"I am," he said, starting to rise.
She held him where he was. "You don't want to spoil the aftermath, Grofok." It was more than a warning.
He gently removed her hand. "The servants are stirring. Your maids will be with you shortly."
"I could tell them to leave us alone," she suggested. "Surely you would be willing to do this again?"
"Yes, I would," he said, and sat up. "But then what?"
She reached to close her wrapper, a moue of discontent on her lovely mouth. "I take your meaning. Very well." She smoothed the sheet next to her as he got to his feet. "If only the Czar provided proper palaces for us, not this little box. Then we could have real privacy, and our servants wouldn't be forced to sleep in bunks like sailors on a ship. Our kitchen wouldn't be in the reception room, either."
"He has said it is his plan, and these houses will give way to grander accommodations," Saint-Germain said, adjusting the front of his chamber-robe. "In ten years this is to be a city of palaces."
"That's all very well, but a three-room house is barbaric. I'm not a peasant." She patted one of her pillows and moved it to the head of the bed; she cast about for something they could discuss without rekindling the excitation they had shared. "You know about herbs and such: I will need a sachet to keep the bugs away. Now that summer is here, the whole marsh is alive with them."
There was the sound of sectioned logs being loaded into the stove, and the clang of pots.
"It is that. The marshes breed them, and all the work-gangs out sleeping in tents provide fodder for them." He had seen the first outbreaks of Swamp Fever already and knew worse was coming.
"At least the supervisors have barracks to sleep in, or will have by the end of summer," said Zozia, making an effort to keep from approaching Saint-Germain. She fiddled with the flounces on her wrapper as if suddenly taken with modesty.
"That is the plan, and more work-gangs are arriving to increase the building. I have been told that there are also gangs of woodmen working in the forest, to provide sufficient lumber for all this building.
Most of what is wood is supposed to be replaced by stone in three years, but for now, timber is of top priority."
"So Menshikov has said." Zozia motioned to him to get back, and when she did, she went to her dressing-table. "But who has money enough to bribe him to allocate more men to do what's wanted?"
One of the servants called out for dishes and eggs.
"We paid the carpenters to give us more windows, and the stable," Saint-Germain pointed out; he had given the carpenters sixteen guineas and the work-gang administrator twenty for allowing them to add these identified luxuries to the house.
"So we did," she agreed, although none of the money had come from her. "And the English paid a large bribe to get their terrace and their coach-house. The Prussians are paying a great deal for the extension on their main room for receptions, and the Dutch have given enormous amounts for their two storehouses." She recited these complaints as if the money came from her purse. "I'm not a woman of unlimited means."
"No, you are not, nor is Augustus," Saint-Germain agreed. "But at least the Czar has allowed certain modifications for houses in the Foreign Quarter, or you would find the house even more unsatisfactory. There would be no bribe sufficient to allow for modifications." He bent to pull the comforter upward. "Remember: the Czar's house has only four rooms."
"And he built it himself--yes, I know, and claims he is satisfied with such a dwelling. His mistress is supposed to arrive shortly, and remain in residence here as long as he orders her to stay." She frowned portentously. "But how is it that he can expect highborn people to live like this?"
"He is Czar," Saint-Germain said patiently. "It is his right to make such requirements."
A muted buzz of conversation came from the next room, along with the aroma of baking eggs and grilling fish.
"And his mistress began life as a chambermaid, so I'm told, some kind of orphan who worked in the household of a Livonian Protestant. She hasn't been with him long; perhaps he'll tire of her, and send
her to a convent, as he did his wife. He surely will see the disadvantage of such a connection as this woman. They say Menshikov bought her and gave her to the Czar." She sniffed in disapproval. "They say she's pregnant by the Czar, and he wants his child born here, in his city. Martha is her name, I've heard, or Marfa."
"If she is as sensible as she's reputed to be, it might be worthwhile to have her here." Saint-Germain took a step backward toward the partition between their quarters.
Zozia got off the bed and finished smoothing it. "I don't know what to make of this place. Nothing of it makes sense."
