Chapter 11
Tanya sighed despondently as Yvette, her personal maid, pulled the brush through her long, tawny hair, making it shine like fire in the candlelight. She dismissed the maid and leaned back in her chair, studying her reflection in the mirror. The face that looked back at her had changed little from that of the young girl who had first married Prince Mensherikovsky. The skin was as flawless, the eyes as clear and untroubled as on that far off day. It seemed incredible to her that she could have been through so much, yet outwardly had changed so little. She sighed again, thinking that her face had certainly not been her fortune. She was now twenty-two years old, and in the past nine years, since that fateful day when the Cossacks had come raiding and ruined her life, she had seen more pain and strife than most people see in a lifetime.
But now, her life seemed to have come to a full stop. Each day slipped by uneventfully, much the same as the last, and the future seemed to stretch out before her, grey and empty. Perhaps she had been wrong to bury herself here in the countryside outside Paris, but when she had learnt that her old family home, the Chateau Verrière, was empty and falling into decay, she had been unable to resist the thought of buying it and restoring it to its former prosperity. The owner, of course, had been her uncle, the present Comte de la Verrière, who had neither the money nor the desire to pay for the upkeep of the old house.
At the thought of her uncle, Tanya’s thoughts slipped back to the warm June evening, when after a long, weary journey of nearly four months, she had at last arrived in Paris, leaving Russia far behind. She had loved that city at first glance; it gave her none of the qualms that her first sight of Moscow had inspired.
She had gone straight to M’sieur Savaret, the financier whom her benefactor, Olaf, had entrusted with his fortune. He and his wife had welcomed her with open arms, and she had been pleased to stay with them until she had introduced herself to her new family, her father’s brother, the Comte de la Verrière. They had, of course, known that her father had married in Sweden but had only known of the one daughter, her poor dead sister Gerda, for her mother had never communicated with them after her father’s death. They had been more than a little surprised and suspicious when she was announced as Mademoiselle de la Verrière, but on hearing some of her story, and learning that she was extremely wealthy, had welcomed her effusively. Tanya herself had been surprised to find they were as poor as church mice. They still contrived to attend what court functions they could but managed to live in some sort of style only by falling deeper and deeper into debt.
The Comte’s wife was dead, but he had a son, Gervaise, living with him, a young man of twenty-eight, who had inherited none of his father’s good looks but, unfortunately, most of his bad habits. He was a hardened gamester who lived each day on the fall of the dice. Tanya’s offer to buy the Chateau, after she had been taken on a visit to see the old family home had been eagerly accepted. The Comte would under no circumstances have sold the house outside the family, he was too proud for that, but if his niece wished to be encumbered with all the debts the tumbledown old place had accumulated, that was a different matter!
During the weeks she had stayed with her uncle, whilst the Chateau was being made habitable, she had been amused to find herself being thrust more and more into the company of her cousin Gervaise. Obviously, the Comte was hopeful of developments which would bring his niece’s fortune back into his family. The fact that Gervaise was no more enthusiastic than she was of little consequence to him. Tanya had endured this for a while, but eventually had taken the Comte aside and told him that she had no wish to remarry, but as she had such a large amount of money, would he consider taking an allowance from her? She had been more than a little embarrassed at making the offer, but her uncle had accepted with alacrity, and when she had finally left to take up residence in her new home, they had parted warmly. She had seen him a few times since, although she never attended any court functions.
At the thought of the court, her mind flew back to the evening her uncle had taken her to be presented to his most Gracious Majesty, Louis XIV of France. She had heard so many stories from her mother of the Sun King – her father, it seemed, had talked of little else. She had been filled with a strange sense almost of achievement that she had won her way back to that which was, really, her birthright. Her first feeling on being presented to the King had been one of disappointment. She had forgotten that the young, handsome King of her father’s day was gone for ever. Louis, however, still retained much of his extraordinary charm, and there was no doubt at all that he was King – he exuded dignity in everything he did. Tanya had been most favourably impressed and could not help but compare this tall, dignified man and his Court to that of Tsar Peter. The Sun King’s Court might no longer have quite the glitter it had had in his younger days, but the social activities were still many and varied. The courtiers whiled away their idle hours gaming, dancing, and hunting – still the favourite sport of the King – and, of course, fighting over things that, to Tanya, seemed quite ludicrous. She once saw a woman swoon away when she found she had been granted a footstall, to allow her to sit in the King’s presence, and on another occasion had actually seen a pair of painted young men come to blows over some trifling breach of etiquette.
