The Jewel of St Petersburg (20 page)

Valentina smiled at the captain. “This is Jens Friis. He’s an engineer. I believe you met each other at the ball the other night.”

“Did we?” Captain Chernov asked. “I don’t recall.”

“Apparently so,” Jens replied. “The halls were crowded.”

But they both remembered. Jens could see it in the other man’s eyes. That moment when Jens had arrived bearing lime cordial and had whisked Valentina away from under the captain’s nose. Chernov had not forgotten.

They sat down in high-backed chairs and a maid served them tea in paper-thin porcelain cups with ornate gold rims. Doll’s cups. Jens could have crushed his in his hand. Valentina guided the conversation down safe paths; she talked about the latest restaurant on Nevsky, then invited gossip about Prince Felix Yusupov, heir to the richest family in Russia, who had just returned from Oxford University to the Moika Palace. She touched on Kschessinska’s latest performance at the ballet. But she was bored. Jens could see it in the stiffness of her shoulders. So he was interested when she turned on Chernov with wide innocent eyes.

“Tell me, Captain, do you hunt?”

A simple question, although Jens heard the undertone in her voice. But the captain was young and had not yet learned to listen to what women say behind their words.

Chernov leaned forward, balancing the ridiculous cup on his knee. “I do.” He gave her a broad smile, anticipating her approval. “I was in the tsar’s hunting party last year with the American ambassador.”

“Wasn’t that the hunt when half the forest was slaughtered?” Jens asked mildly.

“Yes.” Chernov nodded at Valentina, unaware of what was happening. “Eighty stags and a hundred and forty wild boar. Not a bad day’s haul. I have a pair of magnificent antlers on my barracks’ wall from one of the animals I downed.”

“How clever of you,” Valentina said.

The moment stalled. Too late the captain sensed he had been tripped up. Leaving Chernov to wallow in his blood-splattered hole, Jens stretched out his long legs and contented himself with studying the way Valentina’s hair tumbled in gleaming ripples around her shoulders. Darker than the night sky. Swept back at the sides by pearl clips, her ears just visible, soft fragile shells.

“Do you hunt, sir?” Chernov asked in an attempt to drag Jens in with him.

“No, I don’t, Captain.” Jens decided to help his companion dig a little deeper. “But I’d be interested to know what kind of rifle you favor?”

Valentina’s dark eyes flicked to Jens and she tilted one eyebrow at him. But before either of them could learn the secrets of the captain’s preference, the door opened and Elizaveta Ivanova walked in, elegant in pale blue crepe de Chine. Both men rose to their feet.

“Captain Chernov”—she held out her hand—“my husband is free to see you now. He’s in his study. Let me show you the way.”

But the captain delayed her. “Before I leave, with your permission, I’d like to invite Valentina to a display of Hussars’ swordsmanship next Friday afternoon.” He turned to Valentina and bowed with such style, Jens wanted to chop off his knees. “I’d be honored if you would attend the event.”

“No, I—”

“Of course she will,” her mother enthused. “Your displays are legendary. Fine demonstrations of skill ... and danger. I’m sure my daughter will be impressed by them.”

“No, Mama.”

“Madam Ivanova.” Jens stepped forward. She was small like her daughter and he towered over her despite the height of her fair hair, braided on top of her head. “Valentina has agreed to a previous engagement for next Friday afternoon.”

“Oh? What might that be?”

“I came today to confirm it. An inspection of the tsar’s commissioned engineering works. It’s an official tour and Tsar Nicholas himself will be there, as well as Minister Davidov and his wife.”

He saw Valentina’s eyes grow wider. “How wonderful.”

Her mother frowned.

The captain scowled at Jens. “Not a suitable amusement for a young lady, surely.”

“And watching men pretend to stab each other is?” Valentina asked.

“I’m sure you would not want to disappoint Tsar Nicholas,” Jens addressed her mother. “He was enchanted by your daughter when she played the pianoforte for him at the concert. A great credit to you.”

He saw her waver.

“With a chaperone, of course,” he added.

He heard Valentina draw breath.

“Very well,” her mother conceded reluctantly. “She will have to wait till another occasion for a display of swordsmanship. But come now, Captain Chernov, my husband is waiting to speak with you. In the meantime,” she said briskly to Jens, “I wish you good afternoon, sir.”

She escorted both men from the salon, but as the door was closing behind them a light burst of laughter skipped through the gap.

V
ALENTINA STOOD ON THE CURB AND EYED ST. ISABELLA’S Hospital with excitement. It was larger than she’d expected and its pale stone was blackened with age, flaking like an old man’s skin. Its tall windows were barred with rusty iron strips, but not even that discouraged her. The cold was intense, and she tucked her hands into her muff.

To be a nurse you need to be tough.

That was what he had said. She straightened her shoulders, pushed open the door, and walked into a large vestibule that smelled of disinfectant and something else, something unpleasant, something that made her stomach flip over. The interior was large and gloomy with too much brown paint. Corridors led off to places she couldn’t even imagine. On one side was an office with a glass hatch that slid from side to side, and behind it a woman sat in residence. Her fingers rippled a coin over her knuckles as Valentina approached.

