Masquerade edition published July 1980 ISBN 0-373-30045-X

Originally published in 1980 by Mills & Boon Limited

Copyright 1980 by Dinah Dean. Philippine copyright 1980. Australian copyright 1980. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by an electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Worldwide Library, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, M38 1 Z3, Canada.

The Masquerade trademark, consisting of the word MASQUERADE and the drawing of a mask, is registered in the United States Patent Office and the Canada Trade Marks Office.

Printed in Canada

CHAPTER

ONE

TANYA KIROVA decided at quite an early age that she would be foolish to expect very much from life, which was wise as it seemed that the older she grew, the more limited the possibilities became.

Her father was an officer in the Imperial Russian Army and served with modest distinction under Suvorov in the great Italian campaign of 1799, but unfortunately failed to survive the fearful hardships of the winter crossing of the Alps at the end of it. Her mother waited with diminishing hope for his return, or for news that he had been taken prisoner, until the following summer, then went into a gentle decline and died soon after, leaving Tanya, an orphan at the age of six, to the care of her father's uncle, an elderly General living in retirement on his estates beyond Yaroslavl.

The General and his wife were childless, and, looking back from the advanced age of twenty-five, Tanya realised that they had been very kind to her, considering that she had been wished on them without any thought of their possible unwillingness, or, indeed, ability, to look after her, or any means for her support. The General himself had undertaken her general education, while his wife had instructed her quite thoroughly in the domestic arts, and filled any possible idle moments with the unending stitching of garments for the poor, visiting the villagers in order to distribute the finished work, and the reading aloud of Improving Books.

Fortunately for Tanya, who was an intelligent girl with a lively and enquiring mind, the General's ideas of education were broader and more liberal. He taught her to speak French fluently and correctly, in case she should ever go into Society, and so that she would not shame him before the visitors who came occasionally to stay for a week or two of country air and military reminiscence; and gave her a very thorough grounding in history, mathematics (he was an artilleryman), European geography, and architecture, which was his own principal interest. In addition, he gave her the run of his library, which contained most of the leading works of Western literature legally available in Russia, a few which he had obtained more or less illegally or before they were censored, and a large selection of illustrated works on the architectural and decorative arts, to which he added from time to time the latest publications on developments in St. Petersburg and elsewhere. There were also some very curious and unsuitable volumes which he had probably forgotten he owned, from which Tanya, in all innocence, gleaned some information which her Great-Aunt was too prudish to impart.

By the time she was eighteen, Tanya could calculate the charge and elevation necessary to fire a shell from a Unicorn howitzer on a given trajectory, or plan a route of march for an army from Brest-Litovsk to Barcelona, and could have found her way about the principal buildings of Moscow or St. Petersburg, if she ever managed to visit either city, which seemed unlikely as the General and his wife never travelled. To more immediate purpose, she was able to take over the checking of the household accounts from her Great-Aunt, whose eyesight and arithmetic were not strong, and her schooling in military history enabled her to listen to the reminiscences of her Great-Uncle and his friends with genuine interest. She met no young people of her own age and class, and so felt no great loss in being unable to chatter inanities or to waltz, although occasionally she caught sight of herself in a mirror and thought fleetingly that it seemed a pity that the not unattractive young lady she saw was doomed eventually to grow into an old maid.

When the General's tales grew more than usually tedious or the endless round of good works fatiguing, when her Great-Aunt was made more than usually irritable by the heat and flies in summer or her chilblains in winter, Tanya could always escape through the only windows on to the outside world which she could reach, the books in the library. She was reasonably content, for she expected nothing more, and had only to look about her as she passed among the General's serfs to see how much less fortunate her lot might have been.

Then, one evening in the late summer of 1816, when Tanya was twenty-two, things took a decided turn for the worse. The General ate a good dinner at five o'clock, smoked a cigar with his brandy, and then played a game of chess with Tanya, who skilfully allowed him to win. He leaned forward to bang down his queen with a triumphant "Checkmate!", sat back with a contented sigh, and quietly expired.

Unfortunately his pensions died with him, and the Great-Aunt, after several lengthy discussions with the General's man of business, who came out each time from Yaroslavl in a very elegant carriage, informed Tanya that she must be prepared for some small changes in their way of life.

“Of course," she concluded, "I shall continue to provide you with a home, for I consider it my duty to carry on such of my late husband's charitable works as I am able.”

Tanya's gold-flecked hazel eyes widened a little at that. The General had always treated her as a much-loved great-niece and she was surprised to find herself labelled a "charitable work", but she sensibly murmured a few words of thanks, feeling genuinely grateful that this new and unexpected coldness in her Great-Aunt at least stopped short of casting her out into the world.

A few weeks later, her Great-Aunt informed her that her widowed sister had invited her to stay for the winter, while the General's man of business sorted out the estate and made a few necessary alterations, and that Tanya was to accompany her. Tanya was delighted, never having had the opportunity to travel anywhere in all the years she had lived in the General's house, and enquired with ill-concealed excitement where they were going. Her Great-Aunt replied "Taganrog," and seemed surprised at Tanya's startled echoing of the name.

“What of it?" she asked.

“But it must be a thousand miles away!" Tanya exclaimed. "Nonsense. Less than seven hundred," she was informed, which indeed was true.

The journey was quite appalling. Tanya was buoyed up with hope during the first part of it that they might pass through Moscow, but they did not. As they reached the more southerly parts of Russia, the roads became worse, the inns dirtier, and the bitter north wind howled over the unending flatness of the steppes. All that kept Tanya from crying with weariness and vexation was the expectation that the winter would at least be less cold than in the north, and the hope that she might see the sea, for Taganrog was a port on the Sea of Azov.

She was disappointed even in these respects. The Great-Aunt's sister lived more than fifty miles from the town and never went there. Indeed, she never went anywhere, being crippled with arthritis. Her house was a very plain, foursquare box, with no trees to break the eternal wind, nothing but a few stunted bushes for a garden, rooms furnished with the simplest necessities, and not a book or a picture or an ornament to break the monotony of the bare whitewashed walls except for one small, cheap icon in each room. As winter drew on, Tanya found that the weather here was as cold as ever it had been at Yaroslavl; for the wind hurled the snow down over the steppes, and it was only in the narrow coastal plain around the city, where hills cut off the wind, that the mildness which was beginning to make the place a winter resort could be found.

The days were passed in knitting and sewing and reading the Bible. The only variety in the whole week occurred each Sunday, when the village priest came to say a service, and he, being only the son of one of the serf families on the estate, was too humble and servile to do more than bid the ladies "Good day" on arrival and before departure.

The visit lasted five months, but seemed like eternity to Tanya, and even the long journey back to Yaroslavl seemed pleasant by comparison. On the way home her Great-Aunt said to her, "You must realise that there can be no luxuries in future. There will be no money for new dresses and such frippery, no wine with dinner, and we shall not entertain visitors.”