The influence of Françoise d’Aubigné, Marquise de Maintenon, widow of the poet Scarron and morganatic wife of the King, was everywhere. She was a serious, pious woman who showed open disapproval of the young heedless courtiers, especially the women whom she denounced for their ‘immodest dress, laziness, and promiscuity’. But many of these young people centred their attentions around Marie Adelaide, the charming young wife of Louis’s grandson, the Duc de Bourgogne. She was a beautiful, vivacious girl to whom Tanya had taken an instant liking.
The King had announced himself captivated when Tanya had been presented to him, and his lavish compliments had embarrassed her a little, although she had taken little notice at the time. She had been surprised to learn afterwards that it was rare these days for the King to pay such extravagant compliments, and, on her later visits to the Court, the King had singled her out many times. That was when the gossip had started, when she had become aware of the sudden silences when she walked into a room – of the nudging and whispering that ensued when she left. More than anything, she had felt an overwhelming tiredness – a wish to just go away and be on her own, away from everything. And so, that was what she had done.
Louis had tried in vain to keep her at the Court, but she had been adamant. Of course, by rights, she reflected, he could have ordered her to stay, for having thrown herself on the mercy of her father’s country, she was in effect a subject of the King. However, the situation had not arisen. Reluctantly, Louis had granted her permission to retire to her Chateau in the quiet countryside, about 100 kilometres from Paris.
And so had begun this quiet existence, which, at first, had been balm to her battered spirit. She had had plenty to occupy her, furnishing the old house and restoring some of its former grandeur. She had come near to peace during those early weeks, but as the months began to slip past, she found herself becoming more and more restless. Tonight, she felt strangely on edge and unable to settle. It was weeks since she had seen anyone. The last visit of her uncle had been fleeting, and more, she was convinced, from curiosity as to what she had done to the house and what she did with herself than from a matter of choice.
Tanya shivered and pulled her wrap more closely around her shoulders. Thunder was rumbling far in the distance, yet the air around her felt almost electric. She had never felt less like sleeping, and she got to her feet, wandering around the bedchamber aimlessly. As always, when darkness began to fall and the shadows lengthened in the room, her thoughts were inexorably drawn to Ivan. Much as she despised herself, she could not help but think of him, and the longing would start deep in the pit of her stomach until the ache to hold him in her arms was almost unbearable. She gritted her teeth, quickening her pace, then with a violence quite alien to her nature, picked up a beautiful statuette standing on her bedside table and sent it spinning across the room to shatter in the fireplace.
At the explosion of sound, she began to tremble violently, fighting the tears that threatened. Despair almost engulfed her completely, and in that moment, she knew that she must stop this useless existence, must break out of her solitude, otherwise without a doubt, she would go slowly mad.
The decision made, she was about to pull the bell cord when Yvette’s startled face appeared in the doorway. She glanced at the remains of the statuette in the hearth and looked curiously at her mistress. Tanya’s face was flushed, her eyes sparkling. She laughed suddenly and clapped her hands.
‘Yvette,’ she cried impulsively. ‘I was about to ring for you. Yvette – we are going to Paris. Please order the necessary arrangements to be made. I wish to leave as soon as possible, before I change my mind.’
The young girl’s face lit up with excitement. She was a local girl whose father owned a small farm nearby, and she had been with Tanya since she had first arrived. She was small and thin, with a little pointed face saved from plainness by a pair of large, luminous brown eyes, and a luxurious mop of dark curls.
‘Oh, Madame,’ she exclaimed excitedly. ‘I’ve never been to Paris.’ Her face dropped suddenly, and she looked at Tanya anxiously.
‘You do mean me to come, don’t you, Madame,’ she faltered, ‘or will you want a proper, sophisticated lady’s maid who’ll know how to go on?’
Tanya laughed. ‘Of course you’ll come with me, Yvette, don’t look so downcast. I shouldn’t dream of leaving you behind. Please tell Jules to arrange to rent a house for me in a good quarter of Paris and have him send a courier to ask the King’s permission for me to present myself at Court. I want it all done as quickly as possible.’
