Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
A nna was preoccupied as she looked out of the window on her way to the Volkonsky palace the next day. For three years Peter had been the centre of her life and now he was gone. I loved him for so long, she thought, her heart swelling with misery. What do I do with all my love? How can I suddenly stop and not think about him? Somehow, I must or I won’t be able to paint.
In an attempt to distract herself, Anna went over her conversation with Nicholas Bulgarin. He said government spies were watching Sasha and that he belonged to a secret society. Were these drinking clubs illegal? Until now, she’d had no knowledge of secret societies or anything like them. If only she understood more. Ladies were obliged to leave the room when men talked politics and she hated being ignorant. Had yesterday been different, there were many questions she would like to have asked Count Bulgarin. Had he read Pushkin’s inflammatory poem? Who was the infamous Pavel Pestel? And what was it about the radicals that so upset her father?
As they drove beside the river, she saw fishermen crouched over lines dropped through the ice into the water below. The temperature was well below freezing and they would be lucky to get a catch. She would send Omelko home while she was painting, Anna decided. The first sitting usually took a morning and he could return to collect her later. Mazra had packed her mahogany box with everything needed: porcelain mixing pans, washbowls, trays for brushes and blocks of pigment, along with her travelling easel. It would be a half-size portrait of mother and child, as informal and intimate as she could make it.
Arriving at the front gates, they picked their way gingerly over the snow that had fallen since the path was last cleared. Two footmen were waiting at the door and Mazra was taken to the staff quarters while a page escorted Anna upstairs to Maria’s apartments. He carried her equipment down the long gallery she remembered from her last visit. Her gaze passed over the portraits of the Volkonskys paraded along the walls. They looked an arrogant bunch, she thought, but Sergei was different from the rest of his family. He was courteous and kind. Maria had married the best of them.
The central chamber of the palace was a vast empty space with pillars of white marble and a mosaic floor. No fires had been lit and it was so cold that Anna could see her breath in front of her face. How anyone could live here in the winter was beyond comprehension and she kept on her furs until they came to Maria’s rooms.
Maria embraced her and introduced her to her baby boy, who played with his nurse on the floor as Anna set up her easel. To prevent it from cockling, she stretched the woven paper and pinned it the edges of a drawing board, then asked Maria to sit sideways to the window so that the light fell on her face.
‘Turn your head to look at me, as if I’ve just come into the room. Try not to move, if you can help it.’
Her friend looked happier than when they last met. Her eyes were bright, a smile touching her expression as Anna stood back to study her subject, absorbing the sweep of her eyelashes and lift of her cheekbones. Maria’s beauty was cool not warm, with her clear complexion and black hair and, more than any other feature, her eyes expressed her character. They were unusually unblinking and, around the outside of each iris, a dark grey ring drew the gaze as imperiously as the pronounced corners of her mouth.
Many of her sitters were apprehensive at the start, but Maria’s gaze was steady as Anna began by marking the connecting lines in pencil. It was crucial to get the proportions of the face correct – hairline to eyebrows, eyebrows to nose, nose to chin. Her practised eye took in the varying depths of colour, the contrast between glowing skin and the deep blue of the dress. Maria wore a gold bracelet at the cuff of her sleeve from which her thin, strong fingers emerged, adding emphasis to her hands.
Anna covered the marked paper with a pale wash and then went to pick up little Nicolenka.
‘He’s an angel. I hope I can do him justice,’ she said, sitting him on his mother’s lap. ‘Can you stay like that? I’ll do an outline first and add details and colour later.’
The little boy smiled obligingly, his plump hand reaching for the collar of his mother’s dress as he looked up at her. This was how she wanted it. The best portraits conveyed relationships. Anna kept to a soft line of charcoal, using her thumb to smudge the edges. When Nicolay become restless, she handed him back to the nurse and returned to work on Maria.
‘I saw Count Bulgarin yesterday.’ Anna concentrated on mixing the pigments and spoke nonchalantly. ‘I called at the house, hoping to catch Olga.’
