The Amber Keeper (11 page)

‘I could do with a bit more rest myself. The children do at least go to bed early, unlike Madame. She loves a good story and when her eyes tire of reading she falls into bed and hands the book over to me. I’m often reading to her till after two in the morning and I’m fair worn out. But while she can sleep in till midday, I still have to be up by six to help the Countess dress, since she has no lady’s maid at present. How many pairs of hands do I have, I wonder? Nowhere near enough.’

I laughed out loud, giving the old nanny a warm hug. ‘Then let me help. Some nights you can read to the children and go to bed early, and I’ll sit up with Madame.’

Nyanushki
readily agreed to this arrangement, and I too would be glad of a change of activity.

Raisa Ilyinsky, the Countess’s mother, or
Babushka
as the children affectionately called her, lived very independently, spending her evenings quietly with little company besides the old nanny and the occasional visit from a friend. There were none of the silk
draperies
or gilt framing so beloved by her daughter in the dowager’s rooms. Her part of the flat was very simply furnished in chintz with maroon brocade curtains, cosy and comfortable, almost
English
in style save for a collection of Fabergé eggs. She would sit reading long into the evening by the light of a spirit lamp that stood on a round mahogany table she always kept at her side.

On my first visit I offered to read
Jane Eyre
. ‘It’s quite a favourite of mine and I thought you might enjoy it too, Madame.’

‘I’m sure I shall. I’m also fond of Dickens. Did you bring any of those with you?’

‘I have
The Old Curiosity Shop
, and
David Copperfield
.’

This news brought forth a beaming smile. ‘Lovely. I think our tastes will prove to be quite similar. Sadly, many of my friends are no longer with us, so I shall enjoy your company. It will make a pleasant change from Klara’s moans and groans.’ This comment was softened with a little chuckle, as if to make it clear she was quite fond of her old companion. ‘Are you settling in all right?’

I kept my expression bland as I assured the old lady that I was most content in my new position.

‘I’m relieved to hear it. My daughter can be a difficult woman. She always was a handful, even as a small child. What of your own childhood?’

I explained that my mother was French, and that a busy lady’s maid she worked long hours, as did my father acting as
chauffeur
for Lord Lonsdale. ‘I was often left in my grandmother’s care. She was an old fashioned Methodist with very firm ideas of what was right and proper, but I enjoyed a most happy childhood. I do hope to provide that same love and support for Master Serge and Miss Irina.’

‘I’m sure you will, dear girl, but do not make the mistake of spoiling them. Children need proper boundaries set. Olga too spent a great deal of time being cared for by others and I made the mistake of spoiling her out of guilt, feeling I was neglecting her. It may surprise you to know that even aristocrats have duties and
responsibilities
they do not always welcome.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you do,’ I hastened to say.

‘I acted as lady-in-waiting for the Tsar’s mother, Maria
Feodorovna
, for many years. There were dozens of us but it was demanding work. Oh, but how I loved to see the Cossacks lead the Empress down the long gallery in her full Russian costume with red velvet and gold train, ablaze with jewels, her maids of honour all dressed in pale blue velvet. Even the room itself glittered with gold, lined with glorious works of art and vases filled with flowers.’ She was looking quite misty-eyed at the memory. ‘The splendour of old
Russia
was a sight to see.’

‘It must have been quite magnificent.’

‘I even accompanied the Empress to England on one occasion when she visited her sister Princess Alexandra, who married your King Edward VII. It was lovely to see the two sisters delighting in each other’s company. They remain close to this day.’

‘Is that how you learned your perfect English?’

Babushka
smiled. ‘I’m flattered by the compliment, but yes, I suppose it must be. Maria Feodorovna was a Danish princess called Dagmar, who was originally to marry her husband’s brother. Tragically, he died and she and Sasha, which is what she called
Alexander
, grew close as they both grieved for the loss of the young man they both adored. Then they fell in love and married, very much in
keeping
with their parents’ wishes.’

‘How romantic.’

‘Oh, it was indeed. She even changed her religion for him. They were ever a devoted couple but their children, Nicholas and his
siblings
, were raised some distance from the court and St
Petersburg
. It was an isolated childhood with little in the way of culture or high society, which is probably why the Tsar still prefers a quiet life in the country.’

