The Amber Keeper (32 page)

‘Then later, when the guests have gone?’ I asked. ‘I need to explain.’

Hoisting the log basket into his arms, he avoided meeting my gaze and, pushing past me, headed back to the kitchen.

‘I love you, Stefan. Don’t you love me any more?’

He paused, still, with his back towards me, and didn’t move for some seconds. Then, adjusting the basket on his hip, he continued into the flat without saying another word.

Pain clenched my heart. I was losing him after all. How would I survive without him?

There was little time to feel sorry for myself or pursue the matter further just then, however, as carriages and cars were already lining up outside. The ball was about to begin. The scene reminded me of Carreck Place, which right now felt like another world, long gone.

Here in Petrograd there were no scullery maids to stand all day scrubbing pans, no menservants in yellow striped waistcoats, no linkmen swinging their lanterns as they whistled up the next carriage, and no extra hired staff of any sort. Gusev the butler was
giving
out instructions though there were very few servants around to carry them out. As I helped Mrs Grempel, her niece, and a couple of maids lay the tables, and the footmen bring out dishes and trays, I wondered if this world might disappear altogether.

Nor was there the same calmness or clockwork efficiency so evident at Carreck Place. Here, each of us was rushing about,
falling
over each other in our desperation to do the work of three pairs of hands, not one. But despite all the problems, the apartment looked lovely.

The supper-room was decorated to replicate a garden, with groups of palm trees, flowering lilacs, crocuses and daffodils, all brought in specially from the country. There was even a small fountain surrounded by lotus blossoms.

Who Anton and Mrs Grempel had needed to bribe to provide the excellent repast they provided, I have no idea, but it must have been a mammoth task. All credit to them that they managed it to perfection. It may not have been as grand as the caviar and lobster dinners held in the past, but there were ample supplies of veal, ham and chicken, salad and asparagus, plus a wide selection of biscuits, cakes and jellies. It was a most substantial meal with no cabbage soup in sight.

The Count looked resplendent in evening dress, and the Countess was more beautiful than ever, if that was possible, in a white chiffon gown embroidered all over with sparkling sequins and ablaze with diamonds.

The ball was opened by a polonaise, the musical quartet entertaining us all as we carried round trays with glasses of cider, wine and champagne. The baby was asleep in her crib in the kitchen where everyone could help keep an eye on her. Serge was with his father, Irina with me.

‘I could show you a few steps later, if you like,’ I suggested, seeing how she looked longingly at the dance floor.

Since she was beginning to blossom into a pretty young lady I had expected her mother to show an interest in encouraging her to dance. It was a vain hope. The Countess was interested in no one but herself, certainly not this shy, neglected young girl.

She beamed up at me. ‘I would like that,
Baryshnya
.’

What a sweetie she was.

Later, with the work largely done and our bellies full for once from a substantial amount of leftovers, we servants gathered together at the far corner of the ballroom. It was wonderful to gaze upon the scene: the ballroom with its pale blue marble walls interspersed with mirrors and decorated with a mosaic of gold and white flowers, its gilded doors, jasper columns, lapis lazuli vases and malachite tables was utterly breathtaking. Its magnificence was enhanced by the beauty of the ladies and handsome gentlemen dancing.

In a quiet corner Irina and I practised a few steps of the polonaise, the waltz and the tango, the pair of us giggling all the while. The temperatures outside might be plummeting to well below zero but here we were radiant with warmth, good food and wine, and a contented gathering of people all enjoying themselves. Almost a glimpse of the old Russia, of which
Babushka
had told me so much, the dowager looking very like an empress herself as she sat in state at the end of the room.

Mrs Grempel was seated beside me on a comfy chair enjoying a glass of port. Anton was becoming slightly tipsy on red wine, although I have to say he deserved it after all his hard work these last few days in preparing this feast. It was then that I became aware of the new footman, Ivan Lytkin, edging his way along behind the pillars and heading for a side door.
Now why would he do that?
I wondered. I saw him glance up at the clock on the wall, its fingers pointing to just fifteen minutes short of midnight.

