Valerie's Russia (13 page)

‘She was only supposed to come here for one year,’ said the Empress firmly, ‘and it will be best if she returns home now to her own land and people. You may go.’ She inclined her head towards the young officer.

Bowing again, Pyotr retreated. As he reached the far hallway, a voice called his name and, looking up, he saw Grand Duchess Olga on the landing above leaning over the white railings.

‘Count Silakov, can you spare a minute? I am anxious about Valerie.’ Olga’s wide brow was furrowed in thought. ‘Do you know where she is?’

‘Yes,’ he said, making no move to ascend, ‘I know what has happened to Valerie Marsh and have just informed the Empress of the facts. She was most wickedly assaulted by Grigorii Rasputin, and is now recovering at the house of the Lees in St Petersburg.’

He heard Olga gasp, but ignored her.

‘I have been ordered to go away from here and Valerie is to be sent back to England. Good day to you, Your Imperial Highness.’ He gave a swift bow then turned and ran across the hallway and out into the huge courtyard.

Let Olga and her mother sort out their differences with the help of that silly female, Anna Vyrubova. He wanted no more of them for a while, and Valerie would also be better off without them and their insane devotion to the Siberian peasant.

Mavara. The thought came to him with a sudden surge of relief as he strode towards the stables. He would send Tassya and Valerie to the gentler, friendlier south.

Unless, of course, Valerie preferred to return to England? But Pyotr did not believe she would. She and Tassya got on well together, Valerie could help his sister with his ailing mother’s demands, and continue to improve her Russian at the same time.

Then he would spend this week with Sophia, discussing and planning their wedding.

Once Valerie had been bathed and dressed in a clean cotton night-gown, very voluminous and provided by Mrs Lees, she was put to bed by Katia, and fell instantly asleep. She was not aware of the Englishwoman tiptoeing into her chamber later that evening, nor of Katia’s attempts to give her a glass of hot chocolate.

‘Never mind,’ said Mrs Lees, bending over the sleeping girl, ‘we will leave her now. I’m sure sleep will be the best medicine. But stay with her, Katia, do not leave her alone, and I will come and see her in the morning,’

Katia huddled in the armchair all night long, but Valerie did not stir until late the following day when the bright spring sunshine filtered in through the drawn curtains.

Where on earth was she? It took her some minutes to realise she was once again in the bedroom she had occupied at Christmas, the pretty room with windows overlooking the Neva River in St. Petersburg – home of Mr and Mrs Lees. But what was she doing there?

As she sat up, pushing back her tousled hair, a maid-servant moved quickly to her side.

‘Would you like some breakfast, bárishna?’ asked Katia, thinking how much better the English girl looked after a good night’s sleep.

‘I would love some coffee and some brioches, please. But what am I doing here? And what is your name?’

Valerie didn’t remember the maid from her last visit, but then the Lees, like all the other affluent people in the capital, possessed many servants.

‘I am Katia,’ said the maid-servant, bobbing a curtsey, ‘and you were brought here yesterday by an officer from the Imperial Guard, bárishna.’

Katia had noticed the foreigner’s bruised lips and marks on her neck and breasts, and had also smelt the wine on her breath. And she had assumed that the girl had taken part in some amusement for the soldiers.

Pyotr. Immediately Valerie’s mind began to function properly and she remembered his arms about her, and the joy of seeing him again, and the safety and happiness she had felt in his presence.

Then she remembered Rasputin and the terrible hours spent in his apartment, and the awful female disciples who had disregarded her cries for help and had even
envied
her being chosen by that monstrous man.

‘Nothing to eat,’ she said quickly, putting a hand to her mouth. ‘Just some coffee, please, black and strong.’

Katia curtsied again and hurried from the room. The English girl had gone deathly pale, with all the pink in her cheeks draining away and leaving her face the same bleached white as the sheets.

What had happened to her? Memories were certainly causing her distress today. But Katia had little sympathy for the newcomer. They were all the same, the gentry. Too much money, too much food and drink, and every luxury and comfort provided for them by the workers.

As Katia was carrying the tray upstairs, Mrs Lees met her on the landing and enquired about Valerie.

‘She is awake now? Thank goodness. I will take the tray and see to Miss Marsh myself, Katia. Go and assist Anna in my bedroom.’

Katia handed the tray to her mistress before going to join the other servant, and Mrs Lees took the coffee through to Valerie.

‘I am so glad you are feeling more yourself, dear,’ she said, setting the tray down on the bedside table, then perching on the edge of the bed and studying the girl.

Valerie was still very pale and her hair looked dreadful. Katia couldn’t have washed it last night. But at least she smelt fresher and her nightgown was clean.

‘Did you sleep well?’ she asked, hoping to hear what had happened in the Siberian peasant’s apartment.

