The Rebel Daughters

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

T hey had left St. Petersburg shrouded in fog and arrived in Moscow on a morning of frost and dazzling sunshine. For five days the sleigh had raced southwards, changing horses every six hours and stopping only at night. Omelko and Jacob stayed in post houses while Sofia and Anna slept in the dormeuse. When they finally came in sight of their destination, they saw a city dominated by the towering domes of the Kremlin. On the skyline were spires of churches, their gilded cupolas and golden crosses gleaming in the sunlight.

Anna had been five when Napoleon invaded Russia. She had grown up on stories of how Muscovites set fire to their beloved city so that Bonaparte was forced into retreat and his army decimated by the fierce Russian winter. It was still being rebuilt and piles of brick and mortar blocked the pavements. Many houses had been destroyed but the gilded roofs, brightly-coloured onion domes and fretted minarets were as beautiful as she had imagined.

The river Moskva wound sinuously through the streets and, in contrast to the vast scale of St. Petersburg, the old capital seemed like a rambling, overgrown village. The streets swarmed and jostled with people from every part of the world. Western dress was predominant but Anna saw bearded muzhiks in bast slippers and long kaftans, Russians in fur coats, Greeks in red fezzes and Persians in high conical hats. The variety of costumes gave an impression of flourishing commerce and beside the roads were stalls selling apples, herrings and lemons along with woollen clothes and artefacts. Boys carried wooden trays of meat on their heads and men with buckets of pickles and black bread provided food for peasants who came in from in the countryside to sell their wares. Moscow epitomised the colourful, chaotic heart of Russia, Anna thought. Here, where Europe met Asia, it was a city of the east and not the west.

As they crossed the river, church bells began to peel, then the chimes of a great clock over the Spassky Gate. They drove past the red and yellow brick walls of the Kremlin, down the Tversky Boulevard, and Sofia pointed out Princess Zinaida’s home.

‘Once he’s dropped me off, Omelko will drive you here, then return to stable the horses with us and rest for a few days.’

Anna’s heart sank. With its great portico and high walls, the palace was stern and imposing. Would Princess Zinaida want her to stay, if Maria wasn’t in residence? The idea of turning up unexpectedly, unwashed with her hair undone, was inconceivable. Anna simply didn’t have the nerve. Count Bulgarin’s address was in her pocketbook and she determined she would try there first.

An hour later, having unloaded Sofia’s luggage and said goodbye, the dormeuse lumbered in the direction of Vozdvizhenka Street. What kind of reception would she receive after their last meeting? It was crucial that Nicholas didn’t suspect her motives. She must explain her situation shrewdly, not let him make assumptions, and speak only of Sofia and Sasha.

Residences away from the centre were set further apart with large snow-covered gardens and they came to a halt outside a white house with a green roof. Anna looked out as Omelko let down the steps, and saw a well-dressed man come out of the front door. It wasn’t anyone she knew, but she flushed with embarrassment. What must she look like in her crumpled, travel-worn clothes? For a moment, she hesitated, then she squared her shoulders and walked with Omelko to the front porch.

‘You will stay at Count Pavel’s establishment. I’ll send you a message in a few days. Thank you, Omelko. Thank you for being my good friend. Please don’t wait.’

The coachman put down her bag and looked at her with doleful eyes. He’s ashamed of me, Anna thought, and I don’t blame him. Omelko returned to the carriage and she stood under the porch, a slim figure in her high-collared red coat with her cape over her shoulders. The Bulgarin house did not appear grand or ostentatious, but she was apprehensive. It was a relief when the door opened and she recognised the hall porter from St. Petersburg.

‘Good afternoon, Liev. Please could you tell Count Bulgarin that Miss Anna Brianski is here?’

‘Good afternoon. Shall I bring in your luggage?’ If he was surprised, Liev gave no sign of it.

‘Yes please. Is the count at home?’

‘Not at the moment. We expect him back later this afternoon.’

‘May I help you?’ As Anna crossed the threshold into the hall, a tall woman came through curtains at the far end. ‘I’m Varenka Bulgarin, Nicholas’s aunt.’

Varenka Bulgarin was dressed in a house gown with an apron tied round her waist. She was a handsome woman, with blue eyes and wisps of grey hair slipping from beneath a turban. ‘You must be Olga’s friend, Anna Brianski! How lovely to meet you. When did you get here?’

‘Only this morning. I’m sorry to arrive unannounced but my arrangements fell through.’

‘Then you must stay here.’ Taking in Anna’s predicament at a glance, Varenka dispensed with polite formalities. ‘Liev, please ask Gina to prepare the garden bedroom and take up Miss Brianski’s bag. Come with me, my dear.’

