The Amber Keeper (13 page)

Is this what I think it is, Gran?’ Abbie held out the jewel, startled to see the colour drain from her grandmother’s face. She had chosen a moment when they were alone, this time walking by the lake on a bright April day, a troop of ducks waddling behind in the hope of a crust or two. ‘There’s no chain attached, but I believe it must be a pendant.’

There followed a long stunned silence. ‘I ‒ It’s Baltic amber. Extremely valuable.’

‘That’s what I thought.’

‘This isn’t stocked in the shop, so where did you get it?’

‘Gran, don’t be hurt or offended, but I went to Pursey Street Orphanage yesterday.’

For a moment Abbie thought Millie might be about to faint and, quickly taking her arm she helped her to sit on a nearby bench. Even then she seemed to be having trouble catching her breath and Abbie was filled with guilt for having revealed this news so crudely. She was thankful her father was out fishing; otherwise he would have been furious with her for upsetting poor Millie at this time.

‘Should I fetch you a glass of water?’

‘No, it’s all right. I’ll be fine in a moment. Are you saying that you went all the way to London? What on earth possessed you to do such a thing?’

‘I wanted to find out more about Mum ‒ who she was ‒ and if something in her past caused her to do this terrible thing to herself. You can surely understand that?’

‘And what did you discover?’

‘Very little. She was two or two and a half, apparently, when she was taken to the orphanage, and not a baby at all. Did you know that?’

Millie said nothing, still looking utterly bemused by this
sudden
revelation that her granddaughter had been investigating her adopted daughter’s birth.

‘Anyway, nothing more is known about her. There was no identification of any kind save for the fact that she had a name label pinned to her coat. But the matron did give me a bundle of baby clothes, which Kate was carrying the day she was admitted. I found this pendant stitched inside the bodice. You say it is valuable?’

Millie cleared her throat. ‘Amber is a resin from trees that grew millions of years ago, many of which are now extinct. As the sticky substance ran down to earth it often caught up fragments of plants and insects which were trapped in the amber resin. It was then washed away by storms and later deposited in small chunks like pebbles on the shoreline of the sea. Baltic amber is at least fifty
million
years old, and very precious.’

Abbie was stunned by this information; fifty million years was a length of time quite beyond her comprehension. Then she saw a single tear roll down her grandmother’s cheek. Millie was staring at the pendant almost in disbelief, white to the lips as she smoothed a finger over the stone, which was as yellow as butterscotch and shaped like a teardrop itself. The jewel did indeed have the skeletal remains of a dragonfly embalmed within that Abbie hadn’t recognised as such until it had been explained to her. She put an arm about her grandmother’s shoulders, about to offer a few words of apology over upsetting her, when she was abruptly interrupted.

‘What’s going on here?’

Abbie started in dismay at the sound of her father’s voice as he strode towards them, fishing tackle in hand and a now-familiar anger clouding his face. Guilt once again suffused her. ‘Dad, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to make Gran cry, only I just needed to understand.’

‘Understand what?’

‘It’s all right,’ Millie put in, dabbing at her tears and attempting to regain some composure. ‘The fault is entirely mine. I daresay Abigail has every right to ask questions of me, and of the orphanage if she so wishes.’

‘The orphanage?’ Tom dropped his rod and line to the ground with a clatter. ‘What about the orphanage?’

‘I visited it yesterday, Dad, to ask about Mum.’

There was a slight pause and then, ignoring his daughter completely, he asked of Millie, ‘What sort of questions?’

‘Perfectly normal ones about who her mother was, and when she was left at the orphanage. The kind of questions Kate herself asked, and now Abigail, as we knew she would one day. It’s just that I’m not sure I’m able to give her the answers she needs. I’ve told her all I can.’

‘But it’s not enough, Gran.’ Abbie looked at her grandmother with a mix of anguish and sympathy in her gaze. ‘What is this big secret you won’t talk about? I know there must be one. I can sense it. I’m curious to know why you went all the way to London seeking a child when you could easily have gone down the road to Kendal, or to Preston, where there must have been any number of children just longing to be adopted. It doesn’t make sense. Does the reason you chose London lie in what happened back in Russia? I believe they could be connected. If I’m right, then please tell me what
happened
back then, during the revolution.’

Millie looked helplessly at her. ‘We suffered agonies. It was a difficult time and I’d really rather not talk about it.’

‘Leave your grandmother alone. Can’t you see you’re upsetting her?’

