Zoya (4 page)

“I … I had to go … I'm …”

Natalya looked her straight in the eye, as Zoya tried to smooth her hair into place. It still looked as though she had combed it in great haste, which of course she had. “I want to know the truth. Did you go to Tsarskoe Selo?”

“I …” It was no use. Her mother was too cool, too beautiful, too frightening, and too much in control. “Yes, Mama,” she said, feeling seven years old again instead of a decade older. “I'm sorry.”

“You're a fool.” Natalya's icy eyes flashed and she glanced unhappily at her husband. “Konstantin, I specifically told her not to. All the children there have the measles, and now she's been exposed to them. That was a wanton act of disobedience.” Zoya glanced nervously at her father, but his eyes were filled with the same dancing emerald fire as her own, and he could barely repress a smile. Just as he loved his wife, he also adored his daughter. And this time Nicolai interceded for her, which was unusual, but she looked
so
uncomfortable, he felt sorry for her.

“Perhaps they asked her to come, Mama, and Zoya felt awkward refusing.”

But with her other qualities, she was honest, and Zoya faced her mother squarely now as she sat quietly in her seat, waiting for the maids to bring her dinner. “I wanted to go, Mama. It was my fault, not theirs. Marie has been so very lonely.”

“It was very foolish of you, Zoya. We will discuss it again after dinner.”

“Yes, Mama.” She lowered her eyes toward her plate, and the others carried on their conversation without her. it was only a moment later that she looked up and realized her grandmother was there, and a smile lit up her face as she saw her. “Hello, Grandmama. Aunt Alix said to send you her love.”

“Is she well?” It was her father who asked. Her mother sat looking silently beautiful, still obviously displeased with her daughter.

“She is always well when she tends the sick,” her grandmother answered for her. “It's an odd thing about Alix. She seems to suffer every possible malaise, until she is needed by someone sicker, and then she rises to the occasion remarkably.” The elderly Countess looked pointedly at her daughter-in-law, and then smiled proudly at Zoya. “Little Marie must have been happy to see you, Zoya.”

Zoya smiled gratefully. “She was, Grandmama.” And then to reassure her mother, “I never saw the others. They were all closeted somewhere. Even Madame Vyrubova is sick now,” she added, and then regretted it bitterly as her mother glanced up in obvious terror.

“How stupid of you, Zoya … I can't understand
why you would go there. Do you wish to catch the measles?”

“No, Mama. I'm truly very sorry.” But there was nothing in her face to make one believe that she was. Only her words were filled with the expected contrition. “I didn't mean to be late. I was going to leave when Aunt Alix came in to have tea with us, and I didn't want to be rude to her….”

“As well you should not. She is, after all, our Empress as well as our cousin,” her grandmother said pointedly. Her own eyes were the same green as Zoya's, and her father's and brother's. Only Natalya's were a pale bluish gray, like a cold winter sky with no hope of summer. Her life had always been too demanding of her, her husband was energetic and robust, he had always loved her enthusiastically and well, and he had wanted more children than she was able to bear. Two had been stillborn, and she had had several miscarriages, and both Zoya and Nicolai had been difficult to bear. She had spent a year in bed for each of them, and now slept in her own apartments. Konstantin loved his friends, and he had also wanted to give innumerable balls and parties, but she found all of it far too exhausting, and used ill health as an excuse for her lack of joie de vivre and her almost overwhelming shyness. It gave her an air of icy disdain, behind which she hid the fact that people terrified her, and she was far happier reclining on a chair near the fire. But his daughter was far more like him, and after Zoya made her debut in the spring, Konstantin was looking forward to the prospect of having her accompany him to parties. They had talked for a long time about abandoning the idea of a ball, and Natalya had insisted that they shouldn't consider it
with a war on, but finally Zoya's grandmother had decided the matter for them, and Konstantin was much relieved. There was to be a ball as soon as she graduated from the Smolny Institute in June, perhaps not as grand a ball as they might have given if there were no war going on, but it was still going to be a very lovely party.

“What news of Nicholas?” Konstantin inquired. “Did Marie say anything?”

“Not much. Aunt Alix says he's home from the front, but I think he's going back soon.”