Tanya, who had enjoyed the luxury of one new dress a year in the past, thought philosophically that it was a good thing she had stopped growing. Wine she could dispense with, and visitors too, as long as she had books to read. She was looking forward with happy anticipation to re-reading all her favourites when they reached home.

The first intimation that her Great-Aunt had not told her all came as they drove up to the house. All the trees had gone. The General had spent a good deal of time and trouble on the artistic arrangement of little copses and groups of various trees to provide shelter and improve the views from the house, but all had been felled and removed. Timber, it appeared, fetched quite a good price, even in Russia, where there were so many trees.

A further shock awaited Tanya inside the house. All the pictures had been sold, and all the curios and ornaments which the General had brought back from his travels and campaigns. Tanya ran from one room to another, wringing her hands in distress to find all the pretty and interesting things gone, leaving the house strangely cold and bare. Then, with a sudden sick dread, she went to the library.

It, too, was bare. All her magic casements had gone, all the shelves stood empty. Not a single volume had been left. She sank down on the wide windowsill and wept as if her heart was broken.

For nearly three years, Tanya endured a life so circumscribed that at times she could hardly find the heart to go on with it. Those few months at Taganrog had only been bearable because their term was limited, but now life at home was much the same, and would go on so indefinitely. The deadly monotony wore down her spirits, and her Great-Aunt's death early in the winter of 1819 came as a relief in the end, despite the uncertainty it cast upon her own future.

During the first few days there was so much to do that Tanya had no time to worry about herself. The funeral had to be arranged and endured, neighbours called to offer condolences. One neighbour, a fat, lecherous, slovenly fellow whose few hundred acres bordered the General's estate, surprised Tanya by proposing marriage, probably assuming that she was the heiress. She refused him politely and calmly, but hardly knew whether to laugh or cry when he had gone. The General's man of business came several times and spoke kindly to her, but said that he would rather defer discussion of the Great-Aunt's will until other members of the family arrived. Tanya was surprised at first, knowing of none other than the old lady at Taganrog, who would hardly come so far, but then she recalled that all through her childhood she had regularly received a small gift on her name-day and at Christmas from someone the General had always referred to as "your poor Uncle Alexei", who was, it appeared, her own father's younger brother.

Tanya could not remember her father very well, but when Count Alexei Kirov arrived, she felt a faint stirring of recollection which made her ask him if he resembled his brother, and the Count said smilingly that he did. "As you do too," he added.

He was a kindly-looking man in his late forties, his brown hair greying at the sides, and he brought with him his wife, Maria Nikolaevna, a slightly faded but still pretty fair-haired lady a few years younger than the Count. Tanya took an immediate liking to them both.

The General's man of business came again the next day, and a formal and rather solemn meeting was held in the dining-room, where the large table provided space for all the papers he had brought with him. The gist of his announcements was that the house and its contents and the estates and serfs were all to be sold and the money divided into three equal portions. One of these was to go to the Church, one to an orphanage in Moscow, and the third was to be used to pay a number of small legacies to various old friends of the Great-Aunt's youth. For Tanya, there was one hundred roubles and her Great-Aunt's blessing.

Tanya sat stunned, and it was Countess Maria who gasped, "Is that all?"

“I'm afraid so," the man of business said sadly. "I pointed out to her when she made the will that the most frugal lady could barely live as long as a year on it, and in what a difficult position Countess Tanya would be placed, but she was quite adamant, for she said that whatever further sum might be considered due to the young lady had already been spent on her upkeep and education in the past. I'm very sorry.”

Tanya pulled herself together with a great effort. "I shall have to— to find employment," she said in a broken, choking voice. "Yes, that's what I must do. Of course," more firmly this time, but with a desperate, frightened note underlying the brave words.

“I have a letter from your Great-Aunt's sister at Taganrog offering to take you as her companion," the man of business said. "She sent the money for your fare, and says she is prepared to keep you, but she makes no mention of any — er — remuneration . . ."

“How kind!" Countess Maria's anxious face dissolved into a relieved smile. "There, something always turns up, just when things seem at their blackest!" Count Alexei, seeing the expression on Tanya's face, caught his wife's eye and almost imperceptibly shook his head. She fell silent at once and her smile faded.

“Are you agreeable to going to Taganrog?" Count Alexei asked his niece gently.

She sighed. "It's very kind of her to ask me, and I've nowhere else to go," she replied. "It's just that — oh, I'm silly, I know — but it was so dull there when we went to stay. She never goes out, or receives visitors, and she has no books or pictures. There's nothing to do or see, no one to talk with, nothing to look forward to ... I'm sorry. I'm being very foolish and ungrateful.”

The conversation passed to other matters, but later in the day, Countess Maria had an earnest private discussion with her husband, as a result of which she sought out Tanya, who was sitting by the stove in the empty library, staring across the room and trying not to think about the future. She started when the Countess spoke to her, and took a few seconds to understand what she was saying.

“I've been talking to Alexei, dear," she began. "We're both very concerned for you, and not at all happy about what has happened. We should like very much to help you, but to be quite honest, there isn't very much we can do. You see, Alexei is not at all a rich man, for he was the youngest son, and his father – your grandfather, dear – was a very bad manager. He gambled too, far more than he could afford. We've three children of our own to launch into the world. Our son will come of age next year, and our elder daughter is nearly seventeen, so we had intended bringing her Out this Season, but . . ." She hesitated, and then took the plunge. "Well, if we leave that until the summer, and don't give a ball for her until next winter, we can at least do a little something for you. Will you come and stay with us for the rest of the Season, and put off going to Taganrog until Lent?”

Tanya stared in astonishment, scarcely able to believe her ears. "I – I don't understand," she stammered. "Stay with you where?"

“Well, at home in the country until after Christmas, and then in Petersburg," Countess Maria enlarged.

“St. Petersburg!" Tanya breathed the name as if it were "Heaven". "Oh, how kind you are! Will you really take me to Petersburg?"

“We don't live in great style there," Countess Maria explained. "We've quite a small house just off the Nevsky Prospect, nothing grand, but we do move in the best of society, so at least you'll have a little fun and meet some interesting people.”

Tanya's face had lit up with joy and wonder, but this suddenly faded as she saw the obstacles in the way. "I've no suitable clothes," she said sadly. "Only ordinary things like this, and nothing less than three years old." She indicated the dress she was wearing – a plain woollen thing, made by herself and twenty years behind the fashion.

“You won't need a great deal," Countess Maria said bravely. "Just a few gowns, and we can manage those– we're not exactly paupers! I dare say my sewing-woman can alter some of my own things to fit you. She's very clever at making-over, and fashions are very simple at the moment." She caught Tanya's eye, and they both saw the absurdity of what she had just said, for the Countess was small and plump, and Tanya was quite five inches taller and much slimmer. They both dissolved into laughter.

