The Amber Keeper (19 page)

Stefan chuckled. ‘While she’s up to goodness knows what.’

‘Don’t even ask.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it. Nothing to do with us.’

‘Quite.’

‘Could we meet up later, though?’ he whispered, his eyes beseeching me to agree. Glancing about to make sure we were alone, I nodded before quickly returning to my duties.

Sneaking a little time together wasn’t easy, which was one of the reasons I loved taking the children into the village, as Stefan always drove us in the cart. One afternoon the Countess declared her intention of accompanying us, which meant we went by
carriage
. Overawed by the sight of this splendid vehicle in the midst of their humble community, the villagers instantly surrounded us, begging for work or a handout. I saw peasant women with children clinging to their skirts.

‘Drive on,’ the Countess ordered, turning her back on their demands.

‘Perhaps they are hungry,’ I ventured to suggest, thinking of the twenty kopeks the children were given every single day to spend on sweets, which would probably feed a family for days.

‘They are not
my
responsibility,’ she hissed, ‘and they smell.’

The latter was certainly true, but then soap was expensive and not a first priority if you had children to feed. I managed to slip a few kopeks into the hand of the nearest peasant woman, earning myself a glare of reproof from my mistress.

The Count’s attitude was entirely different. As president of the
zemstvo
or local council, made up of land owners and businessmen, which took place every month in a local hall, the Count was very much involved in caring for the community. Decisions would be made on such matters as local taxation, education, road maintenance, agriculture and veterinary issues, as well as the running of the local hospital.

He also regularly presided over a small court in his own home, where tenants could bring their problems for his help and support. It was clear to me that he was very much respected and loved. Everything about him on these occasions seemed different. He was dignified but approachable, his demeanour very much that of the local squire who cared about his people. I loved to watch him at his duties, and on one day in particular, I couldn’t help but hear the sobs of a young woman and her children
crying
.

Seeing me hovering at the door, the Count gave a wave of his hand, indicating I should enter. ‘This woman’s children are sick with hunger. Her husband has died and her father-in-law is threatening to throw her out of the house if she doesn’t find paying work soon. Unfortunately, try as she might, the woman has been unable to find any. Later when the crops are ready for picking there will be plenty, but not right now. I’ve sent for the fellow, in order to make it very clear he cannot evict her without my permission, even if she were not his own daughter-in-law. But could you take the children to the kitchens and find them something to eat?’

‘Of course. I’d be happy to do so.’

I greatly admired the way he patiently listened to their tales of woe, even though I didn’t understand much of what was being said, and the way he handed out justice with every sign of fairness and compassion.

The father-in-law was interviewed and suitably chastened, and the children went happily home with full bellies and a basket of food. The stink of poverty lingered long after they’d gone but my heart went out to them. How fortunate I was to have such a good job, to be so safe and secure, and so well fed.

We ended that summer with a visit to the Crimea on the north coast of the Black Sea, a favourite with the Count and Countess, where we stayed in a large villa just outside Yalta. The Romanovs, too, loved to spend time in Livadia, their Crimean palace, a
beautiful
white stone building situated on the heights above the town. I believe they’d been there in the spring, but I’m not sure whether they were in residence during our own visit. Apparently the Tsar and Tsarina socialised only occasionally, preferring to use the palace as a means to escape their duties and enjoy what might pass for a normal family life.

I wish I could have said the same about the Belinskys. The Count was more often than not busy in his office, and apart from a little spoiling of her beloved son the Countess largely ignored the children, as always. The roads in the region were generally poor so she was at least obliged to curtail her passion for driving out every afternoon. Instead she lay about in the sun, looking upon the villa as a place to relax.

And it was indeed delightful. The sun shone on Yalta beach, the boulevards hummed with children accompanied by their British governesses, and the resort was as busy as ever, many people coming to nurse their tuberculosis.

All of these normal pleasures and problems paled into insignificance when at the end of July we learned that Austria had declared war on Serbia. Within hours Russia had begun to mobilize its troops to defend it, just as Stefan had predicted, and on the first day of August the Kaiser declared war on Russia.

We quickly returned to Petrograd, as we must now call it. The name had been changed because the German nature of St
Petersburg
had begun to offend, and
Petrograd
sounded more Slavic. At first there were few signs of preparation for war, although later we did see soldiers marching in the streets, singing as they went about their training or made their way to the mobile kitchens specially set up for them.

On my first visit to the British and American chapel the war was naturally the major topic of conversation between the British governesses, all trying to decide whether they should go home or stay in Russia.

