To Dream of Snow (33 page)

He swore fiercely in exasperation. ‘I can't take much more of this molly-coddling!' Then, as she reached the door, he sat up again. ‘I love you, Marguerite. You do know that, don't you?'

‘Yes, I do,' she replied.

Closing the door after her, she paused for a few moments, a hand over her eyes in despair. All fondness for him had long since drained away, leaving only tolerance. Yet he did love her. She knew it, but in spite of his present attitude towards the Empress he would ever be held in thrall by her, no matter how much he might long to escape now or at any other time.

She told Mikail of Konstantin's request, but after he had spoken to Dr Samsonov he reported that it was in vain.

‘The Empress will not hear of him leaving yet. At least you know he is receiving good care, and his recovery does seem assured.'

A few days later Marguerite received a summons from the Empress to attend her. Expecting to hear some report on Konstantin's progress or even more lenient visiting to be conceded, she arrived at the appointed time. Elisabeth greeted her smilingly as if nothing untoward had happened between them. ‘Well, Madame Dashiski? Where are the new designs?'

Marguerite looked at her in astonishment. Did the woman imagine that everything could go on as before?

‘There are none, Your Imperial Majesty. My designing days are at an end.' She saw Elisabeth's eyes narrow for a matter of seconds as they looked at each other in full understanding.

‘What nonsense!' Elisabeth exclaimed dangerously, the smile gone from her face. ‘Your work must continue. Such talent cannot be discarded so easily.' A deep threat came into her voice. ‘I'm sure you wish to be at home when Count Dashiski returns after his convalescence.'

Marguerite thought of the warning Konstantin had given her some time ago when she had wanted to defy this cruel, despotic woman, but she would not be beaten down this time. ‘Naturally I do. Where else should I be?'

Elisabeth thought how swiftly she would have had this proud-faced creature shut away for defiance if she had not wanted the continuation of gowns made up from those imaginative designs.

‘I shall be sending your husband to the Catherine Palace to recuperate. He has a persistent cough left over from his fever, but that will soon go. You shall accompany him and supervise his nursing. In such a setting your own work should flourish extremely well. Is that agreeable to you?'

Marguerite realized a bargain was being struck, but still she was not ready to acquiesce. ‘It would be better for Konstantin to remain at home now that the winter is here.'

‘No. Now that I am about to depart for Moscow he can no longer remain under my care. Since the doctors have agreed with me that he should be in harmonious surroundings to stimulate him out of his listlessness, the Catherine Palace is ideal. It's only a short journey from here and he has always liked being there.'

Marguerite saw that further opposition would be useless. Elisabeth had made up her mind and there was no changing it. ‘How soon should I be ready to leave with him?'

‘According to the doctors, he will be fit to travel next week.'

When the day came they travelled in a closed sledge through the snow-covered countryside. Konstantin, who had not yet regained his full weight, still had the look of an invalid in his features, but he was in high spirits at being away from the Palace at last. Yet he had not lacked company during the latter weeks of his recovery, for fellow courtiers and friends had come to see him, bringing bottles of vodka and plenty of talk and laughter. But now the Court had departed for Moscow for Christmas and it would be quiet again at the Winter Palace.

‘Now we can make up for lost time, Marguerite,' he said cheerfully as they were driven along.

He had been too ill to know anything of the terrible scene with the Empress that had taken place at his bedside and Marguerite had said nothing about it to him. But as soon as he was fully recovered their parting must come about, for she knew that he would still go running to the Empress whenever she crooked her finger.

The Catherine Palace looked extraordinarily beautiful in the snow. The lack of leaves on the trees enabled a full vista of it to be seen from the approach through the gilded gates. The white marble statues bordering the drive all wore caps of snow and the curious winter light enhanced the Palace's golden splendour.

Servants ran to help Konstantin into the Palace, but he refused their assistance, making his own way up the snow-cleared steps with the aid of a cane. Indoors the welcome warmth from the tall, handsomely tiled stoves enveloped the two arrivals. Konstantin hurled his hat and gloves aside and flung off his sable coat, letting it drop to the floor.