But Valerie didn’t want to talk. She couldn’t force herself to speak of those terrible memories. As she poured a cup of welcome coffee and began to sip the hot liquid, she wished Pyotr would come and take her away once more.

She didn’t want to stay with the Lees, she wanted to forget all about St Petersburg. She didn’t even want to return to Tsarskoe Selo and the Imperial family. They had deceived her by their love and trust for that wicked man.

Suddenly she, too, thought of Mavara and the peace and calm of that oasis in the middle of the steppes. If Pyotr would only come and take her back there, she would gladly become his mistress and not care what
anybody
thought of her behaviour.

‘Valerie, are you all right?’ Mrs Lees was leaning forward, frowning. ‘Do say something, dear. You have given us all a dreadful fright and I must know how you feel. Is there anything you wish to tell me, dear? I shall have to write to your father, but really do not know what to say to him until you speak to me.’

Valerie was not sure how much Mrs Lees had seen or heard the night before, but she was determined not to tell her anything more today.

‘I am feeling better, thank you,’ she said slowly, ‘and am sorry to have caused you anxiety, Mrs Lees.’ She wanted to leave the house, but where were her clothes? ‘Is Count Silakov here?’ She put a hand to her brow. ‘I can’t remember how I got here. Did you invite me, Mrs Lees?’

If she rolled her eyes and continued to look stupid, perhaps Mrs Lees would call for Pyotr to come and take her away. But she needed proper attire once she got out of bed. Where was her blouse, and skirt, and shoes?

‘Do you remember nothing, Valerie?’ Good heavens, the girl had lost her wits!

Valerie shook her head and gave a feeble smile.

‘Are you going to accompany me back to England, Mrs Lees?’

This was intolerable. Mrs Lees tutted and rose to her feet.

‘No, Valerie, we are not returning to England and Count Silakov went back to Tsarskoe Selo yesterday. He had to explain your absence to the Empress. Now I shall have to send a message to the palace and ask what is to be done with you.’

She walked out of the bedroom with her thoughts flying. As she hurried down the stairs she called for her husband, but Mr Lees had already left for the bank. So she would have to cope with this situation alone.

She would send the message to Anna Vyrubova and hope that she was readily available and would know how to contact the count.

Mrs Lees was vexed. Here she was with a girl who had lost her memory and her clothes; who had arrived in a sorry state at her house; had been dumped upon her, if the truth be told. And her husband had gone off as if nothing untoward had happened, leaving her alone with Valerie.

What if that peasant should arrive on her doorstep and demand the return of Valerie Marsh? What if he came rolling drunk up to her door and accosted
her
?

Mrs Lees’ heart began beating hard against her whalebone stays. This sort of thing would never happen in their nice, refined residence in St John’s Wood.

With trembling fingers Mrs Lees picked up her pen and began to write.

P
yotr returned to Bolshoi Prospect as promised, and whisked Valerie away much to her own and Mrs Lees’ relief. He brought some of her clothes and belongings with him, as well as a little note from Olga, which she had not yet read.

‘You may go back to England, if you wish,’ he said in the carriage, which took them to pick up Tassya at the Lukaev’s mansion.

He was determined not to force her to do anything against her will. But he hoped very much that she would agree to going down to Mavara. She could help to care for his mother there, and would also be good company for Tassya. Dashka had been left at the palace. There were servants enough to assist Valerie at Mavara.

Fortunately Valerie agreed.

‘There is nothing I would like more,’ she said, looking at him with gratitude as the carriage travelled along Nevsky Prospect. ‘I love your home and would love to help there. When will you come to join us?’

England held no appeal and she would think of something to tell her father. All she wanted now was to spend the rest of her life near Pyotr.

She would stay at Mavara until he came to join her, and then
do whatever he asked of her. But during that time she was going to have a spring clean. She would roll up her sleeves and work as hard as any of the servants. It seemed that Countess Irina had to spend most of her time in bed so with both her and Tassya as semi-invalids, the house needed a strong healthy person to put it to rights.

Valerie was going to enjoy herself and she would be doing it all for the man she loved. ‘Tassya believes I asked for your assistance because of Mother’s ill-health,’ said Pyotr. ‘And as the Imperial family are always away during the summer months, I said they had granted you leave to help with Mother and Tassya.’

‘What about Sophia?’ asked Valerie. ‘Does she know what happened?’

‘Of course,’ said Pyotr. ‘It was Sophia who told me where you would be. Her maid, Vera, heard you and Tassya talking when you went to have tea there, and she told her mistress about your plans to visit Rasputin. You really have
her
to thank for your rescue.’

Now, standing at the open window of the compartment, looking down at Pyotr on the platform beneath her, Valerie knew everything was going to be all right. She had to accept Sophia in his life, but knew also that there would always be a small place for her in his heart,

‘I will help at Mavara all I can,’ she said, smiling down into his brilliant eyes.