‘Is that a bad thing?’ I asked, fascinated by what she was
telling
me.

‘In some respects perhaps not, yet it would have benefited Nicky to be a little more cosmopolitan, and more aware of how many of his subjects depend upon the land for their living, struggle to pay their taxes and are not even literate.’

‘It is not always a good thing to spoil children, I agree,’ I said, thinking of Serge. ‘Although you cannot spoil them with too much love, only in how you present it, I suppose.’

‘Maria Feodorovna was devoted to her children but made the mistake of secluding them in a sheltered world where they saw few people beyond servants and their precious pets. Alexander too adored his children but again was over-protective, insisting upon a strict routine that never allowed them to gain confidence or think for themselves. As a consequence Nicholas was never properly prepared for the task fate assigned him following his father’s death. Bringing children up in the real world is vital, do you not think?’

I nodded. ‘I’m sure you’re right, Madame. Do I understand that you are advising me to be firm with Serge and Irina, but also to
provide
them with wide experiences and a good education?’

‘That is exactly what I’m saying, dear girl. I believe we made the same mistake with Olga, partly because she was our only surviving child, three having died within months of their birth.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry. That must have been hard to bear.’

‘It made us spoil her dreadfully. My darling husband was so rich he simply allowed our beautiful daughter to have whatever she desired. In retrospect, it was not such a good idea, as greed and desire often overtake common sense, certainly in Olga’s case. We were delighted when she set her sights on the Count, believing it to be a love match, but it was his title she’d fallen in love with, and his wealth.’ The old lady gave a long-drawn out sigh. ‘Now history is repeating itself with Serge, although so far as Irina is concerned, a little more attention would not come amiss.’

I could hardly believe that she’d actually admitted the
Countess’s
affection for her daughter was somewhat lacking, but I made no comment.

Leaning closer, the old lady whispered, ‘Serge is a practical joker, rather like the Tsar’s younger brother George. Do keep a close watch on the boy in case he gets up to his tricks.’

I gave a wry smile. ‘I’ve learned to do that already.’

‘Excellent. Then I think you’ll do well, dear girl. Now if you would make me a cup of hot chocolate we’ll settle down with
Jane Eyre
. Oh, and do call me
Babushka
. I much prefer it to Madame.’

Spending an evening with the dowager had taught me a great deal, and given a much-needed boost to my confidence.

ELEVEN

S
tefan the carpenter came, as promised, and I showed him the shabby state of the schoolroom, the overflowing toy box and toys scattered about the floor. ‘As you can see, it is rather urgent as we have nowhere to put anything. The children also need a desk each, and shelves for the books I brought out for them to read.’

‘Very well, I’ll start tomorrow.’

‘Oh, that would be wonderful, Mr . . . ?’

He grinned, his eyes holding mine for a moment longer than quite
seemly, that familiar challenge sparking in their green-grey depths. ‘Kovalsky, but I thought we’d agreed that you can call me Stefan.’

Once again I felt my cheeks start to burn, this time for no good reason, and I turned away to pretend to tidy a pile of books, not wishing him to see how he affected me. ‘I would be most appreciative of your help in this matter ‒ Stefan ‒ although I should warn you that the Countess demands only the best.’

‘Which I can provide. Is that the plan?’

I was acutely aware of his closeness as he came to bend over the little sketches I’d made of the furniture I’d like, and the plans I’d drawn up for the schoolroom. ‘The Countess insists it must be in the English style.’

‘May I take these away with me?’

‘Of course.’ As I handed them to him, his fingers accidentally brushed against mine and something jolted inside me. What on earth was happening? ‘The schoolroom could do with a coat of paint,’ I rushed on to say, desperately attempting to catch my breath, which seemed to be coming in shallow little gasps. ‘I don’t suppose you . . .’

‘What colour would you like?’ he asked, busily making notes.

I suggested green panelling with a cream trim, and he also agreed to lay new linoleum. ‘It would be so much easier to keep clean, and better for the children when they are playing.’

Once all the details had been agreed upon, I directed him to speak to the butler, who had the final word on such arrangements. I still wasn’t convinced Stefan would fulfil his promise or be as good as he claimed, but as I set about the usual morning lessons I felt a strange curl of excitement within.

