5
S ynnovea’s slender feet fairly flitted down the stairs the next morning. She had given up all pretense of being indisposed for another day. having come to the decision that she wasn’t particularly fond of being roasted alive. She doubted that even the cleric’s stodgy instructions could be as punishing as the hellish discomfort she had endured in the solitude of her chambers. Thus, with a lighthearted ambiance and a newfound tolerance for Ivan Voronsky, Synnovea swept into the dining hall and smiled cheerily as she extended a morning greeting to the man.
Ivan had entered only a few moments earlier, but it seemed as if he had devised his strategy well in advance of her appearance, for he nearly stumbled over himself skittering around to a place where he could bar her departure from the room, no doubt fearing she’d be tempted to escape like an errant child once he confronted her. When she picked up a plate and went to the sideboard, he followed with his own platter and heaped the morning fare upon it.
“This morning, Countess, we shall address the value of humility and self-denial,” he announced, licking sauce from his thumb.
Slanting a glance toward his overflowing plate, Synnovea couldn’t resist a smiling query. “Self-denial in what respect, sir?”
Ivan sniffed arrogantly. “Well, to begin with, in your manner of dress.”
Synnovea thought he looked very dour and supercilious in his dark vestment, which he obviously considered appropriate for the seriousness of his duties. But then, he probably would have conveyed an identical demeanor if he wore nothing at all, not that she was at all interested in having her suspicions confirmed. If fate decreed that she should again be shocked by the sight of a naked man, then she’d just as soon he be a far more worthy specimen, someone with a physique as notable as Colonel Rycroft’s but with handsomer features.
Synnovea lifted her own dish aside and looked down at her sarafan of turquoise silk, wondering what Ivan had found to fault her for this time. Considering the fact that she was adequately covered from neck to toe to wrist and clad in the traditional manner of her homeland, she had difficulty understanding the cleric’s objection. “Is there something wrong with what I’m wearing?” she inquired, her curiosity piqued. She was beginning to suspect that he’d be averse to anything she wore. “Is this not the proper attire of a Russian boyarina? ”
“Somewhat reminiscent of a peacock, I would imagine. Indeed, a bit too colorful to be considered demure. No modest maiden should strut about like some pretty hen in her finery.”
Synnovea played the innocent, disinclined to accept his assessments with the same appreciation that Anna might have displayed, though she seriously doubted the man would have offered such criticisms to the princess. One did not wisely bite the hand that nourished him. “I thought peacocks were male birds. Or do you mean peahens? They, of course, don’t have much finery, not like peacocks.”
“That’s strictly beside the point!” Ivan snapped in an indignant huff. “And as a young maid and now a student of mine, you’ll have to learn to show proper respect to your savants and be humble of both spirit and mode. After all, the tsar is looking for a bride, and who is to say what maid he will finally select.”
Synnovea promptly rejected such a notion. “With all due respect to His Majesty, sir, I have no wish to be subjected to the intrigue and jealousies associated with that particular position. I’m quite content living my life outside the confines and stricture of a terem and avoiding the fear of what potion might be added to my food. His Majesty has suffered much in trying to find a bride, but not as much as his wife will have to once he marries.”
Ivan eyed her narrowly, trying to plumb her logic. “What do you mean?”
Casually Synnovea settled herself in a chair at the table. “Maria Khlopova was once Tsar Mikhail’s prospective bride, and look what happened to her.”
Ivan took a seat nearby, placing his heavily laden plate before him. In his opinion, his student needed to be given an example of what might befall a woman full of wiles and deceit. “Maria was undone because, in her eagerness to become tsarina, she sought to conceal her illness from Tsar Mikhail. If not for her untimely collapse into violent and convulsive frothing in front of His Majesty and his guests, she might have accomplished her deception. Sending the Khlopovs to Siberia was hardly punishment enough for the trickery they planned.”
Synnovea stared at the man, rather amazed by his lack of knowledge. Apparently the more recent occurrences at court had escaped his attention. “Oh. but didn’t you hear? Shortly after his return from Poland, Patriarch Filaret uncovered a plot by the Saltykovs to discredit Maria Khlopova and her family. It seems that several members of the Saltykov family had doused Maria’s food with an emetic and then bribed the attending physicians to spread the lie that she had an incurable illness. Patriarch Filaret learned of their subterfuge and told his son. That’s why His Majesty has recently banished the Saltykovs from court and confiscated some of their lands.” Synnovea heaved a sigh. “Though it’s done poor Maria little good now,”
“But the Saltykovs are relatives of Tsar Mikhail’s mother,” Ivan argued. “Marfa would never abide such an edict against her kin, even from her son. You must be mistaken.”