There were tears in Abbie’s eyes now, and oh, she was so tired of crying. She wanted her life to be bright and normal again. She thought of the young girls she’d seen dancing and singing along the road in Stepney, having a blast. How she longed to have some fun in her own life again after all the trauma and disappointment she’d suffered. She fully intended to achieve that dream, no matter how difficult it might be.

‘Can’t you see that I’m desperately upset by Mum’s death?’ she cried. ‘You’re all piling the blame for her suicide on to
me
! Doesn’t anyone care about
my
feelings? I loved her too, you know, even if you don’t love me any more, Dad.’

Her father looked devastated by this remark. ‘Abbie, don’t say such a dreadful thing. Of course I love you.’

‘Well, you show little sign of it.’

Her grandmother put her arms about her. ‘I’m so sorry, my darling. I know this must be very upsetting for you. It’s just that some things are . . .’

‘. . . best forgotten. How many times I’ve heard you say that.’ Abbie ran her hands through her hair, tugging her wayward curls to one side in a gesture of exasperation. ‘I’m sorry, but avoiding the truth doesn’t help one bit. If you were simply appeasing your conscience by taking in a poor child when you’d seen so many die in the revolution, then why not say so? That’s perfectly reasonable, although it still doesn’t explain why you went all the way to Stepney to find one.’

‘It wasn’t quite like that. You’ve got it all wrong.’ Tears were raining down Millie’s cheeks by this time and Tom was patting her shoulder, trying to offer comfort.

‘Hush now! Abbie has no idea what she is asking of you. She doesn’t understand. How can she?’

‘Then explain it to me so that I will understand.
What is the problem
?’

It was then that the answer came to her, and Abbie felt her whole body jerk with shock. ‘Of course, why didn’t I see it before? The answer lies in this pendant.’ She picked up the jewel, turning it over in her hands, feeling its cool smoothness. ‘You could start, Gran, by explaining how there came to be Baltic amber stitched into Kate’s baby clothes when she was supposedly born here in England.’

‘Baltic amber?’ her father murmured.

‘Sewn into the bodice of Mum’s baby gown, which was tucked inside the bundle she was apparently carrying when she arrived at Pursey Street orphanage aged two or two and a half.’

‘Ah!’ he said, and exchanged a long, silent glance with her grandmother. ‘Perhaps it is time that you did indeed tell the whole story, Millie.’

‘But . . .’

‘No more buts, dear lady. As Abbie says, she does have a right to know, and hard as it may be for you to recall the difficulties of that time, you are the only one who can tell it.’

THIRTEEN

E
verything changed when Stefan came to work for the Countess. The first sign of spring began to show itself in a melting of the ice on the River Neva, although there was still plenty of snow around. The Count decided a visit to the family’s country estate was called for. A few servants had gone on ahead to prepare the house for the family, leaving the rest of the staff behind in St Petersburg. We travelled by train and made the remainder of the journey from the station by sledge. This was a new experience for me so I was unprepared for the speed at which the sledge swished through the powdery snow, pulled by a high-trotting grey mare.

I felt secretly thrilled and oddly nervous to be seated up front beside Stefan, although ‘bounced’ might be a more appropriate word.
Nyanushki
sat behind with the children.
Babushka
was with the Count and Countess. We were all well wrapped up in
shubas
, leggings and fur hats beneath huge bearskin rugs. I was deeply conscious of Stefan’s closeness, finding it hard to concentrate on the road ahead as I’d much rather gaze upon the handsome set of his angular features.

Stefan had barely spoken to me since joining us. Even when I’d given him the Countess’s request he’d merely nodded and said, ‘As her ladyship demands,’ without even a thank you or any sign of gratitude. Why he fascinated me as he did, I had no idea, as he seemed an extremely rude young man.

For something to say to fill the uneasy silence between us I remarked upon the several small wooden sheds that littered the snow-covered hills and meadows around.

‘What kind of animals are kept in those?’ I casually asked, thinking of the cow byres back home.

‘Those are log houses where the peasants live,’ Stefan coldly informed me.

I flushed with embarrassment at my mistake and hastily apologised. ‘I beg your pardon. I didn’t realise.’

His smile was sardonic, with little sign of forgiveness at my ignorance. I had such mixed feelings about this man. I loved his smiles and occasional display of charm, yet there was something about him that felt almost dangerous. I forced myself to concentrate on what he was saying.

‘Peasants were granted their freedom and citizenship during the rule of Tsar Alexander II. Unfortunately, many were simply turned out to fend for themselves, without any land from which they could earn their living and enjoy that freedom. This has bred a long-
festering
resentment which led to the failed revolution of 1905, and very likely the recent assassination.’

