The Red Tide Page 10

  Sonia sighed, and turned at the knock. Grishka entered. “Ah, Grishka. Have my bags sent down, will you. I shall be leaving in an hour or so.”

  “Of course, Your Highness. And the children?”

  “No, Grishka. The children are remaining here for a while.” The two women gazed at each other. “You know that I shall not be returning to Bolugayen,” Sonia said.

  Grishka bit her lip; undoubtedly she did know that. “May I ask where Your Highness is going?”

  “I think I shall take a suite at the Hotel Astoria, for the time being. Perhaps you would have Dmitri send someone over to make a reservation.”

  “I will attend to it right away, Your Highness.” She half turned to the door, and hesitated.

  “I would be very grateful if you would accompany me, Grishka,” Sonia said.

  Grishka faced her again. Sonia could imagine the thoughts tumbling through her mind. It is not possible for a woman to keep any secret from her personal maid, any more than a man can from his valet. Grishka knew Sonia was innocent of having had an affair with Captain Korsakov. She also knew that on the one occasion her mistress had visited Rasputin, she had returned without a single garment, exterior or under, much less a single hair, out of place. But Grishka had been a Bolugayevski servant long before Sonia had first seen Bolugayen, and her family remained living on the estate. “I must do as His Highness wishes, Your Highness,” she said.

  “I know,” Sonia said. “Then I must say goodbye.”

  A last look around the room. Sonia wished she could take a last look around Bolugayen. But what she was really doing was bracing herself to say goodbye to the children. She could not even explain to them what was happening. It was part of the agreement she had just signed that all explanations were to be left to the Prince. God alone knew what he would tell them. He would be free to describe her in the most wanton terms. But she could not believe Alexei would do that. He might be absurdly jealous, and behaving, as his sister had written, like both a prince and a schoolboy, but he was not a vicious man. But that did not help her, now. She was to say she was going away for a few days. A lie, to her children, on the occasion of their last meeting. But that was being absurdly pessimistic. If they were her children, then they would seek her out, one day. She had to believe that. Her door was swept inwards. “I am told you are going to the Hotel Astoria,” Nathalie announced.

  “It is the only one I know.”

  “I believe it is very nice there.” Nathalie wandered about the room, fingering ornaments, as was her habit. “I suppose you think I am responsible for all this.”

  “No,” Sonia said. “You are not responsible.”

  “Ha! That idiot Patricia thinks I am responsible. She has left me the most offensive note. But I do not wish to talk about the past. That is a waste of time. Only the future matters. Your marriage is over. Thus I would hope to see something of you in the future.”

  “I am forbidden the use of this house.”

  “Then I shall come to see you. And perhaps now you will come with me to Father Gregory.” Nathalie had the grace to blush. “He is really very fond of you, you know. Probably this is because he has never had the chance to...well...”

  “Get his hands on me,” Sonia suggested.

  “If you wish to be vulgar, yes. My dear Sonia, what do you have to lose, now?”

  “Only my honour,” Sonia said, and left the room.

  *

  “Really,” Anna commented. “I don’t know what to say.” She sat in a rocking chair, which she moved carefully to and fro; although her bones had all but knitted she still needed to be careful. Nor would Dr Geller allow her to go out of doors until the spring, and the chair was placed in front of the window so that she could look out at the garden, although the window was of course closed, as the garden was submerged beneath a thick layer of snow.

  Alexei waited, glancing nervously at Alexandra Robbins. This cousin he had never met before, but she was every inch the smart Boston matron in her kimono jacket and peg-topped skirt, her velvet-laced boots. She was, as he recalled, considerably older than Duncan, forty-one in fact, and her soft blonde beauty had just about reached an apogee. But her eyes were cold; she had wasted no time in conveying that she did not approve of the Tsar, or of the Russian aristocracy which supported him — which, he knew, represented fairly average American opinion. Yet Alexei was very glad she was here. He really was afraid of Aunt Anna’s reaction to what had happened. As he also knew that when Aunt Anna said she did not know what to say, she was about to say a great deal. “I have never known Sonia to lie,” Anna remarked.