“Dobriy den,
good afternoon.” Valentina offered a smile but didn’t receive one in return. “I am looking for someone to speak to about nurse training.”

“You want to hire a trained nurse?”

“No. I want to find out how to become a nurse.”

“Well, you need to send the girl in herself. Our
medsestra,
our Sister, will want to speak to her directly.”

“It’s for myself,” Valentina pointed out. “I’m the one.”

“You want to become a nurse?”

“Yes.”

The woman turned away and busied herself with some paperwork. Valentina assumed she was searching for a form but then noticed the narrow shoulders shaking. She felt her cheeks flush crimson.

“Is there someone I should speak to?”

“Up that corridor there. Third door on the left. Gordanskaya is the name.”

“Thank you,” she said.
“Spasibo.”

“Girl, you want some advice?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t waste your time.”

N
AME?”

”Valentina Ivanova.”

“Age?”

“Eighteen,” she lied.

“Do you have your parents’ permission to be here?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any nursing experience?”

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

“My sister is paralyzed. I help take care of her.”

“Have you had a job before?”

“Yes.”

“Doing what?”

“I worked in an office.”

“Why did you leave?”

“I found it dull.”

“So you think nursing won’t be dull?”

“It will be more interesting than filling out forms all day.”

Medsestra
Margharita Gordanskaya threw down her pen on the desk, leaned her bulk against the backrest of her chair until the wooden frame creaked, and narrowed her eyes so that her fleshy cheeks threatened to swallow them.

“Get out of here,” she said in a crisp voice. It bounced off the walls of the small room.

Valentina stood her ground. “Why? Don’t you need more nurses?”

“Of course we do. We’re desperate for them. But not like you.”

“What’s wrong with me?”

“Everything. So go.”

“Please tell me why.”

The narrow eyes popped open. Brown and humorless. “You’re a liar, for a start. The only truth in that pack of rubbish you told me was your name and the bit about your sister.”

“I learn fast.”

“No.”

“Tell me, what’s wrong with me?”

The
medsestra
shook her head, making her roll of chins surge alarmingly. “Look at you in your finery. You’re a rich young woman with too much time on your hands and nothing to do. You’ll tire of nursing in five minutes. Please don’t waste my time.”

Valentina had worn her plainest dress. Her oldest coat.

“I won’t tire of it,” she insisted.

“I cannot afford to waste the hard-pressed resources of this hospital on training the likes of you.” Gordanskaya rose to her feet. Her starched uniform fought a momentary battle to contain the swing of her impressive bosom and won. “Now, for the last time, young woman, please take your fancy clothes and your fancy ideas out of my office.”

Valentina looked down at her sable muff, at the way her fingers were squeezing the life out of it. Without a word, she walked out.

A
RKIN LAY FLAT ON HIS STOMACH ON THE WET GROUND, his coat stuck to him, his attention fixed on the empty horizon. He’d brought along three young apprentices from the Raspov foundry, one with a handcart, all of them eager as puppies. He was glad of their company. The job wasn’t hard, but it was risky. The train had to slow in exactly the right place to offload its cargo or they would be spotted. He’d chosen a section of rail track that was dead straight so that no one in the front carriages could look behind. Here the pine forest crept close on one side, its dense trunks offering easy cover. The wind swirled through the branches above their heads, gusts dislodging frozen icicles that fell into the snow beneath with a thud that made them all jump.

A puff of smoke billowed on the horizon. Arkin felt his pulse kick. Beside him the youngest of the apprentices raised his head and grinned. Arkin nudged him.

“Keep down, Karl. Be patient.”

“If the wrong stoker is on board, he won’t be able to stop.”

“It’s arranged. Trust them.”

Karl nodded but with a frown. He was a boy of sixteen with a lion’s mane of sandy hair whose father was the engine driver on the train. His enthusiasm for every task was so infectious that Arkin slapped the boy’s bony shoulder affectionately. “Don’t worry, your father can handle this.”

“Of course he can.”

The noise of the steam engine pumped through the chill air, raising a string of crows from the trees. Their ragged calls sounded a warning and Arkin’s mind was caught by a moment’s fear. Not for himself, but for the boy. The birds seemed to cry
Karl, Karl.
No. Omens were for the weak-minded.

The growl of the engine grew louder with the endless grinding of pistons, and suddenly it was in full view, steaming toward them down the track. Arkin turned his head and checked on the other apprentices farther back among the trees with the handcart, two pale young faces in the twilight of the forest. He signaled.
Keep down.
There was a screech of metal and a hiss of brakes that grated on his nerves. He tasted soot in his mouth. Slow and cumbersome, the train drew to a halt and it took only seconds for Arkin to leap from his position, open the heavy sliding door of the last wagon, and seize the small crate that was being pushed toward him.