The Kirilov Star (5 page)

‘Mama.’ It was a refrain Lydia was to repeat over and over like a mantra. ‘Where is my mama?’

‘Sir Edward will find out for you. You know who Sir Edward is, don’t you?’

Lydia shook her head.

‘He is the English gentleman we have just left. He is a baronet in England and what they call a diplomat. He is a very important man and very busy, so we must not trouble him if we can help it. I will look after you until we find your mama and papa. Now, you are going to be a good girl, aren’t you? A good girl for your papa and Sir Edward.’ As she spoke she led the child through the house to her own quarters above the kitchen. They consisted of a sitting room, a bedroom and a bathroom. She rang a bell and when this was answered by a maid asked her to prepare food for their guest. Then she ran a bath.

It was then the struggle began. Lydia did not want to be undressed. She was afraid the Star of Kirilov would be found and it was her bounden duty to hang onto it; Mama had told her not to let anyone see it. But Madame Molinskaya was hard to resist. She spoke softly, saying there was nothing to fear, everyone was her friend, and all the time she was unbuttoning, untying, stroking the little one’s
face, reassuring her. It was when she managed to remove the bloodstained petticoat and threw it on the bathroom floor and heard the heavy thud she realised something was hidden in it.

She picked it up again to examine it. ‘Ah, my little one, what have we here?’ The secret pocket was found and the Star extracted, while Lydia, filled with a sense of her failure, cried salty, silent tears. ‘I see it all now. This is meant to pay your way. Now, why would anyone do that unless they knew you were going to be all alone? We shall see what Sir Edward says, but for now, I shall put it here.’ She laid the jewel on a table against the wall. ‘It will be quite safe while you have your bath and some supper, and then we will take it to Sir Edward. Now, into that warm water with you. There is some nice-smelling soap here.’ She sniffed it and held it to Lydia’s nose. ‘Violets. You like it, don’t you?’

Lydia nodded and was lifted into the bath. It was heavenly to be soaped with the luxury soap, something she had not seen since leaving Petrograd. Her matted hair was shampooed, and when that was done, she was lifted out and dried with a big fluffy white towel. This was more like it used to be, before they went to Kirilhor. Down in the bottom of her smelly bag was a nightdress which had escaped the staining. It was slipped over her head.

‘Now you are civilised again,’ Madame Molinskaya said, picking up a hairbrush from the table and, standing Lydia between her knees, beginning to brush the hair dry. It fell about her face in little corkscrew curls. ‘My, you are a pretty little thing.’ She was just finishing when a maid came to say food was on the table.

Lydia began to feel a little better. This lady was kind, a little like Tonya who had always looked after her and
taken her to her mama after she had been bathed and made ready for bed. She would restore her to Mama and Papa. She followed the motherly woman into the adjoining room where the table was set for two. They sat down together and ate
pirozhki
and cabbage followed by a sweet pancake, smothered in honey. Lydia had not eaten at all for three days, had not felt hungry, but now she was ready to make up for it and ate with a hearty appetite, washing it down with creamy goat’s milk, which pleased Madame.

By the time the meal was finished the traumatised little girl was drooping with tiredness. Madame Molinskaya picked her up and took her into the adjoining room and put her to bed in a little camp bed in her own room which had been made ready while they ate. ‘Sleep, little one,’ she murmured, stroking her cheek. ‘We shall see what tomorrow brings.’ Then she retrieved the Star and went to see Sir Edward.

‘It’s mayhem down there,’ Captain Henry Conway said, jerking his head in the direction of the harbour where thousands of refugees were trying to cram themselves on the British ships which had come into the harbour. He had come up to the residence to discuss the situation with Sir Edward, who was an old friend from their student days. ‘I’m supposed to take off the troops but how can I leave civilians behind, especially those with children? I’ll make room for as many as I can, but I need some guidance on priorities.’

‘That has been worrying me too,’ Edward said, pouring a glass of cognac for each of them. ‘Best take first come, first served and hope more transport will arrive in the next few days and we can get everyone away who wants to
go. Wrangel is doing his best to hold the peninsula but I fear the cause is lost.’ He paused to sip his drink. ‘There is someone who needs to go as a priority. Baron Simenov has been working for British intelligence and, besides being wanted by the Reds, has important information to pass on. He has his wife and son with him. Shall I tell him you can take them?’

