Flight to Verechenko (11 page)

‘Well you needn't worry about that with me. I never felt morally obliged to do anything in my life. But I'm going to enjoy sorting out this tangle. I'll have a word with Dominic at the first opportunity.'

Impulsively Catherine rose to her feet and kissed the Princess on the forehead. The old lady smiled, saying gruffly, ‘Run along child. I'll have a word with Maria too. It won't harm those two scamps to do without a governess for a week or two. Olga has a face like sour cream and I suppose that is your doing. I need a companion and from now on that's what you'll be. You shall have to have new clothes and some jewellery. Can't have you wandering round St Petersburg looking like an improverished milkmaid. I'll, get Kiril to advise me on stones. Emeralds, I think, with that hair. I shan't tell Kiril either. This could be interesting.
Very
interesting. Run along child. I'm tired. I'm not used to such excitement all in one day.'

The bizarre behaviour of the Princess in purloining the children's governess and turning her into friend and companion did not take the Vishnetski family or servants by surprise. They were used to Princess Dagmar's eccentricities. Only Alexis was annoyed, complaining that when they had finally got a competent governess who could both control and teach the children, and one they loved into the bargain, Dagmar should so high-handedly steal her from under their noses.

‘It's only for a few weeks,' Maria had said soothingly. ‘And it would be marvellous for Eleanor to see the other side of St Petersburg. The glamour and the beauty. It will be like a fairy-tale come true for her.'

Though English-bred she shared none of her country-women's stiff regard for protocol. It appealed to her romantic nature to envisage a simple girl, used to nothing more than governessing, entering the dazzling world of St Petersburg society.

For Catherine, born into one of England's noblest families, the transition was an easy one. But even she found some of the luxury that was enjoyed by the Princess startling. She was surrounded continually by a vast army of maids and menials who pampered to her every whim. She affected elbow-length white kid gloves for afternoon visiting. Every day a new pair, French made, soft as velvet, was brought tissue wrapped by her personal maid. Catherine wondered where the discarded pairs, worn so briefly, disappeared to.

There was a servant whose sole duty was to unroll a strip of deep-piled crimson carpet from the entrance of Verechenko to the Princess's carriage every time the Princess left for a drive, and to perform the same service at her destination. The little negro boy, turbanned like an Indian, was always in discreet attendance, a bowl of fresh fruit continually at the ready for when the Princess should desire a peach or one of the out-of-season oranges that came direct from warmer climates. There were maids whose only duty was to fill the Princess's marbled bath tub with steaming, rose-scented water. Maids whose only duty was to care for her vast collection of jewels. Maids who dressed her entirely from top to toe. Never once had the Princess Dagmar ever deigned to pull on her own stockings.

As her companion, Catherine found her own little maid dismissed, to be replaced by two rosy-cheeked girls, expert at the elaborate coiffures that were needed to enhance her new collection of dresses. After weeks of wearing the sensible dresses she had brought with her to Russia, the dresses that the Princess showered her with were a delight.

There were suits for daytime made by Worth of Paris, the long, tight skirts emphasising her slender hips. A tunic was worn over the top, reaching to just below the knee, swinging voluptuously as she walked, and there were little hats that perched on top of her fiery hair, beautiful feathers projecting at a jaunty angle. There were evening dresses by Paquin, delights of silk and chiffon and lace. There were even harem trousers of fine satin to wear visible beneath the hem of evening skirts as worn by members of the Russian Ballet. There were afternoon dresses in pale pinks and lilacs, draping softly over her bosom and hips, the sleeves fastened with row upon row of tiny pearl buttons. There was a lace confection in the softest green that had a small Medici collar at the back, plunging in the front to a V-neck. It was so revealing it would have shocked her stepmother into a stupor, but Princess Dagmar, surveying the high, rounded breasts, nodded approvingly. There were fox furs and sables, ropes of pearls to twine in her hair and box after box of exquisite kid gloves. Within hours Catherine's boudoir was a treasure house as the Princess's orders were hastily carried out.

Catherine hardly recognised herself as she looked in the mirror to see a vision in deepest lilac, a single camellia still sparkling with the dew of the Crimea from where it had arrived, tucked demurely at her bosom. Vilya, her new maid, had been enraptured at the red gold waist length hair it was now her privilege to dress. She had arranged it in a crowning profusion of gentle curls. Soft tendrils escaped as if by accident to enhance Catherine's youth and vulnerability.

