Through Russian Snows (40 page)

An hour later, a tailor with his assistant came to measure Julian. Three
days later, the Count suggested that he should go for a drive with him
in his sledge, and, wrapped up in furs, Julian took his place beside him
in a splendidly-appointed open vehicle. Stephanie sat between them. The
sledge was drawn by three horses—the centre one in shafts, while those
on either side ran free. A purple net covered the three animals almost
touching the ground, and so preventing the particles of snow being
thrown up by their hoofs into the sledge. The driver, in fur cap and
pelisse, and with an immense beard, sat on a seat in front. A number of
bells were attached to the harness of the horses, and to a bow-shaped
piece of wood that arched over the head of the central horse.

"This is an improvement on the post-waggons, Stephanie," Julian said.

The child nodded brightly. "You said it would all seem like a dream,
Julian," she remarked presently, as they dashed swiftly down the broad
street of the Nevsky, crowded with vehicles of all kinds, from the
splendidly-appointed sledges, like their own, to the lumbering vehicles
of the peasants piled up with firewood. "It almost seems like a dream
already, and yet you know I was very comfortable with you."

"It will be something for you to look back upon all your life," her
father said. "There will be many who will have strange and sad memories
of the war, but not one who will have a stranger experience than you
have to talk about. Happily, there was, as far as you are concerned, but
little sadness in it."

Julian was delighted with the brightness and gaiety of St. Petersburg,
with its broad streets, its stately palaces, its fine cathedrals, and
its busy population. The universal use of furs prevented the symbols of
mourning being apparent, and, as they drove along in the luxurious
equipage, even he, like the child, could scarce believe that the
desperate fight at Smolensk, the even longer and more obstinate contest
at Borodino, and the terrible scenes on the retreat, were realities. On
his return to the palace, Julian understood the object of the Count in
having taken him for a drive, for he found the
armoires
and wardrobes
of his room crammed with garments of all descriptions.

Here was underclothing of every kind, sufficient for a life-time;
morning suits, riding suits, dress suits, visiting suits, in bewildering
variety. In one wardrobe were three superb overcoats, lined with the
most costly furs, half a dozen fur caps of various patterns, four huge
fur rugs, high boots lined with fur, a dozen pairs of fur gloves for
walking and driving; and arranged along the wall were ten pairs of boots
of different kinds, fur-lined slippers, and dress boots. He examined
them all with something like consternation.

"What nonsense!" he exclaimed. "What am I to do with all these things?
It is magnificent; but it is too much altogether. Why, these furs alone
are worth hundreds of pounds! No doubt the count is extremely rich. I
have already heard him speak of three or four estates in different parts
of Russia, and this palace is fit for a prince. Of course, he can afford
it well enough, but to me all this is quite overpowering. I should like
to see Aunt's face if I were to turn up at Weymouth with all this kit."

There was a letter lying on the table. He opened it. It was, as he had
expected, from the count.

"My dear Mr. Wyatt, you will, I am sure, accept the little outfit that I
have provided, in the same spirit in which I have obtained it, and will
oblige me by making no allusion to it whatever, or to the contents of
the enclosed pocket-book, which will provide you with ready-money while
you are staying here. They are but poor tokens of the life-long
obligations you have conferred upon the countess and myself."

The pocket-book contained a roll of Russian notes to the value of a
thousand pounds. Julian felt that there was indeed nothing to do but, as
the letter said, to accept the presents in the spirit in which they were
made. Everything showed that thoughtful kindness had been exercised. On
the dressing-table stood a superb travelling-case of Russian leather,
fitted with all necessaries of the toilet in ivory, mounted with silver,
and with his initials engraved upon the back of the various brushes.
Hitherto he had made no attempt to remove the soft brown beard that had
grown untouched from the day when the army had turned its back upon
Moscow. He now set to and shaved himself, and then dressed for dinner.
In glancing at one of the long cheval glasses in the room, he could not
but feel a distinct satisfaction at his appearance. Except in shop
windows in Germany, he had not, since he left home, had the opportunity
of seeing more of himself than could be gathered from the tiny glass
that formed part of his kit.

