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Authors: Margaret Pemberton

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BOOK: Flight to Verechenko
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‘English governesses do not cry. They like children who are well-behaved and polite. It was polite of you to come in and say good morning. It was
not
polite to hit me with pillows and pull my hair.'

‘But it was fun,' Natasha protested.

‘Fun,' the little echo by her side said.

‘It was not fun for me. Now, it's a nice day and the sun is out. Perhaps you could show me around the grounds.'

‘Can you skate?' Natasha asked, her eyes lighting up. ‘Mam'selle wouldn't go outside because it was too cold and she said I could only skate when Papa was home. The ice on the lake will be thinning soon and then it will be too late.'

‘I'll take you skating
if
you are well-mannered and polite.'

‘Can't skate,' Alexander said, his chin trembling.

Catherine leaned forward and took a sturdy little hand in hers. ‘Then I will teach you. Come on. You still have to dress yet.'

‘We don't dress ourselves. Olga dresses us.'

‘Then it's about time you did,' Catherine said spiritedly.

Alexander remained on the floor, brown eyes holding hers compellingly.

‘Can't,' he said. ‘ Only four.'

‘Then I'll help you. You'll need lots of warm things. It's very cold out.' With his hand in hers he trotted happily by her side, her first conquest in an alien land.

Olga, encased in black from head to foot, wept at the sight of Natasha pulling on her own stockings. Catherine, not wanting to cause bad feeling unnecessarily, left Alexander with her to be swamped with tears and endearments as she dressed him in a high-necked, loosely-belted silk shirt and soft trousers tucked into felt boots so that he looked exactly like the Cossacks of Catherine's imagination. When Catherine handed Olga his outdoor clothes she screamed with horror, pointing outside to the snow and clutching Alexander to her massive bosom, as if exposure to fresh air would result in the instant death of her darling. Every time Catherine approached Alexander, Olga's screams increased and soon there was a group of interested-looking servants in the doorway. Taking Natasha by the hand, Catherine marched purposefully to the salon.

The Countess laughed. ‘Poor Olga. The next few weeks are not going to be easy for either of you. Dmitri, get the children their skates and find a pair for Miss Eleanor, and bring Alexander and Olga downstairs to me.'

As they entered the salon Alexander twisted from Olga's grasp, running with a beaming smile towards Catherine. As she watched him Olga's eyes darkened with jealousy. Unknowingly Catherine had made an enemy.

‘Miss Eleanor is replacing Mam'selle as governess to the children, Olga,' the Countess said pleasantly. ‘That means that outside the nursery she has complete control over them.'

Olga's thin lips tightened so much they disappeared altogether.

‘If Eleanor wants to take the children skating there are to be no objections. Fresh air, however cold, is more beneficial to them than staying in stuffy, over-heated rooms all day. It would do you good to take a walk yourself, Olga.'

Olga's doughy face blanched. ‘ She made Natasha
dress
herself, Barina,' she protested.

‘Good,' the Countess said unperturbed. ‘It is time that she did so.'

‘But she's treating the children like peasants! Like serfs!'

‘She is treating them like English children.'

‘But they are
Russians!
' Olga spat defiantly.

There was a strained silence, then the Countess said quietly, ‘You forget that I, too, am English. Remember to whom you are speaking, Olga Nikolaievna.'

Sullenly Olga backed away, going straight to the kitchens where she informed the rest of the household that the Barina and the English governess were intent on killing Alexander and the sooner the Count came home the better.

The Countess turned with a smile to Catherine. ‘I told you it wouldn't be easy,' she said. ‘But if you continue to be pleasant despite Olga's sourness the battle will soon be won.'

Catherine sincerely hoped so. She didn't want too many repetitions of Olga's tantrums and the grinning audience of servants.

‘Verechenko is relatively quiet at the moment. Alexis, my husband, returns from his estates near the Finnish border today or tomorrow. His Great-Aunt, Princess Dagmar Dolgorova, is at present holidaying in the Crimea. She spends most of the year with us here in St Petersburg and should be back by the end of the month. Don't let her intimidate you. She appears fierce but has the heart of gold. When her son and daughter-in-law were tragically drowned she took her grandson, Kiril, into her own care and is devoted to him. Prince Kiril has his own suite of rooms in the west wing. The only other resident at Verechenko is Baroness Kerenskaya, Princess Dagmar's companion. Naturally everyone speaks English so you will have no language problem, but French is the language most Russians use socially.'

