The Amber Keeper (9 page)

Little time was allowed for me to unpack and settle in, let alone rest, before a maid came knocking at my bedroom door to announce that I’d been called to the Countess’s boudoir to receive my instructions. I quickly washed my face in cold water from the jug, tidied my flyaway hair and hurried after her. The Countess was tapping her nails in impatience as I entered.

‘Ah, there you are. I engaged you, Dowthwaite, because of your ability to speak French. Nevertheless you are here primarily to teach my children English, and help them acquire good English manners.’

‘I understand, your ladyship.’

‘Mornings and early afternoons you will give French and
English
lessons. Irina will also require drawing and sewing lessons. She already has a tutor who teaches her the pianoforte. Serge is learning to play the violin.’

I was privately quaking at the responsibilities facing me. Was I, a nineteen-year-old girl with very little education, even up to the task? Yet I knew I must appear confident, and be far more polite and humble towards the Countess than in our earlier encounters.

‘Will the children be allowed time for play, since they are both so young?’ I enquired politely.

‘Serge will have time each afternoon to fish and sail, and enjoy other sports considered suitable for a young gentleman. And they can both skate, of course.’

Oh dear, I thought. Yet something else I would need to learn. ‘I wonder if perhaps Nanny might help with teaching sewing as it is not one of my strengths?’

She frowned, rather disapprovingly. ‘You will have to ask her, but you must work hard to improve your skills.’

‘Of course, your ladyship,’ I murmured, meekly bobbing a curtsey.

I believed she was about to dismiss me and half turned to go, but she stayed me with a flick of her hand.

‘You will be aware of the close links between Russian and
English
royalty. Tsar Nicholas was of course the nephew of Edward VII and is cousin to your new King George V, whom he resembles to such a degree they could easily pass for brothers. This means there is a passion for all things English amongst the more liberal-minded aristocrats. But do not imagine everyone feels that way. Certainly the conservative types don’t. My husband, fortunately, is one of the more liberal-minded gentlemen, and is keen for his son to adopt the finest of English education and manners. It will be your task to provide that.’

‘I shall do my best to fulfil his wishes, your ladyship.’

‘It will also be your responsibility to plan the schoolroom in true English style: a new toy cupboard, book shelves, whatever you think appropriate.’

‘I shall set about devising a plan forthwith,’ I agreed, secretly finding the idea quite daunting, although I could at least use the schoolroom at Carreck Place as a model.

‘You will also be required to find someone able to carry out the work. I sacked our latest carpenter for incompetence.’

I shivered at the prospect of suffering a similar fate, but merely gave a compliant nod.

‘My son must look the part of a young gentleman, which is why I purchased several new items of clothing for him while we were in England. Please see that the clothes are properly taken care of.’ She gave a fond smile at this, but I couldn’t fail to notice that she made no mention of Irina.

NINE

M
y first day was spent largely unpacking all the goods brought from England, which illustrated just how spoiled the children were, as the many boxes and trunks were stuffed with a variety of expensive clothes and toys. For Serge a model railway, toy steam engine, bats, balls, tops and whips, lead soldiers and clockwork toys by the score. For Irina there were skipping ropes, a pretty china doll and a tiny dolls’ house complete with miniature furniture. The little girl was thrilled.

‘Thank goodness she wasn’t ignored completely,’ I whispered to
Nyanushki
, who scowled and quietly hushed me. She was right, of course. I really must learn to guard my tongue.

I began at once to draw up a list of requirements to refurbish what was actually a rather drab schoolroom with only a small table, two chairs and an old box far too small for the toys. A new look would be no bad thing, but a considerable amount of work would need to be done to meet the Countess’s high standards, and time was of the essence.

The next afternoon was cold and damp, and both children protested vehemently when I insisted that a walk was necessary despite the inclement weather. ‘We English believe that fresh air is good for you, as is plenty of exercise. But we’ll keep it short today as it looks about to rain.’

Nyanushki
came with us to make sure I didn’t get lost, and we took a turn about Alexandrvovsky Park, the children grumbling and dragging their feet the entire time.

‘Can you skate?’
Nyanushki
asked. I pulled a rueful face, making her laugh.

‘You’ll soon learn. I’m sure the children will help teach you.’

Noticing the smirk on Serge’s face I rather thought he would look upon this deficiency as an opportunity for making me look stupid. He may have been only eight years old, but he was a wilful boy with a defiant streak in him.

