The Rebel Daughters

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

A nna sat opposite her parents in the damp chill of the closed carriage as street lamps flashed past the frozen window. Apart from an opportunity to speak to Nicholas Bulgarin, she dreaded the evening ahead. They had seen no one outside the family since the sentencing and the thought of being among so many people terrified her. Dropping her head, she glanced at her mother. Valentina was still pale, but she had rallied, just as Papa predicted. Now, with Aunt Tanya looking after her mother and running the household, Anna felt both relieved and superfluous.

Arriving at the Kochubey palace, they entered a courtyard large enough to accommodate a small army. It was illuminated by flares and high bonfires where coachmen stood warming their hands. A full moon shed its light on the nocturnal scene, turning the equipages into blue shadows on the snow as they neared the portico. Liveried attendants lowered the steps and Count Brianski alighted first, followed by his wife and daughter. Wrapped in fur-lined capes, they picked their way carefully over the red baize carpet into the hall, where footmen in powdered wigs took their cloaks and guided them towards a grand marble staircase garlanded with flowers.

At every landing stood Chevalier Guards with silver breastplates watching as a procession of guests went past them: soldiers in uniforms, their chests emblazoned with sashes and orders, and ladies decked out in floating ballgowns of silk and taffeta. Mirrors reflected diamonds and pearls cascading onto bosoms, and precious stones sparkling on every feminine head, neck and arm. All the opulence of St. Peterburg was on display, Anna thought. Once, it might have entertained her; now she knew the suffering it covered up, it seemed a hollow, glittering facade.

She was aware of people behind them speaking in low tones, and saw a couple in front glance back then quickly turn their heads away. These people used to be their friends, yet not one of them had called at the house in the last two weeks. Michael Pavel was the only person who came to visit Sofia. They’re the lowest kind of hypocrites, Anna thought, fixing a brittle smile on her face. How many times have Mama and Papa offered them hospitality? Well, let them gawp and gossip! I’ll show them that our family aren’t ashamed of Sasha. We only have to get through the next few hours, then the ordeal will be over for now and we’ll be on our way home.

Reaching the upper floor, they walked down a long, deep gallery where fragrant wood burned in stoves and the scent of sweet incense hung in the air. The queue moved slowly until they reached the end where Prince and Princess Kochubey stood greeting their guests. Anna had chosen a simple white dress with a high waist and flowing skirt embroidered with gold braid. Her only jewellery was the triple string of pearls around her neck.

She was aware of her hostess’s cool appraisal as she curtsied and they passed through into the Salle Blanche, where a thousand candles gave an effect of dazzling daylight. There were flowers in full bloom everywhere she looked. The ballroom had been transformed into an exotic garden of lilies and orchids with branches of trees and ivy garlands adorning the walls. In front of Anna, the crowd seemed to sway and shimmer like a mirage as Circassian and Mongol officers in oriental uniform mixed with young Hussars who strutted about in elk-skin breeches and gleaming boots. There were Cossacks in scarlet, Lancers in blue, and a swell of voices and greetings rose and fell like the sea.

Ladies and gentlemen in court dress hovered near the doors at the far end, awaiting the arrival of the emperor, and Anna glimpsed the dowager, Princess Volkonsky. She was leaning on a cane and engaged in conversation with a man who stood with his back to her. She recognised the small head and short hair of Major Renin and noticed he was wearing a blue imperial sash. So, Boris Renin had been promoted for his services to the tsar. What part had he played in the calamity that had befallen them, she wondered?

Suddenly everyone stirred, pressed forwards, then back. As the doors opened, the Grand Marshall banged his ebony staff on the floor.

‘His Imperial Majesty, Tsar Nicholas!’

Gentlemen bowed and hundreds of skirts rustled as ladies dropped a deep curtsy and Nicholas entered followed by his hosts. Everyone stood still as the orchestra played the National Anthem, then a young adjutant with a worried expression moved hurriedly from group to group asking them to move aside to make way for the tsar.

Tall and broad-shouldered, Nicholas Romanov wore a uniform encrusted with gold and medals that glittered in the candlelight. He walked rapidly, nodding his head to left and right as if keen to get this part of the evening over. Anna stood on tiptoes to get a better view. The tsar’s height gave him presence. He might have been considered handsome, she thought, but it was a cold face with wintry eyes, lacking humour or compassion.

As the orchestra played the first notes of a polonaise, guests began forming themselves into two lines in the centre of the room, and Tsar Nicholas led Princess Kochubey onto the dance floor. Count Brianski offered his wife an arm and Anna was left alone. More than half the ladies had partners and were taking up positions for the polonaise. She stood where she was and shifted her weight from foot to foot. Never before had she been left with the minority of women uninvited to dance who crowded near the wall. Surely someone would come to her rescue? And then, as if from nowhere, Michael Pavel stood in front of her. He held out his hand and Anna smiled, manoeuvring her skirts with a flick of the heel as they joined the procession. They made a tour of the room, pausing at intervals as the gentlemen left their partners to bring in more couples.