The girl flew off to do her bidding, and Tanya jumped into bed, feeling absurdly young and excited. Now that the decision was made, she felt much better. After all, she was still young, too young to spend her life mourning over what might have been. Quiet and solitude had not driven the thought of Ivan from her mind, so she would try to forget in the mad whirl of life at Court. If life there palled, why, she could always come back here to her haven to rest, to try once again to find peace.
The next weeks flew by in a whirl of activity, and in no time at all, Tanya was leaving the Chateau bound for Paris in her large travelling coach, followed by another carrying her servants and yet another piled high with all the baggage thought necessary to provide a lady with every comfort. They stayed at an inn overnight, for the roads of France were notoriously bad, almost as bad as those of Russia, and the winter that had just passed had been a severe one. But now, spring was in the air, which probably, she decided, was to blame for her urge to be on the move.
Tanya was delighted with the tall, elegant house that had been rented for her, and soon she and her retinue were comfortably established there. Many people, she knew, lived at the Court, but that life was not to her taste, for it meant existing in one poky room, shuffled about from place to place. She liked her freedom too much for that.
When she was settled in, Tanya went to visit her uncle, and on informing him that the King had graciously given his consent for her to be presented again at Court, he immediately invited her to a supper to be held on the following evening.
Tanya spent the next day with Yvette, shopping, for she must make sure she was in the latest fashion; it would never do to be presented wearing last year’s dresses. She spent just the sort of day that she had often dreamed of back in Sweden, as a young girl. She had had plenty such days in Moscow, of course, but it was not to be compared with the choice to be had here in the fashion capital of the world.
When eventually she stood in front of the mirror, ready to leave, she was glad she had taken the trouble, for she was undoubtedly looking her radiant best. In a dress of emerald green silk cut low across the bosom, her throat and arms adorned with flashing diamonds, and a tiara of the same stones sparkling in her piled-up hair, she looked magnificent.
Her uncle, when he arrived with Gervaise in tow, complimented her extravagantly on her appearance, and when at last they stepped into the crowded room, under a barrage of eyes, she at least had the consolation of knowing that no fault could be found with her appearance.
She could see the admiration and desire in the eyes of the men and the familiar hatred in the eyes of the women. Almost before she was aware, she found herself being presented once more to the King, and she sank into a low curtsey. Louis himself raised her to her feet, retaining her hands until she raised her eyes to his face.
The King looked resplendent in mulberry velvet, and his eyes were warm with undisguised admiration, and something else that Tanya dared not fathom. For a moment, she almost panicked, and she wondered what she was doing here in this hot, crowded room, then the feeling passed, and she felt only exhilaration.
Louis stayed by her side for the best part of the evening, and Tanya was uncomfortably aware of Madame de Maintenon’s scandalised face in the background and the barely concealed amusement and enjoyment felt by many of the courtiers at that good lady’s discomfiture. The ‘widow Scarron’, as her enemies still called her, was not popular, especially among the younger element, and there were many who would rejoice to see her nose put out of joint.
To Tanya, after her long retirement, the evening was exhilarating, and she did nothing to repulse the King’s attentions, although deep down, a little voice was warning her not to play with fire!
Tanya soon slipped back into the daily routine of hunting, dancing, and generally idling her life away, throwing herself into every festivity with a fierce, almost defiant gaiety, but underneath it all, she was still no happier, and somehow the promise she had felt when she had made the decision to return to Court had never been realised. The fact that every man she met was being compared subconsciously with the image of the tall, fair-haired man for ever in her mind did little to ease her unhappiness.
Tanya sighed and leaned back in the chair as Yvette put the finishing touches to her hair. The young girl had learnt fast, and soon had all the arts of fashion at her fingertips. Tanya stood up, shaking out the folds of her white silk dress. Tonight she had surpassed herself, and the image looking back at her from the mirror was truly exquisite. The white low-cut dress was liberally sprinkled with diamonds, and her only jewellery was a necklace of the same stones. Her hair looked like fire against the white, and Yvette clasped her hands together ecstatically.
‘Madame looks ravishing. You will cast in the shade every lady there tonight. How they will hate you! But the men! Oh, how they will be at your feet.’
Tanya shrugged impatiently.
‘I’ve half a mind not to go,’ she exclaimed petulantly. ‘I have no taste for state occasions. It seems half the civilised world will be there tonight. But there, I suppose I must. Is the carriage ready?’
