Russian series 03 - The Eagle's Fate (7 page)

She’d never been in a man’s arms before, except while dancing, which didn’t count, and had often wondered what it would be like—well, now she knew, and the problem was how could she get out of them again without making a fool of herself? Particularly as she was much inclined to stay where she was!

‘Tatya Petrovna’s front gate!’ remarked a calm voice above her head, and she could feel the vibration of it against her face.

‘Oh1’ Nadya exclaimed, suddenly realizing that they must have passed right through the town of Ryazan while she slept, where goodness knows how many people must have seen her. She straightened up quickly, just in time to avoid being seen in such a scandalous position by the peasant girl who came running out of the lodge to open the great wrought-iron gates for them, smiling and bobbing a curtsey as she called a greeting.

Captain Valyev flicked her a coin as he replied, and turned his mount through the gate. The drive wound amid trees and bushes for quite half a
verst
before it rounded a large clump of ash and rowan trees and emerged into the forecourt of a pleasant white-painted building with a pediment and portico whose classical severity was softened by a profusion of climbing roses in various colours.

In front of the house, an expanse of well-groomed grass interspersed with specimen trees of considerable beauty ran down a gentle slope to the River Oka, which was far enough away and below to prevent the spring floods reaching the house. A picturesque village and a pretty church with five bright blue onion-domes made an interesting view across the wide river, which was spanned by a fine stone bridge adorned with classical statues.

A groom appeared through an arch at the side of the house as he heard the horse’s hooves on the gravel drive, and held the animal’s head, and a footman in country livery and unpowdered hair appeared at the entrance door, looked the new arrivals over, then disappeared again, to be replaced in a moment by Tatya’s imposing major-domo, Pavel Kuzmich, who came forward, bowing, and uttered a formal greet in Russian, then helped Nadya down as if there was nothing at all unusual about her mode of conveyance.

‘It’s very pleasant to see you, Princes, after such a long time, and you too, Count Valyev,’ he said in French, then looked about in a slightly bewildered fashion and enquired, ‘Is your maid not with you/ And your valet, sir?’

‘Stenka was killed at Smolensk, unfortunately,’ Captain Valyev said as he dismounted. ‘And I’ve had not opportunity to replace him. The Princess’ maid was—lost—in the crowds leaving Moscow. Is your mistress in residence?’

Tatya answered the question herself, for at that moment she appeared in the doorway, looked at the newcomers, and ran down the three steps and across the gravel. At least, some detached corner of Nadya’s mind thought, in anyone else it would have been running, but Tatya’s forward movement was always a glide. She was caught in a warm embrace as Tatya exclaimed, ‘Oh, thank God you’re safe, Nadya! I’ve been so worried! My poor dear! You must be exhausted!’

With an arm about Nadya’s waist, she held out her hand to Captain Valyev, saying, ‘And Andrei, too! I’m so glad to see you safe and well! But I didn’t know that you knew one another?’

‘We met by accident,’ Captain Valyev replied, kissing her hand, then holding on to it as he smiled down at her. His face had changed completely, the dark eyes glowing with warmth and light and the thin lips parted in a smile which revealed even white teeth, and some laughter-wrinkles crinkled the skin by his eyes. Nadya looked at him and felt something inside her lurch, and a wave of depression swept over her.

‘He rescued me from someone who tried to steal my valise,’ she said.

Tatya looked at her friend’s white face, then propelled her gently into the house, Captain Valyev following, leaving the horse and the baggage to the groom. A footman offered the Traditional bread and salt, and then, within minutes, they were seated in a pleasant, airy room, furnished with comfortable velvet-covered chairs, tables scattered with bibelots, and half a dozen gold-framed landscapes breaking the plainness of the cream-painted walls. The footman brought the samovar and tea-tray, and when the cups had been filled and handed, Tatya said encouragingly, ‘Now tell me all about it.’

Nadya gave a hesitant, nervous account of her journey from Moscow, which had now assumed something of the quality of a remembered nightmare, choking with tears as she spoke of the loss of Luda. When she reached the point where Captain Valyev entered the story, she broke off and gave him an imploring look.

‘How did you come to be there?’ Tatya asked him, having seen the look.

He took up the tale, stating briefly how he and Sasha Tuchin came to be on the Ryazan road, and continued with the rest of the story, while Nadya drank her tea and looked from him to Tatya and back again. She had caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror as she entered the house—a dusty, disheveled scarecrow with a livid bruise on one cheek. It had done nothing to boost her morale, and she felt the contrast between Tatya and herself acutely.

