The Kirilov Star (6 page)

They crossed the yard to the stables where the grooms were working and an almost identical conversation took place. Lydia was nervous of the black and white dog and hid behind Claudia. ‘Bless you,’ a man in a thick tweed jacket and jodhpurs said. ‘Bessie won’t hurt you. Soft as butter she is. Come and stroke her.’ And he took Lydia’s hand and put it on the dog’s rough fur. The dog wagged its tail and licked her other hand, making her smile.

‘That’s the first time I ever saw her smile,’ Claudia said.

‘Ah, well, that’s animals for you.’

They left the stables and walked through a garden and out of a gate into the park that surrounded the house. Here there were walks carved out of the grass and they followed one to a lake and stood looking across the water. A light breeze ruffled the water and set the reeds swaying to and fro and made the leaves of the water lilies bob up and down. Some ducks were swimming a little way out, but seeing them, paddled towards them quacking noisily, expecting titbits. ‘We must bring some crusts next time we come,’ Claudia said in English, and when Lydia looked enquiringly at her, repeated it in Russian, adding, ‘Time to go home. Sir Edward and Lady Stoneleigh might be looking for us.’

Home. The word obviously meant something different to Claudia.

In the days that followed, Lydia’s young brain shut out the awful death of her brother and their nurse except in horrendous nightmares. The loud ticking of the nursery clock was an unheard background to gunshots, galloping horses, sleet and snow, the dark, menacing forest and a
vision of brave little Andrei, his life’s blood spilling all over her white dress, wine-red and sticky. It was a terror so huge that it surrounded her like a stifling blanket which had somehow wrapped itself around her and covered her face in her sleep, so that she could hardly breathe. She would wake up screaming and be comforted by Claudia.

They kept to their own quarters, except when they went out for walks with Bessie trotting along with them and sniffing in the hedgerows, and they saw little of Lady Stoneleigh. Her ladyship was not cruel, but she was not especially kind to her. It was a kind of indifference, a standing apart, on the sidelines, as if she were watching a play from the wings and at the end of it the actors would take their bows and go home. Lydia could not put this into words, but sometimes she wondered if Lady Stoneleigh really liked having her.

Sir Edward was different. He would come up to the nursery suite almost every day and talk to her in Russian and sometimes he joined them on their walks. He understood her bewilderment at being without her family, in a strange country surrounded by strangers speaking a language she could not understand. He and Claudia were the only stable things in her life and it was through his gentle perseverance that she slowly came to accept her new life, but she was desperately lonely and homesick for Mama and Papa and had not given up the idea of being reunited with them.

It was something Margaret wished for too.

‘Edward, have you made any progress at all about finding that child’s parents?’ she asked him one day, just before Christmas. They had finished dinner and were sitting in the drawing room. She was on the sofa with a piece of embroidery in her lap but was making no attempt to ply
her needle. He was in an armchair reading a newspaper. He put it down.

‘No, I’m afraid not. These things take time.’

‘Surely people, especially landed gentry, do not just disappear into thin air.’

‘They do in Russia at the moment,’ he said grimly. ‘The situation is chaotic and the stories coming out are horrendous. Both Reds and Whites are perpetrating unimaginable horrors. If the count and countess have survived, heaven knows where they are.’

‘I believe there is a charitable society in London that takes care of displaced Russian children. It is run by a Russian lady married to an Englishman. You could take her there.’

‘Why? Do you want to be rid of her?’

‘Edward, she does not belong here.’

He was disappointed. He had hoped, by bringing her to Upstone Hall, he would be making a loving home for her, but it had not turned out like that. Lydia and Claudia were like ghosts in the house, occasionally seen flitting here and there, sometimes heard talking quietly in a mixture of Russian and English, but never real, never part of the household. And sometimes, in the middle of the night, he heard Lydia screaming. He would slip on a dressing gown and go up to stand outside the nursery door, listening to her sobbing and Claudia soothing her. Unable to do anything for her, he would go back to bed, feeling helpless, wishing Margaret could bring herself to be a mother to her.

‘She is not a nuisance, is she?’ he asked.

‘No, she is very quiet – too quiet, I think. She would surely do better among her own kind.’