‘How strange.'

The Countess laughed. ‘ You will find a lot of things strange in St Petersburg, but you can always rely on my help and support.'

She leaned back against her cushions and Catherine sensed that she was dismissed. Taking the children by the hand she led them out into the freezing sunshine.

It was hard to believe that Verechenko was in the middle of a city. Terraces and lawns swept gently in a vista of white to a small lake half hidden amongst larch and pines. Catherine lifted Alexander high into the air to knock snow off the stone lions flanking the steps, then she tapped Natasha on the shoulder crying, ‘ Catch' and ran away with a giggling Alexander behind her. A squirrel darted out of the way as they chased each other, and a flock of geese rose protestingly at the unaccustomed noise, winging away to a quieter spot.

‘Oh, this is
fun
,' Natasha said delightedly as she flew daringly across the ice, Catherine close behind her. They reached each other with Natasha shrieking merrily every time Catherine allowed her to win. Then Catherine showed her some new, more difficult steps, which impressed Natasha profoundly.

‘Even Papa cannot skate like that. You
are
clever. Is this how you do it?' And time after time she tried, laughing whenever her feet shot out from under her. Finally, when she had mastered the new steps, she linked hands with Catherine and they glided back to the bank where Alexander waited apple-cheeked. Holding his hands Catherine led him gently out onto the ice. Radiant eyes held hers as he tottered joyfully along, faltering and falling, bringing Catherine down with him.

From the bank came loud clapping. Catherine, sat unbecomingly on the ice, a giggling Alexander on her lap, gazed horrified at the splendid figure in a scarlet tunic, a fur-lined cloak flung carelessly over his shoulder.

‘Papa! Papa!' Natasha cried, spinning towards him.

Catherine struggled to her feet, trying to recover her dignity as she led Alexander to the bank.

He was older than the Countess, somewhere in his late thirties. He towered a magnificent six foot, with powerful shoulders and a shock of wavy hair that gleamed gold in the sun and merged into a luxuriant beard. Blue eyes sparkled with zest as he swung Natasha high in the air.

‘You seem to be enjoying yourselves, little one.'

‘Oh, I am, Papa. I am. Miss Eleanor is a most wonderful skater. She's taught me all kinds of new steps.'

‘Then I arrived too late. I saw only the finale!'

Catherine's cheeks burned, but he was holding his hand out to her, beaming as disarmingly as Alexander.

‘I see you have made a good beginning with these two rascals. Don't let them bully you. They terrified their French governess out of her life.'

‘Mam'selle was no fun,' Natasha protested. ‘She wouldn't play.'

‘And is Eleanor fun?' the Count asked as she danced around him.

‘Oh yes,' Natasha enthused.
‘Lots.'

Catherine took off her skates and tried to regain her composure. The Count swung a squealing Alexander high onto his shoulders and called out lustily, ‘Come and say hello to my bear cubs!'

For a bewildered second Catherine wondered who he was talking to and then another figure moved forward from the cover of the snow-laden trees. Like his host he wore knee-high gleaming black boots, his trousers tucked into the tops, the sable coat opening loosely to show a silk-bloused shirt, high at the throat and belted at the waist as Alexander's. Catherine stared at him helplessly. Her new world was crumbling in ashes before it had begun. He would inform the Vishnetskis that she was a reformed street-walker and she would be dismissed instantly. And she hadn't the fare back to England. Or to her grandmother in France, or anywhere. She squared her shoulders and faced him, waiting to be denounced.

To her amazement, when he stepped forward and took her hand, his eyes registered no recognition whatsoever.

‘The childrens' new governess, Miss Eleanor Cartwright,' the Count said, scooping and sweeping Natasha up under one strong arm.

His hand was strong and warm and she felt a tremor run through her body. Why was he not acknowledging that they had previously met? Was he enjoying her discomfiture? Did he intend to prolong it for his own amusement? It would be in keeping with his character for him to do so. Seething with rage and misery she followed in the Count's wake as he led the way back to the house.

