The Russian Tapestry Page 3

  Despite his best efforts to remain discreet, Emily most likely had heard the rumours of his private rendezvous with Natalya, whom he had met the previous year at a ball held by the Empress for her two eldest daughters. Alexei’s eyes travelled to the studio photograph of his own daughters that sat on his bedside table. He gazed fondly at the three faces; at the big, bright, shining eyes looking straight into the lens. Irena’s raven hair, held back by a silk ribbon, reminded Alexei of Emily when they had met. He had been a young lieutenant then, stationed in Narva.

  Although charming and from a good family, Emily provided little intellectual stimulation and soon after their marriage, Alexei had grown bored. He started his first affair when Emily was pregnant with Irena. If Emily suspected anything, she never let on, and busied herself with their newborn.

  Two years later, they had a second daughter, Vera. Alexei, who had hoped for an heir, was disappointed. A brief affair with the daughter of a low-ranking officer ended badly with the young woman falling pregnant. The family hid the pregnancy but privately demanded compensation from Alexei. To her credit, Emily stepped forward and took in the illegitimate child, raising Tonya, who was now ten, as one of her own. She never spoke of the affair but took to spending more time in her private chambers with the door locked. He sighed. It was his own fault that she rejected him now, Alexei admitted to himself drowsily …

  When he next opened his eyes it was morning, and the room was flooded with warm sunlight. The maid must have been in to draw back the curtains while he slept. Rising, he pushed open the windows and took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the morning air. Across the street, a crowd had gathered around a red poster which had been affixed to the wall. Alexei watched as a man with a cane and a top hat tapped one of the men in the crowd on the shoulder.

  ‘What is going on? What does the notice say?’

  ‘Haven’t you heard?’ another man replied. ‘We’re at war! The posters are call-up notices.’

  The bedroom door opened behind Alexei and Grigory entered with a breakfast tray and the morning paper.

  ‘Good morning, Excellency. Did you have a pleasant evening?’

  ‘Have you seen the posters?’ Alexei asked.

  ‘Yes, sir. They’ve been putting them up all over the city since seven this morning.’

  Alexei’s aide-de-camp since graduating from military school, Grigory Alexandrivich had proved to be both capable and loyal. With a mop of curly black hair and brown eyes, he was never short of female admirers. Yet despite an abundance of willing young women, Grigory had yet to marry.

  Alexei picked up the newspaper. The front page announced the mobilisation of the troops in large, bold letters.

  ‘Shall I take your boots to be polished?’

  ‘Yes,’ Alexei replied absently.

  ‘Will there be anything else, Excellency?’

  ‘Is Madame Serova awake?’

  ‘Madame and the young ladies left an hour ago to visit their seamstress.’

  Alexei massaged his eye where a pain pulsed. ‘Make sure my trunk is packed. We could receive a telegram to join the regiment at any moment.’

  Once Grigory had gone, Alexei sat at a small table, sipping his tea as he scanned the news. On the inside pages, he read that the trial of the six assassins of the Archduke continued in Sarajevo.

  He folded the paper and pushed aside his breakfast tray. War was upon them. Unlike the other men at the officers’ club, he felt no thrill or sense of joyous anticipation at what lay ahead. He knew Russia was not ready for war. The military could boast of its gallantry and courage all it liked, but the fact was the Germans were better equipped and more efficient at mobilising troops than the Russians could ever hope to be.

  Tsar Nicholas II was a private man who had never wanted to become Emperor. Pacing in the library, his thoughts were clouded and confused. Outside the sky was grey and it looked as if it would rain. Yesterday he had signed an order to mobilise millions of Russians for war. An hour ago, he had received a call from his foreign minister to tell him that the Germans had declared war on Russia for her refusal to call off the mobilisation. There was no question; war was imminent. In the past week, he had sent his cousin Wilhelm numerous telegrams pleading for the Kaiser to mediate between the Austrians and Serbs, but to no avail.

  He wished desperately to be with his family at Tsarskoe Selo, rather than stuck in the Winter Palace surrounded by men hungry for war. Earlier in the day, he had stood on the balcony with Alexandra and waved to the crowds carrying Russian flags and shouting, ‘Long live the Emperor.’ Now, alone in his study, he ached for the company of his wife.