‘I feel better already!' he declared.

In many ways it was a lovers' palace – not only because of the beauty of both its exterior and interior, but because it was possible to dine alone without the intrusion of servants at a table that could be raised up through the floor, fully set with dishes for the meal. Sometimes Marguerite and Konstantin took advantage of it, but not as lovers.

‘I have the desire, but not the strength yet,' he said regretfully when they parted one night at her bedroom door. She made no reply.

At first the time passed comfortably for both of them. There was a splendid library in the Palace where they both liked to read. Soon they had plenty of visitors, people they both knew, who were living at country estates in the neighbouring district, but when Konstantin was totally exhausted afterwards Marguerite had tactfully to limit the visits.

Unless it was snowing hard or dangerously cold she took a daily walk. Paths were cleared daily between snowfalls until there were high white walls each side, making it impossible to see anything except the tops of the bare trees. Konstantin, using his cane for support, took his exercise indoors along the enormous length of the exquisite golden enfilade that went on and on through many rooms.

‘It's like walking through the gates of Heaven,' he joked wryly one day.

At first she went with him, but he felt increasing humiliated by his slowness in regaining his strength and by his constant attacks of coughing, which frequently made him halt for minutes at a time.

‘Don't follow me about!' he snapped irritably at her one day. ‘I don't need you to watch me all the time!'

After that she did not accompany him, but instructed his valet to be in range unobtrusively, for the parquet floor was well polished. Once he deliberately left his cane behind, but fell so heavily before he could be saved that it was sheer good luck that he did not break any bones.

As Konstantin slept a great deal in the daytime, Marguerite worked during these hours, taking the colours of the many beautiful rooms as her inspiration. The glorious Amber Room with its inlaid amber panels, which she thought must be a wonder of the world in itself, gave her the idea for a gown of ruched cream silk with amber beadwork. An azure drawing room with silk-upholstered, blue-flowered walls inspired another, and even the Pompeian greens in her own bedroom resulted in a unique design.

She and Konstantin spent Christmas on their own, but when they were invited to a party at New Year he insisted that they go.

‘After all those weeks in bed and then coming here I need to see some life again,' he declared. ‘I'm going mad from boredom in this place.'

He was also becoming increasingly concerned over his lack of libido. One night he came to Marguerite's bed, but it was useless and he sat on the edge of the bed in despair. She began to wonder if his persistent cough indicated that he was more ill than the doctors had realized.

It was a bitterly cold evening when they left the Palace and although they stayed overnight after the party it was even colder when they returned. Inevitably his cough became worse within the next few days, forcing him to stay in bed. Marguerite sent for the nearest doctor, but a two-day blizzard delayed his coming. When he did arrive Marguerite had sat up both nights at Konstantin's bedside and been constantly in attendance by day. Coughing had racked him and with dismay she had seen blood on the handkerchief that he held to his mouth.

After examining Konstantin the doctor shook his head gravely when he and Marguerite had left the bedroom. ‘I regret to tell you that your husband is very ill, madame. He has inflammation of the lungs and his strength is waning. I do not think he is long for this world.'

‘But surely there is something that can be done!' she cried.

He shook his head. ‘I will give you a stronger potion to ease the coughing and a sleeping draught to help him through the nights, but he must have been suffering from this illness for some time. My supposition from what he has told me is that it dates from the fever of the lungs he contracted when he lay wounded on the battlefield overnight in the rain before he was found.' His eyes were sympathetic. ‘Care for him, madame. He is one of Russia's heroes. Make his time, be it long if he rallies or shorter than we would wish, as content as it can be.'

The doctor departed, saying he would call again from time to time. Marguerite, heavy-hearted, returned to the sickroom.

After a while Konstantin did rally and was able with help from his valet to dress. The effect of being up again invigorated him and he began to talk of returning to St Petersburg.