Could he be tired and seeking an early night? No servant had the right to leave without the butler’s permission, as these affairs rarely ended before the early hours. Footmen in particular were expected to see to the gentlemen’s needs until every guest had left. I remembered Liam explaining his routine when he was persuading me to meet him in the summer house that night. Even this fellow’s brother, Viktor the chauffeur, had been pressed into service, in view of the shortage of staff, although now he’d gone outside to act as linkman for the few carriages already beginning to gather.

So where was the fellow off to?

It wasn’t difficult to guess the reason.

I looked about the room for Countess Olga but could see no sign of her either ‒ not on the dance floor, nor seated on any of the sofas, chairs or seats of all shapes and sizes that lined the walls where the dowagers sat gossiping. It wasn’t like her to leave early, her dance card generally being full for the entire evening. So where could she be?

There was no doubt in my mind that it was an assignation, and really none of my business.

But where was Stefan? I hadn’t seen him for some time either. My heart skipped a beat. Could she possibly be with Stefan and not the new footman at all? Had he gone with her in retaliation for the jealousy he felt over my alleged affair with the Count? The urge to sneak out and check was impossible to resist. Did he love me or my mistress? I needed to know, once and for all. If the latter, then I would waste no more time on him and begin making arrangements for the next ship home.

I found Irina sitting with her back against a pillar happily dressing her favourite doll in a corner, a selection of ball gowns, shoes and veils spread out around her. Still a child at heart, she loved nothing more than dressing the doll in fashionable Russian costume. ‘Come, Miss Irina. Aren’t you the lucky one? I can’t remember you ever being up so late before. But now it’s time for us to fetch Katya and get to bed. I’m certainly ready for mine.’ In truth, once they were both settled I meant to seek an opportunity to make those vital investigations.

Irina pulled a face. ‘Oh, just another few minutes,
please, Baryshnya
. I’m not in the least tired, honest.’

I laughingly exchanged a glance with
Nyanushki
. It was a special occasion, after all, and perhaps it would be better to do my spying first. ‘Would you sit with Irina for a moment while I see to the baby?’

‘Of course.’

Heart racing, I slipped out of a side door and ran swiftly along the back corridor, straight down to the kitchen where I found Mrs Grempel’s niece minding Katya. ‘Thank you so much for your help. I’ll take her now. You go and enjoy the ball.’

My intention was to put the baby in her cot, then go straight to the Countess’s bedroom. As her maid I surely had that right. What I would do if I found them together, perhaps in the Countess’s bed, didn’t bear thinking about. But even if that was the case, then at least I would know where I stood.

Wary of meeting any guests I reached the hall via the servants’ private entrance, Katya in my arms. I was about to slip through the door that led to the Countess’s quarters when I heard a noise behind me. I paused to listen. Was it the scratching of mice? No, more like that of a ticking clock, yet there was none in the hall so far as I could recall. I looked around to make certain, even though I knew that the grandfather clock the Countess had bought in England had been put in the library. Following the sound, I finally spotted an object tucked under a hall table. It looked like a box of some sort. As I approached, the ticking grew louder. My insides froze.

‘Dear lord, surely it couldn’t be . . .’ But I’d read enough in the Russian papers lately not to take any chances.

I ran back to the ballroom as fast as my trembling limbs could carry me, and hurried straight to the Count. He appeared somewhat shocked to see me in such a state and with the baby clutched tight in my arms. Strictly speaking, according to etiquette I should have passed the information through Gusev the butler, but there wasn’t time. Not even pausing to bob a curtsey or politely excuse myself, I grabbed Count Belinsky by the arm and dragged him away from the group of guests with whom he’d been engaged in conversation.

‘Millie, what on earth . . . Is something wrong with the child?’

‘No milord, I think someone has planted a bomb.’