With her heart pounding nervously Catherine stepped out into the chandelier-lit corridor and down to the salon. Tonight she was to accompany the Princess to the Nestorevs and she knew that Dominic was entertaining the Countess in the main salon. Tonight he would see her in her new role for the first time. She anticipated the expression in his eyes as he saw her, her vibrant beauty no longer obscured under the guise of serviceable dresses and restrained hair-styles. Apprehensively she allowed the footman to throw open the doors and entered the main salon where Maria, imprisoned on a chaise longue held court.

A silence fell on the cluster of resplendentlydressed people gathered in the salon. All eyes were on Catherine as she stood framed by the two liveried footmen. Alexis drew in a deep breath of undisguised admiration and the Princess's eyes gloated with satisfaction. The dumpy frizzy-haired woman who had hovered around the Princess on her arrival was also there, as was a gentleman Catherine had never seen before. He stood, tall and erect, behind the Princess's chair. If Catherine had looked at him she would have seen that he had a face handsome enough to turn any girl's head. Blue eyes fringed by thick, gold-tipped lashes, fair hair brushed sleekly, a clipped moustache above well-shaped lips. But she was not looking at him and did not see that he was gazing at her with a spell-bound expression on his face. She was conscious only of Dominic.

He stood a little apart from the others wearing the scarlet tunic and gold braid of Alexis's regiment of which he was an honorary member. Catherine thought she had never seen any man look so magnificent. She could forgive him anything if only he would love her a little. She waited for the shock; the realisation that must surely dawn in the dark secret depths of his eyes. There was none. His eyes rested on her fleetingly and then returned to the Countess as he continued his conversation. Her disappointment was nearly too much to be borne. Digging her nails deep into the palms of her hands she sat on a gilt and velvet chair and strove for outward composure.

‘Eleanor is accompanying Dagmar to the Nestorevs this evening,' Maria was saying to Alexis and Dominic.

‘If her entrance there has anything like the effect it had here it should be an evening to look forward to,' the Princess said with relish. ‘What are you dithering for, Lena?'

‘I don't think Lena and Eleanor have been introduced yet,' Alexis boomed, striding forward and taking Catherine by the hand.

‘Eleanor, my dear. Baroness Kerenskaya, another member of our household.'

‘For our sins,' the Princess said audibly behind him.

‘And Lixy Korrosky.' A slim boy of seventeen or eighteen stepped forward and took her hand, kissing it lightly.

‘Take no notice of Lixy,' the Princess said rudely. ‘ No one else does.'

There was a gleam of laughter in Lixy's eyes. ‘ Delighted to meet you, Mam'selle.' His smile was sincere and Catherine decided then and there that no matter who he was, she liked him and felt instinctively that she had found a friend. She wondered what relation he was to the Princess, but the Princess did not trouble to enlighten her.

‘And my grandson,' the Princess said carelessly. ‘Prince Kiril.'

The suave and exquisitely dressed Prince took Catherine's hand, pressing it to his lips. There was no gleam of laughter in
his
eyes. Only an expression that sent a tingle down Catherine's spine. If only Dominic would look at her like that. If only she could inspire some emotion other than amusement or bland indifference.

‘My pleasure, Mam'selle.' He held her hand for longer than was necessary and Catherine was uncomfortably aware of Maria's interested gaze. Dominic was no witness to the Prince's obvious admiration. He was staring out of the tall narrow windows to where the trees in the vast grounds rose darkly in the moonlight.

‘Fedya delivered your bauble to me by mistake,' the Princess said to her grandson, waving her cane at a ring box on the nearby table.

‘Fedya's a fool,' he said, reaching a hand out for it. ‘In future I shall patronise only Fabergé.'

The Princess chortled. ‘Then start tomorrow. Eleanor needs some jewels.'

The Prince gazed across at the creamy complexion and luxuriant coppery hair. At the seagreen eyes seductively uptilted at the corners.

‘Eleanor needs no jewels at all,' he said, hardly able to take his eyes away from the tantalising breasts and slender hips. ‘ She's a jewel in herself.'

Maria laughed. ‘Very prettily said, Kiril.'

The Princess showed not the least displeasure at her grandson's obvious admiration for her protegee. ‘Pretty words are all very well. But you must take her to the jewellers in the morning, Kiril. Emeralds, I think. But see what Fabergé says.' Then, changing the subject entirely, she said abruptly, ‘When is the coming out ball for the Grand Duchess?'

‘There isn't going to be one,' Kiril said, finally tearing his eyes from Catherine's face.

