The Amber Keeper (8 page)

‘Don’t lie.’

‘I’m not lying, Abigail. Things are not always as rosy as you might think. Life can be quite complicated at times.’

‘Well, you can stop worrying about me. I am one complication you can forget. Keep the business all to yourself if that’s what you want. See if I care. I have other plans, which do not include a secretarial course in Manchester,’ she’d responded, with typical teenage rebellion.

‘And what might they be, might I ask?’

She’d looked her mother full in the face, heart pounding, as she’d answered with a deliberate casualness. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m planning on getting married.’

There’d been a stunned silence for all of five seconds before Kate had burst out laughing. ‘Goodness, now where have I heard that before?’ At the time, Abbie hadn’t understood this remark. Now of course she saw how Kate was thinking of her own history. ‘And who is the lucky bridegroom?’

‘Eduard Grimont. He’s the new French chef at the Ring of Bells.’

‘Don’t talk ridiculous. You’re only seventeen. Why on earth would you wish to marry so young, let alone someone you’ve only just met?’

‘Because I’m pregnant with his child.’ At which point, Abbie had stormed off before her mother could respond.

Too late now to regret having told her so bluntly, or leaving home before she’d had time to properly get to know her mother as an adult. Now her thoughts sadly returned to the issue most troubling her. What had possessed Kate, so happily engrossed in the community, to end it all in that terrible way? Abbie could only hope that her grandmother’s story would eventually throw some light upon the mystery.

The moment they arrived at Carreck Place, Aimée rushed off to tell her cousin Jonathon her news. In her excitement she nearly bumped into Fay, who was on her way out with the pushchair just as Aimée charged through the door. Abbie apologised and explained.

‘Ah, well it seems they’ll be attending the same school. Robert has decided we are not to return to our flat in Windermere, but will stay on for a while here in Carreckwater so that your father won’t be lonely.’

‘How very generous of him,’ Abbie drily remarked, not sure whether this news pleased her or not. She rather liked Fay, despite her lack of tact at times. Her brother, however, was a different
matter
. What a chicken-head he was, always ready to stir up trouble. ‘Then he and I had better agree upon some sort of truce.’

Fay gave a little giggle. ‘I’ll see if I can persuade him.’

Determined to waste no time worrying over her foolish and arrogant brother, Abbie went straight to the lodge to see her grandmother, and over a most welcome cup of tea happily related the details of her day, including her sketchy plans for the shop.

‘I feel filled with guilt at separating Aimée from her father,’ she said, smiling as she watched her daughter pushing her young cousin on the swing. ‘They have a good relationship, and I’ve no wish to destroy it.’

‘Isn’t that why you stayed with Eduard so long?’ her grandmother asked softly.

‘Maybe. Guilt, jealousy, a longing for love, foolish hope ‒ just a mass of emotions warring with each other. It wasn’t easy.’

‘Nor will being a single parent be easy.’

‘I realise that, and do worry about whether I’ll cope,’ Abbie ruefully admitted.

‘Of course you will. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, and you enjoy a close relationship with your daughter.’

Abbie smiled. ‘She is a sweetie, isn’t she? Let’s hope she settles into her new school okay. Thankfully she and young Jonathon seem already to be good friends. As for myself, I must learn to toughen up and follow my dream.’

‘As did I,’ Millie agreed.

‘So what made you decide to accept her offer, disliking the Countess as you did?’

‘Good question. Ambition. The optimism of youth. A desire to see the world. Who knows?’

‘Oh, do tell. What happened next?’

Millie laughed. ‘All right, where was I? Ah yes, I was about to embark upon my new life.’

EIGHT

T
he day I sailed for Russia was in mid-November and my
parents
,
who’d raised no great objections to my decision, came to see me off. My mother, however, had been devastated by the thought of not seeing me again for what might be years.

‘I shall write every week,’ I promised, giving her a comforting hug, far too excited at the prospect of the adventure that lay ahead to fully appreciate her concern.

They stood on the quayside at Hull, and I watched as she wept in my father’s arms, their image shrinking before my eyes as the ship slid slowly out to sea. It was in that moment of
farewell
that for the first time I felt a small nudge of fear. Despite my dream to travel I had never been further than visiting an old aunt in Leeds. As I frantically waved goodbye to my beloved parents, reality dawned. Russia was a foreign land, thousands of miles from home, where I wouldn’t know a soul. I would also be responsible for two young children when I was little more than a child myself. What madness had possessed me to accept such a position?

A voice at my elbow interrupted my troubled thoughts. ‘Is this your first trip?’

