"I will have one, after so fine a beginning," she responded; Salomea
simpered. Zozia picked up her hand-mirror and looked at the way her hair was turning out. "It is really a pity that Minka had to be sent home. She has a real gift for dressing hair, and sewing." She sighed and lowered the mirror. "Still, I suppose this will do."
Salomea turned bright red but continued to work on fixing long hair-pins in place.
Saint-Germain felt a stab of sympathy for the young woman, but said nothing, not wanting to give Zozia any reason to reprimand her servant again. He bowed to Zozia, then went to the bench under the window, where he sat, waiting for Hroger to bring his case and for Gronigen to drive up to the door.
Text of a letter from Heer van Hoek to Arpad Arco-Tolvay, Hercegek Gyor, written in Dutch and delivered by messenger.
To the most respected Hungarian resident of Sankt Piterburkh, Arpad, Hercegek Gyor, the greetings and gratitude of Heer van Hoek of the care-house.
My dear Hercegek,
I have some good news to impart; this morning, for the first time since he was brought here, Yrjo Saari has been able to stand on his own, a vast improvement from when you saw him. His comrades, Paavo Lyly and Tapio Pyhajoki, have come daily to tend him, to see he is fed, and to minister to his needs, which has been of great benefit to him as well as to several of our other patients. Saari's fever is almost gone after only four days, and I am certain we have your sovereign remedy to thank for that. He continues to have pain, for which we have given syrup of poppies diluted in cognac, and that seems to be sufficient to calm the worst of his hurt. I am confident that in a few days he will be able to impart much more useful information than was the case when you tried to question him five days ago.
On the other hand, I am not convinced that he will be able to return to work anytime in the near future, and I am reluctant to inform the Czar's lieutenant of that. The deliberate dislocation of his shoulder has created some problems, as has the injury to his head. I doubt
he will regain his full vigor, and I am afraid that the motion of his arm will be restricted and its strength reduced. It may be that I am being pessimistic, and I very much hope that this is the case, but I would be less than forthright if I failed to mention these possibilities to you.
Kyril Yureivich Bolkov has told me that there have been men watching the care-house, We do not know who they are, or why they are watching us, but we thought that since you have been so kind as to visit us and contribute so generously to our work, you should be made aware of this observation, so that you may make any changes in your habits that may seem prudent to you. Given the two assaults you have endured, you may wish to keep your calls here to a minimum. Neither Ludmilla Borisevna Svarinskaya nor I would like to see your charity repaid with greater injury.
If I learn anything of use regarding these watchers, I will speedily inform you of all intelligence I have gleaned. In the meantime, I encourage you to be on guard, not only in your visits to this place, but in all your activities, for it is apparent to me that you stand at high risk for more violence, which is Saari's opinion, as well. If you will not engage a body-guard, then at least arm your coachman, and yourself I look forward to seeing you again at the banquet to be given by Alexander Menshikov on the twenty-first, when all of the Foreign Quarter will gather to honor the arrival of the Czar's mistress. Such a grand occasion must be a rare delight for us all.
With sincerest respect and the most profound appreciation,
I remain
Your most obedient,
Lodewick Kerstan van Hoek
anatomist and physician
July 18th, 1704, at Sankt Piterburkh
6
For once Saint-Germain was dressed in his habitual black; his coat and knee-britches were of heavy black velvet, his chemise of perfectly white silk, his leg-hose of black silk. His one concession to color was his waistcoat, which was a magnificent ruby shade of silver-shot satin. His jabot was fixed with a ruby stick-pin. His formal wig, done in the Roman fashion, was ornamented with two discreet combs studded with diamonds, as were the buckles of his thick-soled shoes.
Next to him in the carriage, Zozia was a dream in lavender satin, the corsage of her splendid gown studded with amethysts and mother-of-pearl; she had sprayed her favorite attar-of-roses on her exposed bosom, and augmented it with a handsome necklace of amethysts and diamonds. Her hair was done up in a complicated style that brought cascades of ordered curls down her back and ringlets to frame her face; there were a number of jeweled pins sparking in this confection, which she hoped would be the envy of all the ladies attending the reception. She had a cloak of dark-blue velvet draped over her arm, and she carried an ivory fan.