“I know. I saw him last week. He's well, though, isn't he?” Konstantin looked concerned, as his handsome son watched him. He knew then that his father must have heard the same rumors he had heard in the barracks, that Nicholas was exhausted beyond what anyone knew, and that the strain of the war was wearing on him. Some even spoke in hushed whispers about the possibility of a breakdown. With the gentle kindness of the Tsar and his constant concern for everyone, that was almost impossible to imagine. It was difficult to think of him breaking down, or giving up. He was deeply loved by his peers, and most especially by Zoya's father. Like Zoya and Marie, they had been childhood friends, and he was godfather to Nicolai, who had been named after him, and Nicholas's own father had been extremely close to Konstantin's father. Their love for each other went beyond family, they had always been extremely close, and had teased each other about their both marrying German women, although Alix seemed to be a little hardier than Natalya. At least she was capable of rising to the occasion when necessary, as she did with her Red Cross work, and now when her
children were sick. Natalya would have been constitutionally unable to do anything like it. The old Countess had been fiercely disappointed when her son had not married a Russian. The fact that a German had been good enough for the Tsar was only small consolation.

“What brings you here tonight, by the way?” Konstantin turned to Nicolai with a warm smile. He was proud of him, and pleased that he was with the Preobrajensky and not at the front, and he made no secret of it. He had no desire to lose his only son. Russian losses had already been great, from the Battle of Tannenberg in the summer of 1914 to the terrible reverses in Galicia's frozen fields, and he wanted Nicolai safely in St. Petersburg. That at least was a great relief to him, and to Natalya.

“I wanted to chat with you after dinner tonight, Papa.” His voice sounded quiet and strong, as Natalya glanced nervously at him. She hoped he didn't have something unnerving to share, she had heard from a friend recently that her son was involved with a dancer, and she was going to have a great deal to say if he told his father he was getting married. “Nothing important.” His grandmother watched him with wise old eyes, and knew that whatever it was he had to tell his father, he was lying about its importance. He was worried about something, worried enough to drop by and spend an evening with all of them, which was most unlike him. “Actually,” he smiled at the assembled troupe, “I came to make sure that the little monster here was behaving.” He glanced over at Zoya, and she shot him a look of extreme annoyance.

“I've grown up, Nicolai. I don't ‘misbehave’ anymore.”
She sniffed primly and finished her dessert, as he laughed openly at her.

“Is that right? Imagine that … it seems like only moments ago when you were flying up the stairs, late for dinner as usual, wearing wet boots on the stairs, with your hair looking as though you'd combed it with a pitchfork….” He was fully prepared to go on and she threw her napkin at him, as her mother looked faint and glanced imploringly at their father.

“Konstantin, please make them stop it! They make me so terribly nervous.”

“It is only a love song, my dear,” the Countess Evgenia said wisely. “That is the only way they know to converse with each other at this point in their lives. My children were always pulling each other's hair, and throwing their shoes at each other. Didn't you, Konstantin?” He gave a crack of laughter as he looked sheepishly at his mother.

“I'm afraid I wasn't very well behaved when I was young either, my dear.” He looked lovingly at his wife, and then happily around the table as he stood up, bowed slightly to all of them, and preceded his son into a small adjoining sitting room, where they could converse in private. Like his wife, he hoped that Nicolai had not appeared to tell them he was getting married.

And as they sat down quietly near the fire, the elegant gold cigarette case Nicolai took from the pocket of his uniform did not go unnoticed. It was one of Carl Fabergo's more typical designs, in pink and yellow gold with a very pretty sapphire thumbpiece. Konstantin was almost certain that the workmaster was either Hollming or Wigstrom.

“A new bauble, Nicolai?” Like his wife, he had also
heard the story of Nicolai's allegedly very pretty little dancer.

“A gift from a friend, Papa.”

Konstantin smiled indulgently. “That's more or less what I was afraid of.” Both men laughed and Nicolai furrowed his brow. He was still young but he was wise for his years, and he had a sharp mind in addition to his good looks. He was most emphatically a son to be proud of.

“You have nothing to worry about, Father. In spite of what you hear, I'm only having a little fun, nothing serious, I promise you.”

