Valerie's Russia (12 page)

‘Drink for our newcomer,’ said Rasputin, placing a grubby hand around the bottle and pouring a glass of wine for Valerie.

She was not thirsty, but forced herself to sip at the liquid and think about Tassya. This man had helped the girl, Valerie had seen the result with her own eyes. And she had also seen how Alexis had recovered from his appalling attack of haemophilia.

Maybe this extraordinary and uncivilised behaviour was his way of relaxing? A way for him to rest his body and mind before being called yet again to use his miraculous powers of healing?

‘Here, Nina, my hands are dirty. Lick them clean,’ said Rasputin, holding out his slippery hands to the woman at his side.

To Valerie’s horror, the woman leaned forward and began sucking at his fingers, one by one.

‘The Master teaches us to be humble,’ whispered the woman next to Valerie.

But not this way, thought Valerie. Her father preached often enough about the dangers of conceit and self-esteem, but the Reverend Marsh would
never
condone what Grigorii Rasputin was demanding of his followers.

Suddenly she thought of Pyotr and how he had warned her about the Siberian moujik, and how Mrs Lees had spoken of him with distaste, and how Sophia had called him a very fine man of the flesh, who cleansed women of their sins if they sinned with him first.

It was imperative that she got away – now – immediately. But how could she leave when the man-servant was still standing in the doorway? The wine was also having a strange effect on her and Valerie was not sure her feet would be firm beneath her if she stood up?

She turned her head to see her friendly neighbour smiling at her.

‘When Father Grigorii has finished eating he will choose one of us to go with him to his Holy of Holies,’ she said. ‘Pray that you are the chosen one, my dear. It is an experience you will never forget.’ Her face was alight with hope as she gazed at the man.

‘Holy of Holies?’ Valerie felt her stomach heave. She was going to be sick right across the table, adding to the mess of fish soup, black bread and spilled wine.

‘His bedroom,’ said the woman, with soft sobbing breath, ‘where he teaches us love as
I
have never experienced it before. And I am a married woman, dear.’

With a cry Valerie stood up, jerking back her chair, but her legs would not hold her and she almost fell as she tried to make for the door.

‘That one: I choose the English girl today!’ Rasputin was rising and smiling across at Valerie.

The woman beside her caught hold of Valerie’s arm.

‘You are the fortunate one, and the pleasure awaiting you is out of this world. Oh, envy, envy!’ She began weeping hysterically against Valerie’s shoulder.

‘Come, we will assist you,’ said two others, coming up behind her and grabbing hold of Valerie’s arms. They began propelling her away from the table and the weeping woman.

‘I don’t want to go!’ Valerie rolled her head from side to side and tried to wrench free from their grasp. But her tongue was heavy in her mouth and her eyes wouldn’t focus properly.

‘You won’t go yet, English girl, don’t worry. You will have enjoyment first,’ said one, opening the door in front of them.

She was half-carried into an ill-lit room where the curtains had not been drawn back from the windows, and a huge bed almost filled the space from wall to wall.

Valerie struggled as the women began to undress her, but her body was weak and they were too strong for her.

‘Leave her.’ Suddenly the Master’s voice rang out. The women let go of Valerie and she fell back onto a rumpled heap of cushions and furs. ‘Now go, and leave us in peace.’

The women departed, the door was closed, and Grigorii Rasputin advanced on Valerie’s defenceless form.

O
nce the English girl had been joined by the Master in his Holy of Holies, the group of disciples made ready to leave the apartment. They were not wanted that day and all knew from previous experience that the Master liked to be left alone with his chosen one.

The man-servant helped the ladies with their coats and furs, then saw them away before returning to clear up the debris in the dining-room. But to his astonishment, the front door suddenly burst open and an officer of the Imperial Guard came striding into the room, fury flashing in his vivid blue eyes.

‘Where is she?’ He looked at the scene of spilled wine and broken bread, and smelt the fish, his nostrils flaring in revulsion. ‘The English girl – where is she?’ He confronted the horrified servant and felt murder in his heart.