Synnovea allowed him the benefit of a kindly smile. “That’s exactly why Marfa now staunchly refuses to give her consent to her son’s marriage to Maria Khlopova. She was positively in an uproar over his treatment of her kin.” Briefly Synnovea addressed her attention to her plate before lifting her gaze to the dumbfounded man. Though wisdom pleaded caution, the opportunity to subtly suggest that her knowledge equaled or even surpassed his was far too tempting to resist. It would only be a gentle gibe. “Do you suppose you’ve had enough instruction for the day, Ivan? I do so wish to visit the Countess Andreyevna this morning ere it gets too warm. Perhaps we could continue our discussion on the morrow.”
Ivan’s pockmarked cheeks reddened profusely as he lowered his gaze to his food. He resented being mocked and made to appear the simpleton, especially by the Countess Synnovea. whose sire had been rich enough to hire the best sages and master tutors to instruct his daughter, while he, Ivan, had found it necessary to grovel and abase himself with menial tasks in order to acquire every bit of learning he could, all in an effort to crush those reviling jeers that still haunted him from his youth. After his mother’s death, he had attached himself to the starets and the priests of the church, shared their paltry meals and tattered robes, merely for the purpose of learning the written word and delving into their weighty tomes and ancient archives. Now, having obtained a rich patroness of influential standing, he wasn’t about to be generous to those who had known only a life of ease. He wouldn’t allow this fine feathered bird to flit about in carefree abandon after making sport of him. Either she’d learn to be respectful of his importance and mastery…or else.
“On the contrary. Countess, you may not be excused today or any other day unless it is by my recommendation.”
Ivan turned from her as if in stern rebuke, but it was a ruse to protect himself from the curiosity of those green-brown eyes, which had widened in stunned surprise. Once again he became a helpless victim of a nervously twitching eyelid and of hands that trembled violently enough to spill liquid from any glass he dared hold while in the midst of those damnable afflictions. From the deepest, darkest recesses of his boyhood memories came haunting visions of his mother standing over him with lips turned sharply downward in contempt as she shouted hateful insults at the little bastard she had whelped. Though he had tried countless times to scour those distressing apparitions from his heart and brain, he was nevertheless tormented by the seizure they evoked.
The demoralizing spasm finally passed, and Ivan drew a steadying breath before facing the maiden. She had congenially addressed her attention to the meal, seeming completely undisturbed by his denial. Her lack of concern was hardly gratifying. Indeed, it was like sharp fangs gnawing at him. He yearned to taste the sweet succor of revenge and devised a plan to make her pay twofold.
Ivan’s thin lips stretched stiffly into a sneer. “It has come to my attention. Countess, that there are duties in the kitchen to which you can devote yourself instead of wasting your time associating with such questionable creatures as the Countess Andreyevna.”
Aghast at his slight of her friend, Synnovea leaned back in her chair and stared at him with eyes that now flashed fire. It seemed there was no sentiment that Ivan and the princess didn’t share. “Countess Andreyevna is a woman of sterling character, sir. Knowing her as I do, I can offer you hearty assurances to that fact.”
Ivan scoffed. “I’ve been to one of those receptions she gives. Rich boyars and high-ranking officers. Her reasons are obvious to everyone. A widow after three husbands, she’s just searching for one rich enough to keep her wallowing in luxuries from now until she dies.”
Synnovea recognized the slander to which Anna had given voice two days past. Yet she also sensed Ivan’s spitefulness, no doubt elicited by her own foolishness in taunting him. He was perhaps hoping to provoke her wrath by maligning Natasha, but Synnovea vowed not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her defeated by his little ploys. “The kitchen, you say? Well, of course. What would you have me do there that I should consider part of my studies?”
“You need to learn the humbleness of a servant before you’ll ever be considered suitable for the institute of marriage by any Russian gentleman. Princess Anna has given me leave to instruct you as I see fit, and my first order of the day will be to teach you about the ignoble concept of servitude and the hardships of serfs and peasants.” His small eyes flicked over her costly garb, losing none of their dullness. “I’m sure you’ll want to change into something less ostentatious now that you’ll be working in the kitchen.”
“Then, if you’ll excuse me,” Synnovea begged graciously, “I must return to my chambers to prepare myself, as you suggest.” Smiling all the while, she rose and removed her plate from the table. What the cleric evidently didn’t understand was that she had not only served as mistress of her father’s house after the death of her mother, but she had often worked alongside some of the servants, especially when close attention to detail had been needed in preparing the house for guests or cooking special dishes for visitors or her father. She had taken personal delight in helping the gardeners. She had loved nurturing the flowers, herbs, and vegetables and seeing their labors manifested into food for the table and large, riotously colored blooms that she had often arranged in vases and brought inside. If Ivan thought he had gained some leverage by ordering her to work, then once again he had displayed his ignorance.