And Pyotr, seeing her framed in the open window, small and soft and dove-like in her faded grey-blue travelling suit, realised she had recovered from her recent shock. Now that she was in the cheerful company of Tassya, she was beginning to blossom into the fresh and pretty Varinka he had known previously.

The red plush seats of their compartment folded down at night making two beds, and Dunya had been provided with a
rug so she could sleep on the floor between them. There was a little room at the far end, which contained a basin with hot and cold water, and a closet, and Pyotr felt the girls were sure of every comfort.

‘When will you be coming to join us?’ asked Valerie, hoping it would not be too long before she saw him again.

‘I am not quite sure at present,’ said Pyotr. Much would depend on Sophia and the date she chose for their wedding.

‘We will manage quite well without you, brother,’ said Tassya, smiling at him through the glass and hoping he wouldn’t come down too speedily. She needed time to exercise her slow old feet and a couple of weeks was not long enough. ‘Come for my birthday,’ she said.

‘But that is months away,’ said Valerie, frowning. ‘Your mother will want to see you sooner than that, Pyotr.’ So will I, she thought, but she couldn’t say that.

‘If mother is ill she will be thinking only of herself,’ said Tassya, a little waspishly.

‘Now, now.’ Pyotr moved closer to the window and gave the glass by his sister’s face a little tap. ‘Be patient with Mother, and tell her I shall come home as soon as I can.’

Tassya nodded as her eyes began to sparkle. How she longed to tell her brother about her improvement. But Pyotr was not yet ready to believe in the holy man and she had the strangest feeling that Valerie, too, had turned against Father Grigorii.

Never mind, thought Tassya, waving as the train began moving slowly out of the station. She and Valerie hadn’t had much time to themselves and she obviously couldn’t speak about the holy man in Pyotr’s presence. But now they were going to have days together in the train, and she would be able to ask Valerie everything she wanted to know.

Valerie, refreshed by two nights of unbroken slumber at the Lees, and thankful to be away from the curious banker’s wife,
wanted only to think about the future. To think about Mavara, and Pyotr’s eventual coming. She wanted to organize the best cleaning and scrubbing, dusting and polishing, the tired old house had ever experienced. And it would keep her happily occupied whilst she waited.

But with Tassya’s eager face in front of her, she was suddenly aware of the difficulties confronting her in the confined space they now shared. With all the chaos and upheaval of the past days, she had forgotten all about Tassya’s connection with the Siberian peasant, and her innocent trust in him.

Oh heavens, how was she going to explain her revulsion of the man?

‘Valerie, talk to me.’ Tassya’s voice was raised above the rhythmic pounding of the wheels as they rolled along the metal tracks. ‘What did my holy man say to you? What did you say to him? Did you thank him properly for what he is doing for me?’

‘I was trying to forget about that,’ said Valerie slowly.

‘What? I don’t understand.’ Tassya was impatient. What was wrong with Valerie? She wasn’t a bit like the cheerful girl who had come to tea at the Lukaev’s mansion. ‘Come on – I want to know all about your visit.’

I’ll have to tell her, thought Valerie, but it will break her heart. Perhaps the details could be watered down? Perhaps she could leave out the worst bits and pretend Rasputin had been playing a game?

Yet memories were so devastating she knew she couldn’t lie.

Carefully Valerie began explaining about her arrival at the apartment and her surprise at finding so many Society ladies there, and how she had tried to leave and return another day.

Tassya nodded. ‘I wouldn’t have liked lots of people there,’ she agreed, smiling as she remembered the quiet antechamber and the calm, reassuring presence of the man of God. ‘It was
just Dunya and I when we were there, and the sound of his wonderful deep voice praying over me.’

Valerie sighed. How could she make Tassya understand that there were two Rasputins? One, a good man who worked miracles. But also another, who enjoyed bedding as many different females as he could.

‘Let’s leave it, Tassya,’ she said. ‘You remember a holy man and I remember a very different being.’

‘But you can’t leave it like that,’ said Tassya, frowning across at Valerie. ‘What is the matter with you? How can I understand your strange attitude if you don’t tell me what happened?’

‘Very well,’ said Valerie stiffly. ‘All the ladies were drunk and forced me to drink too much wine. Rasputin was also drunk. Then I was dragged into his bedroom against my will and two of the women undressed me.’

Tassya gasped, staring at Valerie with huge eyes.

‘Then that awful man came in and told the others to go. He lay down on the bed with me and wouldn’t let me go. He was smelly and hairy and revolting.’ Valerie fumbled for her handkerchief. ‘It was dreadful, Tassya, and I hate him!’

‘You are lying,’ said Tassya, her cheeks aflame. ‘My man of God would never do anything like that!’