In fact, the idea was not as absurd as it first appeared. On consulting the fashion-plates when they reached the Kirovs' country home at Pomeranye, a day's ride south of St. Petersburg, the ladies found that skirts had risen to just above the ankle and were finished with a padded roll at the hem, which could be of a different material from the rest of the dress; or a stiffening of buckram could be applied to the hem to make it adopt the proper bell-shape, and this might quite fashionably be concealed by a frill. If a little of the contrasting fabric of the roll or frill was used to trim the bodice or add the epaulette-like jockeis to the shoulder-line, most of the difficulties were overcome. Even some of Tanya's Great-Aunt's old silks, dating from the time of Catherine the Great, were still usable, and contained yards of material in their wide skirts.

Tanya soon found herself looking into the mirror at a stranger who was dressed in the latest fashion, in silks and lace which made the best of her tall, shapely figure, and whose hair was drawn up into a fashionable chignon and fell in shining brown curls to frame a face made attractive more by a lively, interested and humorous expression than by classical beauty, for her nose was decidedly tip-tilted and her mouth too wide for the fashion of the day.

The Kirovs usually stayed at Pomeranye until after Christmas, partly for preference and partly for reasons of economy, but their way of life there differed completely from the dull monotony of the sort of country life Tanya had grown used to enduring. Their days seemed to be filled with chatter, laughter, music and dashing about. Sometimes they were frantically searching for Countess Maria's gloves while the sledge-coach waited to carry them off to visit friends a few miles away; sometimes they were playing some absurd, amusing game which had to be cleared away in a tearing hurry because they expected guests themselves. There was skating on a nearby lake, and sliding on the ice-mountain which they built in the paddock at the back of their shabby little house. Tanya felt that she had never had so much to do or laughed so many times in a day in all her life.

In the evenings, the family gathered in the big room which seemed to be the heart of the house and served as salon, playroom, music-room, and even ballroom as occasion demanded. Count Alexei would sit by the stove, smoking his long pipe and reading a book, occasionally looking up to smile at the antics of the others. Countess Maria had always some piece of embroidery or fine stitchery in hand, but was ready to put it aside and join in a game or to move to the pianoforte and play for Tanya's dancing-lessons.

These were conducted by Fedor, the twenty-year-old son of the house. He was a good-looking young fellow, well up in the latest fashions, but level-headed and more interested in horse-breeding than anything else. He undertook to instruct Tanya in the waltz, the mazurka and polonaise, and the various set-dances which remained in fashion, and pranced about the room with her in great good humour, shouting out ". . . And one and two and three, and one and two and three . . ." or whatever the beat might be, until they were giddy and out of breath with laughter and exertion.

The younger daughter, Irina, was an elfin child of seven, very fair-haired and pink and white in complexion, like her mother. She spent much time at her lessons and playing with her dolls, but had a charming habit of volunteering a contribution to whatever conversation was going on which was usually quaintly old-fashioned or naïvely funny. She was quite unspoilt and well-mannered, and it never needed more than a word from her mother to return her to the proper 'seen but not heard' situation expected of a child. She often sat herself by Tanya to confide the latest news of her waxen and wooden family, and several times quietly informed her of the identity and relationship of visitors when the others forgot, or were too busy to do so.

Marisha, the elder daughter, was dark-haired and pretty, with large brown eyes and a rather serious, self-possessed manner. She seemed a little reserved at first in her dealings with Tanya, who felt ill-at-ease with her. She was very conscious that her own coming to join the family had involved the postponement of Marisha's come-out, which the younger girl might well resent. Being a forthright person, Tanya thought it best to bring the matter into the open, and took the first opportunity of being alone with Marisha to mention it.

“Do you mind very much that your parents invited me to stay?" she asked.

Marisha looked surprised. "Mind?" she asked. "Why, I'm glad they did!"

“Really?"

“Yes, really and truly. I just wish it could be possible for you to stay with us for always. It must be terrible to have to live such a dull life as you have all these years."

“But my coming here has spoiled your come-out.”

Marisha smiled and shrugged. "I don't mind," she said. "Oh, I quite enjoy parties and dancing and being in Petersburg, but there will be plenty of time for all that for me, and you have only until Lent. Please don't spoil it for yourself by worrying about me, for truly there's no need!" and Tanya was convinced that she really meant it.

*

It was now barely a week before Christmas, and Irina at least was beginning to look forward to the festivities, particularly when several mysterious boxes were delivered to the house by a carrier, and put away without even being opened.

“Are they Christmas gifts?" the child asked.

“Maybe," her father replied, his eyes twinkling.

“The label on the big one was written by Cousin Nikolai," Irina commented. "I know his handwriting. Does that mean he isn't coming here for Christmas?"

“He never comes here for Christmas," Fedor pointed out. "You know he always goes to his own home."

“I just thought he might be coming," Irina sounded despondent. "Why does he go to White Gates? There's nobody there.”

Count Alexei exchanged a glance with his wife and said, "There are all his people at White Gates. I expect they like to have him at home."

“But no family," Irina persisted. "Serfs don't count."

“Don't you ever let Cousin Nikolai hear you say that!" Marisha exclaimed. "They count very much, for what would we all do without them? In any case, Cousin Nikolai doesn't have serfs. He's freed them all." Irma had lost interest by now and didn't pursue the matter, but Tanya was intrigued by this strange item, and said, "I've never heard of anyone doing that before! How is it possible?"

“It's rather complicated," Count Alexei told her. "And quite expensive to start with, though Nikolai Ilyich says that over some years the money comes back in rents. It was all made legal a few years ago, but not many people have bothered to do anything about it. Nikolai Ilyich has travelled abroad a great deal, and he has a theory that free peasants are a better proposition all round — for themselves, for the landlord, and even for the State — than serfs. Not many people agree with him, and I'm not too sure myself, though he seems to make it work."

“Nikolai Ilyich is my cousin," Countess Maria explained, seeing that Tanya looked puzzled. "Prince Nikolai Volkhov. You'll meet him in Petersburg, I expect, for he's usually in attendance on the Emperor."

“The Emperor!" Tanya breathed in rather awe-stricken tones. She had not really become accustomed to the idea that she was actually going to see all those fine buildings in St. Petersburg that she had read about, and her mind had not even begun to grasp the fact that there would be people there as well — interesting, even important people. She had seen several engraved portraits of the Emperor, Alexander I, and at one time had even cherished a girlish tendresse for that handsome and romantic figure. She was long past such star-struck fancies now, of course, but it was still exciting to think that she might meet someone who actually knew the Emperor.

Countess Maria had lapsed into a thoughtful silence and was eyeing Tanya in a rather calculating manner. She apparently came to some conclusion after a few moments, and announced that she had some letters to write, and must not be disturbed for a while.

“One of these boxes is from Boris Kalinsky," she called back as she went upstairs to her room. "You may write and tell him it arrived safely, if you wish." Tanya observed that Marisha looked up with an unusually lively expression at this, and concluded that the words were addressed to her."Is Boris Kalinsky another cousin?" she enquired.

Fedor and Count Alexei both laughed at that, and the Count said, "More than likely! He's a friend of Nikolai's, in fact, but it's something of a joke that he's related, however remotely, to practically everyone of note in Russia, and he seems to be able to work out the exact relationship at a moment's notice!"