Ivan grew suspicious of her obliging mien. “If you think to barricade yourself in your chambers again today, Countess, I beg you to reconsider. Princess Anna will never allow you to dawdle when I’ve assigned you specific duties.”
“Why, I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.” Synnovea tossed a chiding chuckle over her shoulder as she went to the door. “Really, Ivan,” she said, deliberately using the familiarity to impart her own lack of veneration for him. “there’s no need for you to sulk or fret yourself about my intentions. I’m only taking your advice.”
The winds of glee, which had momentarily filled Ivan’s sails, collapsed into dully hanging shrouds of disappointment. The very least he had been expecting was the angry outburst of a thoroughly irate female.
Synnovea returned to her chambers and doffed her attire. In its stead she donned the peasant garb she normally wore when she lent herself to household duties. Her abrupt return had ignited Ali’s suspicions, but the change of garments solidified them. Synnovea soon found herself confronted by the servant, and though she carefully explained that her assignment now included a short stint in the kitchen and that it was a more enjoyable task than suffering through Ivan’s lectures, Ali was simply outraged at the audacity of the cleric.
“What! Does that toad take it upon himself ta order ye ’bout as if’n ye be some common drudge? Well, I say a pox on the man!”
“I’ll be doing nothing more than what I did at home,” Synnovea reasoned, trying to calm the maid, who, despite her bantam size, was given to exhibitions of temper and temerity befitting a mother bear whose cub had just been set upon. “It won’t hurt me in the least, I assure you.”
“Aye, me dearie, but ’twas yerself decidin’ the chores ye’d be doin’, not another givin’ ye commands like some high-an’-mighty lordlin’.” Ali flounced about the chambers in a high dander. “That toad’ll rue the day he set his mind ta doin’ ye ill, that he will!”
“Ali McCabe! I forbid you to give Ivan or Princess Anna the satisfaction of seeing us put out by his peevish bent! We’ll abide by Ivan’s dictate as graciously as we can, do you understand?” Receiving no response, Synnovea stamped her foot, demanding to be answered by the cantankerous little woman, “Ali! Do you understand?”
Petulantly the maid folded her arms across her flat chest and pouted, not in total agreement with her mistress. “He’s a beggarly scamp, that he is.”
Synnovea had difficulty maintaining a disapproving frown when the temptation to laugh was all but overwhelming, but she raised a warning finger in front of the woman’s nose. “I want you to promise me, Ali McCabe, that you’ll do all that you can to keep the peace while we’re here.”
Ali glared at the threatening digit and assumed her best martyred demeanor. Briefly she cast her eyes heavenward as if appealing to the saints and sucked air through her teeth to indicate her deep distress. Finally, with a wry shake of her head, she grudgingly relented. “Aye, I’ll be doin’ it ’cause ye told me ta, but ’twill not sit well, ye know that!”
Synnovea chuckled softly as she laid a comforting arm about the woman’s narrow shoulders and copied her brogue. “Aye, I know that, Ali, me dearest, but ’twill be better this way. Mayhap by a bit o’ kindness, we’ll be turnin’ aside their resentment.”
“That’ll be the day, for sure! Aye! Though the priests assured me miracles have a way o’ happenin’ e’en today, I still have me doubts that ye can gather wool searchin’ through a wolf’s lair.”
Her eyes sparkling with amusement, Synnovea dared to point out the error in the tiny woman’s thinking. “Perhaps you might if that’s all that’s left of the carcass the wolf has dragged in.”
Ali paused with mouth aslack. considering the truth of her mistress’s reasoning. Finally she heaved a sigh of lament. “But that bodes ill for ye, me lamb.”
“Help me finish dressing,” Synnovea sweetly urged. “Then you can put away my clothes while I go downstairs and confront the cook.” She paused to consider the wisdom of Ivan’s decree. “Poor Elisaveta. she may be in for a bit of a shock. She’ll be so nervous with a boyarina working in the kitchen, she might well burn the food.”
“’Twouldn’t hurt none if she did,” Ali rejoined tartly. “The way that crow Ivan’s been fillin’ his craw since he come ta Nizhni Novgorod, it’ll serve him right ta have ta choke down burnt vittles for a while.”
