The Four Winds of Heaven (7 page)

Then there was a second class of women, the gay, bright ones who tapped a gentleman on the arm with a flippant fan, who trilled with glee and made the naughtiest comments. They were always beautiful, but in their middle years they often grew brittle, and their wit hardened. These women generally adored David, for they thought him so teasable, and yet so kind. He found them pleasantly innocent, and did not mind them or their flirtatious jokes. Perhaps, in their way, they added a note of brilliance to the world. His tiny blond niece, Tania, might grow into this type of woman, he thought. She would make an amusing wife but a dreadful mother, jealous of any charm her daughters might accrue.

But there was a class of women who made David acutely uncomfortable—sharp-eyed, sharp-minded women whose every gesture proclaimed that they were better than men, that, in fact, they would be just as happy if that annoying sex would kindly disintegrate before their more intelligent eyes. And David, looking at the elegant blond seated between his daughters, wondered if she were not one of them. She spoke to him with the utmost courtesy, but when he answered, her face remained rigid, as though it did not matter if she heard him or not. Nonsense, he told himself. The girl is Dutch, the Dutch are reserved, and she is in a new household with a new master. Yet, for all his chiding, the fine profile of Johanna de Mey caused him to cast aside his sherried veal after hardly a taste. It did not help that Mathilde refused to return his look of deep yearning, that she flushed only when addressing this outsider, this woman whose existence mattered so slightly to all their lives.

After supper, when Johanna went to put the children to bed, he said with unsuppressed annoyance to his wife, “How can this person afford such clothes? Why, her attire this evening seemed almost as expensive as your own.”

But Mathilde, instead of smiling her indulgent smile and placing her hand on his arm, regarded him with a firm ridge between her black brows. “For a man who dedicates himself to the poor, you show a surprising lack of grace. Johanna is an excellent seamstress. She purchases the patterns, and makes the gowns herself. You should be pleased that such a ‘person,' as you put it, will teach our daughters how to sew; they'll spend less of your money on their dresses.”

He was abashed. “My dear, forgive me.” He took her fingers and brought them to his lips. “Let us not quarrel over a governess. You are right: she will be perfect for the children. You and I have so much to make up for—so many months. Let's not be irritated with one another.”

But she said, “David, I am tired. I should like to retire now. I feel a migraine coming on. We'll talk tomorrow.” Before he could reply, she swept out of the room, a majestic figure in soft green. Tomorrow. He stood alone, aghast. Their first night together.

Suddenly, an irrepressible anger took hold of him, and he hurled a bronze paperweight against the mantelpiece. Then he fell into an armchair, and his head dropped into his hands. He did not hear Stepan enter the room and discreetly pick up the fallen object, nor did he hear him leave. He was far too upset.

R
osa de Gunzburg
, wrapped from head to toe in astrakhan fur, shivered deeply as the gusts of icy wind flung themselves, moaning, against her elegant troika. She hugged her tiny daughter to her meager body. “Why do Uncle David and Aunt Mathilde live so far away?” Tania asked. She was herself enveloped in white ermine, with muff and cap to match, and her small face was red with cold.

“Heaven only knows, child,” her mother sighed. Vassilievsky was a mere suburb, while her own house in the city dated from the days of the Tzarina Elisabeth, and was considered a landmark. The historic facade remained, but inside it had been remodeled, and it was full of clarity and open spaces, with a wrought iron bannister along the staircase and a living room all in blue silks. Rosa was most proud of her salon. She did not know that her friends sometimes made fun of her exclusively female help, however. “Rosa is a darling, but so German,” the Russians would say. For the Warburgs of Hamburg had employed no male servants, and even now Rosa was afraid that her authority might be questioned by a man.

Now, when Stepan greeted her as they arrived at Mathilde's house, Rosa felt a pang of envy. He was such a fine specimen, and so excellently trained. She took Tania's hand and went into the Louis XIII living room, admiring it, in spite of herself. She adjusted the spray of lace at her throat, and mentally reviewed her appearance. Truly, the emerald afternoon gown from Worth was perfect, and Tania's pink pinafore was adorable.

Mathilde was rising to greet her, and Rosa noted with displeasure that Sonia, at her side, was a pretty child. Her eyes were smoky-gray, her features delicate, her hair raven black. But she looked so very Russian—men would find her attractive but… ordinary, unlike Tania, so golden, with her eyes such a bright blue.