  “Now, Aunt,” Alexei protested. “You yourself said that Korsakov came here to have an affair with her.”

  “Yes, I did,” Anna agreed. “I also said that I was quite sure Sonia would not agree to it. If you are so sure of the matter, why have you not challenged the lout?”

  Alexei bit his lip. “I was forbidden to do so by the Tsar.”

  “Because of the scandal. I quite agree with him. But you also believe she went to see this charlatan Rasputin. Despite her denial.”

  “She has not denied going to see him, Aunt Anna. She has denied that anything improper took place. Well, on the evidence I have been able to gather, if nothing did take place then her visit was unique.”

  “Duncan has forgiven Patricia.”

  “With respect, Aunt Anna, Duncan is not the Prince Bolugayevski. The Princess Bolugayevska must be like Caesar’s wife: above suspicion.” He looked at Alexandra for support.

  But she was concerned with what she considered more important matters. “How have the children taken it?”

  Alexei gave his aunt another anxious look. “I have not yet actually told them. Just that their mother had to go away on a visit.”

  “Do you realise that you are an arrant coward?” Anna enquired. “You, a soldier who has been commended for bravery in the field, cannot tell the truth to his own children?”

  “The question is, what is to be done, Mother?” Alexandra pointed out.

  “They will have to be told that their mother has behaved very badly, and that she therefore can no longer be their mother. Or the Princess Bolugayevska.”

  “But you cannot do that,” Alexandra cried. “There is no proof. Even you admit there is no certain proof, Alexei.”

  “It does not matter whether there is proof or not,” Anna said. “I may personally disagree with what Alexei has done, but he has done it. There can be no going back now. Therefore there can be no going back for the children either. They must be made to put their mother quite out of their minds. Colin will one day be Prince Bolugayevski…” She did not notice Alexei’s sudden flush. “It will not do for his mother to one day reappear and claim any privileges from him. The same goes for little Anna. They simply have to accept that their mother never was, and that can only be done by making them reject her.”

  “Mother, you are a terrible old woman,” Alexandra said.

  “I am a Bolugayevska. Sometimes I think that I am the only Bolugayevska. Only the family matters. You would do the same if there was a matching scandal in Boston.”

  “Are you telling me I should drop Duncan and Patricia should they ever return home? Anyway,” she hurried on before her mother could make a pronouncement on that, “children need a mother.” She glanced at Alexei.

  His flush deepened. “It has been suggested to me, by the Tsar, that I should marry again, as soon as possible.”

  “And no doubt you have a princess in waiting,” Alexandra suggested, coldly.

  “I have not. It is a matter to be considered.”

  “And while it is considered, I will be a mother to the children,” Anna declared.

  “I think I will stay and help you, at least for a while,” Alexandra said.

  “And your own children? Do they not need a mother?”

  “James is a grown man, Mother; he does not need me any more. As for Priscilla, I think I will send for her to join me here. She’ll enjoy seeing ho
w the other half of the family live.”

  Alexei looked at his aunt in consternation. He did not really want the upbringing of his family overtaken by Americans. Anna smiled reassuringly. “I shall still act as their mother, until you are again suited, Alexei,” she promised.

  Alexei was at the foot of the gangplank in Sevastopol to greet his stepniece. “Welcome to Russia, Priscilla.”

  “Gosh,” Priscilla said. “Wow! I mean, I’m just happy to be here. Say, Mom says you’re a prince.”

  “Unfortunately, that is true.”

  “Gee! Do you think I should curtsey or something?”

  “I think it would be delightful for you to curtsey. But I don’t want you to. I’m your uncle.”

  “Oh, yeah. I guess you are. You speak awfully good English.”

  “That’s because I am English.”

  “Of course. That was stupid of me. Please forgive me.”