The man knew that his master must never be disturbed at such times, but fear of the furious stranger overwhelmed him.

‘In there,’ he squeaked, nodding at the closed bedroom door and then retreating as fast as he could to the kitchen quarters.

Pyotr stormed through the dining-room, knocking over several chairs as he went, then wrenched open the door leading to Rasputin’s inner sanctum.

For one long moment he stood staring – his worst fears realised. Valerie lay naked on the wide bed, her arms above her
head in listless submission. Her eyes were closed and Pyotr prayed that she had fainted. Beside her, also naked, reclined Grigorii Rasputin, his chest almost as hairy as his bearded face. He lifted his head to look up at the intruder, his hand falling away from the girl’s white body.

‘Get out of here!’ he shouted.

He struggled to a sitting position as Pyotr leapt forward, gathering up remnants of Valerie’s clothing and flinging them over her inert body.

‘Valerie, wake up! Get up!’ He leaned over her, terrified she was drugged, or dead.

To his relief Valerie opened her eyes, then gazed in horror at a man’s face so close to hers. But then she recognized him, and with a cry of joy flung her arms around his neck.

‘Thank God,’ she whispered, ‘thank God you’ve come. Oh, take me away. Take me away from this place!’

Gathering her up in the fur on which she was lying, Pyotr folded it carefully to hide her shame. Then he lifted her in his arms and looked down at the scowling Rasputin.

‘The Empress will hear of this,’ he said. ‘Your days of fame and glory are over and I will see you banished to the frozen wastes from which you came.’

Then he strode out of the room and out of the apartment, carrying the trembling girl in his arms.

Below in the street his carriage was waiting and as soon as Pyotr appeared at the top of the steps with the burden in his arms, the coachman jumped from his seat and flung open the door.

‘Tsarskoselsky Railway Station, bárin?’ he said.

‘No.’ During the last painful minutes Pyotr had made up his mind. ‘Bolshoy Prospect on Vassily Island,’ he ordered, climbing in and cradling Valerie on his knees.

She was clinging to him as if she would never let him go, the
remains of her clothing hidden somewhere amongst the folds of fur that enveloped her. Her face was against his broad chest and Pyotr could imagine her mortification and terror at what had occurred.

Valerie needed to dress herself respectably once more, and to have a good wash. The smell of fish clung to her tangled hair and his nostrils were further insulted by the odour of stale wine.

Anger swelled in Pyotr’s breast. His once innocent, apple-fresh Varinka now stunk like an over-used prostitute making
him
feel in need of a wash and change of clothing.

But at the Lees’ house in Bolshoy Prospect, Valerie would receive the care and attention she so desperately required. The couple were English, friends of the Marsh family, and although the large lady with the loud voice and monstrous hats had irritated him in the past, Pyotr thought she and her husband were the ideal people with whom to leave Valerie at present.

Tsarskoe Selo was too distant and Alexander Palace not the right place for the distraught girl. However, he intended going back the moment Valerie was safely settled. Empress Alexandra should be told the truth about her adored Friend and he, Pyotr Silakov, was going to tell Her Imperial Highness exactly what kind of a brute he really was.

The Empress had refused to listen to unsavoury gossip about the Siberian moujik in the past, but she had never had cause to distrust him before. Now, the girl who was companion to her eldest daughter, and whom the Imperial family had grown to love, had been most viciously assaulted by the drunken beast. Pyotr was going to demand his expulsion to Siberia – forever.

Valerie, warm in the comfort of the fur and firmly held in Pyotr’s strong arms, was almost asleep. She had drunk too much wine, then been so frightened and repulsed by the
fondling of that black-bearded beast, she had almost fainted.

But Pyotr had arrived when she most needed him, and with the warmth of his body close to hers – a clean healthy young body – and with the steady swaying of the carriage, she felt very secure and wanted to stay like that until slumber overtook her. She didn’t want to think, or remember, or do anything except sleep.