My reaction to this was one of horror. ‘Oh, no, not another assassination?
Babushka
had told me about the bomb that killed Alexander II, but that was in the last century, a long time ago.’ I felt so ignorant on the subject of Russian politics. An innocent abroad, indeed.

‘Prime Minister Stolypin was shot dead at the opera last
September
. It wasn’t the first attempt upon his life. He always wore body armour and had guards to protect him against the revolutionaries, but it wasn’t enough to save him.’

‘How dreadful!’ I was at a loss as to what else to say, aware of a certain pragmatic quality in his tone, almost as if he thought the poor man deserved this terrible fate. ‘Why did they kill him?’

‘Stolypin had planned to bring in land reform to allow
peasants
to buy land, hoping to win back their loyalty to the Tsar. The
middle
classes and aristocracy did not agree. Also, back in 1905 Tsar
Nicholas
had allowed the formation of the Duma as an advisory elected body, with an agreement to grant it more legislative powers once it became established. Unfortunately, His Imperial Highness has not abided by that promise, apparently reluctant to relinquish any of his power which he believes to be God given.’

A harsh bitterness had crept into his voice, and judging from Stefan’s earlier reluctance to work for the Count, I began to wonder if he was actually in sympathy with these so-called
revolutionaries
. ‘So are you saying the Prime Minister’s plans weren’t working because some peasants couldn’t afford to buy land?’

He did smile at me then, as if pleased I was listening, which quite warmed my heart. ‘In a way the reforms caused yet more repression by dismantling agricultural communes. Thousands of people were executed or put into penal servitude when they protested. Stolypin even objected to trade unions. Their rights were being ignored. Whether his so-called reforms were for good or ill, nothing will come of them now.’

‘I see.’ I wasn’t entirely sure that I did see at all. But could that possibly be a note of satisfaction I detected in his voice? Surely no one would be pleased at the death of someone in such
circumstances
, even a politician who was apparently
failing
to deliver his promises? A little shiver went down my spine as I realised there must be much more to this story than Stefan was admitting. ‘Thank you for explaining this to me. I knew nothing of such
matters
, and might well have thought twice about coming to
Russia
if I had.’

His gaze was searching as he looked at me, as if memorising every feature. ‘Then I’m glad you didn’t know,’ he quietly remarked, ‘or I would never have had the pleasure of meeting you.’

Slightly unnerved by the soft intimacy of his words, I quickly turned away to look with fresh eyes upon what still appeared to be very like the cow byres we have in the Lake District. I felt a great pity for their occupants, who seemed to be treated little better than animals.

The Belinsky home, by contrast, was fabulous with a palatial grandeur, classical columns and a double flight of granite steps leading up to the magnificent entrance. Inside it was a picture of polished parquetry floors, crystal chandeliers, marble, mosaic tiles and gilt-framed furniture. The turquoise-painted walls of the main drawing room were adorned with delicate plaster figures, vases, dados and corbels. It was perfectly evident that the level of Count Vasiliy Belinsky’s riches was far beyond my
comprehension
.

Was it this contrast between rich and poor that explained
Stefan’s
harsh attitude towards the aristocracy, or was there more to it than that? I felt decidedly uncertain about his part in all the
political
goings-on he’d mentioned, and a strange reluctance to question him further on the subject. I had a great deal still to learn, not only about Russia, but also about Stefan himself.

I thoroughly enjoyed that first weekend in the country and had great fun tobogganing with the children as it reminded me so much of home. Every winter at the first sight of snow we would borrow one of my mother’s big tea trays and go off sledging down
Benthwaite
Crag. I certainly knew how to keep my head down and hold on tight when going round corners. Skating, however, was a skill I had never acquired as my father had always been rather nervous about how long the ice would remain solid on the lake.

‘Russia is different. The ice lasts for months,’ Stefan assured me as he set about finding me a pair of skates that fit. Snow was falling even as I ventured out onto the ice for the first time. Both children, even little Irina, were surprisingly skilled but though I was eager to learn and join in the fun, laughing along with them whenever I took a tumble, I cautiously kept to the edges of the frozen river.

Little by little I became more confident and steadier on my feet. I didn’t even mind the icy air whistling around me as I cautiously ventured a little further out onto the ice, although I did tug my fur hat closer about my ears.

