The Amber Keeper (25 page)

It was a Saturday and Abbie was sitting eating her lunch by the lake, which she loved to do, laughing as Aimée attempted to ensure that every duck got a crust of bread. Mallards and teals were hustling each other as they searched the reedy edges of the lake for scraps, shaking their feathers in the warmth of the summer sunshine. A pair of tufted ducks came waddling across the road, holding up
traffic
as they too noticed food was on offer.

‘The same greedy fat ones keep getting it every time,’ Aimée complained. ‘Go away, you bad boy. Let the others have a turn.’ Raising her thin little arm, she flung the crusts as far as she could, hoping to reach the more shy ducks who were still swimming on the lake.

Andrew Baxter strolled over. ‘You look as if you’re having fun. Do you mind if I join you?’

‘If you really want to,’ Abbie coolly remarked, then could have kicked herself. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound rude,’ she said, edging along the bench to make room for him.

He laughed. ‘Actually, I was about to say the same to you.
Apologies
between us do seem to be turning into rather a habit.’ He was wearing an open-necked shirt and jeans today, the sleeves rolled up over powerful biceps. As he sat beside her, Abbie thought he looked much more relaxed, his face touched by the sun, perhaps due to the fresh air here in Lakeland, or maybe he’d been taking walks over the fells. Linda was right: he had the kind of looks any woman would drool over. She realised he was still speaking, giving her an odd little smile, perhaps having noticed she was staring at him. Abbie found herself blushing, not something she’d done since she was a schoolgirl.

‘Sorry, what did you say?’ Barely having caught more than a few words, she felt obliged to ask him to repeat himself. But before he had chance to answer, Aimée came bounding over, slamming
herself
onto her mother’s knee in a breathless, giggling rush.

‘I’ve no bread left. Can I have an ice cream?’

‘I don’t think ducks eat ice cream,’ Abbie teased.

‘I mean for me.’

‘May I buy you one?’ Andrew Baxter asked.

‘Ooh, yes please, can he Mummy?’

With Aimée happily eating her strawberry ice, Andrew turned back to Abbie with a smile. ‘I was wondering if we could have dinner to clear the air.’

Abbie raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. ‘Dinner ‒
goodness
, you’re a glutton for punishment. Wasn’t lunch enough for you?’

‘You walked out, and rightly so. I realise I messed up so thought maybe we could start again. Allow me to introduce myself: Andrew Baxter, although friends ‒ which I hope we’ll soon be ‒ call me Drew.’

Unable to hold back her laughter, Abbie played along and took the proffered hand for the second time. His grip was warm and firm without in any way being over-powering, going on far longer than was quite necessary before he released her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you ‒ or I would be if you weren’t intent on putting me out of business.’

‘That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, which is why I thought dinner might be a good idea, to allow me the opportunity to fully explain my plans.’

Choosing not to answer his question, Abbie turned away to watch her daughter chatting to the ducks as she licked her ice cream. He sighed. ‘So how long have you lived in the Lakes?’

‘I was brought up here, although I was living in Paris for some years until recently.’

‘Really? I love France. Am I allowed to ask why you left?’

‘I came back for my mother’s funeral but then decided to stay. The Lake District is my home.’

He glanced about as if seeking something or someone, and then quietly asked, ‘Is your husband with you? If so, I’d be happy to include him in the dinner plan.’

‘There is no dinner plan, and I don’t have a husband,’ she tartly informed him.

‘Ah, sorry. Whoops, there we go again: yet more apologies. We really must stop doing that.’

Abbie stifled a sudden urge to giggle. Could it be nerves, or because he was really being extraordinarily kind to invite a non-existent husband to join them? ‘I was involved in a relationship but found he’d cheated on me, so I walked out.’

‘I understand why you’re feeling rather vulnerable, then,’ he softly remarked. ‘I can relate to that absolutely. My own marriage ended almost two years ago, and it took me quite a while to get over it, basically by working too hard.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Any children?’

He shook his head as he glanced across at Aimée, who’d taken off her shoes and socks and was now paddling with the ducks. ‘I wasn’t so fortunate.’

Abbie smiled at her daughter’s antics. ‘I’m rather relieved now that we never actually married, and have no regrets at leaving him, not any more. I’ve decided to stay in the Lakes and take on the business because I feel in need of a fresh start,’ she explained, feeling she should respond a little to his kindness even if any sort of date was quite out of the question as far as she was concerned. She was done with men.

‘A fresh start is an excellent idea. I, too, wish to be far away from Scotland and all the memories connected with it. The three shops my wife and I owned there have now been sold. The profits are in the process of being divided between us. The house, too.’

