The Kirilov Star (2 page)

‘But Your Excellency,’ she said, addressing him in the old
way, forgetting she should not use that form of address now and she should have said Mikhail Mikhailovich. ‘Where else would I be but with my babes? And the countess needs me.’

‘Oh, thank you, Tonya,’ Anna put in. ‘I do not think I could bear it without you.’

‘But how will we get away?’ the servant asked. ‘Someone is sure to see us and tell the
militsiia
.’

‘We must leave separately and go in different directions. The countess and I will take the carriage to pay a visit to my cousin, Grigori Stefanovich. He is Chairman of the Workers’ Committee of the Petrovsk Soviet and a visit to him will not be thought out of the ordinary. You will take the children in the droshky, as if you were taking Andrei to school, but you will not leave him there but go to Simferopol. We will meet you there and go to Yalta together.’ He had considered sending them by train, but the trains, mostly made up of freight trucks, were packed with refugees, coming from further north, and they would never manage to get on one, even if they could obtain the necessary papers allowing them to travel.

‘My parents live near Simferopol,’ Tonya put in. ‘You remember, Stepan and Marya Ratsin? They came on a visit. Years ago it was, before the war. We can take the children to them to wait for you.’

‘Thank you, Tonya, if you are sure they will welcome them. It will only be for a few hours until the countess and I arrive.’

‘Of course they will welcome them. The Reds haven’t reached that far, have they?’

‘No, Crimea is in White hands at the moment.’ He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Though for how long, I cannot say.’

‘Then the sooner we set off the better.’

‘Tomorrow,’ he said.

‘Where will we get the extra horses?’ Andrei demanded suddenly. ‘We’ve only got old Tasha and she’s a bag of bones.’

Mikhail smiled at his son, though it was more than a little forced. ‘I have arranged to borrow one from the stationmaster.’

‘You surely do not mean one of those great railway horses that help shunt the trucks?’

‘Yes, there is nothing else to be had and I had to bribe Iosif Liberov with your mother’s white fur coat even for that. Ivan will return the animal when you are safely away.’ Then to Anna, who had been stitching busily the whole time, keeping her fingers on the move, trying not to think about what he was saying, ‘Have you nearly done, Annushka?’

‘There’s just this big diamond left. You haven’t taken it out of its setting.’ She held up the jewel which was set in filigree silver in the shape of a star. The diamond in its centre was very big and glittered in the light from the lamp. Graded rubies, dark as blood, were set down the centre of each arm, the corners of which held a smaller diamond.

‘It won’t budge. We’ll have to leave it like that. Can you put it in Lydia’s petticoat?’

‘I’ll try.’ She picked up her needle and the garment that Tonya had brought and set about concealing the star among its flounces. ‘She had better wear the petticoat; it will be found in our luggage if that is searched.’

‘We cannot take luggage, my love; remember we are only supposed to be going out for the day. We can put a couple of carpet bags under the seat of each carriage, but
no more. Wear all you can; you will need it anyway, the weather is bitter.’

‘Mama, why are you doing that?’ Lydia asked, watching her mother poke the gem into a false pocket she had made in the seam between the body of the garment and the flounce.

‘We have to hide it, sweetheart. It is very valuable and bad men might try and take it from us if they know we have it. It is called the Kirilov Star. Did you know that?’

‘No, I didn’t. I can’t remember seeing it before.’

‘I don’t suppose you have. I haven’t worn it for a long time. Occasions for displaying such opulence have long gone. I do not know if they will ever come back. But you must take great care of it and show it to no one.’

‘I won’t.’

Mikhail sat down and drew his daughter onto his knee. ‘You are my diamond, little one, the star of the Kirilovs and you must always remember that. Be good for Papa and help Andrei to look after your mother.’

Lydia rubbed her cheek against his tunic. He had discarded his wonderful scarlet and blue uniform with its gold braid for a plain tunic and wide leather belt, such as the better class of peasants wore. It was rough but strangely comforting. ‘Aren’t you coming with us, Papa?’

‘Not right away. I shall join you later.’ He kissed the top of her head and lifted her off his knee. ‘Now off you go with Tonya and get ready for bed. You too, Andrei. We must all be up early in the morning.’