‘As soon as the thaw sets in,' he added, knowing that Marguerite would not let him venture out in the cold air again.

His cough, eased by the doctor's potion, was much less troublesome and he had become convinced that he was going to recover in spite of the enervating tiredness that overcame him at times. By the spring he would be well again. As February passed and then March even Marguerite had begun to raise her hopes again and chose a date in mid-April for their return to St Petersburg.

He always went to bed early, sometimes to read, and she would go in to see him before she retired to make sure that all was well for the night. Then one evening, shortly before their planned departure, he sat against his pillows almost asleep when she entered, his book fallen from his hand. As she went to remove his book she saw there was a change in him, a waxen paleness to his face that filled her with alarm. He looked up at her.

‘Do something for me, Marguerite.' His voice was almost inaudible.

‘Yes, what is it?'

‘Undress for me here. Let me see you in all your beauty once more.'

Tears sprang to her eyes. She began to remove her clothes and when she was naked something like a smile touched his lips.

‘I never saw another woman as lovely as you or one I loved more.'

Swiftly she sat on the bed and put her arms around him. ‘Don't go, Konstantin!' she cried out imploringly, able to see he was slipping away.

But his eyes had widened sightlessly and suddenly blood gushed like a fountain from his mouth in a haemorrhage nothing could stop.

Alone in a carriage Marguerite followed the hearse with the coffin to St Petersburg. It was the day they had planned to return and the snow had gone, leaving only patches in hollows and in places under the trees.

Although she was the widow, she had been allowed no voice in the funeral arrangements, for the Court had returned from Moscow and the Empress controlled the whole procedure. A great number of people were present at the service where Konstantin was laid to rest in a vault of Elisabeth's own choosing in the Peter and Paul Cathedral.

C
atherine was in love again, but this time more deeply and more ecstatically than ever before. She felt as if she had been reborn and never before had there ever been such a love between a man and woman. Gregory Orlov was a tall, splendidly built and handsome young lieutenant, who had fought so courageously and successfully at the Battle of Zorndorf that he had become a hero, admired and respected by fellow officers and his men alike. Women found him irresistible, enhanced as he was by an aura of daredevil bravery, and he had taken full advantage of all the opportunities that had come his way when not at the gaming tables or at drinking parties.

When Catherine had seen him for the first time it was at a distance, but she knew she would know no peace until meeting him. She arranged it and soon after that he became her lover. He was one of five equally courageous and physically well-built brothers in the same Guards regiment. Here was a man who was not her intellectual match in any way as her previous lovers had been, nor could he discuss the books she read nor engage her in the deep and stimulating discussions that she so enjoyed. But sexually they were ideally suited and he gave her nights of great passion beyond anything she had experienced previously. Above all else he was as totally in love with her as she was with him.

They could not see each other often enough. Sometimes at night she slipped out of the Palace to go to him, disguising herself by dressing as a man, a tricorne hat tilted well down over her eyes, a tie-back wig covering her hair. Unbeknown to her, none of the guards were deceived and exchanged amused glances. As with the majority of those who came into contact with her, however lowly their status, they liked and respected her too much to betray her, even though it was through them that plenty of salacious gossip about her and her lover resulted in the domestic quarters.

Catherine always returned before the Palace stirred and once found that the door she always left unlocked had been bolted unwittingly against her in her absence. Fortunately a servant on duty came to her rescue and let her in. She dared not think what would happen if the Empress should ever get word of her nightly absences.

Yet everyone could see that Catherine was in love. There was a glow in her face and a sparkle in her eyes while her delicious charm, which drew people of all ages to her, seemed to create an aura about her. She had never been happier, except that she had begun to be deeply afraid of her husband.

She spoke to Gregory of her fear one night as she lay in his arms. ‘Peter has always disliked having me as his wife, but as time has gone by he has come to hate me and never more so since he became devoted to his present mistress. That horrible Elisabeth Vorontsova! He has told me that he will marry her when he gets rid of me after the Empress dies!'