Fortunately the Lees were at home and the moment Mrs Lees saw the handsome count standing in the hall with Valerie’s limp, fur-covered body in his arms, she hurried forward, consternation clouding her face.

‘What has happened to her? Has there been an accident? Oh, my dear child – is she alive?’

Mrs Lees peered forward, touching the girl’s ruffled hair, gazing anxiously at her closed eyes. Then she caught a whiff of Valerie’s wine-sodden breath.

‘Dear Heavens!’ She took a step back and glared at Pyotr. ‘She is inebriated! What have you done to her, Count Silakov?’

‘Is something the matter, dear?’ Mr Lees came through from the library, taking in the strange scene in the hall with blinking, owl-like eyes. ‘What is going on?’

‘It is all right.’ Pyotr endeavoured to calm the fraught atmosphere. ‘Valerie is not hurt.’ At least he prayed not. ‘But I have taken her away from Grigorii Rasputin’s apartment where too much wine was drunk. May she have a room here, Mrs Lees, until she regains her senses?’

He looked at the astonished lady with his most charming smile.

‘I do not know where else to take her. She will be so ashamed when she recovers. You know what gossip is like in St Petersburg. So I said to myself, Mrs Lees is a family friend and also a very good woman.’

Mrs Lees mellowed beneath the smile and flattering words.

‘Of course Valerie can stay with us,’ she said, then turned and gave orders to the footman to have a room prepared and Katia sent upstairs immediately. ‘You must tell me all about it another time,’ she said. ‘But now Valerie needs a bath and a good night’s rest. That smell, Count Silakov, is quite dreadful!’

Her nose was quivering as her husband came forward to join them.

‘Do not stare, Mr Lees! Valerie is in a sorry state and must be given instant attention. Poor child, I always
knew
that man was no good and I
told
her of his appalling reputation.’ She paused, and Pyotr dreaded hearing what was in her mind. ‘You don’t suppose he—’

‘You are a wonderful and understanding lady,’ he said quickly, ‘and I am thankful to have brought Valerie to you, Mrs Lees. Now I will carry her upstairs if you will tell me where to go, then I must leave you. I have some important business to attend to.’

‘Of course.’ Pushing her dumbfounded husband out of the way, Mrs Lees climbed the stairs, her mind racing.

What was Valerie doing in the Siberian peasant’s apartment? And what had he done to her? If other ladies were present she supposed nothing immoral had occurred. But she had the distinct impression that Valerie was naked beneath that nasty fur. Had there been an orgy? One never knew what these foreigners would get up to next. And how had that nice count become involved? Dear me, there was so much she needed to find out in the morning.

At the top of the stairs she turned left, leading the way across the landing to a room where the maid was hastily making up the bed.

‘Hurry up, Katia,’ said Mrs Lees. Then she gestured to a comfortable armchair in the corner. ‘If you will put Valerie on that chair, Count Silakov, she can rest whilst a bath is run for
her. Then she can go straight to bed. She looks quite exhausted, poor girl.’

Had she suffered a fate worse than death? Mrs Lees stared in horrified interest at the girl’s expressionless face. Something had happened to her. She didn’t look at all like the Valerie with whom she had travelled from England. Nor like the excited girl who had spent those few days at Christmas with them, and attended the Ball at the Winter Palace.

Mrs Lees didn’t believe it was only too much alcohol – there was something more. And that smell. Not alcohol but fish – that was it. Valerie smelt distinctly fishy.

Settling the drowsy figure on the chair and making sure the fur still covered her inert form, Pyotr straightened and walked back to the door, leading Mrs Lees politely by the arm. If only the maid would now take charge of Valerie, she could deal with the lack of clothing and the tell-tale bruises. Pyotr did not want the Englishwoman seeing any more of the young girl’s shame.

‘Mrs Lees,’ he said, pulling the door shut behind them, ‘may I ask one more thing of you, please?’

She nodded, wondering what else was to come. Russia was a barbaric land beneath its bright extravagant surface and she was missing the solid, sensible calm of dear old England more and more.