His wife's eyes lit up as the Count swung into the salon, depositing Alexander in a yelling heap on the floor.

‘My darling, I thought you would never be back,' her plump hand caught his, laying it against her cheek. He bent his head, kissing her gently as Catherine hovered uncertainly at the door, not knowing whether to take the children away or not.

‘And Dominic! How lovely to see you again.' She held her arms out towards him and he strode across the room, bending down on one knee at the side of the chaise longue.

‘It's been far too long, Maria,' he spoke so gently and tenderly that Catherine was caught off guard. Tenderness was not an emotion she had ever associated with Dominic Harland. His parents had disowned him. London society had shunned him. Catherine had believed she had known why. Now, suddenly, she was not so sure. The man kneeling at Maria's side was not the hardened sensualist of the gossip-mongers. Incredibly she found herself wishing he would speak to her as tenderly. The thought took her breath away. He had humiliated her and used her for his own amusement. The least he could have done aboard the
Gretel
was to acknowledge that not only did he know the Vishnetskis but intended visiting them. His manners were appalling by any standards, and yet …

She gazed at him, bemused. Why did his presence have this disturbing effect on her? It had never happened so with Robert. With Robert she had felt safe and secure, whilst with his brother …

‘Will you be staying long?' the Countess was asking as he rose to his feet. ‘
Do
say you will stay until Dagmar returns. She would never forgive me otherwise.'

He turned, near black eyes meeting Catherine's, holding her fast. ‘Verechenko's attractions increase every time I visit it. I shall most certainly make my stay a long one, Maria.'

Catherine felt a tide of colour flood her cheeks. Though ostensibly speaking to the Countess he was really speaking to her. Knowing that in her position as governess she had no way of retaliating no matter how much he baited her. With sudden certainty she knew that he
would
bait her. He would not disclose to the Vishnetskis that he thought her a woman of loose virtue. He would use the knowledge to afford him amusement. And only seconds ago she had been wishing he would speak tenderly to her! Filled with fury at him and at herself she asked tightly, ‘May I take the children now, Barina?'

The Countess nodded and Catherine grasped the children firmly by the hand and swept from the salon, her head high, her heart pounding.

She would have enjoyed the next few days except for the constant presence of Dominic Harland. He hardly looked at her, much less spoke to her, but she was painfully aware of his tall, broad-shouldered figure strolling in the gardens, talking quietly to Maria, leaving Verechenko in flamboyant evening dress after dinner en route to the opera or theatre. She had spent wakeful hours at night planning crushing replies to his mocking questions as to how she was enjoying her reformed life. He never gave her the chance to give them. Instead of being grateful for his silence, it only served to fan the flames of her fury even further.

Neither did it help to discover that Dominic Harland was an excellent horseman, a superb skater, and a magnificent shot with a gun and, rumour had it, the finest dancer to grace St Petersburg's balls for many a long year. Invitations flooded in from the City's noblest families. Night after night Dominic danced, drank and flirted his way through the palaces of Petersburg. Catherine, spending companionable evenings in the company of the Countess, could only hope the attractions would soon pall and that he would continue his travels she cared not where.

The Count and Countess were kindness itself to her. If it was for his childrens' pleasure nothing was too much for Alexis. The childrens' favourite pastime was toboganning and together with their father and Catherine they would laughingly drag the scarlet toboggans up Verechenko's terrace and zoom down at breakneck speeds towards the frozen lake. The Countess had a chaise longue moved across to the vast windows of the salon so that she could see the exhilaration on the childrens' faces and share in their enjoyment.

Catherine's English clothes, being obviously unsuited to the rigours of the Russian weather, the day after her arrival the Countess had presented her with soft felt boots and a fur coat padded and lined with silk. While the ice held they skated every morning, and soon Alexander was flying about after his sister, giggling merrily every time he fell. Dmitri would take them for drives in their
izvozchik
, a horse-drawn sleigh gaily painted red and blue. In the grounds of Vereehenko Alexander liked to ride the horse, a large, placid animal that never went faster than a solid plod no matter how Alexander urged it to ‘gallop fast like a troika'. To Catherine's intense relief the Marquis showed not the slightest inclination to join in any of these outdoor pastimes.

BOOK: Flight to Verechenko
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