“You know very well," Marisha said quite seriously, "that Boris Mikhailovich's mother's sister was your eldest brother's first wife," but she joined in the laughter which followed.

Christmas, when it came, was quite unlike any other Tan^ya had ever spent in her life. It began like any other, with the long night service in church, the return to the house to change into new clothes, and to assemble in the dining-room to receive the congratulations and good wishes of all the serfs in the house and from the estate, but after that it was one round of merriment and fun all day long, such as Tanya had never experienced before. The family exchanged little gifts in honour of the Saviour's birthday, and although Tanya had worried about this beforehand, being unable to do more than contrive little things out of scraps of fabric and oddments of ribbon and lace, everyone seemed just as pleased with her pen-wipers and purses and lavender sachets as they were with everything else, and their own gifts to each other were also very simple things.

The boxes which had arrived earlier contained a variety of luxuries from the little specialist shops of the Gostinny Dvor in Petersburg — sugar plums and comfits, a great eel pie, spun-glass trifles and little carved wooden creatures, sugared nuts and scented cachous, and gifts of a more elaborate nature from the strange Cousin Nikolai who owned no serfs — a model sledge-carriage for Irina's dolls, lined with blue silk and equipped in miniature with all the necessities for a long journey, from drinking cups and plates packed in a hamper to a tiny silver chamber-pot in a leather case; a saddle for Fedor, beautiful lace for Countess Maria, a length of white figured silk for Marisha, and a velvet smoking-jacket for Count Alexei.

As soon as Christmas was over, it seemed no time at all before Tanya found herself squeezed into a corner of the Kirovs' shabby old sledge-carriage, with Irina, Marisha and Countess Maria alongside her on one seat, and Fedor, Count Alexei, two large Borzois and a basket of kittens opposite, gliding (and frequently jolting and bumping) along the great post road which passed through Pomeranye on its way north from Moscow to St. Petersburg.

The short winter day had faded into darkness long before they reached the city, but as soon as they passed the cattle market and crossed the bridge over the Zagorodny Canal, the wide streets of the city became tantalisingly semi-visible in the dim light of the flickering street-lanterns. Tanya rubbed frantically at the misted windows of the carriage as she peered out, shivering as much with excitement as with cold, trying to see something recognisable and memorable which she would be able to treasure in the future as the first thing she had seen in the capital.

The only thing she was able to identify with any certainty, however, was the Fontanka Canal, glittering with ice, and then the carriage lurched into a side-turning and came to a halt outside one of a long row of classically-façaded houses, and it was time for everyone to help everyone else extricate themselves from the rugs and shawls and dogs and kittens, find Irina's mislaid doll, unbury a squalling kitten trapped under a discarded rug, and run across the crisp snow on the pavement to the open door of the house, where a bewigged and liveried major-domo stood waiting to welcome them into the hall.

A row of house serfs in town livery stood to attention inside, but as soon as the family entered, they broke ranks and rushed forward, beaming with pleasure and calling out greetings, to help everyone off with their outdoor clothing and fall upon the luggage and rush it away.

Tanya gazed about her in the entrance hall, rapidly taking in the architectural details of the house, which was severely Neo-Classical in design. There was a large tile stove facing the entrance door, with a hooded porter's chair beside it. Beyond, a curtained arch led to the back of the house, presumably to the kitchen and the servants' quarters and the mews behind the house. Two rooms opened off to the right —she later found that they were the steward's room and Count Alexei's study — and a staircase with a fine wrought-iron balustrade hugged the left-hand wall and led up to a gallery on the first floor.

Once the servants had been greeted and cloaks and coats removed, the whole family went upstairs to the large salon, which ran the whole depth of the house and was reached by double doors at the end of the gallery furthest from the stairs. It had a fine marble overmantel round the open fireplace, but when Tanya admired it, never having actually seen an open fireplace before, Count Alexei said it set up a deuce of a draught, and he preferred a stove any day, but many of the newer houses in Petersburg had these nasty Western holes in their walls.

Tanya's room was on the next floor, between the schoolroom and Marisha's room, all at the front of the house, the main bedroom and dressing-rooms being at the back. Fedor and Irina were apparently housed on the third floor, and there were attics above that. The guest-room, which was now Tanya's, was quite small, but neatly and attractively furnished with white-painted furniture which, with a white porcelain stove and flowered dimity curtains and bed-hangings, gave a very light and pretty effect. Tanya discovered the next day that by craning her neck and pressing hard against the right-hand side of the window, she could just see the fine gold spire of the Admiralty, over half a mile away.

At least, she could see a spire, and she thought it must be the Admiralty one, for it had a little ship on its tip; but she did not know for sure until Fedor kindly offered to take her for a drive round after breakfast to take her first look at the city.

When they reached the magnificent bronze statue of Peter the Great on horseback, balanced on a great boulder of granite, they crossed the river on the ice to Vasilievsky Island, where they stopped on the jutting point called the Strelka, in front of the Stock Exchange and between the two pink Rostral Columns, commemorating one of Peter's victories at sea. Tanya got down from the carriage and took Fedor's arm to the embankment wall, where they stood to look at the view.

The sun picked out the white ornamental surrounds of the windows all along the sea-blue façade of the Winter Palace and the line of gesticulating statues on its roof balustrade, dazzling on the golden onion dome of the Palace Cathedral. In front stretched the whole width of the great frozen river, the ice sparkling in the wintry sunshine, and dotted with carriages, busy figures, skaters, children with sledges, whole families out for pleasure, and hawkers there to sell them hot pies, gingerbread, ribbons, or whatever else they might fancy. Tanya had never seen such buildings or so many people, but the most amazing thing was the scale of it all. Pictures gave no idea of the great width of the river, the enormous mass and size of the buildings, the dizzy height of the angel flying on the top of the needle-like spire of the Petropavlovsky Cathedral on her left. She could only look about her in sheer amazement.

CHAPTER

TWO

EVENTUALLY, she tore herself away from the view and they returned to the mainland to skirt the edge of the Winter Palace and the square behind it, and drove down the Nevsky Prospect, stopping for a few minutes outside the Kazan Cathedral, then on past the Gostinny Dvor with its little shops, across the Fontanka, past the Anichkov Palace and the Winter Market to the Alexander Nevsky monastery.

From there they drove by the river to the Smolny Cathedral, pausing for a glimpse while Tanya distractedly murmured, "Rastrelli — oh, how lovely!" Then there was another glimpse, this time of the Tavrichesky Palace, Fedor supplying "Starov," when Tanya hesitated over the name of the architect.

The route home took them past one fine building after another until even Tanya's enthusiastic head was spinning. They were home in time for luncheon, and she could only answer the family's enquiries whether she had enjoyed her flying tour by raising her hands and smiling speechlessly.

It happened to be a Thursday, which was Countess Maria's At Home day, and during the afternoon the family sat in the salon and received a number of callers who came to exchange news and gossip about their various Christmas activities. Tanya was made known to them, and found it not nearly so much of an ordeal as she had expected.