Mathilde was also regarding Tania, and thinking, How absurd! A child in raw silk, which will stain when she plays. But she held out her arms and embraced her sister-in-law.

Sonia was staring at Tania, her eyes wide with admiration. “You are very beautiful,” she said, taking her hand. “You are like a princess in a story.”

“Yes, I know,” Tania replied sweetly.

“But you're not supposed to answer that way,” Sonia said with consternation. “Mama will be quite shocked, and so will your Mama.”

“Oh, I don't think so,” Tania explained. Her eyes twinkled. “Everybody compliments me. And Mama and Papa are very happy about it.”

Sonia bit her lower lip. “You are very lucky,” she said. “I guess I'm just not as pretty as you. Nobody tells me I am, except for Ossip.”

Tania clapped her little hands together. “Ossip! Oh, where is he? I should like to see him again. He was a handsome boy when I saw him last. He gave me candy.”

“You want to see my brother?” Sonia was hesitant. “Don't you want to go to my room and have cakes, and play with my dolls, and see Anna?”

But Tania made a wry face. “No. Anna is ugly. I don't like ugly people. But I like Ossip. He will play dolls with us.”

“I'm not sure, for he is a boy,” Sonia answered. “You will have to ask. And Anna is not ugly. You must promise never to say that again, or I shall not be friends with you.” Her cheeks grew red with anger.

“Your Mama will force you to be my friend,” Tania stated primly. “And Ossip will play what I want. They always do. Everybody.”

“Ossip is not an everybody,” Sonia replied, annoyed. Then she shrugged. “Come on,” she said, and took her cousin's hand. She led the way out of the room.

Rosa commented to Mathilde: “They are so sweet together. Snow White and Rose Red.”

A half-smile appeared on Mathilde's serene face. “Tania does get her own way, doesn't she? Someday she will be roundly spanked by an older and larger child. Or,” she added, “by a sensitive mother.”

But Rosa saw no irony in these words. “She charms the whole world,” she said fatuously. “And besides, my dear, no one would dare to lay a hand on the daughter of Baron Alexander.”

Mathilde poured some dark amber tea into tall Russian glasses. She sat back, annoyed at the irritation which disturbed her peace in this room which she loved. Rosa was like a fly, buzzing around her. Mathilde put a hand to her temple, and wondered if another migraine was about to begin. Her thick pompadour weighed on her head. She was vaguely pleased with Sonia, who had controlled her anger toward her cousin, and somewhat annoyed with Anna, who had refused to come to tea. Later she would enter, to kiss her aunt gingerly on the spare brown cheek, but that was hardly sufficient for the elder daughter in a family. Still—she could imagine Anna sitting in surly resentment on the edge of the sofa, her red hair hopelessly disordered. Rosa would tell all of St. Petersburg about it. Mathilde sighed. The only bright point of this colorless afternoon would be when Johanna would join them, after making sure that the two older children were settled in their rooms with cake and tea.

“You have not met my Johanna,” she said to Rosa, and her face quickened. “She is a jewel—not merely with the children, but also here, with me. She is literate and worldly and has traveled. And she has such a flair for fashion!”

“A hired woman? Come now, Mathilde, you exaggerate. Tania's governess is perfectly adequate—a Swiss girl—but I would no more discuss fashion with her than I would with your Stepan.”

“You are so wrong! You, David—thinking in terms of pay. Johanna is a lady, I tell you. She comes from as fine a family as we do. Money is scarce. There is no dishonor in working.” But she shivered at the thought, and her heart, so rarely touched, warmed with compassion for Johanna de Mey. She felt a surge of anger with Rosa that she had not felt when Tania had called Anna ugly.

Moments later, with a swishing of satin, Johanna de Mey entered the room. Her appearance alone made Rosa de Gunzburg shrink and darken in contrast, for she wore a gown of soft turquoise, and her hair fell in ringlets onto the nape of her neck. She said, “I am so sorry to be late for you, Mathilde.” The smile that accompanied her speech was radiant. Rosa touched her breast with an intake of breath, and her black eyes rolled in their sockets. Mathilde repressed a smile.