He now saw himself as he was, a tall figure of six feet two in height,
with a broad pair of shoulders. The scenes of the last six months had
given an expression of power and decision to his face that it had lacked
before. The stern, set look of battle had left its mark upon it, and
though a distinctly pleasant and kindly one, it was undoubtedly that of
a soldier who had seen hard service and had looked death many times in
the face. All question as to what he should say to the count was set at
rest on his entry into the drawing-room, for the count took him by the
hand, and, leading him across the room, presented him to the countess,
who had for the first time made her appearance. She rose as they came
across, and with trembling hands and eyes full of tears, came up to him.

"Ah, Mr. Wyatt," she said, "what can I say to the saviour of my child?
I have had difficulty in restraining my patience so long; but it was
only to-day that the doctor gave me permission to leave my room."

She held out both her hands to him. He bowed deeply over them and raised
them to his lips. "My happiness is no less than your own, countess," he
said, "that God has permitted me to be the means of bringing your child
back again. It was no great thing to do on my part; and, as I have told
the count, the little act of kindness was vastly more than repaid, for
your daughter assuredly saved my life from the peasants, as I saved hers
from the cold. Your little daughter is quite a heroine," he said more
lightly. "I can assure you that even when the bullets were flying about
thickly she evinced no signs of fear, and the way in which she stood
before me facing those enraged peasants was splendid."

"It shows her perfect faith in you, Mr. Wyatt. A child who has absolute
confidence in the person in whose charge she is, is almost without fear.
Her idea of danger is derived almost entirely from the conduct of those
around her. If they show fear, she is terrified; while if their manner
convinces her that they have no fear, she does not understand that
danger can exist. She is evidently deeply attached to you, as indeed she
has reason to be, and when I get tired with talking to her, and say to
her, 'Now you must go, dear,' she trots off as contentedly to you as if
you were indeed what she calls you, her nurse, much more so than she
used to do to Claire. The poor woman was a most careful nurse and an
excellent instructress, although she did start so madly, as it would
seem, on this journey. But the child never really took to her, as she
had not the faculty of winning affection. She was thoroughly
trustworthy, and would, I believe, have given her life for the child,
but she was certainly rather precise in manner, and was perhaps a little
too peremptory in giving her orders. That was, I admit, a fault on the
right side, for Stephanie is so accustomed to adulation on the part of
the servants, that she rather needs a firm hand over her. However, the
child has scarcely mentioned Claire's name since her return, while yours
is incessantly on her lips."

"She has not been in any way spoilt by adulation, Countess, and has been
as amenable to my slightest wish as the humblest peasant child could be;
but she certainly has a pretty little air of dignity. It was funny to
see how she queened it among the French soldiers, who always called her
Mademoiselle la Comtesse, and always put aside the best piece of their
scanty ration of meat for her."

"Yes, she has been telling me how good they were to her. What a war this
has been, Mr. Wyatt."

So they chatted until dinner was announced; then the countess lay down
on the sofa, and Stephanie came in and sat on a low stool beside her,
while her father and Julian went to the dining-room. After the meal was
over the count proposed that Julian should accompany him on a visit to
the Nobles' Club. The sledge was already waiting at the door, and in a
few minutes they arrived, not, as Julian had expected, at a stately
building, but at a garden.

"This is our skating place," the count said as they entered. "We have
guest-nights here once a week during the winter. As a rule, those
present are simply the invited guests of members; but to-night the
tickets are sold at twenty roubles each, and the proceeds go to the
funds for the benefit of the wounded. It will furnish a handsome sum,
for everyone is here, and there are few indeed who have paid as little
as the twenty roubles. Some sent cheques for as much as five hundred
roubles for their tickets, and a hundred may be taken as the average.
This is the first time that we have had a military band, for music is
naturally considered out of place when everyone is in mourning and such
vast numbers of our soldiers are still suffering horribly; but as this
is for their benefit it is considered as an exception. You will not see
much skating; the ice will be far too crowded."

