Scarlet in the Snow (5 page)

‘Sit there.’ Luel pointed to the chair. I did as I was told, and she walked over to the alcove and pulled back the curtain to reveal an oval mirror. There seemed nothing out of the ordinary about it until Luel stepped up to it and I saw that she had no reflection. I watched on as she passed her hand three times over the glass and murmured something I couldn’t catch. Instantly, the mirror fogged over, a fog which grew thicker, thicker, and then suddenly reversed, growing thinner and thinner till the mist cleared.

‘Oh,’ I whispered, overcome, for I was looking into our cosy sitting-room at home. The perspective I was looking from seemed to be just above the mantelpiece, where our
own mirror hung. Mama was in the room, alone, in her favourite armchair with a rug over her knees, still looking a bit weak from her illness but better than when I’d left. She was holding an open book but clearly wasn’t doing much reading, for she kept glancing at the grandfather clock, an anxious expression in her eyes. I felt such a pang of homesickness at the sight that my whole body yearned towards it and I got up, reaching out for my mother as though to . . .

‘Sit!’ said Luel sharply. ‘Or you will not be allowed to speak to her.’

I looked at Luel’s face, her nice, grandmotherly face, with its crumpled-petal skin and the clear dark eyes behind the silver-rimmed glasses, and could see no human feeling there. ‘Very well. I will do as you say,’ I said heavily, and sat down.

‘Good. Now, close your eyes.’

I did as I was told.

‘Open them again. Look at your mother and call her name. Tell her what you have to say. But beware! You have a few seconds in which to speak, no more. And if you say the wrong thing, you will be cut off immediately. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ I said, knowing instinctively what she meant. I wasn’t to complain. I wasn’t to tell Mama I was in danger. I had to pretend everything was all right. But I could not resist saying, ‘You did not need to tell me that. I do not want to frighten my mother or worry her in any way.’

Luel shot me a look. I had the impression my answer surprised her, but she did not comment on it, merely
saying, ‘I will count to five, and your time will start as soon as I finish counting. Are you ready?’

‘Yes,’ I said shakily.

She began to count and as she did, I saw my mother’s head lift. There was a puzzled expression in her eyes, as if she’d heard something she couldn’t place. Then Luel reached five and, looking directly at my mother, I instantly started to speak, my words tumbling over each other. ‘Mama, it’s me. I’m fine, I’m safe; I got lost in a bad storm and the horses ran away but luckily I was given shelter in the household of a local gentleman.’

‘Natasha?’ came my mother’s astonished voice, so clearly it was as if I were in the same room as her. Her eyes, wide with shock, fastened on the mirror above our mantelpiece. ‘Oh, my little Natashka, what is this? Where are you? How is it that I can see and hear you in our mirror?’

‘The gentleman is something of a
kaldir
, like our neighbour Dr ter Zhaber in Byeloka,’ I improvised desperately, reminding her of the old Faustinian refugee, part magician, part inventor, who’d lived a couple of doors away from us in the city, ‘and this – er – this vision-machine, which links between mirrors, is his new invention. It’s amazing magic.’ I saw Luel look at me with a strange expression on her face and thought she was going to interrupt me, so I hurried on. ‘He is so very clever, Mama, but very busy, and he needs someone to write up notes for him. He has offered me a job as his secretary. It is just temporary, but it will pay well, and it will help us, so I’ve accepted. His household will look after me, and I’ll be home as soon as I can. I just didn’t want you to worry.’

‘But, Natasha,’ said my mother in a bewildered tone, ‘I’m very grateful he gave you shelter, and I’m sure he’s very clever – he must be to make this machine. But what is this gentleman’s name? And why this sudden decision?’

Luel shook her head, and I knew my time was almost up, so I called out desperately, ‘Mama, I will write to you and tell you all you want to know but I must go now because the machine will cut out soon; it doesn’t yet work quite as well as it should. Goodbye, dear Mama, goodbye.’ The last goodbye was cut off abruptly and I was left staring at my mother on the other side of the mirror. But only for an instant, for that image, too, flickered out and disappeared, and I was left with my own reflection.

