', and he said he'd finished what he had to say and was going anyway, but not for our bidding! Then the fellow had the impudence to call me a lapdog! Tanya Ivanovna passed it off as a joke when he'd gone, and said it was because of my spaniel eyes, but I could have uncorked his claret for him, I can tell you!"

“Better not," Prince Nikolai advised. "He's not worth the trouble."

“No," Boris said regretfully. "Fisticuffs isn't my line of country, anyway. Look out – here comes Alexander Pa
lovich!”

The Emperor dined privately, with only fifty or so members of the Court, for the Empress was indisposed again and had already gone to Czarskoe Selo to rest. After dinner everyone sat about talking, playing cards and sipping innumerable glasses of the Emperor's favourite China tea, until Alexander retired at eleven, freeing them to go to bed or out into the town, as they preferred.

Prince Nikolai made his escape from a few friends who wished him to go with them to see the gypsy dancers at one of the restaurants in the town, and went to the pair of rooms allocated to him in the Palace, where he found Pyotr fast asleep by the stove in the outer room. The Prince didn't wake him, but sat down and tried to read a book until Pyotr woke of his own accord and stood up, annoyed and flustered.

“I'm sorry, Nikolai Ilyich," he said. "Have you been here long? You should have woken me."

“Sleep is too precious to disturb," the Prince replied. "Did you deliver the packet?”

Pyotr looked worried and put out. "I tried to," he said, "but when I got to Count Kirov's house I found the whole family, except the little girl, had driven out to Gatchina to dine and spend the night with some military connection of the Count's. They won't be back until tomorrow, and possibly not until Saturday if their host has managed to get tickets to show Countess Tanya the Emperor Paul's palace."

“She won't like it very much," Prince Nikolai said inconsequentially, with a betrayingly tender note in his voice. "It's a hideous place – exactly to Mad Paul's taste. What did you do with the packet, then?"

“I left it with their major-domo. He's a reliable sort of fellow, even if he does give himself airs. He'll give it to her as soon as she returns. I hope that was right?"

“Yes," Prince Nikolai said despondently, "as long as it reaches her before Tuesday." And he sighed. Pyotr stood and stared at him, his lips moving silently, until suddenly the Prince looked up and saw him. "What are you doing?" he asked.

“Praying," Pyotr replied stolidly. "Shall you go to bed now?"

“I might as well," Prince Nikolai replied.

The bed provided for him was narrow, hard and uncomfortable, as, notoriously, were all the beds in the Palace, including the Emperor's, which was a simple folding canvas contraption of the type issued to the Army. Prince Nikolai always had difficulty sleeping in his, for his side ached at the slightest provocation, and really required an easier surface. He tossed about restlessly for an hour or two, and then Pyotr came in with a candle and a glass of warm milk, and stood over him while he drank it. The dregs tasted bitter, and he guessed that Pyotr had put a few drops of laudanum in it. After that he slept for a few hours.

The Emperor set out for Czarskoe Selo early the next morning and took only a hundred or so guests, as this was to be a quiet and restful weekend. Each guest required at least one servant, of course, and the Emperor's cooks and guard always accompanied him, so a procession of about fifty carriages and a detachment of the Life Guard Hussars set out from the Palace, swung across Admiralty Square and turned down the Gorokhovaya, heading south for the fifteen mile drive, which took about two hours.

There were two palaces at Czarskoe Selo. The smaller had been given to Alexander when he was Grand Duke by his grandmother, and was called the Alexandrovsky. It stood in the gardens of the larger palace, the Ekaterininsky, and it was to the latter that the Emperor went on this occasion. It was a huge building, a thousand yards long but only one or two rooms deep, with a narrow wing at each end. It rose three storeys high and was painted a rich bright blue, with plaster decorations of acanthus leaves, masks, heads, and massive caryatids all coloured bronze, and five golden onion-shaped domes projected above the roof-line at the left-hand extremity of the frontage, over the chapel. The Palace was an extremely impressive sight, springing suddenly upon the visitor who came down the road from St. Petersburg and approached it from the side, entering the vast courtyard in front between the Palace and the semi-circle of single-storey apartments for the Court officials after driving halfway along the front to the great gilded gateway opposite the imposing entrance door.

In the afternoon, the Emperor drove to Pavlovsk to visit his mother, and the Empress decided to venture out with him. Prince Nikolai took the opportunity of a quiet afternoon to sit for a while in the Amber Room, which was quite literally panelled with carved amber between large mirrors. The amber, a gift from the King of Prussia to Peter the Great, was a deep honey colour and the very air in the room seemed to be turned to gold by the light reflected from it. Prince Nikolai had first seen it as a child, and had been fascinated by it ever since.

This time, however, he failed to find any peace of mind even here, and after an hour or so he wandered into the neighbouring Picture Gallery and studied a dozen of the more interesting paintings which covered the walls. From there he went past the Empress's suite to the chapel and tried to pray. A strong sense of guilt and shame prevented him from asking anything for himself, but he felt a deep need to pray for Tanya's happiness, and that at least gave him some comfort.

The afternoon ended eventually, and so did the equally long and dragging evening, spent playing chess with the Emperor until Alexander rang for tea at nine o'clock and then went to work on his papers in his study. Prince Nikolai put on his outdoor clothes and took a brisk walk in the dark, snow-covered grounds, down to the frozen lake and back, and then went to bed.

The next day was just as tedious. The Emperor rose at six, and Prince Nikolai had to be ready with two or three others as soon as it was light enough to accompany him for his morning walk, down to the lake again to feed the ducks and geese, which came to Alexander's whistle to receive bread from the Imperial hands, and then on along the lake shore, over the neat Palladian bridge, and back along the far side of the lake, walking all the way on a path swept clear of the overnight snowfall by the army of gardeners who worked there.