I looked into the smiling face of a plump young woman not much older than myself. Her red-brown hair was largely obscured by a wide-brimmed hat, although wisps of it escaped to flutter around pale round cheeks, and fringed lively brown eyes. I returned her smile with a wobbly one of my own as I wiped away my tears. ‘I’m afraid it is, and I was unprepared for the depth of emotion I would feel at leaving home.’

‘It isn’t easy. I remember almost jumping ship the first time I did it. Ruth Stubbins,’ she said, offering a hand for me to shake.

I gladly accepted it and introduced myself, feeling very much in need of a friend just then. ‘It’s not your first trip, then?’

‘Goodness no, I’m an old hand at this lark now, having spent almost five years as a governess in Russia. I take it that’s what you’re going out to do?’

‘I am, with Count and Countess Belinsky.’

She nodded. ‘English governesses are very popular in Russia, and at least the pay is better than what we might expect to receive in service in England. Are you a good sailor?’

‘I have no idea. I’ve never sailed in a boat bigger than the steam yachts on Lake Windermere. I confess to being rather worried about that.’

Laughing, she tucked her arm into mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. ‘Come on, let’s find our cabins. I’m sure you’ll be fine.’

As it turned out I was very far from fine, at least for the first twenty-four hours or so. After that the wind calmed down somewhat and the ship didn’t pitch and toss quite so badly, which meant my sickness gradually abated.

Fortunately, I was not responsible for the children during the journey as they were with the Count and Countess, so I was free to spend much of my time with Ruth, and we were soon firm friends. We watched in awe as dolphins followed the ship, cheered at the first glimpse of land, and marvelled at the beautiful vista of mountains and forests. But I was unprepared for how bitterly cold it became when we entered the Baltic. I put on every warm garment I possessed, yet it still wasn’t enough.

But if I’d thought that was cold, I soon learned the true meaning of the word as we approached St Petersburg. I saw small boats trapped in the ice, icebreakers moving back and forth as they attempted to free them. Our own ship cut through with relative ease, and my new friend kindly lent me a winter coat, which she called a
shuba
. It was well worn but far warmer than my own. And with my bout of sea-sickness long forgotten I felt a mix of excitement and nervousness at the first sight of this beautiful city.

‘Now we have to face Customs,’ she warned. ‘Just be polite and do as they say.’

‘But how will I know what they say since I don’t speak a word of Russian?’ I asked in alarm as we gathered our luggage and prepared to disembark.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll help.’

The customs officials were indeed most vigilant and while allowing in the packets of flower and vegetable seeds I’d brought with me, plus fruitcake, playing cards and picture puzzles, they seemed to object to my books, save for a bible, which was most upsetting. I became almost frantic as I watched them take the books from me:
Little Lord Fauntleroy
and
Little Women. A Christmas Carol
by Dickens and several others that I’d brought to help the children learn English.

Ruth began to babble to them in this mystifying language. I heard her mention the name Belinsky, which seemed to give them pause, and after a few more exchanges, the books were returned to my luggage. I breathed a sigh of relief, hugely impressed by my new friend’s fluency in the language.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said, as we were finally allowed through. ‘They are always nervous of written material in case it is political propaganda. Censorship is rife here. However, I explained they were children’s books, and that you were employed by Count Belinsky.’

I thanked her most humbly and was sad when the Countess approached to tell me it was time to go and we were obliged to part company. ‘Say goodbye to your friend now, Dowthwaite. Our
carriage
is waiting.’

‘I’ll see you soon, as arranged,’ Ruth whispered in my ear,
giving
me a quick hug. She had told me of the British and American Chapel which she attended in her free time. The church apparently provided a welcome social life for British expatriates in the city, including governesses.

‘You’ll make plenty of friends there, Millie. I think of it as my home away from home,’ she’d explained. It was a comforting thought. Then I climbed into the carriage and settled myself next to the children. My new life had begun.

The family apartment was set in a grand building of impressive
proportions
fronting one of the canals behind the Winter Palace. It must have been some eight or nine stories high, from basement to attic windows, although I didn’t have time to count them as I helped the children out of the carriage. Perhaps I would be living up in the roof, in the attics, I thought. We were met at the door by a man known as the
dvornik
, or concierge, whose task was to
protect
the residents from unwelcome guests. He seemed to know the Belinskys well and rushed to open carriage doors and help unload luggage, bobbing and bowing the entire time.

Ignoring the mounting pile of boxes and trunks in the street, the Countess sailed past, striking the
dvornik
with her muff when he didn’t move quickly enough to open the great doors for her. I offered him a sympathetic smile as I followed in her wake, to which he responded with a huge wink. The Count, I noticed, thanked the fellow most graciously and slipped him a kopek or two. This proved to be a telling indication of life in the Belinsky household.