It was indeed a brilliant scene. The gardens were lighted with myriads
of lamps. The sheet of ice was of a very irregular shape and broken by
several islets, upon which grew trees. From their branches hung numbers
of lanterns, while the bank round the ice was studded with lamps. The
crowds walking about by the edge of the lake were all wrapped up in
furs. A large proportion of those on skates wore uniforms, while the
ladies were in short, tightly-fitting jackets, trimmed with fur, and
with coquettish little fur caps. The crowd was far too great for any
attempt at figure-skating, but they moved swiftly round and round the
lake in a sort of procession, each lady accompanied by a cavalier, who
held her hand, and all skating with a grace and freedom that was to
Julian surprising indeed. The scene, with its bright colours and rapid
movement, was almost bewildering, and Julian was glad to turn away and
go up to the pavilion, where hot coffee and liquors were handed to all
comers.

The count spoke to many acquaintances, introducing Julian to each of
them as his great friend, Monsieur Wyatt, an Englishman. After waiting
an hour in the gardens they drove to the club itself. There were here a
large number of gentlemen, all of whom had been for a few minutes at the
garden. Here more introductions took place, and the count put down
Julian's name as an honorary member. "You will have a long day's work
to-morrow, Monsieur Wyatt."

"How is that, Count?"

"It will be your duty to call upon every gentleman to whom I have
introduced you; that is to say, to leave a card at the door, and every
one of them will leave a card at my house for you. I will make out a
list for you in the morning of the names and addresses. You will find a
sledge at the door at three o'clock; it will be at your disposal while
you remain with me. It is a small and light one, like this, with a pair
of horses. It is seldom that three horses are used unless ladies are of
the party. There is much for you to see, and it will be more pleasant
for you to be your own master and go about as you please."

The following morning, after breakfast, the count said, as they lit
their cigars, "Have you formed any plans yet, Mr. Wyatt? Of course I do
not mean for the present. It is understood that this is your home as
long as you will be good enough to make it so, and the longer you stay
the greater pleasure it will give us; but I mean for the future. Are you
thinking of returning to England?"

"I am intending to write at once to my brother. Whether he is at home or
not, of course I cannot say. He was going into the army, but I greatly
fear that the unfortunate affair in which I was engaged will have
rendered that impossible. At any rate, I shall also write to my aunt; if
alive she is sure to be there. In the first place, I shall tell them
what has become of me. There has been no possibility of my sending a
letter from the time I left home, with the exception of one written
while crossing the Channel, and which the smugglers promised to deliver
on their return. They must think that I am dead by this time, and my
letter will, at any rate, relieve their anxiety. In the next place, I am
most anxious to know if anything has been heard further from the
smuggler. He gave me his solemn promise that in the event of his death a
letter acknowledging that he was the murderer should be sent to the
magistrates of Weymouth. I have no reason in the world for supposing
that he is dead, for he was not above middle age, and if, as is but too
probable, no such letter had been received, I cannot return home. I
might, however, return to London, and thence take ship to some foreign
country—either to the United States or to South America, or perhaps to
our own colony of Canada, and make my way there or enlist in the
English army."

"Or you might stay here?"

"I might stay here, count, but as I am ignorant of Russian, and have no
trade or profession, I do not well see what I could possibly do."

"You would not be long in picking up Russian," the count said, "and if
you could make up your mind to settle down here until you learn that
your innocence of this foul charge has been completely proved, there
would be no necessity for any trade or profession. Why, Monsieur, you do
not suppose that the countess and I are without heart, or would allow
you, the preserver of our child, to struggle for an existence here or
anywhere else! We have more money than we know what to do with. We have
six estates in different parts of Russia. We have some ten thousand
serfs. However, we can settle nothing until you receive an answer to
your letter; after that we will talk matters over seriously. At any
rate, do not trouble about your future. This is the reason that I have
spoken to you to-day. Your future is our care, and you can leave it
safely in our hands."