As predicted, Elisaveta. the sad-eyed cook, gawked in open astonishment when Synnovea entered her domain dressed not entirely like a servant, but not quite like a noble lady either. Her apparel might have put even Ivan’s morose convictions on servitude to rout, for her white, lace-trimmed blouse, bodice of forest green, and wide white apron decorated with variegated rows of trim and worn over a dark skirt lavishly embroidered with a colorful profusion of flowers, created a very fetching costume. Layers of lacy petticoats gave the skirt volume. Beneath the ankle-length hem could be spied slender, slippered feet and darkly stockinged ankles as trim and shapely as a man could hope to view. A large, lace-edged kerchief covered her dark head, and the single braid was left to hang unadorned to her hips.
“Countess!” Elisaveta cried, clearly flustered. “What be ye doin’ here?”
“I’ve come to help, Elisaveta,” Synnovea announced cheerily. “Is there something I can do?”
“Nyet! Nyet, spaseeba!” the plump woman squawked and waved her hands wildly above her head, as if sorely beset by worry. She had never heard of anything so preposterous! “The princess will never allow such a thing! You’re a guest!”
“But I would very much like to learn how to create those wonderful dishes you’re so gifted at making, Elisaveta, so I might instruct my own servants once I return home.” Giving the woman a pleading look, she coaxed. “Will you not teach me?”
The cook waggled her graying head as a tentative smile touched her lips. It finally deepened into a grin that dimpled her round cheeks. Tucking her massive arms under the folds of her apron. Elisaveta snuggled them up close beneath her large bosom, pleased with the lady’s compliments. “I can show ye what little I know, Countess.”
“Then I’ll surely learn all there is to be taught about cooking,” Synnovea smilingly surmised. “What will you show me first?”
“Well, this be what I’m doin’ now,” Elisaveta announced as she waddled over to a long wooden table where she had been cleaning and heaping up separate mounds of carrots, onions, truffles, and wild mushrooms “When I finish chopping these, I’ll be making pirozhki . The master likes the little stuffed patties very much.”
Synnovea glanced up at the woman. “Will Prince Aleksei be here this evening?”
“Oh, he’s usually not gone more’n a day or two.” Elisaveta sighed heavily. “If not for him, there’d be no need for me to cook. The mistress eats less than a sparrow when the master’s here and almost nothing at all when he’s gone. It’s a pity to see all this food go to waste.”
“Surely there are enough servants in the household to eat whatever isn’t served at your master’s table,” Synnovea ventured as she perused the various boiling pots and the large bowl of dough that waited to be rolled out.
The gray head moved sorrowfully. “ Nyet , it’s forbidden.”
“Forbidden? How so?”
“The mistress won’t allow the servants to eat what’s been prepared for her and those what sit at her table,” Elisaveta explained. “It would spoil their taste for simple food, she says. There’re so many others who could benefit, if only….”
The jade-brown eyes chased to the glum-faced woman. Elisaveta hastily brushed a hand across her cheek, wiping away a tear that trickled slowly downward.
Synnovea felt her own heart wrenched by the sadness of so much food going to waste when, without extra cost to the Taraslovs, a goodly number could be helped by it. Sharing in the woman’s misery, she laid a gentle hand upon the stout arm. “Do you know of someone in particular who’s in need. Elisaveta?”
The cook’s chin trembled despite her efforts to keep it firm. “It’s my sister. Countess. Her husband died this past winter, and she’s poor in health. She has a young daughter of three at her side, but she cannot work to make ends meet. They’re wasting away to nothing, and here I be, in this fine house, cooking all this fine food, but I’m forbidden to take anything to her. I cannot even leave to help her.”
“Well!” Synnovea settled her hands on a waist that was narrow enough to be envied. If this was the state of affairs in the Taraslov manse, then she wouldn’t sit quietly by and do nothing. “I have a maid I can send to buy food and whatever else is needed, and a coachman to take her to your sister. Though I may not be allowed to leave without special permission”—Synnovea gave a small shrug as Elisaveta glanced up in surprise—“they won’! trouble themselves overmuch about the absence of my maid.”
“You mean you can’t leave here without me mistress giving you the say?” the cook questioned in amazement.
“I’m sure ’tis only for my protection,” Synnovea responded with a comforting pat on the servant’s arm.
“Hmph!” Elisaveta drew her own conclusions as she cast a glare toward the kitchen door, intending it for the woman who roamed well beyond it. She had once been employed by the family who had given birth to the Princess Anna and long ago had formed definite opinions about the woman who had sent her own aging parents to live in a monastery because she preferred to live alone with her husband in the house in which she had grown up. Even when the princess had moved to Moscow, she had not allowed her parents to return home lest they disturb the order of the home place.