As was the case at Carreck Place when Lord and Lady
Rumsley
arrived home after a long absence, the entrance hall was lined with servants. I was introduced first to Mrs Grempel, the housekeeper, a hollow-eyed, stiff-backed woman of lean proportions who I soon learned loved nothing better than to engage in tittle-tattle. Anton, the French chef, came next, in his starched white cap. At first sight he appeared very full of himself but later proved to
possess
a delightful sense of humour, often having me in fits of laughter as he
mimicked
his mistress. There followed what seemed to be a whole tribe of maids and footmen, the entire household controlled by a very stern-looking butler known as Gusev.

‘Last but no means least is
Nyanushki
,’ Countess Olga informed me. ‘She looked after me as a child before caring for my own
children
. Now that they are too old to need a nanny she acts as companion to my mother, and is still very much a part of our family.’

Klara Kovalsky, although she rarely used her full name, was plump and comfortable, wore her grey hair in a tight bun at the back of her chunky neck, and was more often than not to be found sitting in a corner knitting an endless succession of socks or scarves. I shook her hand and gave her a warm smile, hoping we could be friends. She gazed back at me blank-eyed.

‘Where is
Maman
?’ the Countess asked, speaking in French, perhaps for my benefit.

‘Madame has not been well today, milady. But hopes to be more herself tomorrow.’

‘Not hitting the vodka again, I trust,’ she remarked sourly.

The old nanny protested. ‘Not at all. Merely a slight headache.’ The Countess appeared unconvinced, and, judging by the way the other woman avoided her probing gaze, I suspected she might have good reason.

It was Nanny, or
Nyanushki
as I must learn to call her, who showed me to my room, which was not in the attics as it turned out.

‘The family occupies the entire east wing of the building,’ she informed me, panting a little as she bustled me into a lift, or elevator as she called it, carrying one of my bags while I carried the other. My trunk was to be delivered later by a footman. ‘The views of the city from the upper floors, you’ll find, are magnificent.’

‘Does the Countess’s mother live here too?’ I asked, as the engine cranked up and we slowly began to ascend.

‘She does. Her name is Raisa Ilyinsky, although I tend to call her Madame, and the children call her
Babushka,
of course, the Russian name for grandmother.’

‘I look forward to meeting her. And does she have a problem with drink as the Countess seemed to be suggesting?’

Nyanushki
shook her head quite vehemently. ‘Her only problem is with her daughter.’

I thought it wise to ask no further questions.

My room was right at the end of the passage, small but clean with little more than a single bed and a cupboard but perfectly adequate. I was greatly impressed with the apartment as a whole. It was vast enough to hold fifteen bedrooms, or so Klara informed me, in addition to the usual dressing rooms, study, drawing room, library, dining-room, kitchen quarters and so on.

‘I hadn’t expected the Belinskys to live in a flat,’ I confessed as she pulled back the curtains to let in more light. ‘I rather thought they would own a grand mansion on the River Neva.’

‘Many people in St Petersburg live in flats, even princes, although they often have the choice of living in a palace too. Nor is this the Belinskys’ only property. As well as this large apartment block, some of which they let out, they also own an estate in the country which we often visit at weekends, and for some weeks in the summer.’

‘I shall look forward to that. I’ll miss not having easy access to the outdoors as was the case at Carreck Place.’ A wave of homesickness hit me as I thought of strolling by the lake and pottering in the rock garden, of rambling the three miles from Ambleside to
Kirkstone
Pass along a road accurately called The Struggle on my days off. The stirring cry of a lone curlew and clash of a stags’ antlers at tupping time, the sweet woody scent of heather. Why had I never appreciated how fortunate I was to live in such a beautiful place? Here I would need to walk down several flights of stairs, or take the elevator before I could catch a breath of fresh air. Even the windows were tightly sealed against the cold. I felt suddenly claustrophobic, and home seemed very far away.

‘You’re very young,’
Nyanushki
was saying, critically assessing my youthful appearance although I felt I’d aged ten years during the long journey, being rather tired and bleary-eyed, and strangely disoriented.

‘I do have several years’ experience in service,’ I said, in an attempt to reassure her, ‘if admittedly only a few months of that spent caring for children. I trust you’ll be able to fill me in on what I need to know.’

‘Hmm, I may have to if you’re to keep her ladyship happy. We used to have a French governess here so I’m familiar with that
language
, but you’ll need to quickly learn Russian.’

‘Perhaps you will help me with that too?’ I asked.

She considered this, arms folded across her cushioned bosom. ‘And would you in return help me to improve my English?’

‘I’d be honoured.’

She gave me a sudden wide grin, revealing yellowed crooked teeth, accompanied by a brisk nod of her round head. Perhaps I had made a friend after all.