I find it difficult to remember the order of events after that. Everywhere was pandemonium and the stench of raw fear. I know I felt deeply thankful that I had the baby in my arms, and when I ran back for Irina Mrs Grempel told me that
Nyanushki
had already taken her out. The entire building was quickly evacuated, people running about in total panic, searching for loved ones, falling over each other in their anxiety to escape. Serge was with his father.
Babushka
was carried out on her chair by two of the guests. I still hadn’t seen Stefan or the Countess. Everyone gathered on the road and gardens outside. By this time Katya had woken up and was screaming her head off, disturbed by all the noise and panic.

I found
Nyanushki
talking to the Count and hurried over to join them. ‘I’m looking for Irina. Where is she? Mrs Grempel said that you had her.’

She looked at me in alarm. ‘I was just telling the Count that she was here with me a second ago, but now she’s disappeared. I don’t know where she’s gone. Isn’t she with you? She did say something about her doll.’

‘Oh, no. She can’t have gone back inside to look for it, can she?’

Frozen in horror, I looked back at the tall building, now safely emptied of its occupants, or so we’d thought. Then, thrusting baby Katya into
Nyanushki’s
arms, I started to run towards it. Stefan emerged out of the crowd, grabbing hold of me just as I reached the door.

‘Where the hell are you going? That bomb could go off at any minute.’

‘It’s Irina. We think she’s gone back inside for her doll.’

The Count too appeared at my side in the same moment. ‘You mustn’t go in Millie. Leave it to me ‒ I’ll find her.’

‘Where was this doll?’ Stefan asked.

‘In the ballroom. She was dressing it in the far corner behind the pillars where we were all standing.’

‘You stay here. I’ll go.’ And before either the Count or I could protest, Stefan pulled open the door and rushed back into the house.

‘Oh, dear God, please keep him safe,’ I murmured. The Count gripped my arm as if fearful I might run after him.

‘Come away, Millie, we must stand well back.’ The mass of guests and servants were likewise rapidly retreating, getting as far from the building as they could. Yet still I struggled against the Count’s hold, wanting to stay with Stefan, to go with him and help. In the long seconds that ticked past while we all waited, in my imagination I saw him run through the hall, race along the corridor into the ballroom where he would find Irina and . . .

It was then that the bomb went off.

THIRTY

M
ass had been taken, the corpse candles lit, and now it was the burial with the priest chanting the usual prayers and people throwing dust and coins into the grave. The coffin had been made as comfortable as possible with a pillow stuffed with straw and various precious belongings set beside the small figure of the deceased, including the doll.

My heart was breaking, tears running down my cheeks unchecked. I stood beside the Countess. Her manner was cold and unfeeling, and she showed not a glimmer of regret or emotion at the loss of this child. Oh, why hadn’t I kept Irina with me? If I hadn’t been fussing over what Stefan was doing, I might well have done so. I’d intended to take both girls to bed, but would they have been any safer in the bedrooms, which were farther from any exit? Probably not. Debris had blocked off that section as a result of the explosion, and smoke from the resulting fire had filled the entire building. Two of the maids who chose not to stay and watch the dancing had suffocated in their beds. In the end, I did go back for Irina, battling through the mass of panic-stricken guests only to be assured that she was safely outside, as she had been until she went looking for that dratted doll.

Pressing a hand to my mouth to stifle my sobs, I glanced across at the Count. The poor man appeared on the verge of collapse, his shoulders hunched in misery, his face barely visible beneath a fur hat pulled well down over his head. It was impossible to understand the depth of his anguish. I longed to go over and comfort him, but knew it would be inappropriate, and would only irritate my
mistress
.

The day dragged by in a blizzard of misery. I was scarcely able to concentrate on anything other than caring for little Katya, who seemed now more precious than ever.

It was a relief when all the mourners had finally departed. The part of the east wing that had suffered the worst of the bomb
damage
was little more than a heap of rubble. Smoke still drifted out of the upper windows, and small pockets of fire had lingered for some days before being doused with water pumped from the canal. When and if the building would be habitable again was impossible to say. The Countess had already begun organising the removal of her
precious
belongings, her wardrobe and jewels being top priority.