To my amazement, when I walked into the schoolroom at eight o’clock the following morning, he was already at work building a large cupboard where the toys could be kept on full display. I was hugely impressed and said as much. ‘Goodness, when did you start to make that? It looks half done already.’

‘I worked all night on it as you seemed to be in a hurry.’

‘I can see it becoming a veritable showpiece. Far more capacious and stylish than anything I have seen in England, but still a very English style, as I asked. It’s wonderful.’

‘Stefan is a fine craftsman,’
Nyanushki
remarked, coming up behind us, holding a child in each hand. ‘And most reliable and efficient. I remember your mother well, son. Haven’t seen her for a while. How is she these days?’

He turned to smile sadly at the old nanny. ‘She passed away, never having quite recovered from the death of my father. Her life wasn’t the same without him.’

‘Ah, I’m sorry to hear that, although not surprised in the
circumstances
. I remember they made the perfect couple. He was a most kind-hearted man, a stalwart at fighting for what was right, and your mother was his greatest supporter. You didn’t follow in his footsteps, then?’

‘Working in a factory was not for me.’

‘So how did you acquire your skills as a carpenter?’ I asked,
suddenly
curious to know more about this young man’s background.

‘Hard work and good training. Carpenter, handyman, gardener and general dogsbody at your service,’ he said, giving a mocking salute.

Nyanushki
smiled. ‘Your mother once told me that as well as being very practical, you were also a brilliant artist.’

‘I’m afraid my mother was somewhat prejudiced where my
talents
are concerned. Besides, I know my place. Earning an
honest
crust in this country is never easy so it wouldn’t do to get above myself, now, would it?’

He didn’t seem to be the kind of man who would ‘know his place,’ but there was something in his tone that warned me not to pursue the subject. ‘Perhaps you could bring some of your pictures to show the children,’ I suggested, smiling when, predictably, Serge pulled a face and Irina eagerly nodded.

‘Ooh, yes please, I like painting,’ the little girl said.

‘They aren’t for public viewing,’ he said. Turning away, he continued to plane and smooth the wooden shelves and cupboard doors.

‘You surely don’t look at showing them to the children in quite that light,’ I protested. ‘A demonstration of your painting skills would be wonderful for their education.’

It was as if I hadn’t spoken. Completely ignoring me, he carried on working, making no response. I thought this rather rude, but could see little more than the back of his head as he crouched low. Neither his face nor his hair were visible as he wore a slouch cap pulled well down. I longed for him to glance up and agree to my suggestion, not simply for the sake of Serge and Irina but because the desire in me to see that smile in his eyes again was strong.

Making a little tutting sound,
Nyanushki
began to usher them away. ‘Come along, we must leave Stefan to his work. We’d better keep the children out of his hair for the next day or so.’

‘Oh, yes, of course. Quite right,
Nyanushki
.’ I quickly pulled my straying thoughts back to the reality of my job. ‘Put on your warm coats, children. We can practise our English conversation while we enjoy a walk, and learn the name of trees and flowers. Then you can play with your toys for a little while in your bedrooms. When Stefan has finished the schoolroom, you can both help
Nyanushki
and me to clean it up and arrange everything just how you like it,’ I said, in a brisk no-nonsense voice.

Serge scowled. ‘That’s a servant’s job.’

‘Possibly, Master Serge, but it is
your
schoolroom, so
your
responsibility too,’ I insisted, remembering my conversation with
Babushka
. ‘We shall start lessons first thing on Monday morning.’

I caught Stefan’s smile as I shooed them away, and wondered what it was about me that amused him so.

For once the children did not protest about a walk, even though there were feathery snowflakes starting to fall. Perhaps they were secretly looking forward to having a new schoolroom, in which case I might be doing something right after all.

Before the end of the week the cupboard and book shelves were complete, the cherry wood polished to perfection and two school desks with tip-up seats provided for the children to work. The
panelled
walls had been painted in green and silver, much finer than cream, with new green linoleum in place, as requested. The schoolroom looked wonderful, even better than the plans I had given him.

‘You’re right’ I said to
Nyanushki.
‘Stefan is both reliable and efficient.’