“Good. Then what brought you here tonight?”

Nicolai looked worried as he stared into the fire, and then into his father's eyes. “Something a great deal more important. I'm hearing unpleasant things about the Tsar, that he's tired, that he's sick, that he shouldn't be in charge of the troops. Father, you must be hearing it too.”

“I am.” He nodded slowly and watched his son. “But I still believe that he will not fail us.”

“I was at a party with Ambassador Paléologue last night. He paints a very gloomy picture. He thinks the shortages of food and fuel are far more serious than we admit to ourselves, the strain of the war is taking its toll. We are supplying six million men at the front, and we're barely able to take care of our own at home. He's afraid that we might crack … that Russia might crack … that Nicholas might crack … and then what, Father? Do you think he's right?”

Konstantin thought about it for a long time, and finally shook his head. “No, I don't. Yes, I think we're feeling the strain of all that, and so is Nicholas. But this is Russia, Nicolai, this is not a tiny, weak country
in the middle of nowhere. We are a people of stamina and strength, and no matter how difficult the conditions without or within, we will
not
crack. Ever.” It was what he believed, and Nicolai found it reassuring.

‘The Duma reconvenes tomorrow. It will be interesting to see what happens then.”

“Nothing will happen, my son. Russia is for always and forever. Surely you must know that” He looked warmly at his son, and the youth felt better again.

“I do. Maybe I just needed to hear it.”

“We all do sometimes. You must be strong for Nicholas, for all of us, for your country. We must all be strong now, and the good times Moll come again. The war can't go on forever.”

“It's an awful thing.” They were both aware of how severe had been their losses. But none of that had to mean an end to what they held dear. Now that he thought of it, Nicolai felt foolish for having been so worried. It was just that the French ambassador had been so convincing with his predictions of doom. He was glad now that he had come to talk to his father. “Is Mother all right?” Nicolai had found her even more nervous than usual, or perhaps it struck him more now because he saw her less often, but Konstantin only smiled.

“She worries about the war too … and about you … and about me … and about Zoya. … She's quite a handful.”

“Lovely, though, isn't she?” He spoke of Zoya with a warmth and admiration he would have denied vehemently had anyone told her. “Half my regiment seems to be in love with her. I spend most of my time threatening to murder them.”

His father laughed, and then shook his head sadly. “It's a shame she has to come out during wartime. Perhaps it'll all be over by June.” It was a hope they both shared, but which Nicolai feared wasn't likely.

“Have you anyone in mind for her?” Nicolai was curious. There were several of his friends he thought might make excellent suitors.

“I can't bear to think of losing her. It's foolish, I suppose. She's too lively to stay with us for very much longer. Your grandmother thinks a great deal of Prince Orlov.”

“He's too old for her.” He was every bit of thirty-five, and Nicolai frowned protectively at the thought. In fact, he wasn't sure if anyone was good enough for his fiery little sister.

Konstantin stood up and smiled at his son as he patted him on the shoulder. “We'd best go back to them now. If we don't, your mother will get worried.” They walked out of the room, with Konstantin's arm around Nicolai's shoulders. And when they joined the ladies in one of the smaller drawing rooms, Zoya was pleading with her mother about something.

“Now what have you done, you little monster?” Nicolai laughed at the look on her face, and he could see that his grandmother had turned her back to hide a smile. Natalya's face was as white as paste, and Zoya's was bright red as she looked angrily at her brother.

“Don't you get involved in this!”

“What is it now, little one?” Konstantin looked amused until he saw the look of reproach on his wife's face. She thought he was entirely too easy on his daughter.

“Apparently,” the younger Countess spoke in outraged tones, “Alix gave her a totally ridiculous gift today, and I absolutely will
not
let her keep it.”

“Good God, what is it? Her famous pearls? By all means, darling, accept them, you can always wear them later.” Konstantin was in good spirits after his visit with Nicolai, and the two men exchanged a warm glance over the heads of the women.

“This is not amusing, Konstantin, and I expect you to tell her just exactly what I did. She must get rid of it at once.”

“What is it, pest? A trained snake?” Nicolai teased.