"It is uncomfortable and isolated," said Saint-Germain. "A difficult combination at the best of times. With the Swedes about, Karl XII may decide to put pressure on Russia by reclaiming this place, although it would be a costly effort, and one that would gain him little. If he wants to make an impact on Piotyr, he should wait until the harbor is dredged, the docks are built, and the fortress is improved. Then he would gain something useful. As it is now--" His gesture finished his thought.
"Yes, yes. All that is clear to me. It's Piotyr's view that eludes me." She sighed. "I wish we had spoken more of these matters before. Not that I anticipated the need for it."
"Do you think you may want to discuss these issues further?" He was aware of her carefully banked volatility; she would need time alone today, he knew, and the evening could prove difficult.
"I think you and I ought to talk." She caught the end of her long braid and unfastened the bow securing it, then carefully pulled the hair apart, shaking her head as the thick, yellow tresses fell loosely about her shoulders. "We both have to make our reports to Augustus, but we may benefit from sharing our information."
"You said originally that this was of no interest to you," he reminded her. "You wanted no part of what I reported."
"So I did. That was a mistake. I hadn't realized how useful you can be." She smiled at him, holding up her mirror to inspect her face; he took another backward step, out of range of the mirror. "I assumed you were only here as a substitute for my husband, not as
an experienced diplomat. I begin to think that I've underestimated you."
One of the maids appeared in the doorway, still looking a bit sleepy. "I'm preparing your tray, Ksiezna. There are eggs, fish, and bread. We'll have tea ready shortly. Do you want anything more?"
It was the same breakfast that Zozia had been given every morning since their arrival. She sighed. "No. But this evening, I would like fruit preserves with the meat. There are some in the stores we brought. See they're served."
The maid bobbed a curtsy. "Yes, Ksiezna." She went away.
"I wonder why you insist on dining alone," Zozia said slyly to Saint-Germain. "Have you special foods you are saving for your own use?"
"Something of the sort. I have restrictive dietary requirements. It is easier if I tend to them myself." He bowed slightly to her and slipped away to his side of the partition.
"Perhaps I'll dine with you, privately, one night?" she called after him.
"Perhaps," he replied, suppressing an ironic chuckle. He busied himself laying out clothes for the day, aware that Hroger would come shortly to shave him and clip his hair. He chose a deep-grape-colored ensemble of superfine wool with a waistcoat of salmon-colored damask-silk in a pattern of twining vines, a silken chemise of peach-colored silk, and a neck-cloth of ruffled silk to match the chemise. For leg-hose he selected a pair to match the coat and knee-britches.
"Are you going out this morning?" Zozia asked.
"I am--for two or three hours. I will have Gronigen drive me, if you don't mind. Vincenty Adzynski is available to you, and Stepan Tarkiv. I'll order the grays; you can have the chestnuts."
There was a rich laugh from her side of the partition. "How generous. This morning seems to have put you in a generous mood." There was a brief silence, then she said, "Bring the tray over here, Salomea. I'll eat here."
"Shall I bring you tea, Ksiezna?"
"In a moment. For now, brush my hair. I'll want a fetching style when I go out later." There was enough of a taunt in this for Saint-Germain
to realize it was aimed at him, that she was trying to engage him. "I suppose I must don my stays now."
Saint-Germain had removed his chamber-robe and was pulling on his drawers when he heard a footfall behind him. He remained still. "Zozia, go have your breakfast."
"I have eaten, my master," said Hroger. "I had rabbit."
With unconcealed relief, Saint-Germain turned toward him. "A good morning to you, old friend. I see you have your basin and razor."
"Yes," he said, removing the small ewer of hot water from the basin and pouring half its contents into it. "It seems I am almost late. You'll want all this done before you dress." They both spoke in the Vulgate Latin of a thousand years ago.
"So I will," said Saint-Germain, pulling on his chamber-robe again.
Hroger set the basin down on top of the single standing chest in the room, and set out his brush and razor for use. "If you will sit down?"