One of the callers was Count Boris Kalinsky, a very pleasant young man of about Tanya's own age, with smooth dark hair, regular features, and large, expressive black eyes. The family called him "Boris", and it was clear that he was on easy, friendly terms with them all. Tanya noticed that he seemed to make a point of murmuring something to Marisha as he kissed her hand as if she were already Out, and that Marisha smiled as she replied in an unusually lively manner: Presently, Boris came to sit beside Tanya on one of the little gilt sofas set about the room, and enquired about her first impressions of Petersburg. She had managed to digest something of her packed morning of sight-seeing, and mentioned the buildings which had particularly impressed her, expressing surprise that the Admiralty was already being rebuilt, whereas many of the simple wooden houses of Peter's time were still standing, looking curiously shabby and rustic amid the later glories of brick and stone.

“The Winter Palace is the fifth on the site," Boris replied. "I think that many of the earlier State buildings, as opposed to the private residences, have proved too small. You must be finding it all a little overwhelming as you've not lived in a city before."

“Indeed," Tanya replied, "and you must think me very provincial, for I suppose your family owns one of the houses here, and you have been here all your life?"

“In fact, not quite," Boris said, smiling engagingly, and Tanya thought him most attractive. "My family lives mostly in Moscow, or in the country, for my mother is delicate and doesn't go into society. I was sent here into the Cadets as a child, and I remember how vast everything seemed after the smaller scale of Moscow. We have an estate not far from Yaroslavl, which I understand is your own part of the Empire?"

“Why, yes!" Tanya replied, surprised. "But how did you know?"

“Oh, Nikolai Ilyich told me." Boris gazed at her soulfully. "I'm extremely glad he bade me look out for you."

“Heavens!" thought Tanya. "I do believe he's flirting with me!”

The novelty was so diverting that she forgot to be embarrassed, but she wondered if she ought to set him down in some way. However, it all seemed harmless enough, and he was not behaving improperly, so perhaps it was allowable. "I'm more puzzled now," she said aloud. "Who is Nikolai Ilyich, and why should he tell you about me?"

“Prince Nikolai Volkhov, Maria Nikolaevna's cousin,"Boris replied. "We were standing about together at the Palace last night, waiting for Alexander Pavlovich, and he told me you were expected in Petersburg, and asked me to look out for you if I came to call." Seeing that Tanya still looked puzzled, he elaborated, "We are both Gentlemenin-Waiting. The Winter Palace. Alexander Pavlovich is the Emperor." Tanya still looked puzzled.

“But how did he know about me, and why should he mention me to you?" she asked.

“Oh, it's the usual thing," Boris explained. "When a young lady has her first Season, her family ask one of their friends at Court to keep an eye on her and find her a few suitable partners from among his friends, to help launch her, you know.”

Tanya thought this a very good idea and said so, adding, "And very kind, too, for he's never seen me and cannot tell what he may be letting himself and his friends in for."

“Oh, Nikolai's always kind, poor fellow," Boris replied vaguely, his attention distracted for a moment by a sudden burst of laughter from a group on the other side of the room. He immediately turned back to Tanya and continued, "And none of us will regret it in this case, I assure you!”

Tanya felt her colour rise at the compliment, and Boris took his leave soon after with every appearance of regret at having to go so soon, and promising to look out for her at the ball that evening.

Preparations for the ball took far longer than Tanya had dreamed possible. One of the housemaids, Natasha, had been promoted to be her maid, and she spent a great deal of time dressing her, arranging her dark red silk gown with its pale rose gauze overskirt to hang exactly as it should, and then Tanya's hair must be coaxed into a different style, parted far back across the top, with the front pulled forward and made to curl becomingly about her face, and the back twisted into a chignon of plaits and curls, trimmed with narrow velvet ribbons to match her gown, and a pearl comb holding it all in place. Tanya watched it all in the mirror, and hardly knew herself in this strange guise. She certainly looked very fashionable, and not unattractive, but she felt uncomfortably naked about the bosom, what with the low cut of her bodice and the upthrust of her high-waisted corset.

Countess Maria took even longer to dress, for she had to dart across every few minutes to see how Tanya was progressing. Twice she ran upstairs to look in on Irina, who was not even pretending to be asleep, and when she was almost ready, she suddenly decided to wear a different gown. Count Alexei and Fedor, who had been dressed and ready for a long time, sat philosophically in the salon, and when Tanya joined them they were discussing a pair of horses which Fedor had noticed during the morning's drive, without the slightest sign of impatience.

In the coach on the way to Ruschev Palace, Tanya recalled some fragments of what she had read about the building, and found that it helped her not to feel nervous. She remembered that Rastrelli had said that this was his own favourite of all the buildings he had designed for St. Petersburg, and that it had a very interesting staircase which she had often wished she might see. She snuggled into her fur-lined velvet cloak with a little shiver of excitement and anticipation.

The house was as beautiful as she had expected, and she gazed about her entranced as a footman helped her off with her hooded cloak and she followed Alexei and Maria up the magnificent staircase in the tide of fashionably-dressed, chattering people ascending to be greeted by their host and hostess. She noticed that most of the ladies' gowns were even more low-cut than her own, and most of them glittered with jewels. Very tall footmen lined the staircase, in pairs on the opposite sides of every third step, and she felt that they would regard her as an ignorant provincial if she tried to peer between ^.them at the wrought-ironwork, much as she wished to see it.

Prince Stepan Ruschev and his wife greeted her with gracious charm for her aunt and uncle's sake. The Prince was a thin, elderly man, who Tanya thought looked tired and bored, and the Princess had the looks and lack of animation of a fashion-plate. Tanya wondered if either of them really enjoyed entertaining all these people.

When she entered the great ballroom, she almost forgot to breathe in the excitement of seeing such a masterpiece of Baroque. The pale gold of the walls set off the gleaming white of the swirling plasterwork decorations, and the whole was ablaze with crystal chandeliers flashing blue darts of light from their lustres and from the jewels of the dancers.

The floor was already filled with the sets of a contre-danse as the Kirovs moved slowly along the edge, greeting and being greeted by more people than Tanya had ever seen in one place in her life before. They found seats halfway along one side and Countess Maria settled happily to gossip with the other chaperones. Count Alexei wandered off to talk to his friends, Fedor's attention was caught by a pretty girl nearby, and Tanya had time to look about at the spectacle before her.

The set-dance ended and the orchestra struck up a lively mazurka which started Tanya's toes twitching as she rehearsed the steps in her head, half dreading and half wishing that someone would ask her to dance. Boris Kalinsky went past with a pretty blonde in golden gauze. He gave Tanya his charming smile and kissed his hand to her as he passed. Tanya glanced about her covertly to see if anyone had noticed, but no eyebrows were being raised, so she smiled back at him next time he turned his head in her direction.

Her attention was next caught by a man who was making his way along the far side of the ballroom as the mazurka ended and the floor cleared. A great many heads turned to greet him as he passed, and he seemed to create a small wave of bowing and curtseying as he moved slowly along, returning the greetings with an air of grave, detached courtesy.

