Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
I t was still dark when Anna and Mazra left the house the next morning. Somehow Anna survived the evening and, as soon as dinner was over, asked to be excused. She tiptoed up the stairs in the silent hall and thought: there’s been no official announcement. Olga’s probably circulating the story to tighten her hold over Peter. I won’t accept it as fact unless one of them tells me face to face.
Searching her bureau, she found Olga Bulgarin’s address on a card under a pile of papers. On one side was printed a location in Moscow and on the other 12, Sadovaya Street, St. Petersburg . If she couldn’t speak to Peter, then there was no alternative but to confront Olga. Summoning Mazra, she asked her to arrange for Omelko to drive them to Sadovaya Street early the next morning.
A damp, chilly mist rose from the river as the carriage bumped over the snowy cobbles of Nevsky Prospekt. Labourers in sheepskin jackets were swinging their arms, stamping their feet to keep warm, and waiting for bakers’ shops to open. Queues had already formed with beggars and injured soldiers lingering at the back, hoping for yesterday’s crusts. Soon, budnochiks would emerge from their huts to police the streets, and labourers and vagrants would be replaced by an army of copyists and civil servants scurrying to their offices. Later in the morning, gentlemen and ladies in fur-lined cloaks would come to visit the coffee houses and shops on the most fashionable street in St. Petersburg.
Nevsky Prospekt was the face Russia chose to show to the world but behind the avenues and classical facades lay a very different city – a labyrinth of slums where the cold was so intense it cracked brick and stone. Poverty hung in the air like a miasma and disease was as rampant as the rats that infested the houses. Normally, it upset Anna as she stared down the alleys into this other world. But she was too miserable to notice any of this now. Maria’s announcement had cut her to the core, and it was only Mazra who insisted she took trouble over her appearance. Her hair was tucked under a velvet bonnet trimmed with bands of narrow black ribbon and, beneath her fur-lined cape, she wore a blue coat with billowing sleeves, their cuffs gathered at her wrists.
Unseen carriages went past in the fog before they turned off the main avenue into Sadovaya Street and stopped outside a two-storey house. Night lamps glowed on the gateposts and a narrow footpath had been spread with sand and ashes. Anna asked Omelko to wait for them and walked across the forecourt with Mazra. Olga will still be asleep, she thought. She’ll be annoyed at being disturbed so early and will make me wait. How shall I put it to her? I’ll say Peter’s a friend of the family and I’ve been sent to find out if the rumour is true. I don’t care if she doesn’t believe me. She has to give me an answer.
There was a closed carriage standing by the front door, its driver swaddled in rugs and smoking a clay pipe. The horse’s breath rose in two streams from its nostrils and Anna glanced through the window as she walked past. The cab was empty. Who could be visiting at this hour of the morning? As she mounted the front steps, her nerve almost failed. How would she respond if Olga confirmed the engagement? She would have to congratulate her! I won’t be able to get the words out of my mouth, she thought, as she stood shivering under the porch.
Mazra tugged the heavy bell pull. For a long time, nothing happened until at last they heard footsteps and bolts being drawn. A hall porter in livery opened the door. He had a thin face and eyes black as coal that looked at them suspiciously.
‘I have an appointment with Miss Bulgarin,’ Anna said.
‘I’m afraid Miss Bulgarin’s not at home.’
Anna could see a clutter of boots and canes in the porch. Beyond it, she glimpsed an elegant hall with marble statues and plants. A double staircase led to the upper floors and, before she could answer, a husky dog came bounding down the stairs. He ran across the tiled floor and leapt up at her, almost knocking her over. With a muttered expletive, the hall porter made a grab for its collar.
‘Come in, both of you. And quick now! Follow me before Mosca eats you alive.’
Hanging onto the dog with one hand, he beckoned Anna and Mazra into a waiting room with a small fire. He left them, but was occupied with the dog and forgot to close the door. Above the hiss of damp wood, Anna heard low-pitched voices outside. She signalled to Mazra to stay quiet and squinted through the crack in the door.