Abbie nodded. ‘Ah, I see. So why Carreckwater?’

He slanted her a wry glance. ‘It’s a pretty honey-pot of a village with a thriving tourist trade, if with an odd name.’

‘
Carrec
is an old Celt word for rock, which as you can see we have in plenty all around the lake, not forgetting that black knuckle-bone giant of a rock that sticks up in the middle, an island you can’t actually land on.’

‘Magnificent. You are very fortunate to live here. I love the place already. When I saw your business advertised I knew it was exactly what I was looking for.’

‘And now that you know it isn’t for sale you intend to steal all my trade anyway, and destroy it.’

‘I can see it might look that way, but actually that wasn’t what I had in mind.’ His gaze was intense as he looked into her eyes. ‘So will you allow me to explain over dinner tonight?’

Abbie stood up, brushing the crumbs of her sandwich from her lap. ‘Come on Aimée, it’s time we were getting back. Saturday is a busy day in the shop.’ And taking her daughter’s hand, she turned to go, nodding a brief farewell. ‘Say goodbye to Mr Baxter.’

‘Byee, Mr B,’ Aimée chortled.

‘And thank him for the ice cream.’

‘She already has thanked me,’ he said, and as mother and daughter began to walk away, he called out, ‘Seven o’clock at the Ring of Bells, okay? You’ll find me there this evening and every Saturday thereafter, should you feel like taking me up on the offer.’

Since she hadn’t accepted his invitation, and had no intention of ever doing so, Abbie didn’t trouble to answer, nor did she pause for a second as she walked away.

She might well have changed her mind later, thanks to Linda’s eager encouragement, and perhaps in no small part to the warmth that emanated from Andrew Baxter, which stirred some response within her, despite her better judgement. Why would such a kind man deliberately set out to ruin her? It seemed oddly out of character, although what did she know? He was little more than a stranger. Yet he had provoked a curiosity in her, almost a need to learn more about him.

But when she arrived back at Carreck Place she found a
letter
, postmarked Stepney. Abbie ripped it open, certain it was from the orphanage. Had they discovered something more about her mother? A quick glance at the letter proved this not to be the case, but the warden was forwarding a note from a Ruth Ashton, née Stubbins. Abbie skimmed it quickly then reread it more slowly,
perhaps
hoping
she might discover some hidden secret about Kate.

Dear Miss Myers,

‘. . . I recently visited the orphanage and they told me you’d come seeking information about your mother Kate. I’m so sorry to hear that she has died, and at such a young age. What a shock that must have been. I offer my sincere condolences for your loss. I’ve always been nervous of asking questions in the past but I’ve now reached an age when I thought it was worth the risk, so I wondered if you might by any chance have any information about Millie
Dowthwaite
? Is she still alive? I haven’t seen her in years, but she was once a good friend of mine and I’d so love to meet up with her again.

Kind regards,

Ruth

Abbie took the letter straight to her grandmother, who came over all teary-eyed as she read it. Taking the old lady’s hand as she sat beside her, Abbie asked the question that was burning her in mind. ‘I understand that Ruth was your friend. But was she also Kate’s mother?’

TWENTY-THREE

I
went straight to the British and American chapel where I sent word to Ruth that I’d like to see her and she arrived within the hour, wrapping her arms about me in one of her big warm hugs. ‘What a surprise. How lovely to see you.’

As I told my tale over coffee and spiced tea cakes, she began to giggle at the very idea of my being considered a revolutionary, although she quickly sobered when I revealed my predicament. ‘Oh, my goodness, so now you’ve nowhere to stay?’

I shook my head, struggling to hold back tears. ‘I keep thinking of little Irina, and Master Serge, wondering how they will cope
without
me, without anyone other than poor overworked
Nyanushki
to look after them.’

‘The children are no longer your problem. We must let it be known that you are seeking employment. Finding you a new post won’t be easy at the current time, but surely not impossible. In the meantime, I know of a hostel where you can stay. Come on, I’d best take you now as they soon get booked up.’

As we walked along arm in arm, I asked, ‘How can I be sure of finding a job without a reference from the Countess, and with such an accusation hanging over my head?’

Ruth seemed to swell with anger, pressing her lips together with fresh determination. ‘It’s all my fault. I blame myself for suggesting you join the demonstration.’

I hotly protested. ‘It wasn’t your fault at all. I have absolutely no regrets, although obviously I’m relieved we didn’t choose the day when the shooting took place.’

We both shuddered.

‘Have you heard the latest news?’ she asked. ‘It’s getting worse.’

