The Amber Keeper (23 page)

‘Down with the war!’ someone shouted.

‘Down with hunger!’

‘Long live the revolution!’ This latter cry came from a group of agitators who had appeared out of nowhere.

The numbers rapidly grew, the demonstration developing a momentum of its own as the women were joined by factory workers all demanding modernisation and better working conditions, which had worsened thanks to the Great War in Europe. An ever-
increasing
number of strikers then swept into the city centre,
apparently
coming from the Vyborg district and other industrial areas, even crossing the frozen River Neva, or so our fellow
marchers
informed us.

‘I thought this protest was just about the price of bread. It’s looking to be about a lot more than that now,’ I murmured, as Ruth and I hooked arms to avoid being separated.

‘It would seem so,’ she agreed, keeping her voice low in the eerie silence that was settling all around us. ‘I heard that a few days ago hundreds of workers started a strike in one of the workshops at the huge Putilov factory. They asked for a rise and demanded that some fellow-workers who had previously been sacked from their jobs be reinstated. Thousands more from the plant joined them, but the management’s response was to lock everyone out.
Consequently
they appealed to other workers for their support, which it very much looks as if they’re getting. That could prove dangerous if the authorities object.’

‘I hope you’re wrong,’ I said, beginning to feel a sense of unease. No sooner had I spoken than mounted policemen arrived on the scene, thrusting their horses through the crowds in a brutal attempt to disperse them, swiping at people with the flats of their swords. Yet the moment they passed through, the crowd closed up again, as solid as the ice beneath our feet.

It was scary and thrilling all at the same time. I liked the
Russian
people very much and my heart went out to them, the mothers and their children most of all. Serge and Irina couldn’t imagine for a moment how it might feel to be hungry, let alone starving, since they were both so well fed, as their plump, rosy cheeks indicated.

I’d arranged for
Nyanushki
to take them to the Catherine
Gardens
on the pretext that I had lessons to prepare and needed a break. No one knew I was taking part in what had begun as a simple protest march, certainly not the Countess, or even Stefan, as I was fearful even he might have prevented me from attending. But though I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, I knew that I ran a huge risk just by being here.

‘I should be getting back before anyone misses me, and before things get any worse.’

‘You’re right,’ Ruth said. ‘We’ve done our bit. Let’s get out of here.’ As we started edging out of the procession we found our way blocked by yet another mounted policeman. I pulled Ruth out of the horse’s path but, reaching down, he struck her across the
shoulders
with the flat of his sword, sending her tumbling to the ground.

‘
Ruth
!’

I could barely see my dear friend in the mass of feet and horses’ hooves surrounding her. It seemed to take several long, frightening moments before I managed to grab hold and hoist her to her feet. She was deathly pale, had lost her hat and was covered in snow and filth; she was so wobbly I feared she might be about to faint at any minute. Fortunately, Ivy emerged from the crowd to take her other arm and together we battled our way out of the demonstration, almost carrying her between us.

When I asked if she was all right her mumbled response was not encouraging. ‘She needs to see a doctor,’ I said.

‘Right. Let’s find a tram to the hospital,’ said Ivy, steering us down a side street. Unfortunately, none were running so we were forced to walk all the way back to the British and American chapel, where Ruth was at last examined.

‘Apart from some bruising she’s suffered no major injuries,’ the nurse informed us.

‘Thank goodness for that.’ I turned to Ruth. ‘Were we mad to take part?’

Smiling, she shook her head, then winced at the pain. ‘No, it was the right thing to do. The protest needed to be made. I’m really glad we did our bit to help. I’ll be fine.’

Later, when I crept back into the flat, careful not to alert my mistress to the fact I’d been out without her permission, I felt an inner glow at having been a part of such an important demonstration. I prayed the women had successfully made their point and that emergency rations would soon be set up to help their starving families.

TWENTY-ONE

I
didn’t see Stefan until later that evening, having spent the time since my return rushing about trying to catch up on my usual tasks in order to make it appear as if I’d been fully occupied within doors all day. I saw to the children, attended the Countess as she prepared to go out for the evening as usual, and enjoyed a welcome glass of tea with
Nyanushki
, served with a slice of lemon, listening with only half my attention as she talked about the children’s adventures in the park without enlightening her on my own.

Stefan, however, was different. I couldn’t wait to tell him what I’d been up to.