Ruth and I hugged each other by way of comfort. ‘Such bad news,’ I said. ‘I’d been planning a trip home. Now I suppose that will have to be put on hold for a while.’

‘There are ships still available but there’s always the risk of being sunk by a German warship. Even travelling by train is
difficult
. The one transporting Empress Maria Feodorovna, the Tsar’s mother, stopped in Berlin on its journey back from England and a mob attacked it, throwing stones at the windows. She was eventually saved by the police but nonetheless ordered to leave Germany as quickly as possible, so the train returned the long way, via
Denmark
.’

‘Oh, my goodness. I must tell
Babushka
. She will be most upset to hear that as she was once one of the Empress Mother’s ladies-
in-wa
iting.’

‘Well, the episode has decided me that it’s safer to stay put. In any case, it will all be over by Christmas. Everyone says so.’

‘And at least England isn’t involved,’ I remarked in all
innocence
.

‘I’m afraid that is no longer the case. Germany has declared war on France and sent troops to invade Belgium and Luxembourg, heading for Paris. England issued an ultimatum and when it was ignored, declared war on Germany on the fourth of August.’

‘Oh no. It’s all happening so fast.’

‘Despite the fact most of the royal houses across Europe are related, they are all now in open conflict with each other.’

‘And we governesses are caught in the middle of it.’

‘I’m afraid we are.’

I wrote anxiously to my parents in the Lake District, explaining the delay in my plans and praying they would be safe.
Letters
from home were slow to arrive and often heavily censored, but in
September
I received one which said that Liam had been killed shortly after joining up. I was filled with sadness. Whatever his
failings
in the way he’d pretended to be in love with me in order to have his wicked way, that didn’t mean that I’d disliked him. He’d been perhaps over-eager and rather too passionate, but a
pleasant
enough young man, and a good friend. I wrote to his parents expressing my condolences, quietly weeping at his loss, and worrying over how many more young men would lose their lives before this conflict was over.

I silently prayed that Stefan would not be one of them.

At the British and American chapel we were encouraged to start knitting socks and balaclavas, which I was happy to do under the careful instruction of
Nyanushki
, since domestic skills did not come naturally to me. Some of the other girls volunteered to help at the Red Cross. When I suggested that I might do the same, the
Countess
refused permission.

‘I’m afraid I can’t spare you, Dowthwaite. I need you here.’

‘But your ladyship, this is important. If soldiers are injured there won’t be enough nurses to care for them.’

‘That is not my problem. Now please fetch me a glass of water. I’m thirsty.’

Stifling a sigh, I went to do her bidding, deeply frustrated that fetching the Countess a glass of water she was perfectly capable of getting for herself was perceived to be more important than nursing the wounded.

I could only hope that the belief it would all be over by
Christmas
was correct, as the fear that Stefan might feel the need to join up was strong in me.

Yet in a strange way the war seemed distant, a world away, and life continued very much as usual, the Belinskys appearing oblivious to events. That autumn we continued to spend the occasional weekend in the country where it was still my habit each morning to take the children out on a ride. One particular morning I was later than usual going to saddle the ponies, as I’d let the children over-sleep following a party the night before in which they’d enjoyed singing to the balalaika and been rather late going to bed.

The moment I entered the stables I froze on the spot. Stefan had his back against the wall, his hands resting loosely at the
Countess’s
waist: there was no denying that they were kissing. I must have gasped out loud for they suddenly broke apart and she turned her blazing charcoal eyes full upon me. Stefan called out, but I didn’t hear what he said as I turned on my heel and ran.

‘Oh, my goodness, that’s dreadful!’ Abbie cried. ‘How could he so callously betray you, and after you were becoming so close?’

A sadness came over her grandmother’s face at the memory. ‘I confess I was devastated at the time, utterly heartbroken, in fact.’

‘I can imagine. Did he apologise, or explain?’ Abbie wanted to know, entirely caught up in the emotion of the moment and feeling pretty devastated herself.

‘He did make a fumbling attempt, yes. He found me one afternoon in my favourite place sitting on the bench beside the river, near to tears, deeply engrossed in my own depressed thoughts. I felt cold inside, bleak and lost. The children had been enjoying tea with their parents, from which for once I had begged to be excused, claiming I had a headache when really I was heartsick.’

‘Of course you were,’ Abbie said, giving her a hug.

‘May I speak with you for a moment?’ he quietly asked.

My response was cool. ‘I don’t believe we have anything to say.’ The pain of what I had witnessed hurt more than words could express. I thought myself foolish for trusting him and believing, even for a moment, that he truly loved me. I heard him draw in a jagged breath, shuffle his feet on the rough stone path in
discomfort
.