I didn’t respond, more concerned with my own plight than attempt to understand Russian politics. She was saying something about the Duma having formed a provisional government without a mandate, which meant nothing at all to me.

Looking at my blank expression, she went on, ‘They are claiming to be so alarmed by the riots that they must act. Some people say they wish to take advantage of the situation to win more power for themselves. Alexander Kerensky, one of its leaders, has ordered that the Tsar return at once from Stavka. The story goes that on the second of March the train bringing Tsar Nicholas back to Petrograd was stopped at the Estonian border by two of the Duma’s highest officials, who ordered him to abdicate. He agreed to do so, saying he had no wish to risk the lives of his people for the sake of his throne.’

I couldn’t quite take this in. ‘You are saying that the Tsar has abdicated? But that is awful. Who is to take his place?’

Ruth shook her head. ‘No one. Three hundred years of Romanov dynasty ended that day. Tsar Nicholas apparently refused to allow his son to take the throne, even with a suitably appointed regent, as the boy would have been removed from his parents’ care. I dare say the Tsar feared he might never see his son again, and being a haemophiliac he is not a healthy child. The Tsar instead named his brother, Grand Duke Michael, as his successor, but he has declined to take on the role, no doubt realising the unstable state of the monarchy. The poor man was pursued by the rioters but managed to escape. Others were less fortunate and many aristocrats and relatives of the Romanovs have been killed.’

A jolt of fear hit me. ‘Oh, my goodness, I do hope the Count will be safe.’

‘I very much doubt it. As an aristocrat related to the Tsar, who also works at the Winter Palace, he’s an obvious target for reprisals.’ Ruth shook her head in disbelief. ‘But why would you care what happens to him when he’s sacked you?’

‘The Count didn’t sack me. It was the Countess in one of her fits of temper, which she generally recovers from, given time. He’s a kind man, always very supportive in the past. I was considering asking him for my position to be restored.’

‘Then ask him for his help, if you think it worthwhile, although I wouldn’t bank on getting any,’ Ruth warned. ‘What does Stefan think of your dismissal?’

‘He doesn’t know yet. He’ll be shocked to find me gone.’

‘Write a note saying where you are and I’ll see that he gets it, although it may be a few days before I can slip out again. I daren’t take too much extra time off right now, with all this going on. Golly, it’s a changed world. The situation is becoming so dire that some of our members are talking of returning home to England. No one feels safe any more.’

‘I’m sure you’re exaggerating,’ I protested, deliberately putting such worries from my mind as I settled into my new quarters and started on the laborious task of writing the first of a dozen letters. I intended to hand these out to families I knew, in case one of them should be seeking a governess for their children. I could only live in hope that someone would take me on. Otherwise, I would need to start making arrangements for my return home to Carreckwater, leaving Russia and Stefan behind me.

Despite sleeping in a dormitory packed with other governesses and maids seeking temporary accommodation for one reason or another, I’d never felt more lonely in my life. I’d brought few clothes with me; my warmest coat and scarves had been left hanging behind the door in my room at the flat, as I hadn’t been thinking clearly when I left ‒ I had been hustled out of the door with some speed.
Perhaps
as April was approaching, and with it the first signs of spring, I could manage until Gusev sent on my trunk.

‘The food is pretty dreadful here,’ one girl warned. ‘But eat whatever they offer you, as there’s precious little of it.’

I thanked her and, despite following her advice, was soon grateful for a dry crust of bread dipped in Oxo gravy which another girl happened to have spare one evening. It wasn’t that I had expected living in the hostel, or securing a new position, would be easy, but I was unprepared for the sense of utter rejection that overwhelmed me when I didn’t find one.

A week went by, still with no offers of employment forthcoming. Nor had Stefan appeared even though Ruth, who visited regularly, assured me that she’d delivered the note I’d written, telling him what had happened and where I was.

‘Who did you give it to?’

‘I gave it to a maid at the side entrance.’

‘Maybe she forgot to give it to him.’ I’d been longing to see him, keeping a constant lookout as I went from door to door seeking work, so far with no luck in either respect. But even if Stefan hadn’t received Ruth’s letter, he must surely have noticed I wasn’t around and be missing me. ‘More than likely he’s being kept fully occupied under the control of the Countess.’

‘I’m sure he’ll come when he can,’ Ruth consoled me. ‘The trouble is everyone is living in fear, and staying put behind locked doors. The killing is far from over.’