Dressed in the long kaftan, Nicholas Bulgarin was accompanied by a woman in a flowing cape. When they reached the outer hall, he stopped and cupped her face in his hands. As he kissed her, the hood of her cape fell back, revealing ringlets of golden hair. Anna had dreamt so often of Peter kissing her like that! A sharp pain, like a metal band tightened round her chest as she watched him lead his companion down the steps to the waiting droshky. His guest must have stayed here all night. Who could she be? Was she one of those women everyone knew existed but never talked about? Like all innocent young women, Anna was fascinated by the idea of courtesans; only the golden-haired lady didn’t look as if she belonged to the demi-monde. There was grace in her bearing and refinement in the delicate hand that reached out to touch Nicholas Bulgarin’s cheek.
The cab moved off and Anna took a step backwards. She heard the dog snuffling at the threshold and a brief exchange of words outside. Then the door was thrown wide and Nicholas Bulgarin walked in with the husky at his heels.
His black eyebrows rose in surprise as he looked at her. ‘How may I be of service to you, Miss Brianski?’
‘I hoped… I mean… I expected to find your sister at home…’ Anna stammered.
‘Olga left for Moscow yesterday. She must have forgotten your appointment. I apologise on her behalf. ‘
‘It’s of no consequence. I’m sorry to have troubled you. We’ll leave immediately.’
‘You look frozen to death. Please warm yourself before you go.’ Count Bulgarin ignored Anna’s reluctance and turned to his manservant. ‘Liev, please take Miss Brianski’s cloak and accompany her maid to the kitchen. Then bring tea and brandy to my study.’
The doorman gestured to Mazra to follow him, and Nicholas guided Anna across the hall. Two high-backed chairs stood in front of a fire in the grate. He waited until Liev came to collect her cloak, and then went out.
Adjusting her bonnet, Anna looked around the study. The walls were wood-panelled and a stand-up desk stood in the centre. On every side were bookstands stacked with periodicals and journals. The room was well appointed in a masculine way and smelled of wax and leather polish. A serving girl appeared carrying a tray with cups and a samovar, which she placed on the table in front of the fire. Anna thanked her as Nicholas came through the door with the dog following him.
‘I hope Mosca didn’t alarm you. She is much too friendly for a guard dog. Do sit down, Miss Brianski.’
He poured out the tea, adding brandy, and gave Anna a cup. She stirred it slowly and watched the chunks of sugar dissolve before she took a sip. The fiery spirit burned her throat and all the way down to her stomach as she studied Nicholas Bulgarin over the rim of her cup. He wore a shirt and breeches under his kaftan; his shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, and she glimpsed dark hairs at the top of his chest.
‘Forgive my disarrangement,’ he remarked, noting the direction of her gaze. ‘I don’t usually receive visitors before noon.’
‘I hoped to speak to Olga in private.’
‘Is it important?’
Anna hesitated. Nicholas Bulgarin probably had a fair idea why she was here. However much she disliked him, it might be easier than having to ask Olga. She took a gulp of tea and passed her tongue over her lips.
‘My family wish to know…’ she began, her brow puckering in a frown. ‘Is it true your sister and Captain Dashkovy are betrothed to be married?’
‘The engagement has yet to be announced. However, I’ve given them my blessing.’
He might as well have told her Peter was dead. Anna’s teacup rattled on its saucer as she returned it to the tray. A sense of blistering hurt stung her so she couldn’t speak.
‘I’m sorry you’re upset, Miss Brianski.’ Nicholas’s tone was gentler. ‘Has Captain Dashkovy broken his word to you? Will I be obliged to call him out?’
‘Not in defence of my honour.’
‘I was thinking of my sister. I can’t possibly give permission for her to marry a man who’s promised himself to another.’
One desperate lie and the wedding would be off! Anna’s heart leapt with hope. She didn’t need to denounce Peter or be too specific. She only had to hint that he had misled her. Could she do it? He was bound to find out. Peter will hate me for the rest of his life, she thought. And Sasha will be furious. I’ll never hear the end of it.