‘Darling, it would be cruel to uproot her again so soon after bringing her here. Can’t you imagine what the poor child has been through? Her nurse and brother were shot in front of her eyes. Her clothes were covered in their blood when she was brought to me. It will be a long time before she gets over that.’

‘You are determined on keeping her here, aren’t you?’

‘What else would you have me do? I brought her here, accepted responsibility for her and that responsibility is ongoing.’

She gave up. He was not going to change his mind, which only went to confirm her worst fears.

The household was gearing itself up for Christmas, doing a lot of cooking, buying and making presents, discussing the decorations and the parties they meant to attend, and though they talked to Lydia about it, she understood very little. She knew it was a happy time when wishes were granted to good little girls. Her wish was that Mama and Papa would come, which would be the best present of all, but when she told Sir Edward, he took her between his knees and kissed her. ‘The trouble is, my little one, I still do not know where they are.’

‘Are they lost? Or hiding?’

‘You think they may be hiding?’ he asked, surprised that she had thought of it.

‘We were hiding at Kirilhor. We had to be quiet all the time and stay in the kitchen and back parlour. When the bad men were coming, we had to leave. Papa said we would go on a big ship.’

It was the first time he had heard her speak of that time. ‘And you did, didn’t you?’

‘Yes. Did they come on a big ship too?’

‘No, I do not think so, my sweet. I have asked everyone I know. I think they were left behind in Russia. As soon as I hear anything I will tell you, I promise.’

She was miserable for a few days after that but brightened as Christmas Day drew nearer. There was a Christmas tree which she helped to decorate and parcels were put all round the bottom of it which were not to be opened until after Christmas dinner. This would be at one o’clock after everyone had been to church, including all the servants, except Cook and the kitchen maid left behind to make sure dinner was on the table on time.

Church, which they attended every Sunday, was the only time Sir Edward and Lady Stoneleigh took her anywhere together. Dressed in a warm woollen coat in a soft blue, with a tam-o’-shanter on her curls and her hands in a muff, she stood and sat and knelt between them and enjoyed the singing. On Christmas Day she was allowed to join Sir Edward and Lady Stoneleigh for dinner of roast goose and Christmas pudding. She was becoming used to English food and, like all small children, her appetite was good.

After that the presents were distributed from under the tree. Lydia received a jigsaw puzzle, some books, and a china doll from Sir Edward and Lady Stoneleigh. From Claudia she had a handkerchief with her name embroidered in the corner and from the kitchen staff a box of home-made sweets. Claudia had helped her to make a needlecase for Lady Stoneleigh and a bookmark for Sir Edward. ‘How beautifully you have done it,’ her ladyship said, and kissed her cheek. Sir Edward kissed her too, but it was Lady Stoneleigh’s peck which surprised and pleased Lydia. It was the first time she had shown any sign
of affection. Sir Edward noted it too and decided it was a good sign; his wife was at last coming to accept the child.

Winter gave way to spring. The daffodils appeared in the grass and the leaves reappeared on the trees. People stopped telling Lydia she would be reunited with her parents, stopped talking to her about Russia at all. The past became a kind of dream; Mama and Papa, Andrei and Tonya were people who came to her in her sleep and had no presence in her daytime life. The people in her waking hours were Claudia, of course, Sir Edward, whom she loved, Lady Stoneleigh, whom she saw only occasionally, and the servants. With so many servants about, she soon began to pick up a little English, but it was not the English of Sir Edward and his wife; it was Norfolk with a strong Russian accent which many people found difficult to understand. Edward, hearing it, decided something must be done about it and employed an English teacher.

Miss Graham was young and enthusiastic. She wore knitted jumper suits, long strings of beads and did her dark hair up in a bun. She spoke no Russian and Claudia was needed to translate at first, but Lydia was a bright child and learnt quickly. In her head she had decided that if she were good, if she did everything she was told and tried hard at her lessons, everyone would be pleased with her and then she would be reunited with her family all the sooner. It was a childish logic she told no one until one day when Sir Edward came to the schoolroom to sit in on one of her lessons. It made Miss Graham all flustered, but he smiled to set her at her ease. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Pretend I am not here.’