Tatya was as beautiful as ever. Her black hair, caught up in a chignon, with ringlets hanging to her shoulders and adorned with the merest scrap of lace in deference to her widowed status, had a bluish sheen. The skin of her heart-shaped face had a translucent perfection, and her great clear grey eyes were set off by long black lashed, and eyebrows like swallows’ wings. Her tall, shapely figure was modishly dressed in pretty sprigged muslin, and her white, long-fingered hands moved with delicate grace as she re-filled the teacups.

When Captain Valyev finished his story, a movement drew their attention to the long window which opened on to a terrace at the side of the house, and Nadya realised that someone had been standing there for some time. She came forward now, a rather thin young lady with a neat rather than a pretty face, brown eyes, and a composed demeanour. Her long, straight brown hair was plaited and coiled in a small coronet on the top of her head, and she too wore sprigged muslin and a lacy shawl.

‘This is my brother’s fiancee, Countess Irina Arkadyevna Barova,’ Tatya said. When the introductions had been completed and Captain Valyev—Andrei—had made his bow and kissed Irina’s hand, he said, sounding puzzled, ‘I didn’t know Lev was betrothed—he didn’t say anything about it when I last saw him.’

‘It’s very recent,’ Tatya replied as Irina seated herself and accepted some tea. ‘When did you see Lev, then?’

‘In Smolensk. It was rather a hurried encounter, as there was a battle going on at the time.’ Andrei hesitated, the said, ‘Er—have you heard from him since then?’

‘Yes. We had a letter only yesterday, from Kaluga,’ Tatya replied. ‘We know about his wound, if that was what you were nerving yourself to tell us! It’s practically healed now.’

Andrei smiled with a sigh of relief, and said, ‘It was fairly fresh when I saw him! He was just about to set off for Kaluga with a convoy of wounded men. I’m glad to hear they arrived safely.’

‘He met Irina on the way,’ Tatya told him calmly, as if such encounters were quite commonplace. ‘She was fleeing from the enemy, like Nadya, but with her old aunt, who was unfortunately taken ill at an inn not far from Smolensk. Then everyone at the inn ran away, for fear of the French, leaving them alone, and the aunt died. Fortunately, Lev and his men arrived soon after, and carried her along with them. By the time they reached Kaluga, they were betrothed. Isn’t it a delightfully romantic story?’

She was smiling and her grey eyes looked amused, but Nadya saw that Irina looked decidedly apprehensive as she waited for their reactions.

“Very romantic!’ she agreed swiftly. ‘Why, it sounds just like one of those folk-tales your nurse used to tell us when we were children, before we went to the Smolny—the lovely princess in danger and distress, and the handsome prince rescuing her and falling in love with her…’

She broke off, catching a glimpse of Andrei’s face, which had suddenly resumed its cold, set look, but Irina was smiling and looking distinctly relieved, and if Tatya noticed anything, she was far too well-bred and accomplished to give any hint of it, but said lightly, ‘And I expect it’s been happening all over the place recently, as the French have advanced and set people moving before them! It’s comforting to know that something good is resulting from all the evil and misery Bonaparte is causing!’

Then turning serious, she went on, ‘What is really happening, Andrei? We hear rumours, and hardly know what to believe, and the
Gazette
says so little! What it does say is out of date, for the news has to reach Petersburg and be written and printed, and then travel nearly six days to reach us here. Are the French really almost at Moscow? We know there was a battle, for the wounded have been passing for several days.’

‘There was a very hard battle to the east of Mozhaisk, near a village called Borodino. That was on the twenty-sixth of August—nine days ago. It was quite the hardest-fought I’ve ever known, and the result was—inconclusive. We continued to withdraw, and when I left the Regiment they were in sight of Moscow, and no one seemed to know whether the city would be defended or not.’

‘What do you think?’ Nadya was struck once again by the intelligence in Tatya’s lovely face, and realised that her friend had immediately grasped many of the implications which she had taken some time to work out for herself.

Andrei considered the question, regarding the dusty toe of one of his Hessians for a few moments, then replied, ‘It’s more important to keep the Army intact than to protect one city, in these circumstances. We have time and distance on our side. The French lines of communication are over-long and vulnerable. By the end of this month, Bonaparte must decide whether to withdraw to the west or spend the winter where he is, and I doubt if he’ll find enough supplies in and around Moscow to last eight months until the thaw. He’ll not get much from the surrounding countryside—the Cossacks and the regular cavalry will see to that!’