  Alexandra never liked the Winter Palace, preferring their fairytale compound in Tsarskoe Selo, twenty-five kilometres south of St Petersburg. Nicholas smiled at the memory of their first dance there during her winter visit to Russia in 1889. His smile slipped as he recalled the behaviour of Russian society, especially the women, who continued to shun his wife and spread vicious rumours.

  He sighed. Alexandra was as misunderstood as he was.

  He wished for his subjects to respect him as they had his late father. Yet despite the strength and leadership he had shown by dismissing the call for constitutional reform in 1895, he sensed that many in the palace considered him weak and indecisive.

  In truth, he cared little for affairs of state. If not for the promise he had made to his father when the old Emperor was on his deathbed, he would have gladly relinquished his responsibilities in favour of spending his days with his family.

  Sitting behind his desk, Nicholas pulled out his diary from the top drawer and opened to a new page.

  July 31st, 1914

  A grey day, in keeping with my mood …

  3

  Narva, Estonia, August 1914

  On one side of the two-storey manor house, the fields on the Marinsky estate stretched as far as the eye could see. The rising sun slowly burnt the low mist that had crept over the fields, making them shine like emeralds.

  Over one hundred kilometres south-west of St Petersburg, Narva was on the most eastern point of Estonia. Part of the Russian Empire, the Estonians took up the call for mobilisation with similar enthusiasm to their Russian counterparts.

  Marie stood at the heavy iron gates separating the house from the road heading into the town centre, waving to the column of cars, wagons and people. The cars’ headlamps blurred in the mist and she could not make out any faces. She was sure no one could see her either, yet she continued to wave. The travellers were in high spirits. Even above the throaty rumble of the engines, Marie could hear the men singing, their voices rising and falling in unison to patriotic tunes. She watched the road for a little longer before walking back to the house.

  Nikolai had enlisted the moment war was declared. At fifteen, her younger brother Valentin was too young and moped around the house at the injustice of his age. Hearing of her elder son’s decision, Pauline Kulbas was quiet at first, but on the following day had called the family tailor to the house to measure Nikolai for his uniform.

  Back in her bedroom, Marie wondered how the war would affect her. Would her classes be suspended or would they continue uninterrupted? Pyotr had telegrammed to let her know that he had enlisted and had asked if he could visit her in Narva before joining his regiment. Marie smiled, imagining Pyotr in his uniform.

  There was a knock on her door and Anna entered.

  ‘This came for you with the afternoon mail.’

  Marie recognised the handwriting on the envelope. ‘Thank you, Anna,’ she said, taking the letter hurriedly, eager to be alone. ‘I’ll call you when I’m ready to be dressed for dinner.’

  Marie waited for Anna to close the door behind her before she ripped open the envelope.

  My darling Marie,

  Knowing you, being with you, brightens my world. I have never felt such joy as I have in the moments we share. On the afternoon your train pulled away from the station, I thought my heart would stop. I felt empty, and when I
looked at the sky, it too had lost its brightness and grown lonely and cold.

  You are my light. Without you, I am lost. I only need to know that you feel a fraction of the affection I hold for you to be a happy man. Have pity on my poor soul and tell me you feel as I do.

  Forever yours. P

  Marie pressed the letter to her breast. The secret sadness she had harboured since their separation had vanished, replaced by a happiness that radiated through her body. She read the letter twice more, each time experiencing the same joy.

  ‘He loves me,’ she whispered aloud. ‘Petya loves me.’

  ‘Masha!’

  She could hear Nikolai’s footsteps racing up the stairs.

  ‘Marie, you lazy thing, are you in bed?’

  Jumping to her feet, Marie ran to the door and flung it open. She stopped short when she saw her brother in his uniform.

  Nikolai did a turn. ‘Well?’

  ‘You look so – different,’ she said, taking a step back. Then she flung her arms around him. ‘You look magnificent.’

  ‘I have joined the Hussars. We’ve been busy all morning organising the transport of our horses on the trains.’

  ‘When will you be leaving?’ she asked, her heart suddenly contracting.