‘Yes, it is waiting. Shall I wait up for you, Madame?’
‘No, no, it is sure to go on until the early hours. Unlike half the ladies of this Court, I am quite capable of undressing myself. Goodnight, Yvette. I shall sleep late tomorrow, no doubt.’
As she settled back in the carriage, Tanya asked herself what she was doing here on her way to a French King’s state banquet. What had happened to her life? Why did she feel so empty? Deep in her heart, she knew the answer, of course, but she pushed the thought away angrily, refusing to acknowledge it even to herself.
The banquet was to be held at Versailles, and the coach bumped and swayed over the uneven road. Tanya felt herself thinking of another time, in another coach, when a dark-featured man rode outside, and she had been a young girl, frightened and alone. How long ago it all seemed – she even had difficulty in recalling Erik’s face. Poor, tragic Erik. She gave herself a mental shake. It had been so long since she had thought of him. She still felt pain at his unhappy life and untimely end.
She was glad when the coach finally arrived at the beautiful palace of Versailles. She ascended the steps into the glittering light of hundreds of candelabra, reflected again in the mirrors lining the walls of the huge ballroom. She was soon surrounded by the usual crowd of gallants and forced herself to laugh at their inane remarks and pleasantries. She presented herself to the King and was soon being led to dinner by the Vicomte Faubergé, an older man who caused her less annoyance than most. She nibbled at a few courses, but had no appetite at all and was glad when the interminable meal was over. She followed the crowd flocking back into the ballroom, for she had no taste for gaming and rarely frequented the tables and was soon in demand for dance after dance.
Seeing the Comte de Fontaine advancing towards her with a purposeful gleam in his eye, an elderly rouè whom she disliked intensely, she hastily excused herself and slipped into one of the numerous rooms leading off the ballroom. Fanning herself vigorously, for it was stifling in the small room, she thought longingly of her comfortable bed at home and was trying to think of a way of slipping out without being seen, when a voice spoke behind her.
‘What is this, the loveliest lady of our Court, hiding here alone? This must not be.’
She swung round to face the King, her heart beating hard. It was the last thing she wanted, to be here alone with Louis. She sank into a deep curtsey.
‘Your pardon, Sire, it was so hot, and I must admit to a great desire to take off my shoes and sit down.’
The King laughed delightedly.
‘That’s what I love about you, Tanya – I may call you Tanya, may I not? – you always say such unexpected things. It makes such a refreshing change. Most ladies would have something much more amorous in mind. You are not awaiting some fortunate man?’
‘No, Sire, I am not,’ replied Tanya firmly, wondering how to escape.
‘No, of course not, it is common knowledge that you are, so rumour has it, cold and unapproachable.’ He took a step nearer. ‘I find that hard to believe.’
His voice deepened as he ran his eyes appreciatively over her, lingering on her bosom. Tanya managed a light, unconcerned laugh.
‘Nay, Sire, not cold or unapproachable. I just have not yet met the man that takes my fancy.’ She sidestepped and walked to the door. ‘Your guests will be wondering where you are. You must not spend too much time with one as unimportant as me.’
She pulled aside the curtain and sank into another curtsey. A look of annoyance crossed the King’s face, and Tanya wondered if she had gone too far. Then he laughed and bowed.
‘Touchè, Mademoiselle. So be it. But be warned – I do not give up easily. What I want, I always get. After all, am I not King of the most civilised country in the world?’
He stepped through the curtains, then turned, taking both her hands raised her up. Tanya was uncomfortably aware of hundreds of eyes boring into her as he bent his head and kissed first one hand, then the other. Now the whispering would grow louder, the flattery more intense from all the hangers-on, seeking to curry favour with the King through her. Sometimes she wished she had been born with a plain, ordinary sort of face. Where would she be now? Probably working as a servant somewhere, getting old before her time. No, anything was preferable to that.
The King released her hands and disappeared into the crowd, and for a moment, Tanya was alone. It was with annoyance that she felt a tap on her shoulder and a lisping voice in her ear.
‘Ah, Mademoiselle de la Verrière. You have not, I believe, been introduced to our distinguished guest, the new Russian Ambassador. I understand you have come from that country. Allow me to present the Count Dostoyevskiy. Count – Mademoiselle de la Verrière.’