He was waiting for me in the laundry room, which was where we tended to have our secret meetings when in town. He gathered me in his arms to kiss me the moment I walked in. We needed to be so careful, always on our best behaviour, that it was a relief to be able to respond without fear of being observed. My heart raced at his kisses, wanting so much more, and when we paused to take a breath we kept our fingers entwined, looking deep into each other’s eyes, which said everything that words could not.

‘Where have you been?’ he said. ‘I’ve been looking for you all day.’

I laughed. ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’

Something in my tone of voice must have alerted him. ‘You were there, weren’t you, at this demonstration everyone is talking about? You sneaked out of the house to watch it.’

‘Actually, I took part,’ I said.

‘Good lord, why didn’t you say you were going?’

‘You might have stopped me.’

He laughed. ‘You underestimate me, Millie. I’m greatly impressed. Well done!’

‘I’m rather proud of myself, too,’ I admitted, ‘if somewhat exhausted from all the walking we did. It felt like a worthwhile thing to do, although whether we did any good by it remains to be seen. I do hope so, as children really are starving. The Tsar needs to order emergency food rations urgently.’

‘I’ll believe that when I see it,’ Stefan muttered. ‘But what about us? How much longer are we going to tie ourselves to these
autocrats
?’

The remainder of our precious half hour alone was spent dreaming of a future together, although the hows, whys and wherefores had yet to be decided.

A day or two later I was working with the children in the schoolroom as usual when, glancing up from his work, Serge asked, ‘What’s that noise?

Irina ran over to the window to look out. ‘There are a lot of people,
Baryshnya
. Where are they all going?’

Joining her, I saw that she was right, and it was fairly plain where they were heading. The demonstrations had been growing daily to ever more dangerous proportions, and Stefan had told us at breakfast that Russia was now in the throes of a national strike.

Not that I explained any of this to Irina. Ushering the child back to her seat, I said in my most cheerful tones, ‘They are going to an important meeting. Nothing to do with us, but I agree it is rather disruptive, so we won’t do any more arithmetic today, and instead carry on with our knitting for the soldiers. Master Serge, you could write them some letters. Soldiers at the front deserve all the support they can get.’

Nyanushki
and I set about helping the children with these tasks. After they were settled, I had just resumed knitting the balaclava I’d been working on for so long I’d begun to think it would never be finished, when the first shots rang out.

I froze. Poor old Nanny almost fell off her chair in shock. Irina burst into tears, and Serge looked panic-stricken.

‘Who’s shooting?’ he yelled, rushing to the window, but I quickly pulled him away.

‘Keep well clear, just in case. Stay here with
Nyanushki
,’ I ordered, ‘while I find out what’s going on.’

I ran into the corridor, straight into Stefan, who’d come
rushing
to check that we were all right. ‘What is it? What’s happening?’

‘I’ve no idea. I can’t see anything from here.’ He turned to me in frustration, his face white to the lips. ‘I’m going out to investigate. I won’t be long.’

‘No, don’t,’ I cried, grabbing hold of him, and we both instinctively dropped to our knees as the terrifying sound of shooting rang out louder than ever.

We stared at each other in horror. ‘Surely they wouldn’t be
firing
their guns at the demonstrators?’ I said, numb with disbelief.

‘It sounds very like 1905 all over again.’

‘Then you mustn’t go out or the same thing could happen to you that happened to your father. Please don’t risk it, I beg you,
Stefan
. What would I do without you if . . . ?’ I choked on the words, unable to express my fears out loud. ‘Wait for the Count. He’s at the Winter Palace and will no doubt be able to tell us more when he gets home.’

‘I
must
go. There might be something I can do to help.’

‘No, Stefan, please.’

We’d been forced to raise our voices as the shooting continued, and as I argued with him the boudoir door flew open and the Countess appeared. She looked dishevelled and pale, not at all her usual elegant self, as if the noise had woken her from a deep sleep. She proceeded to rail and shout at us, demanding to know what was going on, implying the fault for disturbing her was entirely ours. She seemed to be constantly in a bad temper these days.

‘It’s the demonstrators, milady. Something terrible seems to be happening to them.’

Clasping her hands together, she let out a sigh of relief. ‘Oh, is that all? Well, they deserve all they get, dreadful people.’

I stepped forward, ignoring Stefan’s attempt to restrain me. ‘How can you say such a thing? There are children starving, men and women being overworked and paid a pittance, losing their jobs, and with no money to feed their families. It’s all right for you, being rich, but what if you weren’t? Would you silently stand by and watch your children suffer and possibly die?’