The afternoon was warm and sultry, the air close and still. Overhead clouds were gathering like a vast tent across the world, and turning dark; the Neva looked leaden and glassy beneath them; the sails of ships on the river hung limply on the oppressive air. The only sounds besides the roll of the wheels and the clop of the horses' hooves was the on-going bang of hammers and the scratch of saws. At the far end of the street, a work-gang was busy putting down coarse sand in preparation for extending the roadway; all the men were drooping at their labors and sweating profusely. Saint-Germain sighed. "Ominous weather," he declared.
"But there's almost no wind," Zozia said, extending her hand out of the open window of the carriage. "That's all to the good, this stillness."
"There will be wind, and before much longer," said Saint-Germain with certainty; he could smell it, mixed with the pervasive stench of decaying vegetable matter.
As they drew up at Alexander Menshikov's house, Adolphus Gronigen pulled in the grays and shouted, "Ksiezna Nisko and Hercegek Gyor have arrived!" In answer to his summons, three footmen rushed out of the house, opened the carriage door, and let down the steps, then helped the elegant passengers to alight. "I'll return at ten o'clock sharp," said Gronigen as Saint-Germain tapped on the closed door to signal him to depart.
"Very good. We'll be ready," he said.
Zozia laid her hand on Saint-Germain's arm. "I hope this won't be too dreadful. I dislike commanded appearances when nothing of value is accomplished."
"I hope it will not be dreadful at all," he said, going up the two steps into the reception room of Menshikov's four-room house. He gave their names to the steward, then handed Zozia's cloak to a maid who waited to collect the women's wraps.
"Arpad Arco-Tolvay, Hercegek Gyor, and his wife, Zozia, Ksiezna Nisko," the steward intoned.
Almost fifty guests were already gathered in the reception room--most of the invited guests--all dressed as if they were in one of the grand palaces of Prussia or the Court of Saint James' instead of this four-room wooden house at the edge of a vast marsh. Living cheek by jowl with one another in the Foreign Quarter, they had all met, but the formalities were being properly observed here, and so each new arrival was announced with due ceremony, and Alexander Menshikov, resplendent in pale-blue-and-green brocade, waited to greet each guest, reciting the usual pleasantries that Piotyr Alexeievich had learned during his stay in Europe. As was expected of them, Saint-Germain made a slight bow and Zozia dropped a curtsy before moving into the magnificently dressed company.
Colonel Broughton was one of the first to approach them, wearing Court dress instead of his dress regimentals, offering a bow to Zozia, and saying, "Among all these beauties, Duchess, you are the prize."
Zozia gave a lilting laugh and said in German, "You flatter me, Sir Peregrine," and playfully slapped his wrist with her closed fan.
"No such thing, Madame," he insisted, this time speaking German. "Allow me to bring you a glass of wine. I fear all they have to offer is German whites, but the Gewurztraminer is tolerable."
"I'll let you choose which you think I'll like," she said, laying her hand on his arm. She turned to Saint-Germain. "If you will permit?"
"Of course," said Saint-Germain, inclining his head, and stepped back.
With a swish of her skirts, Zozia moved away, but paused to say, "I will join you at dinner."
Colonel Broughton added, "The table is laid in the next room, where the stove is."
"A better choice than here," said Saint-Germain, and made his way into the buzzing throng. He had made his way to the window at the far end of the room when he caught sight of Mungo Laurie, who was sipping wine and staring out at the wall of the fortress. Laurie was decked out in his tartan kilt, with sporran, a lace-edged blouse, velvet jacket, and tartan bonnet. Amid the satins and brocades, he looked the most exotic. "Good afternoon to you, Mungo Laurie."
"And to you, Arco-Tolvay," he responded, relieved to be able to speak English; the two exchanged bows.
"The fortress is commanding your attention?" Saint-Germain inquired.