The lesson went on and after it had finished he drew Lydia between his knees. ‘Well done, sweetheart,’ he said
in English. ‘I did not realise how clever you are. You have learnt remarkably quickly.’

Some of the words he used were unknown to her, but she realised he was pleased because he was smiling. ‘Does that mean I can go home now?’

‘Home?’ he asked, puzzled. ‘Do you mean to Russia?’

‘Yes, to Mama and Papa. I want to go back to them.’

He sighed. ‘The trouble is that the bad men are everywhere and it would not be safe. If I could find them, I would bring them here. You would like that, wouldn’t you?’

She nodded, her eyes alight with hope, and he felt a cur for giving her hope when he feared there was none. He gave her a little pat on her bottom and sent her back to Miss Graham and Claudia and then he went downstairs to find his wife.

She had been out riding and was in her room changing out of her riding clothes. Her complexion was pink from the exercise and her eyes bright. ‘Good, you are just in time to help me off with my boots,’ she said, sitting in a chair and lifting one foot.

He knelt down and pulled the boot off, stroking her stockinged foot as he did so. ‘Did you have a good ride?’

‘Yes, I went through the park, along the towpath, across the common and back through the wood. What have you been doing?’

‘I had a report to write for the Home Secretary.’ The second boot joined the first on the floor. ‘He is concerned about the numbers of Russian refugees coming into the country and how best we can accommodate them. Fifteen thousand at the last count.’

She smiled. ‘No doubt you advocated taking them into private homes.’

‘Some could be housed like that, it is true.’

‘Like Lydia.’ She was still not totally sure Edward had been telling the truth about Lydia, though she had to admit she was a fetching child and really no trouble.

‘Yes. She has come on by leaps and bounds. Her English is quite good enough for her to be sent to school.’

‘Boarding school?’

‘No. She is too young and too vulnerable. It would undo all the good we have been able to do. I think the local village school would be best. She is an intelligent child and will enjoy school and meeting other young children. I will arrange for her to go after the summer vacation.’

‘Have you had no news at all about her parents?’

‘Afraid not. I fear they have not survived. We must do our best to bring her up as they would have wished.’ He paused. ‘I think she is old enough to leave the nursery behind and have a room of her own, don’t you?’ It was said tentatively because the move represented another step Margaret had to take towards accepting the child.

He was still kneeling at her feet, still stroking her foot, gently massaging the toes, something he knew made her squirm with pleasure. She leant forward and taking his face in her hands bent forward to kiss him. ‘You know exactly how to get round me, don’t you?’ she said, laughing.

‘Do I need to?’

‘No. We’ll do whatever you think is best.’

He stood up, took her hands and propelled her towards the bed.

‘Edward, it’s the middle of the day.’

‘So what? I love you at any time of day, all day, every day.’

Lydia was temporarily forgotten.

Lydia was given a lovely bedroom on the second floor. Unlike the nursery, it had a thick patterned carpet, curtains with a pretty pattern of flowers and leaves, a bed with a cover which matched the curtains, a tall wardrobe in which to keep her clothes, a dressing table and a little desk. Its windows looked out over the stables on one side and the terrace at the back of the house on the other. She loved it. It had a dressing room adjoining it which was made into a bedroom for Claudia. She was not told the reason for this change and would not have understood if she had. Claudia said it meant she was here to stay.

In September Miss Graham left and Lydia went to school every day, escorted there by Claudia. The school had only one classroom divided by a curtain. The little children on one side were taught their letters by Miss Smith, the big ones on the other had lessons in English, arithmetic, geography and history given by the headmaster, Mr Connaught, who had a wooden leg. There was a pot-bellied stove in the middle of one wall, surrounded by a fireguard on which wet coats were hung when it rained, causing steam to rise from them. Shoes, boots and clogs stood drying off in sentinel rows around it.

Lydia, bewildered and afraid, even though Sir Edward had explained why it was necessary for her to attend school, joined the little ones. It was not an unmitigated success. The other children looked on her as some kind of freak, mimicked her accent and laughed and pointed at her gymslip and pristine white blouse, her black stockings and shiny black patent shoes, something few of them could afford. She did not complain. Putting up with everything she found strange was all part of her strategy to be good enough to be allowed to go home.