My stomach churned. There were tears pricking at the corners of my eyelids. This was so cruel. Did I really deserve this, just for destroying that rose? And destroying it accidentally, too. I hadn’t intended any harm. I’d been drawn by its beauty, that was all. Then I remembered the delight it had given me, just to look at it, and remembered, too, the bleak desolation in the
abartyen’s
voice as he spoke of it being the only one of its kind, and the strangest feeling came over me, of pity and understanding mixed. I said impulsively, ‘I am truly sorry about the scarlet flower. Truly sorry.’

‘I know,’ said Luel quietly. ‘But it is done, and that is that.’ She looked at me. ‘Why did you say my lord was a
kaldir
?’ She gave a foreign intonation to the word.

‘What was I supposed to say?’ I cried. ‘That he’s a . . .’ I cut the words off abruptly. ‘I mean, I said it because, well,
because of the magic mirror. It was all I could think of on the spur of the moment to explain it without saying too much. I’m sorry if I said the wrong thing.’

‘On the contrary,’ she said. ‘You’ve done well. I am glad for all our sakes.’

I took advantage of her apparent softening. ‘Please, will you let me send a letter to Mama then, answering her questions? I know that if I do not, her worries will only grow.’

‘Yes. You may do so, but I must read it before you send it. It seems harsh, I know,’ she went on gently, ‘but it cannot be any other way. And I promise that no harm shall befall you while you are here. In fact, you will be treated like an honoured guest.’

I swallowed. ‘How – how long must I be here?’

‘That, I cannot tell you. Yet.’

I wanted to yell and scream at her that she had no right – they had no right – to keep me here, but I knew it would do no good. So instead I said, ‘At least . . . What I told Mama about – about being paid; my family . . . things have been tough, and –’

‘Of course. It shall be arranged,’ said Luel calmly. ‘Your family will be well provided for, I promise that. And in return, I ask only this: that you promise not to try to escape.’

I looked at her. ‘I promise,’ I lied. It was the duty of a prisoner to escape, I thought; and a gilded cage was still a cage, no matter how anyone might dress it up.

Luel shrouded the mirror again, and we went out of the room and back up the stairs. She locked the door firmly behind us, pocketed the key, then led me into the hall and
up the great staircase to a room on the first floor that she said was to be mine. Looking out over a long sweep of snow-covered lawn that stretched right to the other side of the hedge at the back of the house, it was light and airy but just as warm as the other rooms in the house. Pale gold velvet curtains framed the windows, and the floor was of gleaming parquet, covered with a large, soft rug. There was a four-poster bed made up with fine linen, big pillows and a satin-edged coverlet of cream brocade, a wardrobe and chest of drawers, a dressing table, desk and chair, a small bookshelf lined with fat volumes bound in plain dark leather, and a comfortable armchair upholstered in the same gold velvet as the curtains. Best of all, though, there were no empty picture-frames.

Luel said, ‘Well?’

She was actually asking my opinion! Well, I must be making progress. I said, ‘It’s a nice room.’

The old woman nodded. ‘You will be happy here.’

I did not know what to say to this patent absurdity, for how could she possibly imagine such a thing? Instead, I said, ‘I have no change of clothes with me.’

‘That is no problem.’ She opened the wardrobe door. Despite myself, I could not help but gasp in wonder at the sight of the rows of dresses upon their hangers, a flurry of lace and tulle and velvet and silk and fine wool, in a variety of colours which would flatter my colouring exactly. We were a long way here from my old velvet, or even the pretty sprigged print frock I’d worn for Captain Peskov’s visit. These were dresses fit for a fine lady. ‘And you will find they fit perfectly,’ Luel said quietly.

Now why wasn’t I surprised about that?