‘Yes. Tell him to come to the ship and ask for me. We are planning to sail tonight. What about you? When are you leaving?’

‘When my job is done. I still have work to do here. I’ll see you in London perhaps.’

The captain finished his drink, shook hands and left. Edward sent for Richard Sandford. ‘Any news of the Kirilovs?’

‘I have located Kirilhor, Sir Edward. It is a
dacha
in the Petrovsk district of Ukraine. It was overrun by the Reds two days ago. It was more difficult contacting General Wrangel, but I got through by telephone to one of his staff who told me Colonel Kirilov was given leave to evacuate his family and was then to return to duty. He has not returned.’

‘He could have deserted but in that case he would have been with his children, surely?’

‘The officer said the colonel would be loyal to the last and they are assuming he has met his end.’

‘He had his wife with him.’

‘Then they might both have perished.’

Edward was inclined to agree. ‘According to Baron Simenov, the servant who brought the child to the peasant was adamant the count meant to meet them there and bring them to Yalta. I have had no application from anyone called Kirilov to be evacuated.’

‘Then the little girl is the only survivor.’

‘It seems that way.’

‘What are you going to do about her?’

‘I do not know. Madame Molinskaya is looking after her. I had to send out for a whole wardrobe of clothes for her. Almost everything she had was covered in blood. Poor thing, she is still in shock and unable to tell us anything, except her name and that she is four years old.’

‘An orphanage?’ Richard queried.

‘I am reluctant to do that. She is undoubtedly an aristocrat, so how can I condemn her to being one of thousands of orphans who will find themselves being looked after by the Bolsheviks when they come? They will ill-treat her, especially if they think she has any connection with the Romanovs.’

‘Do you think she has?’

‘I don’t know, but she has some valuable jewels with her, which look as though they might be traceable. I can try and do that once we get back to England.’

Richard smiled. ‘So, you are going to take her back with you?’

‘I can’t leave her here, can I? I’ll see if I can engage one of the other passengers as a nurse for her.’

The evacuation, carried out in a strong wind and rough seas, lasted three days, during which the British ships took the remnants of the White Army who had made their own way to Yalta, and as many of the refugees as they could accommodate, including the Simenovs. Two days later, when nothing more could be done, Sir Edward left with Lydia, whom he had listed as his daughter in order to justify taking her with him.

He was glad he had done that when they arrived in Constantinople and everyone’s papers were examined. Lydia, having none, would not have been allowed to continue otherwise. From there they went to Malta, where they stayed a week, while the refugees’ papers were processed and some of them were taken off the ship, then they sailed for England.

Edward had engaged a young English girl to look after Lydia. Claudia was twenty-one and had been governess to a Russian family who had declined to join the rush to leave, but, in straitened circumstances, had not been able to continue employing her. She spoke a little Russian and he thought Lydia would like that, though the child gave no indication of it one way or another. She submitted silently to being helped to dress and undress, of having her hair brushed, of being shepherded from one place to another in a kind of daze. It was late November when they arrived in Portsmouth.

They went to London by train and stayed at Sir Edward’s Mayfair apartment for the first night, and the next morning he left Lydia and Claudia while he went to the Foreign Office to make his report. What was going to happen to all the Russian refugees they did not know. Some had relatives in Britain where they knew they would be welcome, and some had already made up their minds to go on to America, but those left to fend for themselves would have to be helped to find accommodation and a means of earning a living, which was something many of them had never had to do before. They felt it demeaned them, but as few had brought enough money and jewels out of Russia to keep them in idleness for the rest of their lives, they had perforce to adjust their standards.

Edward said nothing to his superiors about Lydia. He had a feeling his actions would be frowned upon, and he did not know how to explain that the child’s plight had touched a chord in his heart and that her very silence seemed to be a reproof. He could not do much to help hundreds, but he could do something for this little one. She was still not talking and now they were in England it would be doubly difficult for her. A strange country, a strange language, strange people and the loss of her family all had to be dealt with. He hoped and prayed Margaret would understand when he took the child home.