She was right. In the days following we learned of sailors ridding themselves of draconian commanding officers, factory foremen being beaten up and committees formed to replace them. Following what we now termed the revolution every person, whether autocrat or peasant, was classed as a citizen with equal rights, and many employers had been forced to agree to an eight-hour working day and a rise in pay, perhaps in fear of their lives. Nevertheless there was a fresh burst of optimism in the air, as people believed liberty and democracy had won the day.

‘Everything is changing at an alarming rate. If you do not work the land then you have no right to own it, or such is the general cry,’ Ruth said as we sat writing yet more letters of application one afternoon. ‘Village communities are being reformed on that basis, and land owned by the gentry redistributed.’

‘But the Count
does
work on the land. I’ve seen him many times digging in the vegetable plot on his estate, pruning trees and bushes, chopping logs or helping to load potatoes onto the cart that takes them to market. He’s a practical man, and most supportive of his tenants. His family have owned the estate for centuries.’

‘I’m afraid the respect that the gentry once enjoyed in
Russia
has quite gone, no matter how long their families have been around.’

‘It doesn’t seem fair to judge everyone by the same standards.
Politically the Count is a moderate liberal, considered rather
unorthodox
for his class. Nor is he the social creature his wife is, tending to live rather a quiet life, by preference in the country. While she goes out gallivanting, he tends to retire early. He is not profligate with money as the Countess is, looking upon his fortune as one held in trust to help others.’

Ruth gave me a rueful smile. ‘I’m sure he is all you say,
Millie
, and you clearly admire him a great deal to speak so fervently in his defence, but it may not be enough to save either him or his
property
. The new communities are taking over, ridding themselves of the elders who have been running their village or town. Even local policemen are in danger. The word is that they are intent on devolving power to themselves, even ignoring central government, which is either a good thing or a further breakdown in law and order, depending on your viewpoint. I wouldn’t let on that you have this soft spot for the Count, if I were you.’

My cheeks grew warm at this piece of well-meant advice. ‘I don’t have a soft spot for him.’

She laughed. ‘I think you do.’

Days later the man I really held a yearning for appeared on the
hostel
doorstep. As Stefan was not allowed inside, it being for women only, I grabbed my coat and we went to our favourite coffee shop on Nevsky Prospekt where we could talk in relative privacy.

‘Why did it take you so long to come and see me?’ I couldn’t help but ask, after a welcome sip of hot coffee.

He gave me a sad smile. ‘I didn’t even know you’d gone at first.’

‘Why, didn’t you receive my note?’

‘By the time I did, I couldn’t get away.’

‘You surely could have sneaked out, if only for half an hour or a few minutes.’

‘Without her permission, as you did? Then I’d have lost my job too.’

‘So you cared for your job more than me?’ My disappointment at his non-appearance was beginning to turn into resentment, despite the logic in his words.

As if reading my thoughts he took my hands in his and began to kiss each fingertip in that tender way of his. As always, I melted a little inside at his touch.

‘You know I would have come, Millie, given half a chance, but it just wasn’t possible. The Countess kept me within her sight all day and every day, a deliberate tactic on her part to prevent me from coming to you.’

‘So she hasn’t forgiven me? Have you asked her to take me back?’

He looked slightly depressed by the question. ‘I tried, but she really doesn’t like anyone interfering in her decisions, and she’s been even more moody than usual lately. In any case, why would she listen to me?’

‘You know very well why: because she adores you, lusts after you.’

Stefan burst out laughing, a rather hollow sound that echoed deep in my heart, filling me with suspicion. ‘Has she been pursuing you again?’

He gave a resigned sigh. ‘Don’t ask, Millie, it will only upset you. You are the girl I love. Always remember that.’

I felt a warmth flow through me at his words. How could I think he would let me down? He loved me, and nobody knew better than I how difficult Countess Olga could be. ‘If you truly do love me, you should threaten to leave yourself if she doesn’t agree to give me my job back.’

Stefan looked seriously concerned by this request and was silent for some moments before eventually giving a little nod. ‘All right, but I don’t hold out much hope.’

Hope was something that completely drained away in the days and weeks following. I quickly used up what little savings I’d kept by me for emergencies, and with no wages coming in I was obliged to ask my dear friend Ruth for help. She was able to offer a small loan, but I was growing increasingly desperate. If I didn’t find employment soon, I would have to ask my parents to buy me a return ticket home. My adventure in Russia would be over.

Stefan managed to escape the Countess’s control and visit me a few more times, but could offer no progress on my request for reinstatement. The Countess apparently refused to even discuss the matter. Close to despair, I decided to call at the flat on the pretext of asking how the children were, and if I could find the courage I’d swallow my pride and beg the Count for his help. It had to be done if I wasn’t to starve.