Accommodation had been found for us in a nearby apartment further down the road. The family who used to live there had departed to their estate in the country so it had been unoccupied for some months. It smelled of damp and mice, and was quite small by comparison with the original apartment. The Count sat with his head in his hands in what had once been the library but now contained only empty book shelves, a tragic picture of a broken man. I stood by the door, as instructed, unable to get the image of Irina out of my head.

The Countess was pacing back and forth, as impatient as ever, Stefan standing before her. I assumed he’d been summoned to be thanked for his heroic bravery.

He’d emerged out of the smoke with Irina in his arms, believing he’d saved her. At first sight it was evident they’d both sustained injuries: cuts and bruises from falling masonry, and some serious burns from the fire. But worst of all, so far as Irina was concerned, was the inhalation of smoke from which she never recovered. The doctors did everything they could but to no avail. The only comfort they could offer was that the bomb had gone off so suddenly she would have been unaware of what was happening, and probably rendered instantly unconscious. Both of her legs and back were
broken
from the pillar falling on top of her. Had she lived, it is unlikely she would ever have walked again.

I came out of my gloomy reverie to hear the Countess say, ‘We sent for you to say that we know who is to blame for this tragedy.’

Her tone was strangely condemning, with little sign of either gratitude or sympathy. Not at all what I’d expected. The Count, locked in his grief, wasn’t even listening.

Stefan frowned, perhaps thinking the same. ‘I’d be interested to hear who you suspect.’

‘Why
you
, of course. Who else?’

I must have made some startled sound of protest, for he glanced across at me, equally stunned. ‘I beg your pardon, milady, I believe I must have misheard you. I thought for a moment you were
blaming
me.’

‘Don’t try to play the innocent. We are all aware that you are a revolutionary at heart, with a driven desire to seek revenge on the aristocratic class you believe responsible for the death of your beloved father.’

I was out of my chair and at his side in a second. ‘That is entirely unfair, milady. How can you accuse Stefan when he was the one who tried to save Irina?’

‘It was the Count he wished to murder, not his daughter.’

‘You have absolutely no proof to back up this theory.’

Ignoring me completely, she continued to coldly address
Stefan
. ‘You’ve been plotting this for some time. I can guess where you go when you slip away and imagine that I don’t notice your absence: to clandestine meetings with your fellow intriguers. You laid that bomb. Who else could it have been?’

He was ashen faced, white to the lips. ‘You are wrong, milady. I beg you to believe me. I am innocent of the charge.’

‘So you say, but you will need to prove your innocence to the police, with whom I have already spoken. They will question you on the matter first thing in the morning.’

Interrogate him, more like, and probably lock him in prison while they did so. I was utterly devastated at the prospect.
Stefan
and I might have our problems but not for one moment did I believe him capable of doing such a terrible thing. He might well be far more anti-gentry than I, a fervent advocate for democracy, and feel some resentment over the loss of his father, but I was quite certain he would never resort to violence. He was as much a moderate in his political views as the Count himself. Hadn’t I heard the pair of them discussing the situation more than once, generally in agreement?

The Countess herself had never shown any reticence in taking revenge. She could have decided upon an alternative way to be rid of her husband, and if Stefan had indeed rejected her advances, as he once claimed, might well be happy for him take the blame. If that were the case, it would explain her meeting with Ivan Lytkin. They could have been plotting together and not involved in a romantic assignation at all. Suspicion was strong in me, every instinct
telling
me I was right. But how could I prove it? With the country so unstable, anyone could have laid that bomb. Why would anyone suspect her of being the guilty party? She was the Countess
Belinsky
, after all.

And if she had already spoken to the police, time was of the essence.

The Count had retired, taking Serge with him, as the boy was, understandably, still in a dreadful state. Baby Katya was at last asleep,
Nyanushki
nodding in a chair beside her.
Babushka
was in the adjoining room and she and I shared a consoling hug as I took her a cup of hot coffee instead of her usual chocolate.

‘Don’t blame yourself,’ she said, shrewdly guessing the guilt I was suffering.

‘I’ll try not to.’

‘The blame lies with whoever planted that bomb.’

‘It’s been a long day. No reading tonight. You must try to get some sleep.’ I kissed her papery soft cheek, not wishing to explain that Stefan was the one being charged.