Anna kissed her daughter and hugged her son and it was not until they and their governess had disappeared that she burst into tears again. ‘What is to become of us, Misha? Will we be parted for ever?’

‘No, of course not.’ He knelt beside her chair and took her hands in his own. ‘You must not think like that, my dearest one. As soon as I can, I will join you. It will only be a few weeks, if that. No one among the Whites believes the war can be won, or that anything can return to what it was. Things have gone too far. When General Wrangel leaves, so will I, I promise you.’ He bent forward and kissed her tear-wet cheek. ‘Now, dry your eyes and come to bed. Tomorrow everything will look more rosy and you will be able to look forward to your new life. You must do it for the children’s sake, let them see what a great adventure it is going to be.’

She gave him a watery smile. ‘I shall try.’

But the next day could certainly not be described as rosy because it was snowing. Fat white flakes drifted down, swirling a little on the wind before settling on trees and rooftops and lastly on the lane that ran past the house. There was talk of postponing their journey but, according to Ivan, it would get worse before it got better, and if they were to go at all, they should go before it became too deep for the droshky. And what was more, he had heard gunfire in the night. It was still some distance away, but it heralded trouble. He had told his own family to take food and warm clothing into the cellar and shelter there if the fighting came to Petrovsk.

He was standing beside the carriage to which their old horse was harnessed, while the white flakes landed on their shoulders and decorated their fur hats. The vehicle was an ancient one with a soft retracting hood which Ivan had pulled up and which was already dotted with snowflakes. Before the war it had been used when the family came down for holidays, but had been laid up until they had arrived as 
refugees in 1918. Since then they hardly dared take it out for fear of being accused of private ownership. If the Reds came, it would certainly be taken from them.

‘You are right, of course,’ Mikhail told Ivan, stamping his boot-clad feet. ‘And I would not ask you to leave your family if I could manage without you, so the sooner we go, the sooner you will be back with them.’

‘Yes, Your Ex—’ He stopped suddenly, realising he should not have addressed the count in the old way. ‘Yes, Mikhail Mikhailovich,’ he corrected himself. ‘When do you wish me to leave?’

‘You must pretend to be taking Andrei to school and you have to take Lydia too because her mama and papa are out and there is no one to take care of her at home. The countess – I mean Anna Yurievna – and I are going now. We shall have to spend some time with Grigori Stefanovich and not appear to be in a hurry to leave, but he will give us safe conduct to travel. We can make use of that and will meet you at Tonya’s home tomorrow evening. Tonya has assured me her father, Stepan Gregorovich, will welcome the children. I have given her enough money for you to stop at a hotel on the way.’

‘Then I’ll fetch the horse from the station and harness it up.’ He wandered away, muttering that he didn’t know what the world was coming to, with everything upside down and the wrong way round and he could see no good coming from any of it. He was certainly no better off under the new regime, and with the count and countess gone, how was he going to earn a living and feed his family?

The count turned and went back into the house.

Andrei and Lydia were sitting at the kitchen table eating
kasha
, a gruel made of buckwheat; Tonya was trying to
stuff more of Lydia’s clothes into one of the bags and Anna was trying to decide whether she had room to take the icon from her bedroom. No one was talking. Anna looked up as he entered, brushing snow from his shoulders and sleeves. ‘Well?’

‘Ivan Ivanovich thinks we should press on before the snow becomes too thick and I agree with him. Are you ready?’

‘Yes.’ She knew it was not the snow he was concerned about so much as the approaching Red Army. She put the icon down. It was bulky and would take up more room in her bag than it deserved; after all, she could pray just as easily without it. She pulled on fur-lined boots, a coat made of the best sable and a hat to match. On top of that she put a thick shawl which she intended to discard for her visit to Grigori. ‘I am wearing so many petticoats I feel like a dumpling,’ she complained.

‘You look beautiful,’ he said, bending to kiss the tip of her nose. ‘Now, does Tonya have her instructions?’

