To Dream of Snow (6 page)

‘Listen to me carefully, Isabelle. This is our secret. Nobody else need ever know of it. The past with all its agonies is behind you. There is a new future ahead and I shall help you in any way I can.'

She broke off. Their companions were returning. She took the girl's hand into hers and held it in comfort. Isabelle's trembling only ceased when after a while she fell asleep. The seemingly endless journey continued.

They had crossed the border into Poland when intensely cold weather set in. Fortunately there were only light flurries of snow, which did not hinder wheels on frost-hard surfaces and, except for minor delays, progress was good. Small braziers were now lit daily and handed into all the coaches where they were suspended on chains from the ceiling. At least wherever the company stayed overnight, however humble the dwelling, there was always a wonderful warmth from the stoves that the inhabitants kept stacked with kindling from the great forests.

Sarah became noticeably more exhausted as the days went by. She felt the cold excessively in spite of being enveloped in furs. She no longer took walks, although everybody else exercised, their breath hanging in clouds as they became red-cheeked in the freezing air. Whenever she had to leave the coach for a night's accommodation she leaned more and more heavily on Blanche's arm until eventually two of the Comtesse's lackeys carried her in and out. Great areas of the land were poverty-stricken and when only stable and barn lofts were available for sleeping she was like the Comtesse in choosing to keep to her coach, Blanche staying with her.

‘I'm worried as to how much longer my mistress can endure this travelling,' Blanche confided to the seamstresses. ‘She seems to get weaker every day.' Her deep sigh conveyed her exasperation. ‘I knew she should have had a longer convalescence before setting off on this journey, but oh, no! She would not listen to me.'

In spite of Sarah's listlessness she was always glad to see Marguerite and they talked of many things. Sarah had grown up in a comfortable middle-class home, but as she was one of ten daughters it had been important for her parents to find husbands for all of them. Tom Warrington was the son of neighbouring friends and as he and Sarah had known each other since childhood it had seemed natural that they should marry when his apprenticeship was over and he had established himself. After he had worked on the royal gardens at Windsor he had seized the chance to move to France, where he had assisted one of the royal garden designers for four years as well as gaining commissions of his own.

‘I was happy living in the village of Versailles,' Sarah said one afternoon as she and Marguerite sat by the fire in the taproom of a hostelry. ‘At least, as content as I could ever be away from my own country.'

They were passing the time during a wait for horses to be gathered in from the surrounding area. Blanche had gone to the privy, which was giving them a chance to talk again for a little while on their own.

‘Did you miss England so much?'

‘Oh, yes. Early mornings I often went into the park at the Palace when only the gardeners were about and where the blossoms and plants were the same as at home. The gates there stand open permanently, and as the guards knew me as Tom's wife they always let me through. Not that I ever distracted Tom if he was supervising something. I just wandered on my own along the secret paths into those lovely little groves and flower gardens. Once in one of the open-air ballrooms I met Tom by chance and we danced on our own there!' She lifted her chin and laughed delightedly. ‘We have had many happy times and he is so good to me.'

Out of loyalty to him she did not add that she dreaded living in Russia, even though it would not be for ever, for she knew it would be alien to her in every way. In France she had made friends and people thought much along the lines of her own countrymen and women, but how would it be in a land so remote from all she had ever known? She envied the way the young Frenchwoman saw the future as a challenge, determined to be successful in whatever lay ahead.

A clattering of hooves coming into the courtyard announced the arrival of more replacements. ‘That's a good sound,' Marguerite commented. ‘Now we should soon be on our way again.'

A sudden uproar outside failed to capture the attention of those in the taproom, for it seemed like the usual outbreak of quarrelling over who should have the best horses. Then there was a sudden unnatural silence. The door burst open and one of the grooms came rushing into the taproom to glance around until he spotted Sarah. He darted across to her.

‘Madame! There's been an accident! Your maid!'

Sarah turned ashen and sprang to her feet. ‘Dear God!'