For a moment Tanya thought he might be the Emperor, who she knew often attended social functions informally, but she soon realised that this man was not old enough, and his hair was brown, not golden. "He must be important, though," she thought. "He's wearing the Order of St. Andrei, and obviously everyone knows him.”

He was now standing right opposite her. He was very tall, and moved with an easy athletic grace, looking a fine figure in his dark blue Court dress. His hair was short and curled in the brushed-forward style which seemed to be fashionable, and Tanya thought him quite handsome, except that he had a curiously controlled, melancholy look about his face which made her feel uneasy, and she wondered if there was some great tragedy in his life, or if he had perhaps suffered some dreadful physical pain.

As she watched him, she realised that he had not once smiled or shown any particular expression other than that quiet, grave courtesy. She suddenly recalled an old peasant she used to visit with her Great-Aunt. He had been crippled in an accident and lay paralysed in the single room of his son's hovel, hopeless and resigned to waiting patiently for death to release him from a life which no longer held any purpose or pleasure. This man had the same expression.

At that moment,, he glanced across the room and saw Countess Maria, and immediately his eyes turned to Tanya. She felt she had been caught staring at him, but returned his gaze for a second or two before he turned his head to answer someone who had spoken to him. Immediately after that, he came across the floor to Countess Maria, who gave him her hand with an exclamation of pleasure.

“Tanya," she said a few moments later, "may I present my cousin, Prince Nikolai Ilyich Volkhov? Tanya Ivanovna, Alexei's niece, you know.”

As Prince Nikolai bent to brush her fingers with his lips, Tanya saw that there were grey threads among the brown curls. When he straightened up, she found herself looking into eyes of a blue so vivid that the ribbon of his St. Andrei looked pale by comparison, but they were just as remote and lifeless as the rest of him.

His invitation to dance and her acceptance came quite naturally and easily, but when Tanya found herself out on the floor, she was seized with a moment of panic.

“Oh, heavens!" she exclaimed in an agonised whisper. "What sort of dance is it?"

“A waltz," he replied.

She hesitated. "Fedor has worked very hard to teach me, but I think I should warn you that I've never danced in public before."

“I dare say we shall survive," he replied gravely, but with a note of gentle irony. "Start with your left foot . . ." He put his arm round her waist and took her right hand. ". . . and one, two three . . ." and they were off. The next moment, Tanya found herself floating round the floor in a most delightful manner.

“How very pleasant!" she remarked.

Her partner looked at her radiant face. "Fedor has done well," he observed, "but I suspect that you have a natural talent for it.”

Tanya gave him a grateful smile, but received no answering expression of any kind. "He must be bored to death with me," she thought.

“Your first ball, I believe?" he said. His voice was deep and pleasant, but just as lifeless as his expression.

“Yes, and I'd no idea it would be so interesting," she replied. "I've often wished I might see this house, but I hadn't realised the impression the people and the music would make. I'd always imagined it as an empty building, as it was in the illustrations."

“The house?" He sounded faintly interested.

“Oh, yes." Tanya seized on a possible topic of conversation with relief. "I've read so much about the buildings in Petersburg, for the Great-Uncle I lived with collected books on architecture. This was Rastrelli's own favourite of all his work, you know. Besides, the staircase caught my fancy.”

The Prince missed the step with a sudden and unexpected jerk. "I'm so sorry," he said, starting off again. "You were saying something about the staircase?"

“It was made in England," Tanya replied, assuming that he had slipped on some candlegrease, a hazard of which Fedor had warned her. "And brought here by sea to put in the house when it was built. The ironwork, that is. It's formed of ears of wheat and ivy-leaves, with little mice hiding among them, and it is said to rustle as one walks past. I tried to see it when we came, but there were so many people, and the footmen stared . . ."

“I've never noticed," Prince Nikolai said. "I must have passed up and down those stairs a hundred times, and not even suspected that it was full of 'rodents.”

They continued to dance in silence, and Tanya found herself enjoying it very much. She had the sense to realise that her partner's expertise made it seem easy. He was not really difficult to talk to now they had started, and she ventured on a few more remarks about the building to which he replied in a knowledgeable fashion, but when they were silent, she found that was equally easy and there was no need to talk all the time.

As the waltz ended, she sank into her curtsey and began to thank him, but he kept hold of her hand and said, "The staircase will be clear now. Will you show me the mice? I promise I'll protect you from the footmen!”

Two footmen remained at the head of the stairs, but Tanya thought they had shrunk by several feet. They watched impassively as she and Prince Nikolai descended a few steps and bent to examine the fine ironwork.

“See, here's a mouse!" she said, finding one peering inquisitively round an ivy-leaf.

Prince Nikolai stroked its head with one finger. "How exquisite," he said. "It looks real enough to nip my finger!”

They slowly descended the stairs, finding poppies among the wheatears, several more mice, a snail and a little fat bird, which the Prince said was a wren. The wheat did rustle a little in the current of air as they moved.

Suddenly, brisk steps crossed the gallery above and Prince Ruschev appeared at the top of the stairs. When he saw them, he stopped and ran down to them, an expression of concern on his face.

“Nikolai Ilyich! What is it?" he asked sharply. "Is something wrong?"

“We were just admiring the ironwork," Prince Nikolai replied. "There's nothing wrong, Stepan Vasil'ich, I assure you — don't worry! You have a fine collection of secret inhabitants here."

“Oh, the mice. Yes, very pretty, aren't they?" Prince Ruschev dismissed the rodents carelessly. "I thought, seeing you on these stairs . . ." he hesitated.

Tanya, puzzled, looked from one to the other and thought she must somehow have precipitated a small disaster.

“Have I done something dreadful?" she asked anxiously. "If so, I'm very sorry.”

Prince Nikolai turned to her. "It's nothing," he said sharply. "Pray don't concern yourself. My late wife once fell on these stairs, that's all. It was years ago, and quite unimportant now.”

He spoke with obvious unwillingness and there was an awkward silence. Then the orchestra up in the ballroom struck up another waltz, and Prince Nikolai exclaimed, "I'm promised for this! Will you excuse me? Countess — Stepan Vasil'ich . . ." and he went back up the stairs, leaving Tanya with a distinct impression that he was hastening away from something intolerable.

Prince Ruschev offered Tanya his arm and said, "Would you care to dance?" Tanya accepted, and they returned to the ballroom, where she found that her new partner made waltzing a careful, plodding affair, quite unlike the floating feeling given it by Prince Nikolai.

After a silent circuit of the floor, she said hesitantly, "Did I make a faux pas?"

“It was my fault," Prince Ruschev replied kindly. "You were not to know, and if I hadn't come by and made a fuss, the situation would not have arisen. It was a shock to see him on those stairs, and I spoke without thinking. Nikolai Ilyich's friends don't care to remind him of his wife, you see. It was a very unhappy business.”

Tanya was glad when the waltz ended. The Prince seemed pleased with her faltering attempts to talk about his palace, but she thought him a cold man whose concern about the incident on the stairs was due more to his own involvement than to any real sympathy for Prince Nikolai or his wife.