‘I don’t know. I forgot whether I told her to lock the bedroom door when they stop at the hotel tonight. You never know…’

‘Countess, you have told me a hundred times,’ Tonya put in. ‘And you have told me what to order for supper and what to say to my parents and not to let Andrei out of my sight for a minute. As if I would! And Lydia is to wear all her petticoats and her warmest dress and the seal fur coat you made for her out of your old one …’

‘I am sorry I am such a fusspot,’ Anna said. ‘Of course you know all that. And we shall be together again tomorrow night, so I do not know what I am worrying about. Come, children, sit with us a moment and then we must go.’ They
all sat quietly as was the custom before undertaking a journey, but there was no time for lengthy contemplation of what lay before them and it was better not to think of it. Seconds later, she flung her arms about Andrei and hugged him so tight he squirmed to be free. ‘Be good for Tonya and Ivan and look after your sister, won’t you?’

‘Course I will. I’m twelve, nearly a man.’

‘So you are, and I am proud of you.’ She reached for Lydia. ‘Kiss me goodbye, little one, and then I must go. Papa is waiting.’ She had managed to remain dry-eyed, but now the tears started to flow again. It felt as if she were saying goodbye to her children for ever, when it was not her children she might never see again, but her husband. Mikhail was going to see them all onto the boat at Yalta and then there would be real goodbyes. She must not think of that. She had two days to persuade him to travel with them; he had never refused her anything before and she could not believe that he would continue to hold out against her pleas. She brightened and kissed Lydia. ‘Until tomorrow, my darling. Be good.’ Then she drew on her gloves and picked up her muff and followed her husband out to where the carriage waited with the old horse in the shafts.

Tonya, Lydia and Andrei went to the door and watched as the count helped the countess into the carriage and tucked the rug about her before climbing onto the driving seat and flicking the reins over the rump of the old horse. It pricked up its ears and, with a jingle of harness, obeyed the command, ‘Forward!’ They stayed at the door watching and waving until the vehicle was out of sight, while the snow swirled about them and landed on the doormat.

Lydia was loath to move. She did not understand what
was happening, but seeing her mother cry had worried her. Mama was a grown-up and never cried. There was more to this trip than either of her parents had admitted. Why all the secrecy and the jewels sewn into their clothes and Mama and Papa going off separately? Papa had said they would be together again tomorrow, but something inside her, a huge dark lump in her breast, stopped her from breathing properly and frightened her.

‘Come back inside, Lidushka,’ Tonya said, taking her hand. ‘They have gone. You can’t see them anymore.’ It sounded like a prophesy.

‘Now, my cherubs,’ she went on, drawing the children back indoors. ‘We must get ready to go too. Go and make sure you have everything, while I pack some food to take with us. We shall have a picnic, eh?’

‘In a snowstorm!’ Andrei laughed, as he scampered up the stairs. He accepted what his father said without question and was treating the whole thing as a great adventure.

‘Do you think we shall ever come back here again?’ Lydia asked him as they reached the landing.

‘Course we will, one day. This is our home. It has belonged to the Kirilovs for hundreds of years. One day it will be mine because I am the heir.’

Lydia looked about her at the carpets and curtains and her bed with its thick hangings to keep out the draughts, though now they were moth-eaten. She felt less sure than Andrei. Everything was changing, like summer suddenly ending and the snow starting, except that the snow would one day melt and spring would come again. But something in her bones, in her soul, told her that this was different and that the springs and summers to come would be nothing like those that had gone before, and it made her anxious.

‘Hurry up!’ Tonya called from the bottom of the stairs. ‘Ivan Ivanovich is back and the droshky is at the door.’

Ivan had said goodbye to Sima and his children and now he was anxious to be off. They picked up the bags Tonya had packed for them and hurried down to the kitchen where Ivan was stamping the snow off his boots on the doormat. He took their bags from them and herded them out to the vehicle. The sight of it with a huge black carthorse in the shafts made Andrei giggle. ‘Do you think you can make it gallop?’ he asked Ivan.

‘Let us hope we do not have to,’ he said curtly, while he stowed the bags inside, lifted Lydia up and deposited her on the long fore and aft seat with her legs on either side, before turning to help Tonya up behind her.

‘I’m going to sit behind you, Ivan Ivanovich,’ Andrei said, moving the shotgun that lay on the seat and putting it on the floor at his feet.

‘Do you think I should have fastened the shutters?’ Tonya asked, looking back at the house.