Dunya, who was sitting in the far corner, stood up and went to sit beside her mistress. She put an arm around Tassya’s shoulders and spoke softly to her.

‘It is the truth,’ said Valerie, wiping her face. ‘How I wish it was not. Then Pyotr came and rescued me, thank God.’

Tassya shook off Dunya’s arm and glared. This foreign girl, whom she had thought was her friend, was trying to destroy two of the most important things in her life. Her blessed healer, Father Grigorii, and her faith in him.

‘I don’t believe the Imperial family allowed you to come here on leave,’ she said suddenly. ‘I believe they have dismissed you.
They love Father Grigorii just as I do, and they don’t want you around spreading wicked lies about him, Valerie Marsh.’

Valerie shrugged and turned her head to look out of the window. It was useless trying to convince Tassya so she would keep quiet and think about Pyotr.
He
knew the truth, and would support and comfort her when he came south.

Tassya also remained silent, but her mind was filling with dislike for this English girl whose lies had so upset her.

When they first arrived at Mavara, Tassya insisted on being at her mother’s bed all day long, so Valerie was sent to fetch and carry for both of them.

She had to take messages down to the kitchen, tell Sidor Novatko what to prepare for each meal, and give the maids their orders. There was no spring clean as she had imagined it, but a continual running to and fro up and down stairs.

‘Tell Sidor there was too much salt in the borscht last night. I could not drink it,’ said Countess Irina.

And—

‘Go and see Feodor about these lamps. The wicks are too low and they smell abominably.’

And ‘Go to the linen room, Valerie, and look me out some better sheets. Then tell Galina to take more care with her sewing. Mine have been badly mended and I cannot sleep on them.’

All the while Tassya sat composedly beside her mother, looking as contented as a well-fed cat. And Dunya, sewing some unimportant item, would glance up with an equally satisfied air. There were three other maid servants in the house, but none of them was ever called once Valerie arrived at Mavara.

Valerie thought Countess Irina looked older and more haggard than when she had last seen her and, although the woman did not complain of pain her doctor had said rest, so rest she did.

She had lost weight and sat scarecrow-like, her yellow face against the pillows, but her brown eyes were still sharp and her voice harsh.

To begin with, Tassya had read to her mother and written letters for her, whilst Valerie had run errands for them both and carried trays up to the first floor for their meals three times a day. But quite soon Tassya had become bored in the sick-room and eager to distance herself from such an irritable and demanding patient.

‘Pyotr sent you down here to help us,’ she told Valerie, when her mother was taking her afternoon nap, ‘and as I need Dunya to help more with my legs
you
must stay with Mother and do whatever she wants.’

Valerie, who was beginning to wish she had brought Dashka with her, was thankful to agree. She enjoyed reading and writing letters, and the thought of sitting for longer periods was pleasing. She would also hear all Pyotr’s news and be able to write to him in his mother’s name.

Unfortunately she had forgotten about the Cyrillic alphabet. Although her knowledge of spoken Russian had improved considerably, she had no idea how to write the language.

This didn’t affect her reading as the countess was very fond of both Dickens and Jane Austen, and possessed sets of both authors’ works printed in English. But Valerie knew she could never cope with any correspondence.

However the countess soon had a solution to that problem.

‘I am quite capable of reading my own letters,’ she said, ‘but do not intend labouring over the replies. So you write them your way, Valerie, and I will spell the words for you. We are not all illiterate peasants here, you know. And those with whom I wish to correspond will be quite capable of understanding – so long as your script is legible.’

Valerie learned when Pyotr returned to Tsarskoe Selo and
resumed his duties, although there was no mention of the Empress. So in the next letter from the countess to her son, Valerie slipped in a note addressed to Grand Duchess Olga, thanking her for hers.

Soon after arriving at Mavara she had found the courage to read Olga’s letter, which Pyotr had given her in St Petersburg. To her relief the words, although short and stilted, showed she didn’t hate Valerie for what had happened.

‘… I was very sorry to hear such bad news of you, Valerie – I wish we could talk, but perhaps it is just as well if you go south. Time heals all wounds and maybe before too long we will meet again. I shall miss you. Olga Nicolaievna.’

There was sympathy in the letter despite its brevity and that helped Valerie during her days of drudgery in the crumbling old house, as well as her thoughts of Pyotr.

To add to her discomfort, she had been made to realize very early on that the other servants disliked taking orders from a foreigner, even though the words stemmed from Countess Irina. She was hurt by their looks of scorn, or scarcely-concealed sniggers as she struggled with yet another embarrassing demand, or reprimand, from on high.

Even Feodor, though more dignified in his behaviour, showed by his raised eyebrows, or by making her repeat a message, that Valerie was not his mistress, nor acceptable in the household where she was no longer a guest.

So all she could do was grit her teeth and wait for Pyotr to come and tell her what the future held for them both.