Saint-Germain sat where he was ordered and waited while Hroger unrolled a towel that contained a brush and a square of soap; he put the towel around Saint-Germain's shoulders. "I've selected my clothes for the day," he remarked as Hroger took a cake of soap and moistened it with a soft brush.
"So I observed," said Hroger as he lathered Saint-Germain's face, humming as he worked. "You'll want boots, I believe." He opened the razor and started to work, taking assiduous care to do a thorough job.
"Umm," Saint-Germain agreed.
Wiping the razor on the towel as he worked, Hroger completed the shave in short order, then turned his attention to Saint-Germain's hair. "Close-clipped, as before?"
"If I am to keep wearing wigs," said Saint-Germain. "Do you have the shears?"
Hroger took them from his pocket. "A good thing your hair grows so slowly."
"It is certainly convenient." He remained still while Hroger made expert passes over his scalp, the shears snicking. "English-style," Hroger announced in that language. "Half an inch long."
Saint-Germain ran one hand over the neat stubble. "Very good."
"The Ksiezna has said she'll be going out in an hour. She plans to be gone well into the afternoon. She and four other ladies are examining new fabrics that arrived two days ago on the
Saint-Michel
from Calais." He kept up his steady work as he spoke. "She hopes to find fabric for another two grande toilettes."
"I hope she enjoys herself. I gather she and her maid have left the other side of the partition. I have heard no conversation from them."
"Yes. The Ksiezna has donned her stays and her petticoat and has gone into the main room to finish dressing. The male servants will have to wait for their breakfasts." Hroger wiped Saint-Germain's face and head, then whisked the towel away. "When do you want to go out?"
"In half an hour, I think."
"Then I'll have Gronigen ready the carriage. Do you want my help in dressing?"
"Just with the neck-cloth, thank you. If you will inform Gronigen now, I will be ready for your finishing touch in ten minutes." He glanced at the wigs. "You can decide which of the three is best with these clothes."
"I would think the English wig would look better. When I return, I'll help you place it." He bowed slightly and withdrew. By the time he came back, Saint-Germain was fully dressed and pulling on his boots. "Gronigen will be at the front of the house in twenty minutes."
"I will be ready," said Saint-Germain. "Now, about the neckcloth?"
"The neck-cloth ..." He reached for the one Saint-Germain had set out. "A double pair of loops would be best."
"I bow to your superior eye," said Saint-Germain with a quick, amused smile.
"Most kind of you, my master," Hroger said as he worked the complicated knot in the neck-cloth.
Saint-Germain touched the results of Hroger's work. "As always, most expert, as far as I can tell."
"That is the trouble with having no reflection." He went to take the wig from its stand. "No hat, I assume."
"No hat," Saint-Germain agreed.
"You are going to the care-house again, I gather," said Hroger, his statement almost a question.
"Before I go out to where they are building a second treadmillpump. One of the Finnish Watchmen was attacked late yesterday. I thought it would be wise to talk to him." He said it levelly enough, but Hroger knew him well enough to know Saint-Germain was troubled.
"One of the men who found you, I surmise?"
"Yes. His name is Yrjo Saari; he is more or less the leader of their Watch."
"And he's been attacked."
"That is what Kyril Yureivich told me when he came here last night: they think it was one of the robber-gangs who did it. You were out when he called." Saint-Germain pondered the matter for about a minute. "I will take more of my sovereign remedy with me. Kyril also said they wanted another four vials of it."
"Then it must be working for them," said Hroger. "Do you want your small case?"
"If you would: the four vials they asked for, and the willow-bark-with-pansy infusion. And some of the ointment for rashes and bites. The flies and midges are getting worse every day, and the bed-bugs." He went to the chest and removed a pair of gloves in pale-ivory Florentine leather.
"I'll ready your case."
"I appreciate it, old friend," he said, and went out into the main room, where he found Zozia, fully dressed in a lovely morning gown of extravagantly embroidered linen with frothy petticoats of sprigged muslin. Salomea, her maid, was brushing her hair and pinning it into tossed curls. A lace-edged hat stood on the sideboard, ready to be placed atop her coiffure. "I will be departing shortly, Ksiezna, so I will wish you a pleasant day."