As soon as she returned to Countess Maria, Tanya was claimed by Boris Kalinsky, who languished at her most flatteringly through the complications of a set-dance and made her feel amazingly clever, witty and attractive, which was very pleasant.

During the waiting figure, when she and Boris were at the end of their set, she found herself facing Prince Nikolai, who was also waiting at the end of the next set. Seeing his face made her feel a sudden compassion for him.

“That's why he's so sad," she thought. "Because his wife died, and now I've reminded him . . ." and at that point her eyes met his and she gave him such a stricken look that his gaze was arrested by it, but the next moment the figure changed and they were separated by the movement of the dance.

After the dance, Boris escorted her back to Countess Maria and seemed disposed to linger at her side, but his arm was suddenly seized from behind by Prince Nikolai, who said, "Boris, go and talk to my Aunt Elizaveta, there's a good fellow!" and he was left alone as Prince Nikolai took Tanya out into the waltz which was just beginning.

Tanya was startled, for he simply took her hand and had her out of her seat and on to the floor without a word, and she was also conscious of an outbreak of murmuring among the chaperones along the wall behind her, which spread like a ripple along the line, and a number of dancers turned their heads to look at her.

“Oh dear, what have I done?" she asked.

“My fault," Prince Nikolai replied. "I never dance more than once with the same partner, and any departure from normal attracts notice. I'm sorry, but I must speak to you."

“And Ito you," Tanya said firmly. "I'm very sorry about the stairs."

“What did Stepan Vasil'ich tell you?"

“He said your friends don't care for you to be reminded about – about your wife."

“He didn't explain why?"

“No, but you said – an accident . . ."

“The truth of the matter is, I hated my wife," Prince Nikolai said in a very quiet, clear voice, but between his teeth, as if he regretted having to say anything about it at all. "We were separated. She fell down those stairs and broke her back. It was nearly six years ago. She died some months later. That's all there is to it.”

Tanya could think of nothing to say, and as they turned, her foot slipped and she stumbled. Prince Nikolai's armtightened about her waist as he steadied her, and as a result she was suddenly pressed closely against his body for a second or two. He resumed his usual correct distance as soon as he was sure that her balance was restored, but she was left with an acute physical awareness of him which made her throat feel dry and constricted, so that it was difficult to breathe, and a tremor like a shiver ran through her.

Feeling very uncertain and shaken, she remained silent, her eyes avoiding her partner's face for fear he might see the effect his nearness had had on her, and despise her for a gauche, inexperienced provincial. Her dancing feet moved on correctly enough, but they had lost the easy flow of that first waltz with him.

Presently, the half-frightened flutter in her heartbeat slowed and returned to normal, and her confused mind settled on what Prince Nikolai had said – that he hated his wife! What an extraordinary statement! How could a man hate his wife? She could understand that an arranged marriage, as most marriages were in Russia, might result in indifference, or even dislike, but hatred . . .? Tanya had never hated anyone. There were people she did not much like, and a few she preferred to avoid if she possibly could, but she could only imagine what hatred might be like. The word conjured up a vision of something dark and violent –how could such a remote and cold-seeming, almost lifeless, person feel an emotion as burning and passionate as hatred, and speak of it, however reluctantly, in that calm, quiet voice, devoid of any feeling or expression? Without realising what she was doing, Tanya looked up into Prince Nikolai's face, her wide eyes troubled and questioning, wondering what it would be like to be hated by him. He met her gaze, and a slight frown marred the impassivity of his face.

“I would never have suggested going with you to look at the staircase if it had distressed me in any way, would I?"

“I – I suppose not," Tanya said miserably. "It's just that you've been very kind to me, and I wouldn't like to think I'd upset you."

“Is that all that troubles you?" he asked, still frowning a little. There was not the slightest hint of innuendo in his manner, but his voice seemed to have changed subtly, sounding almost concerned.

Tanya's pulse fluttered again as she felt her colour rising, but she managed to say unsteadily, "I wouldn't wish to hurt anyone, even unintentionally."

“The only thing about the incident which could—" he hesitated a moment, seeking a less emotive word than 'hurt', made his choice and continued deliberately, "affect me would be the knowledge that you had let it spoil your first ball, so pray dismiss the matter from your thoughts and enjoy yourself. The ceiling of this room is particularly fine, don't you think?”

Tanya gratefully seized on the escape route which he offered and looked up. There appeared to be a number of heavy-looking nudes lounging among the painted clouds, fortunately not very clearly visible against the dazzle of the chandeliers.

“Very fine," she agreed, "if one admires the Baroque I style, that is." She felt very much as if he had lifted her out of a quicksand and placed her safely on the firm ground of a familiar topic on which she could speak with confidence.

“The one in the long gallery is equally fine," Prince Nikolai continued firmly, "you will see it when we go out to supper.”

Tanya gave him a grateful smile and continued to discuss the finer points of Baroque architecture with him. He seemed to know a great deal about it, and mentioned several fine examples in places in Europe which he had visited.

As the waltz neared its end, he steered her unobtrusively towards a man standing at the edge of the floor, who was watching them with some interest. He was even taller than Prince Nikolai, and wore the dark green uniform of an Infantry regiment, with the cross of St. George on its black and orange ribbon pinned at the neck. He had very black hair, a large moustache, and no visible expression at all.

When Tanya and Prince Nikolai had finished curtseying and bowing respectively, the Prince said, "May I present Colonel Vladimir Sergeivich Karachev?”

The Colonel brushed his moustache with one finger and bowed. "Countess Kirova," he said abruptly, and Tanya thought, "He's shy," which made her warm to him. It then occurred to her that Countess Maria's little arrangement with her cousin seemed to be working very well, for he obviously knew who she was without being told.

Of course, the Colonel asked her to dance, and as they moved into position for the polonaise, Tanya correctly identified the division of his regiment by the number on the metal crescent on his shoulder-straps, the red colour of which also told her that it was the senior regiment of that division. After a few moments' thought, she surprised him still further by naming his regiment.

Vladimir Karachev was not used to young ladies who knew anything of military matters, and said so, but when Tanya explained the peculiarity of her education he said, "Oh, your Great-Uncle must have been old General Kirov! Of course! I met him once."

“Professionally?" Tanya enquired.

“Very. On a battlefield. Borodino," Vladimir replied, the polonaise rhythm making his speech even more jerky than usual.

“He was really retired long before that," Tanya said, "but he felt that he had to go back to help when the French invaded. Were you a Colonel in 1812? Surely you'd have been too young."

“Only Acting-Major then," the Colonel replied. "Nikolai Ilyich was our Colonel. Finest in the Army, and one of the youngest."

“I didn't realise that Prince Nikolai was a military man," Tanya remarked.

“Not now. He was wounded at Borodino. Badly. Ribs smashed. We had a devil – sorry, deuce – of a job to keep him alive. Didn't really want to, I suppose – live, I mean. It was months before he was fit again. Still has trouble at times. I wish I was half as good. The men still remember the Little Colonel.”