Upstone Hall was a country mansion in the village of Upstone in north-west Norfolk, surrounded by farming country. In the last few years Sir Edward had not often been in residence, having diplomatic postings abroad. Before the war his wife had always gone with him. They had no children, which was a source of great sorrow to them both, but she had enjoyed the social life in the different embassies to which he had been attached. But when war came he had been posted to Russia and she ceased to accompany him. He had returned home briefly at the end of hostilities, but because of his fluency in the language, he had been sent back to Russia specifically to help the refugees. It was frightening what was happening to that country and he wanted her to be safe, so once again he had left her at home. She lived at Upstone, managed the house, did good works in the village, raised money for the relief of refugees, visited friends and relatives and wrote long letters to him. He had written to tell her about
Lydia but there had been no time to receive a reply before they set sail.

Sitting in the first-class compartment of the train taking them to Norfolk he turned his head to look at the child. She was pale and drawn, as she had been ever since he had taken charge of her. Her face betrayed no emotion, either of misery or pleasure. She hardly spoke except to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ when offered food. He sometimes felt impatient with her, but then reminded himself of what she had been through and was filled with compassion. They changed trains at Ely and half an hour later drew up at the small wayside station at Upstone where they were met by Groves with the pony and trap.

He was home to a peaceful countryside, recovering from the war to end all wars and the dreadful flu epidemic that followed it. Many of the young men were gone, never to return, but those that were left, along with their womenfolk, were picking up the pieces and trying to get on with their lives. Times were hard enough in Britain, what with shortages and strikes; what was happening in Russia was so remote, so far away, they hardly gave it a thought. He smiled at Lydia. ‘Nearly home,’ he said in Russian.

‘Mama?’ she queried. ‘Will Mama be there?’

‘No, little one. I am afraid we do not know where she is. I promise I will do my best to try and find her for you, and in the meantime, you will live with us.’

He saw one large tear spill over her lashes and roll down her cheek, the only indication she gave that she had understood him. He put his arm about her shoulders and drew her to his side. ‘We will look after you,’ he murmured, bending to kiss the top of her head. ‘I promise you that.’

They turned into the drive where the pony, as if sensing
it was nearly home, broke into a trot, and then they were drawing up beside the house and the door was flung open and Margaret ran down the steps to throw herself into his arms almost before he could get down. ‘You are back. Oh, thank the Lord! I could not believe you were really on your way until I got your telegram. Welcome home!’ She took his arm to drag him into the house, ignoring Claudia and Lydia who still sat in the trap, looking bewildered.

‘Hold hard!’ he said, laughing. ‘I am not alone, you know.’

She turned to look at the occupants of the trap. ‘Oh, I forgot you were bringing someone back with you. I’ll send Mrs Selby out to them. I want you all to myself.’

‘Later,’ he said, turning to lift Lydia out and set her on her feet. ‘This is Lydia Mikhailovna Kirillova. She is going to stay with us while I try to locate her family.’ He turned to the child. ‘Lydia, this is my wife, Lady Stoneleigh. Give her a little curtsy and say how do you do.’

Lydia, whose mama would have deplored bad manners on her part, obeyed, though she could not manage a smile.

Claudia was presented next and made her obeisance and then they all went indoors where Mrs Selby, the housekeeper, was sent for and the girls were delivered into her hands. She was a thin woman, dressed in dark blue with a white frilly cap on her grey hair. At her belt was a huge bunch of keys.

She conducted them to the top floor of the three-storey house, to some rooms she called the ‘nursery suite’. They consisted of two adjoining bedrooms and a bathroom, adequately but not luxuriously furnished. Their bags, which had been filled with their meagre belongings, had arrived ahead of them and stood on the floor at the foot
of one of the beds in the room they were to share. Lydia looked about her. This was like the nursery suite in St Petersburg. She remembered that every afternoon she and Andrei would be taken by Tonya downstairs to Mama’s boudoir and they would talk about what they had been doing, the lessons they had learnt, the pictures they had drawn, the walks they had taken. Sometimes Papa would be there and they played games together. It did not happen when they moved to Kirilhor because, although there were many, many rooms, they had been desecrated first by the occupying Germans and then by vandals, and they had been obliged to live in one small section of the house. And Papa was more often away than at home.

