The Rebel Daughters

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two

A nna read Sofia’s letter then folded it and put it back in the envelope. She was in the drawing room with Michael Pavel, waiting for Varenka to join them. He looked older, she thought, as he came in. The look in his eyes was unfamiliar – not anger or grief, but a bleakness that was new to her.

‘Sofia told me everything.’ Michael stood with his back to the window. ‘I never thought I’d live to see this day, dear Anna. You, my beloved sister, and Maria, being punished for an act of madness that had nothing to do with you.’

Anna did not answer. Being with him made her think of the happier times – of children’s parties and riding in the grounds of Tsarskoe Selo. Between them lay the bonds of family and friendship, memories of a childhood they had shared. It hurt to think of those beautiful days before the world had fallen apart. A few months ago, they had been young and full of hope. Now their lives were broken and they were like animals on the run, searching for somewhere safe to shelter. Nicholas said the revolution hadn’t been in vain – but what had it achieved except sorrow and loss? Had the Decembrists’ ideals been too lofty to consider what might happen to their loved ones?

Michael walked over to her and took her hands in his. ‘Promise me you’ll come back.’ He smiled but his expression was urgent. ‘I know Sofia will stay with Sasha once the baby’s born, but I beg you to return home. Your parents are distraught, Anna. I’d like to offer them some comfort when I get back to St. Petersburg.’

Looking into his clear brown eyes, Anna’s confidence was shaken. She had been so sure of her decision when she left St. Petersburg. Now, she felt like a wavering needle on a compass, being pulled from one gravity to another. Not knowing how to answer, she put her arms around him. Michael held her close with her head pressed into his shoulder and she felt a lump rise in her throat. He’s good man, she thought. In another life I might have loved him. I hope, whatever the future holds, he’ll always be my friend.

For a long moment, Anna let his warmth comfort her until, without warning, Michael wrenched himself out of her embrace. Bewildered by the suddenness of his action, she stared at him.

A sardonic voice spoke from the doorway. ‘Please forgive the interruption.’

Michael took a step backwards as Nicholas and Varenka walked into the room. Anna saw his hand go to his throat to straighten his cravat. He was mortified at being found with her, even as Varenka tried to put him at his ease.

‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Captain Pavel. Welcome to our home.’

‘How are you?’ Nicholas shook his hand. ‘Are you visiting Moscow with the tsar’s entourage?’

‘I came to see my sister and to say goodbye to Anna.’ Michael’s voice was compressed and he was obviously ill at ease. ‘I promised to be home by lunchtime.’

‘Do please stay a moment, Captain Pavel.’ Varenka held up her hand. ‘I’d like to offer Anna and Madame Brianski some advice.’ She paused, her calm blue eyes moving from Michael to Anna. ‘I’m worried about how you’re going to manage in Siberia. Have you seriously considered the difficulties you’ll face? Life will be completely different from anything you’ve experienced before. You’ll need to do everything for yourselves in the most difficult of circumstances. I think you should be prepared.’

‘I know how to cook,’ Anna retorted. ‘I spent my childhood in the kitchen.’

‘In a city where food is plentiful. Our cook comes from the Urals. Together we can teach you some simple, local dishes. And one of you should be able to sew and mend clothes.’

‘Sofia has been learning about medicine,’ Michael replied. ‘She’s convinced there are no doctors in Siberia.’

‘What about Maria Volkonsky?’ Anna asked pointedly.

‘From what I hear of Princess Volkonsky, she has the skill to negotiate with the devil – a most useful attribute in Siberia,’ Nicholas commented.

What was he thinking? Anna wondered, seeing the inquisitive look in his eyes as his gaze rested on Michael. ‘I’m acquainted with her cousin, Princess Zinaida Volkonsky. We’ve been invited to a soirée in her honour tomorrow evening. By all accounts Princess Maria is a remarkable lady and I look forward to meeting her.’

*

The windows of the palace blazed with light as carriages dropped off their passengers at the door. The sound of music reached them as they entered the hall and Nicholas offered Varenka and Anna each an arm as they mounted the carpeted staircase to the first floor.

Varenka had persuaded Anna to borrow a ballgown belonging to Olga. The green velvet suited her auburn hair but the style was too bold for her taste. Sleeveless and with a plunging neckline, it made her feel immodestly exposed. I’m like a pale imitation of Olga, she thought. If only Sofia and Michael were going to be here, but she knew their parents had refused to let either of them accept.