‘
Not going to be one!
' The silver cane was rammed violently into the carpet. ‘Olga is eighteen! There
must
be one!'

Kiril shrugged. ‘Apparently not. The tercentenary celebrations have exhausted the Tsarina and she feels unequal to the effort.'

‘I'm beginning to think those girls are nothing but a figment of my imagination! It's months since I saw one of them!'

‘The Tsarina looked distinctly ill the last time I saw her,' Dominic interrupted mildly.

‘Then she's no right to be ill,' the Princess said unreasonably. ‘What is the use of the Tsar if he hides himself away all the time? He barely uses the Winter Place now. It's an eternity since the last ball. Even the Dowager Empress told me that she has encouraged the Tsarina to take more part in public life, but it makes not the slightest difference. She stays cooped up at Tsarkoe Selo sticking reams of photographs into reams of albums. The only person she
does
listen to is that wretched monk. Have you seen
him
these last few weeks?'

Dominic shook his head. ‘No, nor want to if all I've heard is true.'

The Princess shuddered. ‘This conversation is depressing me. Let's see your ring, Kiril.'

Carelessly Kiril flicked open the lid. Catherine gasped. A magnificent sapphire glittered on a bed of black velvet. Even Maria gasped with pleasure.

‘Not bad,' his grandmother said grudgingly. ‘ Can't stand sapphires myself. What does it look like on?'

To Catherine's dumbfounded amazement Kiril walked slowly across the room, lifted her hand and slipped the ring on to her index finger.

‘Very nice,' his grandmother said without flickering an eyelid, ‘and better there than on the hand of some opera singer. Come along, Eleanor, the Nestorevs will be waiting.'

Deferential footmen helped the Princess and Catherine into a polished and gleaming Mercedes with the Vishnetski coat of arms emblazoned on the doors. Silently they sped through the crowded St Petersburg streets and squares. Carriages were taking people to theatres, restaurants, receptions. The men wore flowing evening cloaks lined with scarlet silk; the women beautiful osprey feathers and diamonds in their hair as they walked from their carriages towards the glittering entrance halls. On arrival at the Nestorevs the Princess waited impatiently while the red carpet was unrolled and she regally descended.

‘The Cunninghams will be here,' the Princess said to Catherine as they were led past a huge jardinière of hot-house roses and ferns and up a marbled sweep of staircase.

‘This is their last evening before they come to Verechenko. Alexis must be weak in the head inviting them.'

Catherine felt her pulse quicken. What would the Cunninghams make of her transformation from governess to companion? The Princess had an air of anticipation about her as they were formally announced and Catherine knew with sudden certainty that it was because she knew Catherine's presence would shock.

The dining room was candle-lit, the table enormous. On each chair of dark red leather the Nestorev's coat of arms was embossed in gold, and behind each chair stood a whitegloved footman.

Even Catherine felt a little sorry for Lady Cunningham's obvious confusion as she was reintroduced to Eleanor as Princess Dagmar's friend and companion. That Russians were barbarous Lady Cunningham had long suspected. That they were mad she now knew beyond a certainty. Countess Nestoreva, anxious to please the notoriously difficult Princess, and knowing nothing of Eleanor's history, greeted her charmingly, sitting her next to a gentleman old enough to be her grandfather, glad that her son was absent this evening, at least until she had ascertained just who the incredible beauty was that Princess Dagmar had so suddenly found.

Also sitting at the magnificent table was Count Nestorev, an elderly gentleman who dozed off at regular intervals, and a young man who was obviously Amelia Cunningham's escort for the evening.

Amelia stiffened on seeing Catherine arrive as a social equal, and in a dress that could only have come from Paris. Every eye was turned in Catherine's direction. Her hair was glorious, piled high in a confection of red-gold curls, interlaced with pearls: a single, perfect camellia at the bodice of her gown drew all eyes to her beautiful breasts, and Amelia nearly choked with fury and envy. Icily she ignored Catherine, determined at the first opportunity to enlighten Countess Nestoreva as to the true class and position of the girl flaunting herself so boldly among her betters. That her escort seemed mesmerised by Catherine and found it difficult to pay attention to Amelia's own ceaseless flow of inane conversation, only incensed her further. If that brazen hussy was parading around Verechenko in front of the Marquis of Clare in such finery … Amelia's lips tightened. She had set her heart on becoming the Marchioness of Clare and Dominic's attentions to her had convinced her that they would be affianced before she left St Petersburg.