‘I have had no orders about where you are to have your meals,’ Mrs Selby said, after she had shown them the schoolroom, where a bright fire burnt. ‘For now you had better come down and fetch them up here. Supper will be ready at six. I will leave you to unpack.’

As soon as she had gone, Claudia took Lydia back to the bedroom and began opening drawers and cupboards and inspecting the washing facilities, talking all the time in her broken Russian, but when that became inadequate, she lapsed into English. ‘We shall soon be comfortable,’ she said. ‘Sir Edward is obviously very wealthy. Look at the size of this house, a palace, it is. Lots of servants I shouldn’t wonder, and horses and carriages. Maybe a motor car.’ She was unpacking the trunk and putting things away, watched by a silent Lydia. ‘We shall do all right here, but you will have to learn English. Are you hungry?’

Lydia caught the gist of the last sentence and nodded. She felt strange, as if someone had picked her up from Kirilhor and transported her on a cloud to this place. She could
not remember how she got here. The time was a blank, a nightmare from which she was only now awakening.

‘Will you be all right here while I go and fetch our supper?’ Claudia asked her in Russian. She did not wait for a reply, but left her. Lydia went to the window and looked out. Way below her was a yard and men with horses. The trap in which they had arrived was now without its pony and was tipped up on its shafts. A black and white dog lay outside a kennel. Beyond that was a park whose trees still had a few russet and yellow leaves, but were mostly bare. The ground beneath them was green. Everywhere was green. When they had left Kirilhor it had been white. What had happened in between? She had lost Mama and Papa and Tonya and Andrei, but how? Why was she here? A tear gathered in her eye and rolled down her cheek unheeded.

‘Edward, what am I supposed to do with her?’ Margaret asked as they sat over their dinner. Cook had taken especial care over the meal in honour of his homecoming. There was vegetable soup, roast beef, roast potatoes, cabbage, cauliflower, carrots, Yorkshire pudding and rich gravy, and that was to be followed by apple pie and cream, a typically English meal and one she knew he would appreciate after being away so long. ‘She is such a strange little thing. Does she speak any English at all?’

‘I can’t say, since she has hardly said a word either in English or Russian, but I doubt it.’

‘Then how am I to communicate with her?’

‘Claudia speaks a little Russian, she will translate until Lydia can learn English.’

‘Learn English! How long do you expect her to stay with us?’

‘Until I find out what happened to her parents. Baron Simenov is returning to Russia on government business and I asked him to find out what he could.’

‘Baron Simenov,’ she repeated. ‘Isn’t he the one who found the child in the first place?’

‘He was one of the hands through which she was passed.’

‘Why didn’t he keep her, then? He’s Russian. It would have been better for her.’

He sighed, trying to conceal his impatience. ‘Darling, I explained why he did not. He thought I would find the count and his wife before I left. And he was taking his wife and son to a new home in England, knowing he would almost certainly be asked to return to Russia. He did not know until we reached England that I had not been able to trace the count or his wife.’

‘Are you sure you were right to bring her out of Russia?’

‘What else was I to do? Leave her to the Bolsheviks? She is an aristocrat, perhaps even a Romanov, and I am told her father is a White Army colonel. The Reds would have no compunction about doing away with her.’

‘How did you manage to bring her out with you? Did no one ask questions?’

‘I said she was my daughter.’

‘Your daughter!’ Margaret had stopped eating and was staring at him in consternation. ‘But everyone in the diplomatic corps knows we have no children.’

He smiled crookedly. ‘It was assumed she was the result of a Russian liaison …’

‘Edward, how could you!’

‘It was easier not to disabuse the authorities of that
idea. They would have refused to take her on board.’

‘Why is she so important to you? Are you sure you have told me everything?’