Laurie shook his head. "It's badly designed for defense, although given its location, I don't see how it could be improved."
"You mean because it lacks stellations?"
"That, and the stockade, although reinforced, is still mostly wooden, and any cannon-fire will surely knock it to flinders." He regarded Saint-Germain narrowly. "Do you think the Czar will change the form of the walls when he replaces the logs with stones?"
Saint-Germain shrugged. "I suppose that will depend on how many piles he is willing to drive down into the mud, or if you and your dredging-crew find enough bedrock for him to anchor stellated walls."
"Who knows what we will come upon, burrowing down into the mud? I hope he will improve the fortifications, or he will risk losing his entire island during an artillery barrage." He gazed out the window again. "Those heavy clouds--do you think we'll have rain?"
"Probably," said Saint-Germain. "Once the wind rises." He glanced toward the window and saw that the nearest trees were beginning to bend, wind-strummed. "By morning, if not tonight."
"Just what we need: more water," Laurie muttered sarcastically, and drank down his wine. "I'm going to get more of this, since they haven't any whiskey."
"There will probably be vodka at dinner, and still more wine," said Saint-Germain, reminded of the Russian fondness for excess.
"I don't doubt that. Great drinkers these Russians are, and given the water hereabouts, it may be the wiser course," he said, and shook his head. "Not that there's much else to do here but work and drink."
"True enough," said Saint-Germain, remaining by the window as Laurie went away to have his glass refilled. Standing by the window, he took the time to watch the departure of another three carriages after depositing passengers at the door to the house; he paid little attention as the new arrivals were announced, preferring to make himself as inconspicuous as possible so that he could scrutinize the guests without being obvious about it. Over the next half-hour, while the gathering clouds brought an artificial dusk to the islands in the Neva, he kept at his self-appointed post, taking care to stand where his lack of reflection would not be noticed against the darkness; he spent the time watching Zozia move among the guests, talking, flirting, encouraging conversation. He was observing her in bantering discussion with Hugo Weissenkraft when he heard someone speak his name. Turning, he found himself facing Ludmilla Borisevna Svarinskaya, dressed beautifully in the Viennese style, in an adriene gown of embroidered faille the color of Asian poppies; she had a lace fichu around her shoulders, and her bronze hair was simply dressed in a coronet with twisted gold ribbons. He bowed to her. "Ludmilla Borisevna."
"Hercegek Gyor," she said with a curtsy. "I'm delighted to see someone I know. All these elegant people, and so many languages."
"But surely you know everyone in the room," Saint-Germain said, not simply for good manners.
"As faces with names and titles, yes. You I know as a colleague of sorts, and a patron." Her eyes were somber.
"Nothing so grand as a patron," he assured her. "But I am honored to be considered your colleague."
She smiled more genuinely than she had at first. "Very gallant speech, Hercegek."
"Hardly gallant," he said, so directly that she believed him. "You are doing your best to provide care, medicaments, and treatment for those who need it."
"And what we provide is little enough," she said.
"That cannot be your fault, Ludmilla Borisevna, nor should you think it is; you haven't the building, the equipment, the staff, or the physicians you would need to improve upon what you have done so far. Without any of these ameliorations, you may not be able to offer more than you do now." He gave her a moment to add something; when she remained silent, he asked, "How does Yrjo Saari go on? Does he continue to improve?"
"He is getting better, but his recovery is slow, and his speech is still disordered when he is tired. He is weaker than I would like."
"I have a tonic that might help, if you would accept a bottle of it from me. It is made from rose hips and hawthorn, among other ingredients." Again he waited for her to speak, maintaining a listening silence in spite of the soughing of the wind.
"We can try it," she said with her customary caution. "As it would come from you, I'm willing to use it, if you will give me instructions."
Saint-Germain gave a small bow. "Thank you, Ludmilla Borisevna. It is a shame that the Czar has not seen fit to establish and staff a hospital for all the workers, but given your resources, you have much to be proud of."
"Proud of?" At this she gave a spurt of laughter. "My father would not agree, nor would my husband."