She was already stumbling on her way to the door. Marguerite was swift to catch up with her and supported her around the waist. Out in the courtyard a gathering of men parted quickly to let them through. Blanche lay on the cobblestones, her arms flung out where she had fallen, half her head gashed horribly. Hendrick was on one knee beside her and he looked up, his expression grim as he shook his head to show there was no hope. Sarah uttered a torn cry and flung herself down on her knees beside the dead woman, sobbing desolately.

‘What happened?' Marguerite asked hoarsely.

Hendrick rose to his feet. ‘There was the usual struggle to grab the fittest-looking horses, which alarmed one of them, causing it to rear and plunge like a mad thing, and a hoof knocked her flying. She was just waiting to go past to the taproom.'

The Comtesse, wrapped in a sable cape, was among those who had come outside to see what had happened and she spoke out clearly. ‘This journey shall not continue until that poor woman has been given a Christian burial.'

Then she turned on her heel and went back indoors. There were those who muttered amongst themselves at this unexpected delay, but after the incident in the forest none wanted to continue without full security.

Marguerite and Hendrick helped Sarah to her feet and back indoors. Fortunately there were rooms available in the hostelry and Marguerite took Sarah upstairs to one of them.

‘Blanche has been with me for four years,' Sarah sobbed as she lay down on the bed. ‘She came to me soon after I arrived in France, because my English maid had become violently homesick and I had to send her home again.' She covered her face with her hands. ‘Oh, my poor Blanche! She was such a good, kind woman. I must write to her sister. She had nobody else.'

‘Shall I do that for you? You can tell me what to write and then sign it.'

Sarah clutched Marguerite's hand gratefully before sinking back into her grief. ‘Thank you most kindly. Everything seems to have become such an effort for me recently and never more than now.'

Marguerite fetched paper and pen and wrote the letter while Sarah slept. It was the first of many tasks she was to carry out in her new role of unofficial attendant all the way to Riga.

‘How is the Englishwoman today?' the seamstresses always asked when Marguerite came from Sarah's coach to ride a little distance with them. Her report was never good.

‘We miss you,' Isabelle ventured, for Marguerite now shared Sarah's accommodation, unable to leave her on her own, and ate all meals with her. It had taken Isabelle quite a time to recover from the fright of the raid. It had not helped her when a lone highwayman had attempted to rob the coaches parked by the roadside for the night, only to take flight as disturbed sleepers started firing pistols in his direction.

‘I have suggested that Sarah should see a doctor when we next stop in a town,' Marguerite said to the others in a hallway one morning as she was waiting for the Englishwoman to be carried downstairs, ‘but she will not hear of it. I believe she is afraid he will tell her to discontinue her journey and rest until another armed convoy comes through. She has already had one delay and will not risk another.'

‘Stubborn and foolish,' Jeanne commented.

Sophie laughed unpleasantly, having had sharp words earlier with her sister. ‘You're only jealous because you don't love any man as the Englishwoman does!'

Violette intervened humorously. ‘Hold on! In Russia we shall all find men to love as much as that!'

General laughter eased the tension.

It was that same night that they witnessed the curious phenomenon of streamers of light criss-crossing the sky. They had eaten their supper when Jeanne went out to fetch something she had forgotten from the coach, but stopped to gape upwards in nervous astonishment. After calling the others, she went back outside and they joined her.

‘What's happening to the sky?' Isabelle asked fearfully.

Marguerite was able to enlighten them. ‘Sarah guessed why Jeanne looked so bewildered and said it was sure to be the aurora borealis that she had seen. That's what those lights are called. They only appear at times of intense cold. Her husband told her about them. She said we'll see them often from now on.'

Sophie shivered. ‘They look ghostly, don't they? I'm going back indoors.'

Marguerite took a last lingering look. To her they only added to the strange beauty of these snow-covered lands.

T
here was a final overnight stay en route for Sarah before her destination was reached.

‘You've been a wonderful friend to me in my hour of need,' she said gratefully as Marguerite helped her into bed. ‘I don't know what I would have done without you.'