Varenka Bulgarin had the same build and colouring as Nicholas but displayed none of his aloofness, and her welcome gave Anna confidence as she followed her into a sitting room. In the corner stood a square broad-wood piano and a line of unfinished canvasses were propped up against the skirting boards.

‘I gather you’re also an artist.’ Varenka gestured towards them apologetically. ‘Please forgive the mess. I work in a studio but bring my pictures in here to study them in a different light…’

This was her home, Varenka went on to explain, and Olga and Nicholas stayed with her when they were in Moscow. ‘Olga’s in St. Petersburg at the moment, so there’s plenty of room.’

‘Count Bulgarin is home early.’ Liev appeared at the doorway. ‘I suggested he wait in his study so that you could speak to him in private.’

‘Very well. Please tell him I’ll be there directly.’ Varenka’s gaze turned to Anna. ‘Don’t be concerned, Miss Brianski. I’ll explain everything to my nephew. Take your time to refresh yourself. Liev will show you to your room.’

*

There was no sign of Varenka when Anna came downstairs an hour later. Her bedroom was simple and comfortable, with a view of the garden. There was water to wash and Gina had unpacked her few possessions. Anna took off her coat and heavy boots, and checked her jewellery was safe. Her blue jacket was fitted to emphasise her small waist and she tied her hair back with a matching ribbon. Crossing the room, she checked her appearance in the glass. Her face was pale and pinched with exhaustion. Perhaps, her waif-like appearance would arouse sympathy in Count Bulgarin.

Liev was in the hall and showed her to Nicholas’s study. He was standing at a writing desk with his dog lying at his feet and turned round as Anna entered.

‘Thank you, Liev.’ He drew up two chairs and beckoned to her. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Brianski. Do sit down.’

Nicholas’s took her hand briefly before he lounged back in a seat opposite her. ‘I didn’t expect to see again so soon after our last encounter. What’s it this time? Have you run away from home?’

His acerbic tone made her bridle, but Anna kept her voice level. ‘Is that what your aunt told you?’

‘Varenka tells me you arrived in Moscow with nowhere to stay. I drew my own conclusions. I’m intrigued to know how you managed it.’

‘I came with my sister-in-law, Sofia. She’s staying with her family.’

‘And they want nothing to do with the Brianskis. Why didn’t you go to Maria Volkonsky?’

Nicholas wasn’t going to make it easy and Anna hated being in a position where he had the advantage. She longed to snap at him but forced herself to smile instead. ‘That was my original plan; only Princess Volkonsky hasn’t yet arrived in Moscow.’

Nicholas flicked open an enamelled box on the desk and took a pinch of snuff, inhaling in one nostril and then the other. ‘How did you obtain the necessary travel permits?’

‘I took the place of Sofia’s maid and used her papers.’

‘So, you and Madame Brianski cooked up this adventure between you. Do your parents know where you are?’

‘Yes…’

‘And they gave you their blessing?’

‘Not exactly…’ Anna gripped her hands together, quelling an urge to tell a downright lie. ‘They didn’t know beforehand… I left a letter for them. We exchanged places on the way out of St. Petersburg.’

‘Hence no luggage. Do you have any money?’

‘I have my jewellery. It will raise enough to cover all my expenses.’

‘I respect your resourcefulness, Anna Ivanova.’ His voice mingled admiration with irony so she couldn’t tell if he was laughing at her or serious. ‘Do you intend to stay in Moscow for long?’

‘Until we have everything ready for the journey. Sofia’s with child and I’m going to accompany her to Siberia.’

Anna thought nothing could shock him, but his eyebrows went up and he seemed genuinely surprised.

‘Surely, Madame Brianski can find herself another, more experienced companion –especially in her condition?’

‘Sofia wants me with her.’ Her mouth felt dry and Anna passed her tongue over her lips. ‘I promised Sasha I would take care of her.’

Nicholas gave her long, penetrating look. Did he know what was in her mind? Anna looked down for fear of betrayal, but not swiftly enough, for his eyes narrowed.

‘And your motive is purely one of sisterly charity?’

‘I’m fulfilling my promise to my brother.’ The old irritation flared up and she replied hotly, ‘Is such an action beyond your understanding, sir?’

‘Not in the slightest. Indeed, your loyalty does you credit. Please look at me, Anna Ivanova.’ His voice was quiet and Anna raised her head. His expression was inscrutable but curiosity flickered in his eyes. ‘Can you reassure me that you no longer harbour any thoughts of romance?’