Later, I took the children, dressed in their best, down to tea with the Count and Countess, as instructed, urging them to be good in the hope they would not embarrass me. No sooner had I taken my seat than a large metal tea urn was set before me and, overcome with panic, I realised that I was about to embarrass myself.

‘I assume you’ve operated a samovar before?’ the Countess asked with a knowing smile.

I’d never seen one in my life before. Fortunately, there was a certain familiarity about the tap from which the hot water must flow, if not the way the tea pot sat on top of the vessel to keep warm. It rather reminded me of the tea urn used by the Women’s Bright Hour at our local chapel, except that, nestling in a space below this one, I could see the glowing red of charcoal that kept the water hot, and hear it hiss and spit as it simmered gently within.

Turning the tap, I poured the scalding water into the tea pot, serving the tea with only the slightest tremor in my hands. The children sat stiffly in their seats, Irina’s small greedy eyes firmly fixed on a plate of lemon wafers. I knew the children must wait to be offered something to eat so I gave her a stern glance, warning her to be patient.

Serge quietly slid under the table and began to unfasten the laces of my boots and tie them together so that my feet were linked. I glanced anxiously at the Countess, worrying she might have noticed and wondering if I should chastise the boy. But on
seeing
what he was doing she began to chuckle. ‘Serge does so love a practical joke.’

Paying no attention to the antics of his son, the Count was talking about his day which had apparently been even more
wearing
than usual. ‘The Tsar and Tsarina are in temporary residence at the Winter Palace, instead of hiding away at Tsarskoe Selo, which must be a good thing. Unfortunately, Nicky is as obsessed with petty rules of etiquette as ever, insisting people stand in the proper order of hierarchy. Obeying correct protocol and deportment, and using the right dishes for his bread and butter, seems to be far more important to him than the problems of the nation.’

The Count bit into a small sandwich, accepting the tiny porcelain plate the Countess quickly handed to him without a murmur.

‘The fact that peasants are still suffering abject poverty, and the working class possess few rights and constantly go on strike in a frustrated effort to better their lot, seems to pass him by. His desk was yet again littered with reports and papers I very much doubt he has troubled even to read.’ He gave a little shake of the head in despair.

‘Did he listen to you?’ Countess Olga asked, reaching for a slice of cake.

‘Oh, he always listens,’ her husband said. ‘Most politely. Whether he acts upon my advice is quite another matter. He is far too much under the thumb of his bullying uncles.’

‘And that cold fish of a wife of his, who spends all her time knitting scarves and crocheting silly shawls.’

‘Those are for the poor, and she isn’t a cold unfeeling person at all. The Tsarina is simply shy, very sensitive to the needs of others and a devoted mother.’

Countess Olga gave a snort of disdain, which I did not
wonder
at since no one could lay such an accusation upon her. While
taking
great care not to appear to be listening, since servants are supposed to be deaf, dumb and blind, I was silently miming to Serge, attempting to persuade him to sit back in his chair.

The Count continued with his complaints, oblivious to this pantomime, or else politely ignoring it. ‘I am most fond of my cousin as he is a fine gentleman, a quiet man of honour who takes his role very seriously. But Nicky is incapable of making up his mind on anything, save for his conviction that liberal reform would be a recipe for disaster for Russia, and that as God’s ambassador on Earth he is the only one capable of resolving the problems.’
Stopping
to take a breath, he smiled at his wife. ‘But enough of all that. What about your own day, my love?’

‘Much of it was spent choosing and being measured for a white satin gown for the coming candlelit ball at the Winter Palace,’ she told him with a sigh, as if this proved her day had been far more trying than his.

I let out a small sigh of my own as Serge slid back into his seat with a self-satisfied grin on his face, while worrying what else he had been up to down there, so I didn’t at first hear when the Count spoke to me.

‘Pay attention, Dowthwaite,’ the Countess snapped, and he politely repeated his question. ‘I hope you are settling in well?’

‘Oh, yes, thank you, I’m most comfortable,’ I hastened to assure him. Smiling, I took a sip of China tea which smelt strongly of wood-smoke but was hot and delicious, most welcome after my own busy day. I watched astonished as the Count poured some of his into the saucer and drank from that.

‘Old habits die hard,’ he laughed.

The Countess suddenly slammed her own cup down in her
saucer
. ‘What have you got in your mouth, child?’

Startled, I turned to look at Irina, whose mouth was indeed bulging with food, eyes wide and rapidly filling with tears. It was not difficult to work out what had happened. The plate of lemon wafers was half empty.