  ‘I’ll go to the officers’ training camp in a week.’ He frowned. ‘Why such a sad face, Masha?’

  She looked at him seriously. ‘Will you promise to come back?’

  ‘Stop your sulking, you foolish girl,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Those Germans are no match for our bravery and numbers. I’ll be surprised if the war lasts more than a few weeks.’

  Marie smiled but she couldn’t shake the trepidation she had felt at the sight of her brother in uniform. ‘I hope so. I could not bear to lose you.’

  ‘Cheer up.’ Nikolai squeezed her shoulders. ‘I don’t want my memory of the last couple of days at home to be of my sister sulking like an old babushka. Have you heard from Pyotr?’

  ‘Yes, he’ll be here this afternoon.’ Even to her own ears her voice sounded worried. ‘He can only stay one night before having to join his regiment.’

  All afternoon Marie waited restlessly for Pyotr’s arrival. Nikolai had left some time ago in the motor car to meet him at the station. Several times, imagining she had heard the sound of wheels crunching over the gravel, she rushed to a window, only to come away disappointed.

  She carried Pyotr’s letter in her pocket, intermittently placing a hand over the envelope, and feeling renewed joy at the words he’d written. Nervous and unable to focus, she had changed several outfits.

  Finally, she heard the car coming up the driveway.

  ‘They are here!’ Marie shouted over the upstairs railings. ‘Anna, quick, my dress!’

  Anna hurried up the stairs, carrying another of Marie’s dresses over one arm.

  ‘Quickly, Anna. They’ll be here at any moment.’

  Slightly out of breath, Anna met Marie at the top of the stairs. ‘You must promise there will be no more changing of outfits. This is the third dress Zoya has ironed for you today. The poor thing is run off her feet pressing your clothes as well as all the extra things she has to do for dinner tonight.’

  ‘Oh, Anna, please don’t be cross. If you only knew what I’m going through; how jangled my nerves are …’ She stopped herself from revealing too much.

  ‘Nerves and excitement aside, there will be no more changing of outfits.’

  ‘I promise.’

  Throwing her arms around Anna, Marie impulsively kissed her hard on the cheek.

  Lifting the dress over Marie’s head, Anna carefully let it slip over her shoulders and hips. Marie fretted the entire time, turning left and right to look at her reflection in the mirror.

  ‘Hold still.’ Anna fed the tiny buttons through the narrow slits.

  They heard the front door open and Nikolai’s voice speaking to his valet. ‘Bring us a bottle of vodka in the parlour.’

  ‘My curls have come loose,’ Marie fretted.

  Anna pinned back the strands and, as a final touch, fastened a Grecian headdress over the top, then stood back to appraise her handiwork.

  ‘How do I look?’ Marie did a spin.

  ‘Breathtaking!’ Stepping closer, Anna smiled affectionately. ‘Pyotr Arkadyich would be a fool not to fall helplessly in love with you.’

  Marie blushed. ‘So you know – as to Pyotr and I.’

  Anna started to pick up the discarded garments from the arm of the chair. ‘I had guessed.’ Straightening, she smiled. ‘Your behaviour today only confirmed what I had been suspecting for some time.’

  Marie stood with a rigid back before the parlour door. As the footman opened it, she drew a deep breath before exhaling in a long sigh when her eyes fell on Pyotr.

  ‘Ah Masha,’ Nikolai greeted her with a kiss.

  She looked shyly at Pyotr, who was standing slightly apart from them. ‘Hello, Pyotr.’ She held out her hand for him to kiss. ‘You look so different dressed in your uniform.’

  ‘I confess, I feel different,’ he replied stiffly. ‘I trust you are well?’

  Slightly confused by the formal greeting, she did not answer straight away.

  ‘I am, thank you,’ she said eventually. An ache squeezed her chest at the lack of warmth in his tone.

  At that moment, her parents joined them in the parlour and Pyotr moved to greet them. Watching his back, Marie wondered as to the reasons behind his mood. Questions flooded her thoughts. Had she misunderstood his letter? Was he no longer in love with her? Had he changed his mind so soon after declaring his love? No, she could not believe any of those things. There must be another explanation for his behaviour. Still, as she continued to debate with herself, the hurt pressed at her, digging in its sharp claws.