The inside of the palace was lavish with white columns and carvings covered in gold leaf on every trim and scroll. Splendid pieces of French furniture lined the walls beside glass-fronted bookcases packed with leather-bound volumes. Anna glanced at the titles as they walked past and saw works by Walter Scott and Shakespeare at the front. Flowering orange trees and hothouse plants in tubs filled the air with their scent and, between fine silk hangings on the walls, hung landscapes and portraits – at least four them of the late tsar.

‘Tsar Alexander was an intimate friend of Princess Zinaida’s,’ Varenka explained in a low voice as they approached the music room. ‘She married Volkonsky to stem gossip, but they remained close until the end. She’s one of the most cultured women in Russia and her salon the envy of every hostess in Moscow.’

Princess Zinaida stood by the door. She was a beautiful woman, with a long neck and soulful eyes, her face framed by curls and a feathered headdress.

‘I’m honoured to make your acquaintance, Miss Brianski.’ She gave Anna a warm smile, holding up her hand to stop her curtsying, and kissing her on both cheeks. ‘We’re privileged to have the company of such noble women with us this evening. Maria’s dying to see you. She’s waiting by the piano. Grigor, would you be so kind as to take Miss Brianski through?’

The princess’s companion, a slim tall man with dark hair, led the way to an elegant salon filled with statues and palms. A small orchestra was playing and the grand salon was full of people talking at tables or occupying armchairs. Waiters in blue livery and red slippers moved silently among the guest with trays laden with food, champagne and glasses of vodka. The far end was dominated by a grand piano, the rallying point of the room. Beside it sat Maria. She looked unusually flushed, Anna noted as she rose to embrace her.

‘I’m so glad you’re here, darling Anna. How are you? Sofia wrote to me that you’re staying with the Bulgarins.’

‘I’m well, thank you. I gather it’s been as hard on you as for Sofia. I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s over now.’ Maria sneezed and blew her nose. ‘I’m blessed to be here with Zinaida. Her tender care has warmed my heart. She shares my passion for music and has gathered the best talent in Moscow this evening. I hoped to take part but I have a touch of la grippe.’

Maria looked feverish. Her large, expressive eyes were bright and there was high colour in her cheeks. They spoke quietly and Anna held her hand until Maria was distracted by guests coming forwards to be presented. ‘Promise to stay for supper after the recital. We can talk again then.’

A queue of people stood in line and Anna looked around for Varenka and Nicholas. They were still by the entrance and she noticed how close Nicholas leant to Princess Zinaida, who was smiling at him. Was she another of his past conquests? She didn’t know why the idea piqued her as she began to make her way through the crush. She was halfway across the room, when someone called her name. As Anna stopped, a small gentleman with piercing blue eyes and dark curly hair stood right in front of her.

‘My dear Miss Brianski!” Alexander Pushkin exclaimed. ‘How wonderful to see you!’

Pushkin wore a frockcoat nipped in at the waist with a matching waistcoat and white silk cravat. His attention was like a spark of gunpowder. The intensity of his gaze seemed to make the air charge between them, and his magnetism left Anna speechless.

‘When we last met, you were a child and now you’re a beautiful woman.’ His voice was as soft as a caress. ‘I recall you had a precocious talent for drawing. So, what are you doing in Moscow?’

Anna swallowed and found her voice. ‘I’m here on my way to Siberia with my sister-in-law Sofia Brianski. My brother’s in exile, along with Sergei Volkonsky and Peter Dashkovy. I’m sure you remember them.’

A cloud passed across Pushkin’s face as he pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. ‘I have known the most prestigious youth of my time and your brother, Sasha Brianski, is one of the finest. I’m honoured to call him my friend. Volkonsky and Dashkovy are touched by arrogance. And yet they’re all heroes.’ He gave a long, meaningful sigh. ‘An arctic winter has taken hold of Russia and they alone keep the flame of freedom alive. I exult in admiration for their courage and the heroism of their women. Are you staying here with Maria? Not a day passes when I don’t think of her.’

‘I’m lodging with Count Bulgarin and his aunt. They brought me this evening.’

Anna’s gaze strayed over his shoulder to where Nicholas was still talking to Princess Zinaida. She was speaking in his ear and seemed to be asking him something. He hesitated, looking around the room, then catching sight of Anna, sauntered towards them.

‘I hear Bulgarin received a challenge from Prince Romanov and high-tailed it out of St. Petersburg.’ A querulous look came over Pushkin’s face. ‘An honourable man would have accepted.’

‘Is Count Bulgarin not honourable?’