‘Stand in the corner at once with your hands on your head, you greedy little madam,’ her mother ordered. ‘Sometimes I think this child was born with the devil inside her.’

‘Nonsense,’ chuckled her father. ‘Just look at her, a perfect little angel with those innocent blue eyes and curly locks.’

‘She is not in the least innocent. Do as I say, child, before I think of a worse punishment for you.’

Irina shuffled off to do as she was bid, her mouth too full of biscuit to permit any argument. The Countess then turned her ire on me. ‘I am seeing little evidence so far of any benefit at all in employing you.’

I was stunned into silence by this attack. How could she allow her son to crawl about under the tea table carrying out his ‘practical jokes’ without a word of disapproval, while the moment little Irina did something wrong she was banished from the table? The Count quietly took another sip of tea from his saucer, then smiled at his wife. ‘My love, Miss Dowthwaite has been with us only a few days. You must give her time.’

‘Tush! If she cannot perform her duties efficiently then she is of no use to me and will have to go.’

I felt something quake inside me as I wondered where exactly I might be expected to go. Then a voice from the corner suddenly shouted, ‘There, I’ve finished it, Papa, can I have another?’ At which point the Count burst out laughing.

‘Come here, my poppet.’ He held out his arms and to my complete astonishment Irina ran into them to be lovingly nestled on her father’s lap. The Countess continued to simmer and glower in silent fury, clearly knowing better than to intervene between father and daughter. I was simply delighted that someone at least loved this child, whether she be angel or devil.

Before the first week was out I was convinced that my new job would be even more difficult than I’d feared. The children seemed to be constantly squabbling and up to mischief, sliding down the banister, rolling about the floor fighting over some toy or other, punching each other and pulling hair, or ringing the bell to call a servant to fetch some item they were perfectly capable of finding for themselves, as I gently pointed out.

‘It is your task to tidy your toys away at the end of the day,’ at which they gave me a look of utter disbelief and walked away, leaving me no option but to do the job myself. Which reminded me that the children still had nowhere properly to store their toys, and, as instructed, I really must start making plans to improve the schoolroom.

‘Do you know of a carpenter we could employ to build a toy cupboard?’ I asked
Nyanushki
, but she only shook her head.

‘No one the Countess would consider worthy.’

The Countess also insisted that the children were provided with a good English diet, including such dishes as rice pudding, baked apples and lots of vegetables. Serge was quite tall, thin and wiry. Irina was short for her age and rather plump. She had golden-blonde hair, a slightly freckled complexion, a round chin and somewhat podgy cheeks. Not at all the beauty her mother might have hoped for, but she was an affectionate child and very generous with her hugs and kisses. I wrote out a diet sheet for Anton the French chef, hoping it would help Irina to grow without putting on too much weight. But she did have a bad habit of sneaking down to the kitchen to beg one of the kitchen maids for a biscuit.

One morning I gave the children porridge, which Irina ate in sulky silence. Serge threw his dish upside down on the floor. ‘I want cake, not this mush.’

Aware of
Nyanushki
sitting in the corner knitting one of her many scarves, I made no comment. In any case, engaging in an argument about the unsuitability of cake for breakfast at this
delicate
stage in my relationship with the boy was not a good idea. I mopped up the mess and gave him the boiled eggs and toast I’d already prepared, nestling the eggs in a napkin which I was assured was the Russian way.

‘You haven’t cut off the tops for me.’

I quietly did so with the spoon, slipping the egg into a small glass for him to eat.

‘And why is my toast cut into strips?’ he complained.

‘In England we call these soldiers, which you can dip into the yolk.’ He tried out my suggestion and must have enjoyed the result as he ate the rest of his breakfast without further protest. Maintaining her sulky silence, Irina began to play with her new doll, taking off its nightdress to pull on a frock. She was struggling to fasten the buttons when Serge suddenly snatched the doll from her and yanked off one of its arms. The little girl screamed, then rushed to her bedroom in floods of tears.

‘Oh, Master Serge, that was naughty,’ I cried, picking up the doll to see if I could repair it. ‘You must go at once to apologise to your sister.’

‘Won’t!’ and he stubbornly folded his arms across his narrow chest.

‘I think you will.’

He glared at me. ‘You can’t make me.’ His small eyes
glittered
with such anger that I was struck dumb. Master Robin and
Miss Phyllis had been easy to deal with, so affectionate and loving. In that moment I felt completely inadequate, without the experience necessary to deal with such wilful disobedience. ‘Would you like it if Irina smashed your new train set?’ I softly asked.