“This is Johanna de Mey, Rosinka,” she said, as the Dutchwoman took the small bony hand and made a slight but precise curtsy. Her willowy form hardly seemed to bow, so smooth and brief was the formality. “My sister-in-law, the Baroness Alexander de Gunzburg.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Mathilde patted the seat next to her on the sofa, and the governess sat down. Rosa watched, unable to speak. Smoothly, Mathilde poured a third glass of tea and handed it to the fair-haired woman beside her. Rosa thought, Mathilde has taken leave of her senses. But she could not regain her composure. Johanna de Mey, coolly sipping tea, was examining her with eyes of crystal blue. Rosa shivered. And then a tremendous envy welled up inside her, and she wanted to tear out Johanna's fine golden ringlets and spill tea over her elegant turquoise gown. She said, her birdlike face craned toward Mathilde, “I was planning to give a dinner in your honor, to celebrate your arrival. Sasha has discussed it with David.”

Mathilde's eyebrows curved up. “Did you not wish to speak to me about it before the men discussed it?” she asked. Then, more kindly, she added, “But no, of course, they are brothers. When shall we come?”

“Two weeks from Thursday,” Rosa replied, refusing to look at Johanna. Her hands were rigid in her lap. “We shall be only family. David was very touched,” she emphasized.

“As am I, dear Rosa. So we shall be the Sashas, the Davids, Uncle Horace, and Johanna?” Mathilde made an effort to speak with gentleness, and her control jarred her sister-in-law's nerves. Rosa touched her forehead absently. “Did you hear me, Rosinka?” Mathilde inquired with solicitude.

Suddenly Rosa de Gunzburg came alive, with fury. Her hands clenched into fists. She half rose, and screamed, “No! You will not bring this woman to my house! You will not spoil my intimate supper! She is nothing, nothing at all, and I have not invited her. I also did not bother to include Stepan. What would Papa Horace say? Or Sasha? My God, Mathilde, it is uncivil enough for you to impose this creature on me alone, when I come to tea for the first time since your return. Are you trying to ruin me?” She burst into hysterical sobs, pressing her fists against her temples, her neat chignon coming undone.

Mathilde's eyes widened, but her expression of tranquil poise did not shift, She said calmly, “Let's be mature, Rosa. You have insulted me by insulting my friend. Johanna is my friend, and nobody will belittle her in my presence. You are my sister, and I value your good will. I would not think of including Johanna if she were not already precious to me. She is a lady, I have told you. But if you invite me to supper in front of Johanna, whom I have asked to join us for this tea, then it is only natural for me to assume that she is also invited. If she were not, you would have discussed the supper at another time, privately.”

“But you gave me no chance!” Rosa cried out.

Johanna de Mey stood up. Her eyes had turned a strange opalescent hue, and her thin nose seemed pinched. She said, “Mathilde, it is clear that I am not wanted. The Baroness seems to think that I am a servant. It appears that I committed a grave error in accepting this position with the Gunzburg family. Your reputation is high, and I was told that I would fit into its aura of gentility and generosity. Yet now I am treated as a menial. I have not been invited, although a party has been discussed in my presence. That is the prerogative of the Baroness, but it is mine, nevertheless, to return to France. I have never accepted humiliation, and I never shall. If you seek a servant, then I am sorry, but you have made a mistake. My mother, in the Netherlands, was also a baroness.” Even as Mathilde's hand reached out to touch her, she evaded it, moving aside with a swish of her satin skirt. She turned and left the room, where Rosa was still sobbing. All color had departed from Mathilde's cheeks. For the first time since her wedding trip, Mathilde de Gunzburg felt control slipping away from her, and remembered the ghastly night that David had forced her to spend in a train station. She thought of her father, pounding his fist upon the dinner table to roar insults at the cook for overheating the soup. Fear rose in her breast. She thought wildly: Johanna will go away, and she is the first person who has truly been my friend, the first person who has understood me since I left my sisters. She was in St. Petersburg, where she needed Johanna, needed someone with whom to share her feelings. She needed Johanna to act as buffer, to control the children, to help with the servants... to laugh about female things, to chat with idly. She could not let Johanna go, not now, not ever. A desperation such as Mathilde had never experienced in her thirty-one years overwhelmed her.