Tanya stood for a moment, as if turned to stone, as the babble of voices faded into the distance at the sound of his name; then she turned slowly like a sleepwalker. She forced her eyes up, and there, like a dream come to life, stood Ivan, just as she had seen him so often during the long, sleepless nights. Her hand flew up to her breast, and she felt suffocated and faint. She saw the look of shock on Ivan’s face, the way his eyes were fixed on the King, so recently gone from her side. She saw the dreaded look of scorn come into his eyes, and it was like a slap in the face. The sounds of the room came flooding back, and somehow she found her voice.
‘Count Dostoyevskiy?’ she said coldly and made a small, almost insolent curtsey. ‘Ah, there is the Vicomte come to claim his dance. You must excuse me.’
She turned and almost ran into the press of people, aware of the surprise on the faces around Ivan. With death in her heart, she pushed her way through to the other side of the room, then leaned back against the wall, holding a trembling hand to her eyes. Surely all the fates were against her. To meet him here, in such a way was bad enough, but to know he had seen her coming from the alcove with the King, seen him kiss her hands in such a fashion, he must surely be thinking what everyone else in the room undoubtedly thought – that she was the King’s mistress. She was aware of only one thing: she must get out of this place, away, somewhere quiet. She stared blindly before her, fighting back the tears. Starting towards the door, she pushed her way out, then she was running towards the huge glass doors that led out on to the beautiful gardens of Versailles. She slipped out on to the moonlit terrace, breathing great gulps of the cool night air. She walked slowly down to where the great fountains played, their tumbling waters silver in the moonlight. Suddenly, a voice spoke behind her, making her jump.
‘You choose a strange place to dance, Mademoiselle. Or are you, perhaps, awaiting some higher personage than a mere vicomte?’
Tanya swung round, her face white. ‘Why have you followed me here? Go away and leave me alone.’
Ivan laughed harshly, and Tanya winced at the ugly sound.
‘So you can meet your lover? I wondered how you got here, so high in Court circles, with your diamonds and fancy clothes. I need look no further. I don’t know how you managed it, but accept my congratulations. You’ve sold your body, haven’t you, obviously to the highest bidder? What does it feel like, to be mistress to a King?’
The blood flamed in Tanya’s cheeks, and she took a step backward. He was always so ready to think ill of her. All right, let him. She threw back her head and met his eyes defiantly.
‘Who wouldn’t want to be first lady in the land?’ Her voice sounded hard and brittle even to her own ears. ‘It feels good, if you want to know. After all, what is a body for?’ She stepped towards him, her eyes brilliant and hard as emeralds.
‘It is a lovely body, isn’t it, Ivan – remember? You’ve had it once, you should know.’
She stood close to him now, almost touching, and as she looked up into his eyes, she almost swooned at his nearness. In spite of her anger, the urge to throw herself into his arms, to scream that she was lying, was almost uncontrollable. He reached out to touch her, then snatched his hands away, as though burned.
‘Tanya, Tanya,’ he murmured, then he stepped back, breaking the spell.
‘Whore,’ he said coldly and clearly, then turned and walked away.
Tanya sobbed and stepped after him blindly, her eyes blurred with tears, arms outstretched, then they dropped to her sides hopelessly as the tears ran down her face. What had she done? If only he had not made her so angry. She always said things she regretted when she lost her temper. Now she had lost him for ever. He would never look at her again without that look of scorn and contempt in his clear, grey eyes.
Like a sleepwalker, she returned to the crowded ballroom, excused herself to the King, pleading a bad headache, and soon her coach was called, and she was on her way home. She felt as if she was in some terrible nightmare and wished she could awake and find it had all been a bad dream. But alas, it was all too true. Ivan was here in Paris. Once she had thought that she could want nothing more in the whole world, but now she wanted only to get away. There was only one thing to do – go back to her Chateau and bury herself again in the quiet countryside. She could never face Ivan again, of that she was certain.
Yvette was still up and, taking one look at her mistress’s white strained face, undressed her gently and put her to bed. She did not understand what had happened, but it hurt her to see Tanya looking so ill. Before she left, Tanya called to her.
‘Yvette. Tomorrow we leave for home. Make the arrangements please.’
Yvette would have expostulated, but one look at Tanya’s pale set face, and she left without a word.