‘I would like you not to question Valerie too much in the morning,’ Pyotr said carefully. ‘If she wishes to speak, then it is quite in order,’ he added, noticing the woman’s air of disappointment.

Mrs Lees shrugged. ‘Very well, I will not ask too much. But I need to know
something
, Count Silakov. What do I tell her father? And what about the Empress? Should Valerie not be returning to the palace shortly? The Imperial family will want to know what has happened to her. We must
all
be informed about what has been going on, sir.’

‘I do not know myself.’ He raised his hands in innocent bewilderment. ‘I went only to collect Valerie Marsh and escort her back to Tsarskoe Selo, then discovered her in this sorry state. But I intend seeing Empress Alexandra at the first opportunity, and will inform her that Valerie is not well. Then I shall return for her, Mrs Lees, in a day or so and take her away from your kindness.’

Pyotr gave his disarming smile.

‘Forgive me for rushing away, but I must depart.’

He bowed gracefully before hurrying down the stairs and nodding at Mr Lees, who was still pondering in the library doorway. The front door was opened by a footman and then Pyotr escaped out into the courtyard to his waiting carriage.

‘Now for Tsarskoselsky Railway Station,’ he told the coachman.

Fortunately, Empress Alexandra was able to see him early the following day, and when Pyotr entered her private sitting room, she was quietly at her embroidery in the company of Anna Vyrubova.

‘Come in, Count Silakov,’ she said, glancing up at the tall dark-haired officer and thinking, once again, how remarkably handsome he was. ‘What is it you wish to see me about?’

Pyotr bowed then stood to rigid attention as he described what he had discovered the day before.

‘I would beg Your Imperial Highness,’ he ended, ‘to have this Grigorii Rasputin sent back to where he belongs. If he remains here in the west, he will be a constant danger to the young and innocent.’

No emotion stirred on Alexandra’s pale face, but her hands were still and her blue eyes became frozen.

‘Father Grigorii is returning to his village at the end of this week but will come back to us in the autumn, as he always does,’
she said. ‘You seem to forget, Count Silakov, that Father Grigorii is Our Friend and, as such, will always have our warmest regard and affection. I fear,’ she went on icily, ‘that little Valerie was overcome by her devotion to the holy man and allowed her emotions full rein. She probably also partook of too much wine.’

‘Forgive me, Your Imperial Highness,’ said Pyotr, trying to remain courteous despite his barely concealed rage, ‘but Grigorii Rasputin is known throughout St Petersburg as a lecher. And when Valerie went to ask his advice about my crippled sister, he assaulted her.’

Although confessing ignorance to Mrs Lees, Pyotr knew full well the reason for Valerie’s visit.

‘There are always unpleasant rumours circulating about the holy man,’ said Alexandra. ‘I know what people say, Count Silakov, and am not deaf to the gossip and scurrilous accusations. But folk are envious of his position at Court, and the fact that he is Our Friend, and will say anything to try to bring about his downfall.’

She turned to her companion.

‘Has Father Grigorii ever attempted an immoral act, or uttered a seductive word to
you
, Anna?’

Anna Vyrubova shook her head, glancing from the Empress to Pyotr.

‘I have often been alone with him, Your Imperial Highness,’ she said, in her little girl’s voice, ‘and he has never been anything other than a good and pious man in my company.’

‘My daughters know him and have enjoyed his friendship ever since their childhood,’ went on the Empress, her voice rising, ‘and we all love him as the saintly man he is. There is no question of suspecting his morals, Count Silakov.

‘Now I suggest you leave the palace and take a week’s leave, which should give you time to recover your senses. And I will make sure that Valerie Marsh returns to England.’

She glanced across at Anna’s downcast eyes and drooping mouth. Pity. They had all grown fond of the English girl, and Olga would be particularly upset at losing her. But young females were easily infatuated by a man’s deep voice and penetrating eyes, and Valerie Marsh had obviously succumbed to the warmth and kindness of their Friend.

Such a susceptible creature would have to go. There was no knowing what trouble she might cause in the future, and the man of God was of far more importance to the Imperial family.