‘That’s what Lev thinks,’ Irina volunteered shyly.

‘I think Marshal Kutuzov does too, so that’s the majority of the intelligentsia of the Army in agreement!’ Andrei gave her a friendly smile, which clearly gave her the pleasure any shy girl would feel at winning approval from a handsome man, and Nadya felt a distinct twinge of regret that no such friendly smile was likely to come her way from the same source.

‘Oh, you must think me quite heartless!’ Tatya exclaimed, rising to her feet. ‘Discussing the military situation when you must be dying to shift your dusty clothes and refresh yourselves! Nadya, will you come to the bath-house first, and then Andrei may take his turn while we find you something to wear?’

Nadya accompanied her from the room gratefully, leaving Irina to entertain Andrei. Once outside, Tatya asked gently, ‘Could you not get a conveyance of any sort?’, and Nadya explained how the price of even a cart had increased so astronomically.

‘My poor dear! To face the prospect of such a long, lonely walk, and the dangers! Thank heaven Andrei and Sasha found you! They’re such a pleasant, friendly pair—and don’t you think Andrei is quite handsome?’

Nadya could see that her friend had a little match-making in mind, so she said hastily, ‘Yes, but he seems to have a great dislike for my family, so I fear that Maxim must have offended him in some way!’

‘Mmmm.’ Tatya made a little
moue
, having had a poor opinion of her friend’s brother. ‘Very likely, but I’m sure he’ll forget about that when he knows you better!’

Nadya spent a refreshing quarter of an hour in the bath-house, relaxing in the hot steam, and would have liked longer, but Andrei was waiting. A quick plunge in a small pool of cold water, followed by a brisk rub-down with a thick towel make her feel much better, and then, wrapped in a pretty negligee, she spent an interesting time with Tatya and her maid, who pulled one dress after another from her closets and chests, all made of beautiful fabrics. Tatya selected a dozen or so ‘to be going on with’, together with underclothes and night-shifts, gloves, shawls, sashes and ribbons, remarking with amusement that it was a good thing that she tended to keep a large wardrobe, as Irina had also arrived with nothing fit to wear only a week before.

Nadya tried to thank her, but Tatya merely laughed and said, ‘You’d do as much for me if our positions were reversed. Now, I must do something for that dreadful bruise on your face! It must be most painful.’ She produced a silver mounted bottle of soothing arnica and applied it gently with a piece of soft cloth, making the sore place feel much better.

‘And now you’ve time for a half-hour’s rest before you dress for dinner,’ she concluded, gathering up an armful of garments. ‘So let’s take these to your room.’

The room was the one Nadya had slept in when she stayed here in the old days. It was at the front of the house, looking out towards the river and the village, and it was furnished in white and gold with hangings and curtains of chintz sprigged with tiny flowers, which also covered the walls. The bed was comfortable, and it was pleasant to lie on it, and doze for a while, enjoying the relief of having arrived safely after all and found herself so warmly welcomed. Even the nature of her arrival seemed less scandalous now, knowing that Irina had experienced something similar.

It seemed surprising that Irina should be betrothed to Lev. She was a very pleasant young lady, not much past twenty, it would appear, but shy and not really even pretty, and Lev, who was a very attractive man and must be thirty-two or three by now, had successfully evaded the traps of every match-making mamma in Petersburg these past fifteen years!

With a rueful little smile, Nadya recalled how she had enjoyed the reflected glory when he visited his sister at the Smolny and obtained permission to take her and one or two of her friends out somewhere for a treat. Tatya had always invited her to go with them, although she could never reciprocate, for Maxim had not bothered to visit her once, let alone take her out, in all those years.

Before long, a plump, pretty servant girl came to help her dress for dinner. Her name was Marfa, and she said that ‘the mistress’ had chosen her to be Nadya’s maid, if she would suit. By the time Nadya had been dressed in a charming light blue silk with matching slippers, and her brushed and pinned up in ringlets, she could tell Marfa that she would suit very well, to the girl’s obvious pleasure. She confided shyly that it would mean an increase in her wages, and she was hoping to be married in two years’ time. Nadya was startled at the mention of wages until she recollected that Lev had freed his serfs when he inherited the estates, and Tatya had done the same on those she inherited from her husband.