  “My dear girl, I will forgive you anything.” Her eyebrows arched, delightfully, and he tried not to stare at her. Alexandra had told him that Priscilla was nearly eighteen, but he had not actually related that to the obvious fact that she would be a grown woman, certainly physically, and that she would also be the spitting image of the painting of Aunt Anna as a young girl, which hung in one of the downstairs reception rooms at Bolugayen. Or that she was just the age he was seeking in a second wife. How odd that the Tsar had given him permission to leave Bolugayen to seek a wife, and this was the first time he had availed himself of that permission. What an absurd and vaguely obscene thought. But was it? His sister had married her cousin with the blessing of the family, himself included. This girl was only his half-niece. That was a long way away in terms of consanguinity. But the very idea made him embarrassed. “Your maid?” he asked. Again she raised her eyebrows. “You haven’t travelled all the way from America by yourself?” He was aghast.

  “No, no, Uncle Alexei. I came on one of Uncle Charlie’s ships, in care of Captain Lomas. Believe me, I was chaperoned by the entire crew. And then in London I stayed with Uncle Duncan and Aunt Patricia. And I came here on one of your ships, in care of Captain Iyinski. Again, I was protected, believe me.”

  “But still, a lady must have a maid.”

  For a third time she arched her eyebrows, even more delightfully. “Then I guess I’m not a lady.”

  He grinned at her, even more delighted with her spirit. “I am sure you are. Let’s board the train.”

  “I have a couple of bags.”

  “My people will see to those.”

  Alexei leaned back in the first-class compartment while they waited for the bags, smiling at Priscilla; in the background the train hissed impatiently, but gently. She smiled back, but was more interested in looking out of the window, at the platform and the harbour beyond. She knew he was old enough to be her father, of course. And at this moment saw no necessity to regard him as anything else than a very wealthy uncle. But she had to know more about him than that. “Was this the first time you had met your Aunt Patricia?” he asked. “In London?”

  “Oh, no,” she said. “I met her when she came to the States, a few years ago. She’s very lovely, isn’t she?”

  “Not half as lovely as you,” he said without thinking.

  Her head turned, sharply, and she blushed. “That’s very kind of you, Uncle Alexei.”

  “I meant it.” He debated whether to tell her not to use Uncle, but decided against it; he was too good a horseman to rush his fences. “Did Duncan and Patricia tell you anything, well...about what has been happening here?”

  Now she sat down. “I guess it’s the current family skeleton. I’m so terribly sorry, Uncle Alexei.”

  “Please don’t be. My wife...my ex-wife, and I, were never really suited. We were thrown together by circumstances, and, well...one thing led to another.”

  “It often does,” Priscilla agreed. “But still...Who is this guy, Rasputin, anyway? One of the newspapers back home was running a story on him. Sounds a regular Bluebeard.”

  “Save that he neither marries nor murders his victims,” Alexei said. “He doesn’t have to.”

  “Yeah. I’m still so sorry about your wife, Uncle Alexei. Mom showed me a photo of her. She looked such a kind person. And Aunt Pat thinks she’s the bee’s knees.” She bit her lip. “I guess I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Sonia and Patricia are very old friends. They went through a lot together. Do you know anything about that?”

  “Some.” But she was flushing again. He wondered just how much she did know about it. She giggled. “I don’t think Mom approves of Aunt Pat. Neither does Uncle Charlie.”

  “I don’t think anyone approves of Aunt Pat,” Alexei said.

  “Save Uncle Duncan, I guess. Is it true she was once a Communist?”

  “I sometimes wonder,” Alexei said, “if she is not still a Communist, at least at heart.”

  “Holy Smoke!” Priscilla stood in the front hall of the Bolugayevski Palace in Poltava, and looked around herself with enormous eyes. “You mean you own this, Uncle Alexei?”

  “I own several houses,” Alexei said. “This is the one we use when we are in Poltava. Madame Tchernitska will show you to your apartment. Would you join me in the winter parlour, whenever you are ready?” The housekeeper curtsied, and led Priscilla up the grand staircase. Alexei watched the girl’s hips swaying beneath the form-hugging skirt, and thought that the best thing that had happened in the last dozen years was when bustles went out of fashion.