‘No one would dare to be anything less in this household,’ she commented drily.

But despite my reservations about his attitude, I felt a little sad that the work was done, and privately hoped I might see him again soon at the British and American chapel.

The first English lessons began, as promised, on Monday morning with my introducing the children to a game of Snap, using named pictures to help them learn words. We played at identifying some of their favourite toys and possessions, to which I’d attached labels to help the children remember the English names. I then helped them build the words with small wooden tiles upon which I’d painted the English alphabet. Irina joined in with great enthusiasm, smiling and laughing with delight whenever she successfully built a word to match the one on the label. As expected, Serge remained obstinate and grumpy.

‘Why should I care what the word is in English? I’m Russian.’

‘Because your mama and papa wish you to learn the language,’ I gently explained in my careful French. ‘You’re a clever boy, Master Serge, so you won’t find it too difficult.’ I’d quickly discovered that he responded well to flattery.

I was helping Irina set out the letters for ‘doll’ when the
Countess
walked in. I instantly leapt to my feet, as required. ‘Don’t mind me,’ she said, settling herself into a chair. ‘I shall sit here and watch.’

As she had not given permission for me to be seated, I remained standing, feeling suddenly nervous. I handed Serge the b for ‘ball,’ watching as he searched for the A among the tiles on the table. Eventually he found it and lined it up with the first.

‘Well done. Now look for an L,’ I told him.

‘Is that all you’re doing, playing games?’ the Countess asked, her tone deeply scathing. ‘Shouldn’t you be teaching them nouns and verbs?’

Turning to her with a smile, I tried to explain. ‘Grammar, at this stage, would not be appropriate. Vocabulary first, and conversation, are far more valuable in picking up a language. We can come to grammar later. That is how my mother taught me.’

‘You will surely give them some translations to do?’

‘Not yet, your ladyship. That would be far too boring and
difficult
for children this young, even if they were skilled at writing, which Irina isn’t yet. I believe learning should be fun if it is to be effective.’

‘A schoolroom is for education, not fun and games,’ she snapped.

‘I think it can be both.’ She glowered at me but I did not back down, and merely continued helping the children. ‘Ah, you’re nearly there, Irina. Now you need another L, as does Serge. We always have two at the end of “ball,” and at the end of “doll.” That’s it, well done!’

Irina beamed. ‘Look Mama, I’ve done it,’ she cried, clapping her little hands to celebrate her achievement.

‘I’ve done my word too,’ Serge said, and looked to his mother for her approval, which he quickly received.

‘Well done, son,’ she said with pride in her voice, then addressing me continued, ‘You will bring them down to dinner this evening as usual. However, I shall expect more scholarly lessons in future.’ After which caustic remark she left, with not a word of praise for her little daughter.

My heart ached with pity at seeing the devastation on Irina’s chubby little face. She seemed to shrivel into herself whenever her mother rejected her. Serge did his usual smirk of self-
satisfaction
. Something would have to be done about the harsh way the
Countess
treated her daughter, although exactly what, I hadn’t the first idea.

Later that same morning the Count also visited the schoolroom, but this time when I leapt to my feet he waved me back to my chair with a big smile. Then to my great surprise and delight he settled himself on the floor beside Irina and joined in her game of matching names to pictures.

‘This looks like fun. Can I play?’ he asked. ‘Oh, and how clever you are, Irina, to know that this word says “elephant.” That’s quite a big word for such a little girl.’

Looking into her father’s face with open adoration, Irina’s round cheeks flushed pink with pleasure. Even Serge preened himself with pride when his father admired a short poem he had copied out in English, asking him to read it aloud, which the boy did with perfect diction.

‘You seem to be making good progress with my children,’ the Count said, smiling up at me with pride in his voice.

‘That is because they are clever children,’ I said, pretending not to notice his son’s look of surprise and pleasure at the compliment.

‘How very kind of you to say so.’

I recalled what
Babushka
had revealed about her daughter’s
reasons
for marrying the Count: lured by his title and wealth. All too aware of the rumours that she was currently engaged in a
sordid
affair with the gardener, and not forgetting the misdemeanours I’d once been unfortunate enough to witness at first hand, I was filled with sadness that she should commit such cruel betrayals of this kind and thoughtful man.