She hesitated, searching for the right words. ‘Captain Dashkovy has been very attentive. He gave the impression that he was fond of me.’ Anna lowered her gaze and then added in a tight voice. ‘Although he never made a formal declaration.’
‘In that case, I must tell you Peter Dashkovy’s been courting Olga for the last two years.’
The idea took Anna’s breath away. Had Peter fallen in love with Olga when they met at Kamenka? Oh God … in all this time that she had loved him, his heart had belonged to Olga. Why hadn’t he made it clear to her? At the very least, he should have been honest. Fresh anguish clawed at her heart and there was silence until the husky pushed her nose under Nicholas’s hand. He stroked her and she lay down, curling at his feet with her chin on her paw.
‘I’m sorry my flowers were of no use to you.’
What was he talking about? ‘Your flowers?’ she began and stopped, her eyes widening. Surely, he didn’t mean the ones given to her by the young man that day on the Neva? ‘So, it was you. You gave me the roses. But why on earth?’
‘Because of something I saw long ago.’
Disconnected images flitted through her mind: Bulgarin watching her through the window at Kamenka, and their conversation in the library. Had he witnessed the scene with Peter and Olga on the ice? Did he feel sorry for her? Oh, the shame of it! She couldn’t bear his pity.
‘Why are you always spying on me? Do you think I’m some sort of fool?’
‘I wasn’t spying on you. I was chaperoning my sister. Please don’t look daggers at me, Miss Brianski. I’m trying to pay you a compliment. Genuine feelings are rare in our world of artifice and intrigue.’
Anna could not bring herself to reply, and Nicholas Bulgarin leant forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘Will you vouch that Captain Dashkovy has behaved honourably towards you?’
There was no more to be said and Anna nodded mutely. She felt tears prick her eyes, but she wouldn’t cry in front of him and the sooner she was out of here the better. Count Bulgarin presumed he knew everything about her. Well, she wouldn’t mind asking him about his private life. It was on the tip of her tongue to enquire the name of his lady friend, but there was nothing to be gained by confrontation and she made as if to rise.
‘I’m glad to have a chance to talk to you, Anna Ivanova.’ Nicholas gestured with his hand for her to stay. ‘I’m concerned about your brother.’
‘About Sasha?’
‘Sasha and Sergei Volkonsky are members of a secret society plotting a conspiracy against the tsar. Your brother must break all links with them immediately.’
For a moment, Anna wondered whether she had heard him right. How dare Nicholas denounce Sasha as a traitor? She should slap him and storm out of the room, but she was still half-paralysed by the shock of Peter’s betrayal. She stared at him incredulously, not knowing what to say or how to react.
‘The emperor has forgiven disloyalty once, but he won’t do so again.’
‘What do they hope to achieve?’ When Anna finally spoke, her voice sounded far away, as if it belonged to someone else.
‘A good question. To secure a constitution and put an end to serfdom. They believe the Russian people are unhappy because the tsars have stolen their freedom.’
Anna was silent. Since she’d first had cause to question the world she lived in, the trickle of doubt was gaining strength. A system that depended on bondage was reprehensible and no better than slavery. On that matter, she agreed with her brother. Serfdom had been abolished in other countries – in Prussia and Poland – so why not in Russia? She couldn’t be sure of the arguments, but she knew enough, had lived enough, to recognise nothing was as straightforward as she wished.
She took a moment to compose herself before she responded. ‘Sasha may have radical opinions, but he would never betray Tsar Alexander. He admires him.’
‘He also admires men whose ideals are more powerful than their fear of death.’ Nicholas answered sombrely. ‘Two nights ago, I visited the Green Lamp Club and they were all there: your brother, Volkonsky, Muravyov-Apostol and others. The place was so thick with pipe and cigar smoke I couldn’t see who raised the toast: “Death to the tsar”. The whole company cheered until a light flashing on the quay sobered them up.’
Her hurt momentarily forgotten, Anna pictured the scene. She imagined officers in uniform sprawled on sofas, drinking and smoking as great white puffs of St. Petersburg fog swirled through the windows. She could almost hear the clink of spurs and popping of champagne corks. But Nicholas Bulgarin was mistaken. Sasha hadn’t been there. Whatever his political views, he would never be involved in treason.