Tanya could not sleep at all that night, and next morning, she sat unmoving in a chair whilst the household scurried around, packing up belongings and making ready for the departure. She knew she should ask the King’s permission to leave, but did not care. All she wanted to do was get away.
The journey was a nightmare, for the weather had broken, and the roads were pitted, the rain falling unceasingly all the way. Tanya refused to stop anywhere, sleeping in the coach, delaying only when they had to change horses.
Yvette did not dare to speak; she had never seen her mistress look so strange. Her kind heart bled for her, but she was frightened to speak and sat as still as Tanya, huddled miserably in the corner. Tanya looked out at the leaden skies and the soaking rain, the weather matching her mood.
At last, the tired horses pulled the mud-bespattered coach up the sweeping driveway of her Chateau, and she was home.
For a week, she wandered around the great house like a lost soul, unable to snap herself out of her misery. Unable even to go out riding because of the dreadful weather, she was trapped inside the lonely house. She felt as if she must go mad soon if she could not wipe away the memory of Ivan’s cold eyes, and his beloved voice, naming her whore.
At night, she tossed and turned, unable to sleep, and dark shadows appeared under her eyes. She couldn’t eat, and she began to look so thin and ill that Yvette flung herself at her mistress’s feet, weeping.
‘Madame, pray do not. You will kill yourself if you go on so. Forgive me, but I can’t bear it to see you like this.’
Tanya looked down at the girl and sighed.
‘God’s truth, Yvette, but I have not much taste for living.’
That night, as she lay sleepless as usual, she heard a strange sound. At first, she didn’t take any notice, but the scrabbling grew louder, and she sat up in bed, her heart thumping. The scraping was outside her window! She heard a thump on the balcony outside and, quite suddenly, decided that she did, after all, wish to live. Was it a thief, or someone sent to kill her? She slipped out of bed and, grasping her heavy candlestick, crept to the window, holding it high, ready to crash down on the unknown’s head.
The casement creaked open, and a dark head peered round. Tightening her grip on the candlestick, she had almost begun to swing it down when a voice called softly. ‘Mademoiselle Tanya, are you there?’ With an exclamation she stepped back. ‘Who is there?’ she called sharply. ‘Who is it?’
‘Peterkin.’
It was so unexpected a reply that Tanya dropped the candlestick.
‘It is I, Peterkin. Forgive me coming in this way, but I had to see you.’
‘Peterkin! Is it really you?’
The dark figure stepped into the room, and Tanya ran to the bed and lit the lamp. She turned and, for a moment, thought she had been tricked. The tall young man standing there could not be Peterkin. The small, undernourished urchin bore no resemblance at all to this dark-haired, decidedly attractive boy standing before her. Then he smiled, and she ran forward, throwing herself into his arms.
‘Peterkin, it’s really you. Oh, I can’t believe it! I thought you must be dead. I could find no trace of you at all after you had so bravely rescued me from the Kremlin. I thought you must have been captured and probably killed. Whatever are you doing here? Oh, I’m so glad to see you.’
She suddenly became aware of her scanty attire, and the fact that the young man’s face was suffused with blushes. With a shaky laugh she released him, and picking up her wrap, slipped it on.
‘But where has my little urchin gone? You have grown so, you are quite a man. I don’t understand this at all.’
Peterkin laughed. ‘It’s quite simple really, Tanya. I’m here with Count Ivan.’ He noticed the shadow pass over Tanya’s face but continued imperturbably.
‘I have been with Count Ivan ever since you last saw me.’ He caught her hands impulsively. ‘Oh, Tanya, he has been so good to me, what you see before you now is all his making. I should be nothing without him – in fact, by all accounts I should be dead, for had he denounced me after your escape from the Kremlin, as I was quite sure he would, there would have been no mercy for me. He has never told me why he covered for me, although I have my own ideas about that.’ He glanced at her face from under his lashes, to find her beautiful, expressive eyes fixed on him with almost painful intensity.
‘Tell me everything, Peterkin, from when we left you tied up in the cell,’ she cried, pulling him over to the bed to sit down. With just a trace of embarrassment, he perched himself on the edge of the frilled counterpane.
‘Well, only minutes after you and Nicholas had left, the Count came in and found me. It was the most awful luck, for you had hardly had time t