There were shoes, too, of all sorts; evening shoes in satin and silver, day shoes in fine kid, slippers in leather so soft they felt like gloves, and sturdy walking boots. Then Luel opened the drawers to reveal fine underwear and stockings and handkerchiefs and nightgowns and shawls and more – the kinds of things Anya and Liza would have given their little fingers to own again. Meanwhile, in the desk were writing paper and envelopes and elegant pens, as well as stamps and a small pot of glue. Best of all, there was a beautiful notebook bound in pale leather, with heavy cream paper of a quality that made me long to write on it.

All these things must have been tailor-made for me. Or someone very like me. Someone knew I would come stumbling out of that storm. Not the
abartyen
, I thought, but Luel. Though the
abartyen
was frightening – a brute force – it was clearly Luel who held power in this place, despite her calling him ‘my lord’. But what did she want from me? I couldn’t help a little shiver at the thought.

‘You will no doubt want to refresh yourself,’ she said, as if she were an ordinary host addressing an ordinary guest. ‘There is a bathroom just for you behind that door,’ and she pointed to a door in the corner of the room, ‘with everything you may need. Then you will please come down to join us for dinner. I believe you already know where.’

She had been the one watching me, I thought, when I’d been sitting in the dining-room earlier. I wanted to say I wasn’t hungry and would skip dinner, but I knew the ‘please’ hadn’t made a request out of what she’d said. And
besides, I was hungry. Perhaps it was a reaction to fear, but my stomach felt hollow and empty. I could have devoured a horse right then and there. Trouble was, I had a queasy feeling I’d have to sit there and watch the
abartyen
do just that.

But I was wrong. Not only did he not eat a horse, the
abartyen
did not eat anything at all. In fact, he did not make an appearance at the dinner table and so it was just Luel and I, sitting across from each other. Despite my relief at the
abartyen’s
absence and the excellent meal, it was not a cheery occasion. Luel seemed deep in her own thoughts, and I was hardly in a state to make light conversation. The small pleasure I’d felt upon looking at myself in the mirror – an ordinary mirror, I’d checked! – after bathing and dressing in a simple, perfectly fitting dark red cashmere dress with a snow-white lace collar, had quite evaporated, and the delicious food might as well have been bread and water for all the delight I took in it.

It was towards the very end of the meal that Luel broke her silence. ‘You are afraid, I know, but there is nothing for you to be afraid of, Natasha.’

It was the first time she’d used my name, and it made me start. ‘Oh,’ I replied weakly. What else could I say?

‘My lord is not what he seems,’ she said. ‘You spoke of injustice, earlier. A great injustice was done to him – a great evil – and he, well, he found himself as he is now.’

I stared at her. ‘Do you mean . . .?’

‘He is not what and how he is by nature,’ Luel said quietly. ‘Please try to remember that.’

‘But what – what happened? Why? Who? How? –’

‘Too many questions for tonight,’ she said, waving her hand. ‘There will be time for you to learn, to try to understand. To repay him.’

I forgot about my resolve not to be combative and burst out, ‘Whatever happened to the
abart
– to your lord, however bad and tragic it was, it wasn’t my fault. So why should I suffer for it?’

‘You won’t,’ she said calmly. ‘I told you already: joy for joy is your payment.’

‘But I don’t understand how I can possibly –’

‘Look in your heart. You have known sorrow, but you have never known real loneliness. Real despair. Think of that. Think of why. And then you will see your way clear to an understanding what it is you must do.’

‘But why can’t you tell me? Why can’t you at least give me a clue?’ I pleaded, beside myself.

‘Because it must come from you,’ Luel said, without turning a hair. ‘Or it will be worth nothing. It will not help my lord. It will not repay your debt.’ She got up from the table. ‘And now, child, it is time to retire. You must be exhausted.’

‘Just a little,’ I muttered ironically, half to myself.

‘Tomorrow my lord will meet you after lunch, in the sitting-room. You will speak with him.’

My heart started pounding, all irony forgotten. ‘Will you be there?’ I whispered.

‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘Perhaps not.’

I don’t know if it was her careless tone that goaded me. ‘Why do you have these things on your walls?’ I said harshly, waving a hand at the blank picture-frames.