‘A petition has been presented to the tsar, which he will consider on his return from the south,’ Nicholas continued at last. ‘In the meantime, please warn Sasha Ivanovich that the imperial spies are aware of his activities.’
‘How do you know all this?’
‘I have connections at court and keep my ear to the ground.’ He reached for a poker and stirred the coals in the grate, then stretched his legs towards the heat. ‘There are rumours–’
‘Only a fool believes in rumours.’
‘Then you’ll have to take my word for it.’ A harder tone had entered his voice and Anna knew she had annoyed him. ‘Our friends dream of change, but most Russians are suspicious of progress. Deep in our hearts, we want to stay as we are – alone and different from other nations. It will take a century for revolution to succeed in this country.’
Nicholas Bulgarin was one of those intellectuals with an opinion on everything, Anna thought. No doubt he contributed to the various journals lying around. He might have reason to suspect others, but he was wrong about Sasha.
‘My brother’s no revolutionary, I can assure you, sir. Nevertheless, I’ll pass on your message. I take it you’ve also warned Captain Dashkovy.’
Anna stood up, straightening her jacket, and Nicholas came to his feet. ‘I believe Captain Dashkovy’s finally come to his senses.’
Nicholas stood close enough to her for Anna to detect the scent of gardenia on his clothes. So, the golden-haired beauty was his mistress! And what did that mean precisely?
Unwilling to meet his eyes, she held out her hand. ‘Thank you for the tea, Count Bulgarin. I will not trouble you again.’
‘I’m glad we could speak, Anna Ivanova. Please don’t be too disheartened. This disappointment will pass. Tolerance and compatibility are better companions in life than romantic passion. Forget about everlasting love. It doesn’t exist.’
*
He would say that, Anna thought as she walked to the carriage with Mazra. Pushkin wrote about people like Nicholas Bulgarin – libertines who drifted from woman to woman without loving any of them. Then again, she had believed Peter was a better man and had failed to see what was in front of her eyes.
She managed to hold herself together during the drive, but the strain broke as she arrived home. Without taking off her cloak and bonnet, Anna ran up three flights of stairs to her studio and slammed the door shut. Breathing hard, she leant against it. The sky was heavy with impending snow but the large window suffused the room with light. Her studio was as she had left it, the table covered with brushes and her easel set up and ready. A swathe of material draped the background of a chair where Peter would have sat for his portrait. It was in here she was going to offer him her heart – but he didn’t love her. He loved Olga Bulgarin.
He’s a coward, Anna thought with sudden anger. If he had a shred of honour, he would have told me. Peter only flirted with me because it’s easy to captivate a girl of sixteen. Did he think I was too young to have feelings – too immature to fall in love?
She must do something, or she would scream. Her hand touched an empty vase and she picked it up and hurled it against the wall. The sound of smashing glass brought a sense of release and she sat down. She began opening drawers and pulling out her sketchbooks. There were drawings of Peter Dashkovy on almost every page. She had portrayed him as she believed him to be – beautiful and sincere. How could she have been so mistaken about him? Casting her mind back, Anna thought of his smile and the gentle pressure of his fingers when he gave her his hand. Peter had always been free with his compliments but had never gone beyond easy, teasing banter. Not once had he made amorous advances towards her. Had it all been an illusion? Had she only imagined that he loved her?
Anna rubbed her temples angrily. Peter might have loved her once, but he was going to marry Olga. She had lost him forever and hoped they would both be miserable for the rest of their lives. Picking up a knife, she began to cut out her drawings, not caring that she slashed whole pages and left serrated edges. She attacked her sketchbooks until every image of Peter was excised. When she came to the very last, she paused. She had sketched it from memory on the day after Sasha’s wedding. Peter was smiling, and it was one of her best drawings, but she couldn’t keep it. Gathering the pieces of paper, she threw them into the stove and waited until they caught fire before she shut the door. All traces of Peter had been destroyed. As heartbreak overwhelmed her, she bowed her head and wept.