‘I’ll have to leave you to it now,’ Stefan called. ‘I must go and feed the hens, and see to the horses. Just take things slowly.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.’ But as I half turned to speak to him, my feet did a crazy little dance, flipped from beneath me and down I went again. ‘Oh dear, spoke too soon. I certainly won’t be training for the Russian figure skating championship,’ I laughed.

Irina came swishing over to help me to my feet. ‘You can hold my hand,
Baryshnya
, if you like. I’ll help you.’

The children, and the other servants, always addressed me as
Baryshnya
‒ Miss ‒ which made me feel slightly distanced from them. But then being a governess seemed to set me in a class of my own, which wasn’t always easy. Was that why I valued this growing friendship between Stefan and myself so much? I wondered. Or did I miss the kind of flattering attention I used to get from Liam? It certainly couldn’t be anything more than that, as he was not an easy man to get to know.

‘Thank you. That is so kind of you, Irina.’ I was growing very fond of this lovely little girl, who had the sweetest nature. Not at all like her brother. Together we skated very gently to and fro, Irina helping me to practise my turns and stops. Sometimes these worked quite well but at other times I would get in a dreadful muddle and end up skimming the ice on my bottom yet again.

‘Don’t worry,
Baryshnya
, it gets easier,’ she assured me, giggling as she dusted the snow from my coat once more.

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ I sighed, beginning to feel decidedly sore in various departments of my anatomy.

‘Take no notice of her. I’ll show you how it should be done,’ Serge said, circling around me, a great grin on his face. Then, grabbing my wrist, he started to drag me further out on to the ice.

‘Stop it, Master Serge, that’s far enough,’ I protested, but he didn’t seem to be listening.

‘You need more space to skate properly. It’s no good hugging the bank. Keep going. That’s right. Come on ‒ faster, faster.’

My feet were flipping along like mad things, gaining momentum and moving as if of their own volition. I could feel myself losing control and fear shot through me like an icy sword. ‘That’s far enough Master Serge. Take me back at once,
please
!’ I shouted.

To be fair, he did pay heed to the panic in my voice, and perhaps thinking better of this naughty prank, began to slow his pace and turn for the shore, which was a huge relief to me. I was thankful, too, that he maintained his tight hold on my wrist. I could see Irina standing with her hands pressed to her mouth in dismay, anxiously awaiting my safe return. We’d almost reached her when Serge suddenly let go, and flinging up his hands, went into a little skid and skated right in front of me so that we collided.

The impact on my shoulder sent me spinning out of control, heading towards the bank at great speed. Quite unable to do anything to stop myself, I cannoned into a ridge of snow and then bounced back onto the ice, where I heard a terrifying cracking sound. I fully expected to fall through to the icy water beneath. Fortunately, I was saved by a tree root that stuck out into the frozen river. I hung on to it like a life-line, which is exactly what it was. Puffs of my gasping breath misted the air about me, and I was so relieved to be at least lying still that it wasn’t until Irina reached me and cried out in horror that I realised one leg had indeed crashed through the ice. I couldn’t even feel it.

She quickly pulled the leg out and, small as she was, started to drag me to the shore, all the while shouting at the top of her voice. ‘
Help
!
Help
! Serge, run for help quickly.
Baryshnya
is hurt.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m fine,’ I assured her, though my head was still spinning and I was so cold I could hardly feel any part of me, let alone one wet leg.

I could hear voices as people came running: Stefan with a couple of footmen, who together dragged me clear of the ice. But it was only after they had carried me safely inside and Stefan had rushed to fetch a towel to rub my leg dry that I understood the
reason
for
Irina’s
panic. As he pulled off my boot, it seemed frostbite was already setting in, and while at first I felt nothing, later as my foot began to thaw out the pain was beyond description. Never had I known such agony. I felt certain I would not survive it and just wanted to lie down and weep, or rather yell, but Stefan refused to allow me to do that.

‘You must keep moving. Walk up and down, constantly. You’ll need to keep exercising that foot for days to get the circulation going properly,’ he insisted, not letting me sit still for a moment. ‘How did the accident happen? Why didn’t you stay close to the edge, as I told you?’

I darted a glance at Serge, who stood silently watching the efforts to save my foot. As he lifted his head to meet my gaze, I knew instantly that the ‘accident’ had been nothing of the sort. The
tell
-tale light of guilt in his dark eyes told me it had been entirely
deliberate
. He had fully intended for me to crash through the ice. That being the case, one frostbitten foot was nothing compared to what might have happened.

‘Well?’ Stefan repeated. ‘Why did you skate out so far on your first attempt?’