‘I couldn’t possibly say. But he’ll be obliged to find himself a wife now. A fate that will come to us all one day.’ Pushkin clicked his tongue, as if scolding himself, then shrugged. ‘For all that, I respect Nicholas Bulgarin. He’s a clever fellow. Thinks with his head and not his heart.’

‘Good evening, Alexei Sergeyevich.’ Nicholas held out his hand to the poet.’ This is a fortunate coincidence. Anna Ivanova was moved to tears by your hero’s misdeeds. Please can you reassure her Eugene Onegin’s soul will be redeemed?’

‘I’ve no concept of the outcome.’ Pushkin’s eyes flashed with petty annoyance. ‘I’ll send a copy of the next instalment to Miss Brianski once it’s written. And now, I must attend to the reason I risk the tsar’s displeasure to be here this evening.’

The crowd parted, heads turning, as Pushkin walked over to Maria. He took her hand as he sat down and Princess Zinaida joined them at the piano. The first notes from a violin were played and two singers began to sing from a Mozart opera as Nicholas led Anna and Varenka to a table. Anna felt tears start in her eyes as she listened and saw how Maria applauded.

‘Again! Please sing that one once more. I may never hear it again!’

Her enthusiasm was plain for all to see and the aria was reprised, but the atmosphere was muted. Princess Zinaida tried to maintain an air of gaiety and singers performed songs from comic opera until most of the guests had departed. When only her closest friends remained, Maria played the piano and the Austrian ambassador sang from Don Juan . They tried to be cheerful but no one had the heart for merriment. Anna noticed how Pushkin stayed at Maria’s side without speaking, his expression grave as he gazed sadly into her face.

His silence was unusual, and Nicholas remarked, ‘Pushkin will always love the one woman he can’t have.’

‘Surely, that’s the case with most men?’ Anna retorted with flash of exasperation.

‘Most men are content with whoever they can manage without too much difficulty.’

He was being deliberately irritating and Anna pulled a face as he turned to speak with Varenka. Supper was brought in and a young man drew up a chair on her other side. He was elegantly dressed, his hair carefully smoothed and he seemed somehow familiar.

‘I’m John Lenkov. We used to play together as children.’

‘Why, of course! ‘Anna exclaimed as she recognised him.’ Forgive me, there are so many people here. Of course I remember you.’

The shy young man had grown tall and was good-looking with copper-coloured hair and a fine moustache. He had a charming smile and Anna was flattered by the admiration in his eyes.

‘How’s your sister Anastasia? I always thought she was wonderful.’

‘She’s married and lives in the country, but she’s as outrageous as ever! Her husband’s a veritable saint. I believe your neighbour, Count Bulgarin, is acquainted with him. Could you be kind enough to introduce us?’

Nicholas was talking to Varenka and Anna waited until the conversation turned. ‘John Lenkov is brother to Anastasia, who’s married to Rubin Marinsky. I think you may know of them?’

‘Indeed, they’re my closest neighbours and good friends. Your sister’s a remarkable lady and a first-class horsewoman. I’m travelling to Davinka tomorrow and hope to see them. Will they be at home?’

‘I believe so. Please reassure Anastasia I’m attending to my duties and there’s no need for her to worry.’

‘What kind of duties?’ Anna asked.

‘We breed pedigree Orlovs. I bring them to Moscow for sale.’

John Lenkov was delightful and Anna felt relaxed in his company. If his family had come through all this unscathed, she was glad for them. It was strange that she should come across Alexander Pushkin and John Lenkov here – two people she hadn’t seen since Kamenka. The memory of that summer cast long shadows over this evening’s sad gathering, she thought, as a bell rang and Pushkin came to his feet.

‘ Deep in the Siberian mines,

Keep your patience proud;

The bitter toil shall not be lost,

The rebel thought unbowed.’

Pushkin paused and sipped water from a glass. When he continued, his voice was on the point of breaking:

‘Heavy-hanging chains will fall,

Walls crumble at a word;

May freedom greet you in the light,

And give you back the sword.’

As Pushkin words faded like the mournful chords of a lament, no one spoke or clapped. His audience was silent as he sat down and when dinner ended, chairs were pulled back by footmen and guests came to their feet. Varenka gathered her fan and reticule from the table and John Lenkov stood up and spoke to her.

‘May I have your permission to call on Miss Brianski, ma’am? Where do you live?’

‘We live on Vozdvizhenka Street. You’re most welcome to visit us, sir – but don’t leave it too long. Anna may not be with us beyond next week.’