‘Have you heard Olga Bulgarin’s the new favourite of the tsar?’ Michael smiled mischievously as he returned to Anna. ‘They say she’s about to be offered an appointment at court.’

Anna’s mouth opened with surprise, but the music quickened and they were separated. When he was with her again, she caught hold of his arm. ‘What were you saying about Olga?’

‘I’m saying the tsar has his eye on her.’

‘But I don’t understand. What does it mean?’

‘It means she’ll stay in St. Petersburg, and I hope Sofia will follow her example.’

Anna wanted to ask Michael more, but it was impossible to talk and dance at the same time. When the polonaise ended, he led her to where her parents were standing and set off in search of refreshments. The room was hot and she fanned herself as she looked around. There weren’t many people she recognised but she caught sight of Anastasia Lenkov with her distinctive red hair. Anastasia had been married last summer and the man escorting her must be her husband. He was good-looking with an intelligent expression. She would like to have spoken to them, but the press of people made it impossible to move.

Michael returned with glasses of champagne and Anna sipped hers slowly. Letting her gaze wander over his shoulder, she caught sight of Nicholas Bulgarin on the opposite side of the dance floor. He was wearing a dark blue tailcoat with Olga beside him in a gown with long green sleeves and a turquoise train. Her luxurious hair was coiled under a traditional kokoshnik embedded with emeralds that complimented her eyes. Anna hoped Nicholas would notice her, but he was deep in conversation with an older gentleman. Could it be Olga’s other suitor: the one Maria had spoken of? He was a stout man with fluffy hair whipped into a coif on top of his head – at least forty and not the least bit handsome, she noted with satisfaction.

From the orchestra came the first enticing strains of a waltz and all eyes turned to the tsar. He was looking around, his gaze passing over the company as he assessed the ladies present. Who would he honour with the second dance of the evening? A minute passed and everyone waited expectantly until he bent to speak in the ear of the young adjutant. The officer nodded and walked over to Olga Bulgarin. He gave her his arm and led her to the sovereign. She curtsied to the ground, then raised her head with a ravishing smile and placed her hand on his shoulder.

The entire assembly watched the pair as they circled the outside of the floor. The tsar grasped Olga round the waist and started smoothly, then at the corner caught her left hand and spun her around so her turquoise train spread out, flashing like a bird’s plumage. Apart from the music, the only sound was the rhythmic click of his spurs and voices hushed in admiration. Other couples joined the dance, though Anna’s gaze stayed on Olga. She was delighted by her success – Anna could tell from the radiance in her eyes and glow in her cheeks. Olga may have once cared for Peter, but she had replaced him soon enough and seemed indifferent to the fate of her friends.

‘Will you do me the honour?’

Her train of thought was interrupted as Major Renin blocked her view. Anna glanced down at her programme, trying to think of an excuse.

‘I’m afraid Miss Brianski promised me this waltz.’

She heard Nicholas’s voice before she could alter her expression and was still frowning as he took the card and slipped it into his pocket. As Major Renin turned away abruptly, Nicholas gave her his arm and steered her through the crush onto the dance floor.

He placed one hand lightly in the centre of her back so the top of his gloved fingers touched her bare skin and Anna felt her heart beat faster. Nicholas Bulgarin danced well and knew it, guiding her fluently in time with the music. The pressure of his hand never altered as he took long, smooth steps and Anna followed his lead, her feet in their satin shoes moving lightly over the parquet. As he swung her round, she was carried away by the magic of the waltz – the brilliant, kaleidoscope of swirling dresses, diamonds in serpentine flashes and small white-gloved hands placed on the epaulettes of officers. Nicholas whirled her around the floor and she forgot Olga and the ominous presence of the tsar. Her supple figure matched his movements until she felt she was floating, her feet hardly touching the ground. From the freshness of her smile and luminous eyes, it might have been her very first ball. The tall, dark-haired man and the beautiful young woman caught the attention of onlookers and by the time the music stopped Anna was breathless.

‘It was worth waiting for the pleasure,’ Nicholas said in his languid voice as they left the floor. ‘And only just in time. I leave for Moscow tomorrow.’

‘Is Olga going with you?’

Anna hoped to sound casual but his eyes gleamed. ‘She’s staying in St. Petersburg, at least for now. Why? Do you wish to call on her in my absence?’

Despite his sarcastic tone, it was on the tip of Anna’s tongue to ask about Olga’s future plans but, as they approached her parents, Count Brianski stepped forwards.

‘Good evening, Nicholas Petrovich,’ he said with a formal bow before he turned to Anna, signalling his disapproval with a distracted wave of his hand. ‘That’s enough dancing, Anna. I don’t want you making a spectacle of yourself this evening.’

Anna was about to protest but caught her mother’s eye and kept quiet. Old Princess Volkonsky approached and accosted Nicholas, taking him by the arm to prevent him walking away. Was she asking him about Sergei? In any case, he was no longer paying attention. Following his gaze, Anna saw a woman in a blue dress rise from a table at the far end of the room. She walked with a smooth, swaying step, smiling as she inclined her head to the guests who separated to make way for her. Her bare shoulders glowed like marble and her golden hair was arranged in curls. Anna recognised her with a shock. She was the woman who had been with Nicholas in Sadovaya Street, and she was coming straight towards them.