  ‘Let us all sit down,’ Monsieur Kulbas said and motioned to the sofas.

  Choosing a double seat, Marie was disappointed to find Pyotr moving to the chair furthest away from her. Again, she felt the heavy weight of confusion on her heart. Around her, they had started talking about the mobilisation, but Marie understood little of what was being said.

  ‘You are very quiet, Masha,’ her father observed. ‘Is everything alright?’

  ‘Yes, Papa.’ She managed a smile. Her eyes sought and found Pyotr, who returned her look briefly before turning away.

  During dinner, the main topic of conversation was the Archduke’s assassination and the imminent war. But Marie was hardly listening. She played with her food, unable to swallow past the lump in her throat.

  Seated beside Monsieur Kulbas at the head of the table, Pyotr stole several glances in her direction, only to turn away quickly whenever their eyes met. Each gaze added to her misery and made her wish for a speedy end to the evening.

  Following dinner, the men excused themselves to the parlour for cigars and spirits.

  ‘May I too be excused, Mama?’ Marie asked.

  ‘Are you unwell? You hardly touched your dinner.’

  Marie faltered. ‘It’s nothing serious. I have a slight headache and wish to retire early.’

  In the vestibule, she spied her father ushering Pyotr into the library. Just before they disappeared behind the door, her father turned and, seeing her, smiled at her from over his shoulder. Surprised Nikolai was not with them, she sought him out and found him in the parlour, where he was reading the evening papers with a cigarette smouldering between his fingers.

  ‘Why have you not joined Papa and Pyotr?’

  Nikolai turned in his chair to face her. ‘Come in,’ he said. ‘Close the door behind you.’

  Marie did as he said and moved to stand by his seat.

  ‘Papa wanted to speak privately with Pyotr.’

  She gave him a questioning look. ‘Why?’

  Nikolai shrugged but his smile told her he knew more than he was letting on.

  ‘Kolya, stop teasing. You must tell me why Papa wants to see Pyotr.’

  ‘Why should I tell you anything? You have been acting m
iserable all evening.’ He pretended to go back to reading his article.

  She gave his arm a hard pinch. ‘Tell me!’

  ‘Alright, I will tell you.’ He laughed. Stubbing out his cigarette, he led her to the sofa. ‘Now, I cannot be certain, but earlier today Papa received a telegram from St Petersburg. Shortly after that, he called me to the library.’

  ‘Who was the telegram from?’

  ‘It was from Pyotr.’

  Marie’s stomach lurched. ‘What did it say?’

  ‘He did not tell me. But he asked me what I knew of Pyotr.’

  She reached for his hand, squeezing it hard between both of hers. ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘I told him the truth. I told him Pyotr is the son of a lowly princess and a gambling father who over the years has whittled down the family fortune to almost nothing.’

  Her hands dropped away. ‘Kolya, how could you? Pyotr is nothing like his father!’

  Nikolai held out a hand. ‘Let me finish.’

  ‘You mean to tell me you had more to say? After what you told him, I’m surprised Papa has not thrown Pyotr out already.’ She turned her back to him, fighting her emotions.

  He turned her by the shoulders. ‘It’s important for you also to hear this, Masha. All Pyotr’s family has left is the city mansion belonging to the princess and the land in the Urals, which was managed by Pyotr’s father and his foreman until Pyotr came of age.’

  ‘I care nothing for his financial situation. I love him regardless.’ She moved to leave, but Nikolai touched her arm.

  ‘I also told him that I cannot think of a nobler man, that Pyotr has taken over the management of the estate and it has started to earn him a profit. I told Papa that I have no doubt Pyotr will make you very happy.’

  Marie blinked back at her brother in surprise. Her face softened. ‘You said all that?’

  He smiled. ‘You two were born for one another.’

  After dinner, Pyotr and Marie walked arm in arm through the orchard. A warm breeze in the trees stirred the branches, heavy with fruit. Shadows danced around them. But even now that they were finally alone, Pyotr seemed agitated and preoccupied. Marie desperately searched for a topic to begin a conversation, but all her attempts were met with monosyllabic answers.