‘Darling, of course I have. If you had been there, seen the chaos, seen the state she was in, covered in blood and numb with shock, you would have done the same as I did.’

‘There are homes for displaced children.’

‘I know. I could not shunt her into one of those. We have this great house, ample funds and no children. I thought, hoped, you would welcome her.’ He reached out and put a hand over hers where it lay on the table next to his. ‘Give her a chance, darling. I am sure you will come to love her.’

‘Do you? Love her, I mean.’ It sounded like an accusation.

‘I do not know her well enough yet,’ he said carefully, alerted by her tone. ‘But she touched a chord in me when I first saw her and I could not bring myself to abandon her.’

‘Some might say you abducted her. Her parents might, even now, be searching desperately for her.’

‘I know, but it was the only way to keep her safe. The situation in Russia is truly dreadful. If the Kirilovs are related in any way to the late tsar, they may have shared his fate.’

‘What makes you think they might be related?’

‘Only what I have been told and that big jewel Lydia had sewn into her petticoat. I have shown it to other Russian émigrés and they recognised it as part of the Kirilov collection. One of them gave me a photograph of the late dowager Countess Kirillova wearing it on the front of a tiara at a court function. I am told it is called the Kirilov Star.’

‘It could have been stolen, along with her clothes, and
put on her to deceive the authorities – deceive you, too. She hasn’t been able to tell you about it, has she?’

‘No, but perhaps she will when she feels more comfortable with us.’

A maid came to clear away the dishes and bring in the apple pie and the subject of Lydia was dropped, quite deliberately by Margaret, who went on to talk about village matters. She was resigned to giving the strange little Russian child a home, at least for the time being, but that did not mean she had to love her. In spite of her faith in her husband’s fidelity, a tiny doubt began to take root and she found herself wondering if Lydia really was Edward’s child, especially as he was so vague about who she was. She could not believe he knew as little as he said he did. You simply did not pick strange children up off the street and bring them home for no reason.

He could have fathered her during the war when he was on the ambassador’s staff in Moscow and kept her existence a secret. It would have stayed a secret if it hadn’t been for the Civil War and the exodus of refugees. Had the Kirilovs ever existed? And if they had, was Lydia their child? Why was she so sceptical? Could it be her own inability to give Edward a child, her failure, after three miscarriages suffered in the early years of their marriage, to be a complete wife, her failure to be a mother? He had wanted a child so desperately. Not as desperately as she had, though. It might have been why Edward had been so taken with Lydia. She was torn between believing there was no other motive than Christian charity and the dreadful fear that he had turned to someone else. If he had, then it was the height of cruelty to bring the child here to torment her.

Lydia and Claudia set out to explore after breakfast next morning, creeping from room to room and talking in whispers. The schoolroom had a desk and a table, cupboards and bookshelves and on the wall a huge map of the world, most of it coloured pink denoting the British Empire, Claudia told her. It was here Claudia was expected to give her lessons and to teach her English. A little further along the corridor were several servants’ bedrooms. Down the next flight of stairs there were what seemed like dozens of bedrooms, though they did not dare open their doors, and two bathrooms. The front stairs, of carved oak, led down to a huge hall. There were two large reception rooms leading off it which could be opened up to make one vast room, several smaller sitting rooms, a large and a small room for dining, though the smaller was called the ‘breakfast room’, Claudia told her. At the back of the house there were rooms for washing dishes, a laundry room full of steam, a dairy where a maid was busy churning butter and a huge kitchen with a big black range and a long dresser and hooks everywhere.

Seeing Lydia the staff began talking to her, and though she could not understand a word, she thought they were making her welcome, for they smiled a lot and gave her a jam tart. ‘She’s a bonny wee thing, isn’t she?’ Cook said to Claudia. ‘Does she speak any English at all?’

‘No,’ Claudia said. ‘Fact is, she hardly opens her mouth.’

‘I expect she’s shy. She’ll soon get used to us. What are you doing today?’

‘I don’t know. I thought we would go for a walk and explore.’

‘Yes, you do that. But don’t go too far and get lost.’ She
opened the back door for them and they found themselves in a courtyard. ‘Luncheon is at one,’ she called after them.