‘I've been glad to do it,' Marguerite replied, smiling. ‘Go to sleep now. Tomorrow we'll be in Riga and Tom will be waiting for you. We'll send word to him as soon as we get there that you've arrived.'

‘I feel too excited to sleep,' Sarah declared, ‘but I'll try.'

By the time Marguerite had undressed and slipped into the neighbouring bed, she could tell by Sarah's steady breathing that exhaustion from the day's journey had overcome all excitement. Before extinguishing the candle, Marguerite rested her head on the pillow and let her thoughts drift. She could empathize with her friend's glorious anticipation of being reunited with the man she loved. Had she not felt exactly the same whenever she and Jacques met again after a temporary absence from each other, no matter how short the time between?

A quiet sigh of surprise escaped her as she realized that for the first time her thoughts had gone past the day of tragedy to the many joyous moments when, full of laughter, she and Jacques, sighting each other from a distance, had rushed into each other's arms. How often he had swung her up off her feet to whirl her around with the speed of a child's spinning top.

She propped herself up on one elbow, scarcely able to believe that after so long in a black abyss of despair she was gradually emerging to find him again. With this comforting thought filling her mind, she took up the candle-snuffer from the table by her bed and put out the flame.

In the morning the Comtesse returned to the hostelry, having spent the night at the home of an acquaintance, and he and his wife appeared to have loaded her with gifts, for several boxes were being stowed away. They were there to see her off and she was very gracious and smiling. Everybody else had to wait impatiently until her final farewells were said. Never once throughout the whole journey had she even nodded in Marguerite's direction. Hendrick seemed to be the only fellow traveller to whom she had directed a smile since leaving Paris.

In heavily falling snow the frozen River Dwina was crossed and by evening the lights of the city of Riga twinkled through the flakes. As the whole convoy came to a halt in front of a large hostelry peasants came flocking forward in the hope of carrying baggage.

Once again Sarah was carried indoors where the welcome heat from a great stove met them in a comforting wave full of the aromas of food, pipe smoke and beer. As previously arranged by Tom, the landlord had only to be informed of her arrival and a message would be sent to him immediately. Marguerite had to wait ten minutes to gain the landlord's attention, for he was busy serving the swarm of new arrivals, and from how he addressed them in turn he appeared to have a smattering of several languages. When he finally turned to her he understood her request immediately.

‘I'll send a boy now,' he said as he continued pouring beer for one of his many thirsty customers.

‘Now we have only to wait,' Marguerite said as she rejoined Sarah, who had been seated in a high-backed chair in a quiet corner of the busy room.

‘I know these minutes will be longer to me than the whole journey,' Sarah confessed smilingly. ‘Do watch for Tom. I can't see the door from here.'

She lowered the hood of her cloak and fussed with her hair, which Marguerite had dressed specially for her that morning. Although she had tried to look her best, adding a little rouge to her cheeks, she could not disguise the gauntness of her face or the dark circles under her eyes.

Marguerite ordered tea while they were waiting and it was served from a samovar into little drinking bowls. They had just finished it when suddenly Marguerite saw that a tall man, wearing a Cossack-style fur hat and a thick greatcoat, had entered, snowflakes whirling about him as he shook them away. He had a fierce, dramatic-looking face with a strong nose and chin, his dark-browed, deep-lidded eyes scanning intensely the crowded scene before him. As he pulled off his fur-lined gauntlets his expression showed his impatience to find the person he sought.

‘I think Tom has arrived!' Marguerite exclaimed, measuring the newcomer against Sarah's description given early on in their friendship.

Swiftly she left her chair and began threading her way through the tables towards him. She thought he looked a man of passionate, uncertain temperament, but she knew from all she had heard from Sarah that he was an exceptionally kind and devoted husband. No wonder he was anxious to find his wife immediately.

He had not noticed Marguerite approaching, for he had turned his searching gaze in the direction of an archway that led into another taproom. Just as he was about to move in its direction she caught his sleeve, happy to be the bearer of good news. ‘Wait! No need to go in there!' She threw out her hands expressively. ‘Your wife is here!'