‘I came here because I need somewhere to stay, Count Bulgarin.’ Anna’s nails dug into her palms. ‘I didn’t expect to be faced with the Spanish Inquisition.’

‘May I come in?’ Varenka spoke from the door, her skirts rustling on the parquet floor. She took a seat beside Anna. ‘Tea is almost ready. Poor Miss Brianski must be starving.’

‘How very thoughtless of me,’ Nicholas responded with exaggerated politeness. ‘My aunt regards it our Christian duty to take you in, Miss Brianski, and I agree.’

‘It’s a terrible tragedy.’ Varenka took out a handkerchief and twisted it into a knot. ‘I weep for your family – and for poor Olga. I will travel north as soon as I can to be with her.’

‘Why doesn’t she come here?’ Anna asked.

‘Olga is presently in favour with the tsar,’ Varenka answered candidly. ‘She hopes her influence will persuade him to mitigate the sentences.’

‘But surely the tsarina has greater influence.’

‘The empress saved your brother and our friends from death,’ Nicholas intervened. ‘There’s no more she can do. The tsar will never forgive the Decembrists. He’s even gone so far as to declare their wives are widows and free to remarry.’

Anna stared at him in disbelief. ‘But that’s heresy! Sofia and Maria Volkonsky will never remarry. They hold God’s law above any other.’

‘And I respect their probity.’ Nicholas stood up and his dog trotted over, wagging its tail. ‘However, I advise you to think carefully before you travel further. Has the tsar given his word that any of you may return?’

‘He promised not to punish the families of Decembrists.’

‘Unless they take up their husbands’ cause.’

Anna felt the cold shock of being struck without warning. Was he suggesting that the women who followed their husbands would also be exiled for life? The tsar wouldn’t dare, she thought. Her fingers whitened as she gripped the arm of her chair and Varenka came hastily to her feet. ‘Enough of this gloomy talk. Come along now, both of you. We shall have tea and speak of brighter matters.’

*

‘These are excellent. You’ve that elusive talent to express personality.’

Anna was with Varenka Bulgarin in her studio the next morning. She had shown her sketchbook and was pleased with the compliment.

‘Now let me show you a drawing of mine. I trust you to be honest. I drew it a few years ago.’

Varenka handed Anna a silverpoint portrait of Olga and Nicholas. Olga looked no older than twelve. She was standing beside Nicholas who was in military uniform with a high crested cap. A smile played about his mouth and he looked relaxed. There was no trace of his usual arrogance and she searched for the right words. ‘It’s very good of them both. You portray them so naturally and silverpoint’s an unforgiving medium.’

As Varenka set up her easel, Anna wandered round the studio, stopping to look at different paintings. One in particular caught her attention. It was an ink illustration of a bear in a spiked collar, and she picked it up. ‘What’s this?’

‘I drew it for an article Nicholas submitted to the Journal of Russian Studies . He called it “An Empire in Chains”. Sadly, they refused to publish it.’

Nicholas had gone out for dinner the night before and Anna hadn’t spoken to him again. It was a provocative title and she was curious. ‘Is your nephew a true reformer?’ Varenka was mixing colours and, when she did not reply, Anna went on. ‘I know he’s very loyal to his friends. What I mean is, does he share their ideals?’

’Nicholas’s sympathies are absolutely with those of your brother and the Decembrists.’ Varenka put down her palette and looked at her with a straight, steady gaze. ‘His writing has the power to inspire and ignite change. It’s his contribution to the struggle against oppression. He believes serfdom will be abolished by influence rather than by revolution; that’s the only difference between them.’

Olga had been betrothed to a Decembrist. Now she was a favourite of the tsar. Nicholas shared the ideals of the rebels, yet his mistress was married to a Romanov. It was a confusing picture and Anna wanted to know more.

‘Nicholas Petrovich has a friend in St. Petersburg, Princess Elizaveta Romanov. Have you met her?’

‘Not yet. There are many women in Nicholas’s life – most of them married.’

‘He told me he doesn’t believe in romantic love.’

‘I don’t expect he does.’ Varenka turned back to her easel and picked up a brush. ‘Nicholas was fourteen when his parents died. It was an impressionable age. He rarely reveals his feelings. Olga, on the other hand, is an open, very loving person.’

Varenka was concentrating on her painting and Anna was glad she couldn’t see her face. She looked out of the window to the branches of fir trees bowed down with snow and was uncertain how to answer.

‘I was so happy when she found love with Peter Dashkovy,’ Varenka continued. ‘Did you know they were engaged to be married? The poor child is utterly heart-broken.’