She stared at me, eyes narrowed in cold fury, and I knew instantly that I’d made a bad mistake.

‘So how do you know so much about this so-called demonstration, Dowthwaite?’

I heard Stefan’s low groan, but nothing would stop me now. I remembered the sunken cheeks of the women, their hollow eyes and the fear in their voices as they cried out when the mounted police hit them. Lifting my chin with pride, I met the Countess’s fierce glare. ‘I was there. I heard their stories, witnessed their misery and desperation. Something needs to be done.’

The silence that followed this rash statement was profound, interrupted by the slam of the front door and the sound of the Count’s footsteps hurrying up the stairs. He was calling out, asking if we were safe.

‘I’ll speak to you later,’ she hissed.

The Count confirmed our worst fears, telling us that under instruction from the Tsar the soldiers had indeed opened fire. ‘Nicholas was informed of the situation and the Duma begged him to order the release of emergency food supplies. ‘Sadly, he declined to do so. Instead he sent a message to the police to “end the disorders in the capital by tomorrow”. They valiantly attempted to obey, at some risk to their own lives, but the people ran to hide in the courtyards, returning to the streets whenever there was a pause in the shooting. In the end, more than two hundred people were killed.’

We were all dumbstruck with horror. I was thinking how easily it could have been Ruth and me, as we had merrily and whole-heartedly joined in the start of the protest just a few days ago.

‘What now?’ Stefan quietly asked. The Count shook his head in despair.

‘This could get a great deal worse. Even now the political
leaders
do not grasp the true dangers, believing they are in control of the situation. Nor does the Tsar quite understand the precariousness of his own position.’

There was no sleep for us that night as, like thousands of other frightened citizens, we stayed safely behind locked doors. The Count was proved to be entirely correct: things did indeed get worse.
Sickened
by what they’d been obliged to do, the regiment concerned in the shooting stood down, swapping sides and
becoming
part of the demonstration themselves. Others followed suit.

By the first of March 170,000 soldiers had joined them. The stink of fear and decaying bodies was everywhere, as was the red flag. Prisons and police stations came under attack, the prisoners were released on to the streets, and the number of rioters exploded. Law and order had completely broken down in what was by now being dubbed a revolution.

The Countess wasn’t in the least interested in the turmoil going on around her, even if people were dying. She was far too preoccupied in exerting her power, the eyes fixed upon mine hard and cold as she proceeded to make her displeasure about my recent actions plain. ‘You will never involve yourself in such a carry-on again, do you understand?’

‘I beg your pardon, milady. It’s just that I considered it important. It seems that not everyone can afford food of any kind for their children, let alone the sort of fine meals we are served every day by Anton. I believed it was right to help and . . .’

‘
I am not interested in what you believe
!’ the Countess screamed.

‘Hard as it may be for you to accept, milady, I am entitled to have opinions and a mind of my own.’

‘Oh, you’ve made that abundantly clear, Dowthwaite, from the very start, I seem to recall.’

I almost smiled at the memory of our first disagreements back at Carreck Place. ‘There we are, then. Every person has rights, even the poorest and the lowest of the low.’

‘On the contrary, you do not have the right to defy my orders and go
anywhere without my permission
! Not even to this so-called chapel of yours.’

‘Goodness, you surely aren’t intending to hold me prisoner? With respect, milady, what I do with my free time is my choice, not yours. It was a properly organised support group for a straightforward protest march about the price of bread, and no fault of ours that the demonstration turned into something far more
serious
.’

‘That’s enough! I will take no more of your obstinate defiance. You may consider yourself dismissed herewith.’

I blinked in disbelief, this being the last thing I’d expected. I’d been quite certain I’d be able to win her round in the end. ‘You can’t be serious?

‘Never more so. Pack your belongings and go. I will not harbour a revolutionary in my own home a moment longer than necessary.’

I gave a half-laugh. ‘That’s absolute nonsense. You know I am no revolutionary. As I explained, my friends and I from the British and American chapel were merely supporting mothers desperate to feed their children. What if Master Serge were starving ‒ wouldn’t you do everything you could to keep your son alive?’

‘Get out!’ Moving across the room at speed she pulled the bell cord to summon Gusev, the butler. ‘Leave my house this instant, or I’ll have you thrown out.’

Without pausing to offer my usual curtsey I turned and walked away, chin high, wanting her to see that I was not intimidated by her fury. Oh, but I was. Deep inside I was shaking with shock, and on reaching my room collapsed on to the bed. What had I done?