With everyone settled for the night I hurried downstairs to talk to him through the door of the laundry room, where he’d been locked up for the night.

‘Are you all right?’

‘I’ll survive.’

I prayed that he would, was not prepared to consider the alternative. ‘I don’t believe you’re guilty, not for a moment.’

‘Thank you for your support, Millie.’ His voice sounded hollow through the wooden panels, or perhaps from the terror he must be feeling. Once the police, or worse, the Bolsheviks arrived, he would be taken straight to the prison across at the Fortress of Saints Peter and Paul, a grim place from which few people emerged sane, if they were fortunate enough to come out at all.

‘I love you, Stefan, and I know that you love me in your heart, so please stop listening to the Countess’s lies. The Count and I were only picking up cake she’d tossed on the floor in one of her tantrums. There is nothing between us at all, beyond my gratitude for his support.’

‘I’m sorry for being such an idiot. You’re right; I do love you Millie, with every ounce of my being.’

Pressing myself against the door, I ached to see his face, to touch him, hold him, show how much I loved him. The longing to kiss him was overwhelming but the door remained locked, a wedge of solid oak between us. I couldn’t reach him, couldn’t get help, and soon the police would arrive and it would be too late.

An idea struck me. ‘Stefan, I think I know where the keys might be. Hold on while I go and look.’

Every kitchen has a small rack or cupboard on the wall where keys are kept, so it wasn’t difficult to find the hook marked ‘Laundry Room’. It was empty. Of course, the Countess herself would have it on her person, and I had no wish to attempt to steal it from her. But there must be another one somewhere, possibly in the butler’s pantry. The search took longer than I’d hoped but at last I found a duplicate key in the housekeeper’s old room. Within seconds of
fitting
it in the lock, I was in Stefan’s arms.

‘I love you so much,’ he said, after kissing me long and hard. ‘And I
do
believe you when you say the baby is not yours, but the Countess’s. Come, my darling, we’ll leave together, this minute. We’ll get as far away from this place as we can.’

‘But I need my papers, and to fetch Katya. I can’t leave her with a woman who doesn’t care about her.’

‘Then hurry. We mustn’t delay a second longer than necessary.’ Even as he told me this he kissed me again, as if unable to resist, and I certainly had no objection. It was then that we heard a small hiccup of laughter.

‘I do seem to make a habit of interrupting you two at your love making, or perhaps you unwisely choose the wrong moment or place. Was it you who let him out of the laundry room,
Dowthwaite
?’

I turned to face the Countess with every scrap of dignity I possessed, desperate to hide the tremors of fear running through me. ‘Why would I leave him locked up when I know him to be
innocent
? Those charges you made were groundless. Absolute stuff and nonsense! In fact, without too big a stretch of the imagination I could bring similar charges against you, milady. And since
Russia
is undergoing a revolution against the autocrats, the Bolsheviks might well choose to believe me rather than you.’

She was smiling, my words having made no impression; there was an odd twist to her lips as her eyes focused on something behind me. I half turned, just in time to see Stefan climb through the kitchen window and vanish into the night. It was then that I heard the hammering on the front door.

‘I dare say you’ve heard the news?’ I was sitting with the Count on a low wall by the bridge over the canal with the baby on my knee. We were watching the builders start to clear the rubble from the front of the apartment. Just across from us on the opposite bank were the onion domes of a nearby church glinting gold in the sun, a reminder of normality in a world that had been torn apart.

The Count looked at me with blank eyes, struggling to focus on what I was saying. At length he said, ‘If you mean that Stefan has gone on the run to escape arrest, yes, I was sorry to hear that.’

I nodded. ‘The police called first thing this morning to question and arrest him, but he escaped just in time. I want you to know milord, that Stefan was not responsible for planting that bomb. He loved Irina, and you too, as a matter of fact. He was ‒
is
‒ your greatest admirer. He would never harm a hair of your head. If
anyone
should say different, please don’t believe a word.’

He smiled at me then. ‘By “anyone”, I take it you mean
my wife?’