It was a clear, dry morning, and the sun shining on the crisp snow gave a slight lift to the Prince's weary spirits and stirred Alexander's appetite, so that he called for hothouse fruits to be served with the inevitable China tea when they returned to the Palace.

Various callers had arrived, and several officials from St. Petersburg, and Prince Nikolai remained in attendance while the Emperor talked to them, and after luncheon, drove out with him to Pavlovsk. The War Minister accompanied Alexander and the Prince in the carriage, and talked business with the Emperor all the way there and back, leaving Prince Nikolai free to stare unseeingly out of the window, trying not to think about the future.

Had Tanya read his letter yet? How had she reacted? What if, by some mischance, it failed to reach her? The sun shining on the snow gave him a headache, and his restless, half-drugged sleep during the past few nights had left him with a general feeling of
malaise
and depression. He began to long for Tuesday night to come quickly, so that this dreadful uncertainty would be ended, one way or the other.

The evening passed even more slowly than the previous one, and so did the next day. It was Sunday, so everyone attended service in the Palace chapel during the morning. Prince Nikolai sought out the icon of his patron saint amid the gilded sunbursts, winged cherubs and flying angels on the great blue and gold Baroque iconostasis, and tried to pray for courage, but St. Nikolai's dark, brooding eyes seemed to look accusingly and coldly at him, and he gained no peace or comfort from his prayers. There had been no time for him to go to confession, so he did not take the Holy Bread, but, with everyone else present, he received the Antidoron at the end of the service. Usually he gained some spiritual comfort from this, but today it stuck in his throat like sawdust and left him feeling sick and uncomforted.

That night, his head was aching so much and his wits seemed so befuddled that he refused the drugged milk which Pyotr brought him, and said irritably, "I thought we'd agreed that you are only to give me laudanum when the pain is too much to bear."

“I don't like to see you suffer in body or mind," Pyotr replied stolidly. "No doubt you're right, though. The stuff is bad for you. I won't bring you any more until you ask me for it.”

He took the milk away, and Prince Nikolai spent the long night staring into the darkness, which was no blacker than his depression, until he fell asleep for an hour or two from sheer exhaustion.

On Monday Boris, who had watched his friend's increasing gloom with puzzled alarm, suggested that they might ride out together during the afternoon. Prince Nikolai agreed without much interest or enthusiasm, thinking that it would pass the time, and they dressed in fur-lined Tartar coats and caps with ear-flaps, and set out on horses borrowed from the Emperor's stables, across the park and into the country.

Prince Nikolai hardly spoke, and after some time Boris stopped talking about the Emperor's lame leg, which seemed better, and the latest scandal about the Grand Duke Constantin, who was now Viceroy of Poland and causing a great deal of trouble in Warsaw, and whatever else entered his head, and said tentatively, "What's wrong, Nikolai? You seem very down in the mouth.”

The Prince replied reluctantly, "I'm awaiting execution, in a manner of speaking. I'm afraid it makes me poor company. My apologies."

“That's all right," Boris replied. "What execution?" "I've invited Tanya Ivanovna to the State ball tomorrow night, and asked her to allow me to present her."

“Oh. Er — what did she say?" Boris asked uncertainly. "She agreed."

“Why, that's capital!" Boris beamed with delight. "I couldn't be more pleased!" He suddenly realised that this did not account for his friend's air of depression — quite the contrary, in fact. "What's wrong, then?"

“I had to write her a letter when I returned home, to tell her about my son. I don't know how she reacted." Prince Nikolai replied bluntly.

Boris digested this. "Oh, Ilya is yours, then. I thought he must be — he has your eyes. He's not — I mean, Anna Mikhailovna wasn't . . .?"

“His mother? No." Prince Nikolai cut short Boris's floundering, but without being very informative.

“Oh. Well, no, of course. You surely don't think Tanya Ivanovna will mind, though? I mean — it was long before you met her, and she's not a silly girl full of dreams and ideals, but a very sensible, kind sort of woman. I'm sure she'd understand and accept that — well — that these things happen."

“That's not the whole of it," Prince Nikolai said. "I'm sorry, Boris, but I can't talk about it. It all happened when I was in a very bad way, and I'd give anything to be able to go back and undo it all, but I can't, and I'm very much afraid that Tanya will be lost to me because of it."

“She's very kind, though," Boris persisted. "I'm sure she'd not wish to make you wretched . . ."

“Would you like to think that Marisha would only marry you out of pity?" Prince Nikolai asked in a curt, anguished tone, and Boris fell silent.

They rode on without talking for some time, and then Prince Nikolai said, "I'm sorry, Boris. I've no reason to bite your head off. I know you would like to offer me some crumb of comfort, but I'm afraid there isn't any. My prospects are as bleak as the landscape before us." Boris looked at the stark black tree-trunks against the white snow, and shivered.

They returned to the Ekaterininsky in good time for dinner, and during the meal Prince Nikolai hardly ate anything, although he made some effort to take part in the conversation. The Emperor gave him one or two curious glances. After dinner there was a concert in the Picture Gallery, and while the small orchestra pursued the intricacies of Haydn and Mozart, Prince Nikolai's eyes followed the curves and interlaces of the pattern in the inlaid wooden floor round and round, in and out, his mind revolving in much the same inconclusive way as he tried to plan some sort of occupation to keep him busy for the next few years, but always coming back to the fast-dying hope that it might not be necessary after all, that by some miracle Tanya might be as loving, forgiving and understanding as his ideal picture of her.

Alexander called for an interval at nine o'clock so that the usual glasses of tea might be served, and then rose to his feet and bade the company continue to enjoy the music while he retired to his study for his usual session with his papers. As he passed through the standing, bowing company, he beckoned to Prince Nikolai to accompany him.