  He went into the winter parlour, followed by Mtislav the butler, with a tray of champagne and several glasses. “Did you have a pleasant journey, Your Highness?”

  “I had a very pleasant journey,” Alexei said, seating himself before the fire and drinking deeply.

  “The weather has not really been conducive to travelling, Your Highness,” Mtislav ventured; the snow was six inches deep on the street outside.

  “I never noticed,” Alexei said. He was telling the simple truth. For the twenty-four hours they had spent on the train, he had been entirely absorbed by Priscilla Robbins. It was not merely her very real beauty which made her so compelling; more important was the essential unworldliness of her mind, at least as regards Russia...and her eagerness to learn. He had understood very early on that as regards matters on which most young Russian girls were totally ignorant, she was well informed. She was an American, she had been to a girl’s school rather than being educated at home, she had an elder brother, and more important than any of these, she had a mother who called a spade a spade. Perhaps fortunately, she did not know her grandmother very well, having only met her on a couple of occasions, although she clearly had been brought up to worship the ground on which Anna walked. But she really knew nothing about living in a country where the rich were not only very rich — there were sufficient millionaires in America, her Uncle Charlie amongst them — but were allowed the license to impose their wealth upon others, without fearing the result of the next election: if the Tsar continued to call Dumas whenever he was persuaded it was what the country wanted, he always dismissed them again whenever they attempted to erode his prerogatives. Alexei had always been vaguely ashamed of that. Now he found himself thinking what a delight it would be to teach this young woman the pleasures of omnipotence.

  Because now he sat beneath yet another portrait of his aunt, which Priscilla noticed as soon as she entered. “Gee,” she remarked. “That’s Grandma as a girl.”

  “Indeed it is.” Alexei stood up, and himself held out the glass. “Welcome to Russia.”

  She sipped. “We’ve already drunk to that.”

  “This is the real Russia. The Bolugayevski Russia. Our Russia.”

  “Oh.” Pink spots gathered in her cheeks, and she carefully studied the portrait. “Wasn’t she lovely? I mean, she still is lovely. But then...”

  “She turned many heads. As I have no doubt you will do.”

  “Me?”

  “You are a reincarnation of her.”
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  “Oh! Well...”

  “So I say again, welcome to Russia.” Alexei drained his glass and hurled it into the fireplace, where it exploded into a thousand slivers of crystal.

  “Oh!” Priscilla said again. “Do I do that?”

  “When you have finished your drink.”

  Priscilla drew a long breath, drank, and drew another long breath. “You don’t reckon it’s kind of extravagant?”

  “It is not possible for a Bolugayevski to be extravagant.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Gee!” She hurled her glass.

  “I really do not know what to say,” Alexandra commented, unconsciously apeing her mother. “As you know, Mother, I have had nothing to do with the Russian half of the family.”

  “Because you have never approved of us,” Anna said, equably.

  “I’ll go along with that. The fact is, your family is a representative, and a relic, of a dying civilisation. Me, I believe in the future.”

  “I would say you are looking at it.”

  Through her binoculars Anna could just make out the four horses and their riders, topping the distant rise. In March, the snow was thicker than ever, but Alexei rode every day, with his children, and Priscilla. “She is absolutely terrified,” Alexandra pointed out.

  “Nonsense. Priscilla is not the sort of girl to be terrified by anything. Besides, she loves Bolugayen.”

  “She has had her head put in a spin, you mean. She has never come into contact with such wasteful opulence in her life. She was almost in a state of shock the other day when she realised her underwear had been burned simply because she had had her period. As for Alexei...”

  “She seems very fond of Alexei.”

  “Do you know what she said to me, almost the day she arrived? Do all Russians come on that strong, Mom? I must have been crazy to allow him to go to Sevastopol to meet her. You talked me into that, Mother.”