‘And did you find him alone?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘There’s talk of his liaison with a certain lady of the court. Nicholas had better be careful with that one. She’s married to the tsar’s cousin.’ Maria spoke without moving her head. ‘Oh, Anna I’m sorry about the other day. I don’t know what got into me. I made up my mind Sergei no longer loved me – that he had someone else – and then he came home last night and told me everything. He’s involved in a secret mission for the tsar. That’s why he’s been distracted and away so much. I’m ashamed of myself for doubting him.’
So, the woman at Count Bulgarin’s home was a noblewoman. And she was his connection at court! If he was right, then Sergei had lied to his wife. Should she say something? But Nicholas Bulgarin might have been mistaken, in which case there was nothing to worry about. The Volkonsky family had always been staunch supporters of the tsar and she didn’t want to upset Maria. If Nicholas was unduly concerned, he could warn Sergei himself.
‘Please can I have a rest now?’
Anna stopped and Maria stretched out her arms, wriggling her wrists. ‘I must say, Olga’s betrothal to Peter Dashkovy is a surprise. Why, only last summer I thought she was going to marry Prince George Dulov.’
Anna’s stiffened, trying to keep her face a blank. She couldn’t bear another humiliation. Never, never must Maria know of her feelings for Peter, and she answered in a flat voice, ‘Apparently the captain’s been courting Olga for over two years. Count Bulgarin was most specific on the matter.’
‘Then her flirtation with the prince must have been a ruse to make Dashkovy jealous. Or maybe it was the other way around.’ Maria resumed her pose on the sofa, her intelligent eyes on Anna’s face. ‘I love Olga, but we cannot forget the Bulgarins are Tatars. They’re different from us. You never know what they’re thinking.’
Anna was thrown by the remark, but this was a critical moment. The picture demanded her total concentration as she began filling in the contours of Maria’s face, her thick black ringlets and the long line of her neck. Using a small sable brush, she painted her eyes below their distinctive black brows, her mouth and the oval line of her chin.
As she put down her brushes, Anna felt the fatigue she often experienced when starting a new work, and pressed her fingers to her forehead, trying to keep a headache at bay. She had been working for almost two hours, but the most difficult part was done. The composition was good, and the portrait should only take a couple more sittings. She would leave it for now and return tomorrow.
Maria took her through to her boudoir to tidy up and stood beside her as she washed her hands. As she took off her apron, Anna caught her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was drawn back in a net, but a few curls had escaped and straggled across her forehead. There was a smudge of blue paint on one cheek and dark shadows under her eyes.
‘You’re so talented, Anna,’ Maria said, ‘but too pretty be an artist all your life. Surely, some young man has captured your heart?’
‘No. Not really.’
‘What about Michael Pavel, Sofia’s adorable brother? He’s clever and charming. I’m convinced he has a crush on you.’
As they walked back to the nursery, Anna pondered Michael. She liked him but had never thought of him as a suitor. There were other young men whose company she enjoyed. If not for Peter, she might have chosen one of them. A ragged pain tore at her heart as she hugged Maria and then took her leave without delay. Wrapped in her furs, she walked behind the footman who escorted her downstairs. They returned the way they had come, through a series of salons, across the great hall and down the long gallery. As they came to the end, Anna heard footsteps on the flagstones behind her and glanced over her shoulder. She recognised Major Renin at once. He was wearing a full-length redingote, carrying a hat and cane, and, like her, was on his way out.
Boris Renin was the last person she expected to meet in the Volkonsky palace. Sergei and Maria had no time for him, yet he was without an escort and obviously familiar with the place. Anna expected him to stop and exchange a few words, but he walked past with no more than a curt nod of his head.
He must have been paying his respects to the dowager princess. Did Maria know that he came to visit her mother-in-law? There was something sinister about him being here. Could he be a government spy – one of those people Nicholas had spoken of? Boris Renin was an expert in flattery, but what could he hope to get out of Princess Volkonsky? Unless – the thought stopped Anna in her tracks – unless he had come to the palace for a specific purpose. If what Nicholas Bulgarin said was true, then Sergei Volkonsky was also under the surveillance of the secret police. Was Renin buttering up the old lady in order to extract information to use against her son?