‘Princess Elizaveta’s married to the tsar’s cousin, Prince Dimitri Romanov,’ Valentina whispered, curtsying and indicating to Anna to do the same.

Princess Elizaveta’s eyes were dark and framed by long lashes under slender eyebrows. She wore a diamond badge of honour pinned to her sash, the insignia of lady-in-waiting to the tsarina. Anna watched in suspense as she held out her gloved hand to Nicholas. As he lifted it to his lips with graceful familiarity, she hastily cast her eyes down. How many people here tonight were aware that the princess was his mistress? Was it common knowledge or was she the only one?

‘I really must have a chair.’ Princess Volkonsky announced as Princess Elizaveta drew the small group into the conversation. Anna was mesmerised. She noticed how relaxed Princess Elizaveta was, addressing Nicholas as if he were no more than a casual acquaintance. They were both well practised in this charade, she thought as she turned her head to look at Nicholas. For an instant, his expression was unguarded and the devouring hunger in his eyes made her heart tighten. For the first time in her life, Anna felt the power of physical desire. A wave of heat travelled down her neck and shoulders, into her dress until every part of her burned. ‘Nicholas and Olga are Tatars. They’re different from us.’ She blushed as Maria’s words came back to her. Beneath their polished sophistication, the Bulgarins were as wild and savage as tigers – beautiful and dangerous in equal measure.

The heat was suddenly oppressive. Anna raised a hand in the air and caught the attention of a page carrying a tray of champagne flutes. She drank one too quickly, hiccupping as she replaced the glass on the tray. Princess Romanov and Nicholas had moved on, and guests were forming groups as they waited for the tsar to lead them into dinner. Prince Gagarin was talking to her parents before a gong sounded and the tsar strode forwards.

At almost exactly the same moment, there came shouts and the sound of jingling harnesses from the courtyard below. Anna was close enough to the window to get a clear view as four troikas swept in through the gates. They were escorted by a detachment of mounted Cossacks and came to a halt in front of the entrance. Huddled together between gendarmes were convicts with heads bowed and fettered in chains. Anna stifled a cry. She didn’t need to see their faces. The two men she loved most in the world were in the front troika. The prisoners had been brought here to be paraded in front of all St. Petersburg society. So, this was the reason they had been invited – to witness the disgrace of their loved ones as they set off on their journey into exile.

Now, other guests were moving to the windows, pushing and shoving to get past her. Anna felt Michael’s hand on her wrist, trying to pull her away. She shook him off, freeing herself and twisted around. She must get to Sasha and Peter. Somehow, she would speak to them. Without a second thought, she forced her way through the melee, hastened across the deserted ballroom and ran down the long gallery. Afraid she might be followed, she kept glancing over her shoulder until she was in sight of the great staircase where the Chevaliers stood guard.

She slowed to a walk. She would have to go right past them and must appear composed. She collected herself, patting her hair and checking it was in place before tiptoeing cautiously forwards. As she came to the stairwell landing, Nicholas Bulgarin stepped out in front of her.

‘Where the devil do you think you’re going?’ His voice was swift and rough.

Anna was too startled to answer. She gave him a blank stare and tried to walk past, but he caught hold of her arms, gripping them above her elbows.

‘I want to see Sasha! Take your hands off me!’ she hissed at him.

‘Are you insane?’

‘The prisoners are in the courtyard. I must speak to Sasha.’

‘A public scene’s the last thing your brother needs. Any display of loyalty is dangerous.’

‘I will see him. I will!’ Anna’s voice rose.

‘For God’s sake, keep your voice down. Pull yourself together.’

The force of his command jarred Anna into silence. Nicholas let go and her arms dropped to her sides. She was trembling, her eyes full of tears.

He took a handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to her. ‘Wipe your eyes and blow your nose. Then I’ll escort you back to the reception.’

Anna blew her nose and looked at him imploringly.’ I just want to say goodbye. Please come with me.’

If Nicholas escorted her downstairs, no one would stop them. She wouldn’t cause a scene or embarrass him. She would get her cloak herself. He didn’t even need to go outside. Anna waited for him to relent but there was no concession in his face. When he shook his head, she made a lunge to get past and his arm went round her waist. She struggled wildly, beating his chest with her fists, and his hand went over her mouth. Muffling her screams of rage and despair, he lifted her off her feet and carried her back to the gallery.

Nicholas sat down so Anna was pressed to his chest, writhing in his lap. She bent and twisted her body until she thought her lungs would burst, but he would not let go.

‘Calm down. Your brother and Captain Dashkovy won’t die. I’ve made sure of that.’ He removed his hand from her mouth. ‘Listen to me…’

He held her so tightly that dizziness swept her and she couldn’t breathe. His voice was thin and faraway, his face swirling in a sickening mist until she no longer saw Nicholas or anything else. She had no strength to fight and was sinking into empty space. Was she dying? Was this how it felt when your time came? Lord, have mercy. Her last thought was a prayer before she fainted.