Tanya decided that dancing the polonaise really left too little breath for conversation. The Colonel made no attempt to say anything unless she spoke first. She wondered a little at the phrase "Little Colonel" – Prince Nikolai was nearly six feet tall.

At the end of the polonaise, Vladimir returned Tanya to her place and stayed there to talk to Countess Maria, while Fedor claimed Tanya for the next dance.

“I began to think I'd never get near you," he said. "You are dancing well, you know. No one would dream you were new to it.”

Tanya laughed. "The more credit to my teacher and my partners!"

“Well, Cousin Nikolai, of course," Fedor agreed. "Anyone could dance well with him. He does it to perfection.”

Tanya, detecting a note of hero-worship in his voice, could not resist a joking, "But Cousin Nikolai does everything to perfection!"

“You may laugh," Fedor replied seriously, "but it's quite true, in fact. He had an extraordinary father, a great giant of a man with fierce blue eyes and a loud, deep voice. I remember him quite well – he frightened me, and I thought he was Peter the Great! He brought Nikolai up himself and made him do all sorts of difficult things to make him strong and brave and clever, and if he made a mistake, or hesitated, his father beat him and made him do whatever it was again until he got it right, even if it took all night."

“How dreadful!" Tanya cried.

“Oh, I don't think Nikolai minded all that much," replied Fedor, who was not very imaginative. "He was a quiet, studious boy, I believe, so I suppose he managed the studying part well enough, and he's certainly very good at riding and fencing and so forth." He executed a few rather showy steps which he had recently learned, and Tanya was hard put to follow him, and so the conversation lapsed.

Boris passed with another pretty blonde, and widened his eyes flirtatiously at Tanya. Fedor saw him, and said, "Don't mind Boris Mikhailovich. He's a shocking flirt, but he's quite harmless.”

The next dance was the supper dance, and Tanya was surprised and flattered to find three partners approaching her to claim it – Boris, Count Alexei, and Prince Nikolai. The Prince cut the others out without apparently being aware of their intentions, or of Countess Maria's little exclamation of surprise. Tanya was, however, very much aware of the exclamation, and of the startled expressions on the faces of the other two men, even the Colonel going to the length of raising his eyebrows. She placed her hand on Prince Nikolai's proffered arm, and was immediately acutely aware of the flesh and bone within his sleeve in a very unfamiliar and disturbing way. She went with him from the ballroom, keeping her eyes on the floor in front of her to avoid seeing any other signs of interest or surprise on the faces of the guests moving towards the supper-room, and more than half wished that either of her other would-be partners had reached her first.

Prince Nikolai glanced sidelong at her once or twice as they moved along the gallery, past the head of the stairs.

“You must find Petersburg society remarkably noisy and intimidating after your quiet life in the country," he observed.

Tanya, who had been trying to think of something to say, responded at once, a smile of relief lighting up her face and eyes. "It is intimidating!" she said. "People here are very kind and easy to talk with in ones and twos, but there are so many of them, all beautiful and confidently at home in their own milieu, and every now and again I feel that I might be about to do something dreadful through sheer ignorance, and they will all turn round and look at me . . .”

Prince Nikolai was looking at her, his head tilted a little, and a muscle twitched slightly at the corner of his mouth. For an instant she thought he might be about to laugh at her, but his eyes were quite serious and showed only a courteous attention to what she was saying. Somehow she doubted if he ever laughed.

“I expect I shall become used to it," she said, uncertain again.

“Don't lose that lively interest in curiosities and things of beauty," he said quietly., "You are very much alive, and too many of us here 'are dead, in spirit at least, or lacquered over with ennui." They entered the supper-room at that moment, and he continued, a gesture indicating the magnificent proportions and decorations of the long room, "How much more worthwhile it is to enjoy the beauty of this room, and the ceiling I told you of, as we take supper, than to gossip about the misfortunes of our acquaintances, as almost everyone else will do. Shall we sit here?”

He had chosen a small table with two gilt chairs to one side of the room, and as the chattering guests flooded in to occupy the other places and the servants scurried about among them to serve a very delectable supper, Tanya turned her eyes away from her companion and studied the ceiling, wondering whether his apparently kindly speech about her "lively interest" had been a warning against being too 'alive' for propriety in this different world of Petersburg.

“The strawberries are quite good," Prince Nikolai observed after a while.

“Strawberries?" Tanya exclaimed, suddenly descending from the painted clouds. "In January?"

“Hot-houses," Prince Nikolai explained with a brevity worthy of his friend the Colonel.

Tanya felt another wave of self-consciousness sweep over her and wondered why. If Boris, or anyone else had heard that little betrayal of ignorance, it wouldn't have mattered in the least, but those expressionless blue eyes seemed to have an oddly disturbing effect on her, and she was glad to return to her study of the ceiling after tasting only a little of the food before her.

She was soon absorbed in an attempt to identify all the Olympians disporting among the clouds, by means of the assortment of clues in the form of peacocks, thunderbolts, olive trees and so forth obligingly supplied by the artist. Prince Nikolai seemed quite content to sit there while she did so, occasionally supplying assistance when she requested it, and she thought fleetingly that it was really quite easy to talk to him once she had embarked on a suitable subject. It was only some time afterwards that she realised that whenever she glanced at him to ask a question or make a comment, he was looking at her in his grave, melancholy fashion, and never at the ceiling or the people around them.

As they returned to the ballroom, Prince Nikolai remarked, "My father knew your Great-Uncle quite well, I believe. It's odd how retired Army officers seem to have such decided and eccentric views on the education of the young. My father made me learn some quite extraordinarily useless things, and was for ever worrying that I might be delicate like my mother. General Kirov seems to have been determined to turn you into an architect."

“I'm glad he did," Tanya replied. "At least I can appreciate all the fine buildings_. I shall see while I'm here, and remember them in the years ahead. I shall be able to fill a few dull moments by calculating how much powder it would take to hit that little dome on the Winter Palace with a cannon ball from the Petropavlovsky Fortress.”

For a moment, Prince Nikolai's expression lightened and he almost smiled. "Don't let Vladimir Sergeivich hear you say that! He might think you meant it, and you'd not see much of Petersburg shut up in a cell in one of his casemates!”

Tanya looked puzzled, and the Prince explained, "The First Battalion of the Regiment is providing the garrison for the Fortress for a few months.”

Boris claimed her for the next dance, and then Vladimir Karachev, , who seemed to have taken a liking to her, not only danced with her himself, but also presented some young officers from his Regiment, and it was almost the end of the ball before Tanya had time to sit down beside Countess Maria again. Almost immediately, Prince Nikolai came to ask her to dance again.

“Nikolai!" Countess Maria murmured to him. "It's very obliging of you, but is it wise?”

Tanya, who had risen to her feet, hesitated, but the Prince replied equally quietly, "I'm in no mood to be either obliging or wise, Maria. I'm sorry," and led Tanya on to the floor.

She gave him a troubled look, but he said without any particular expression in his face or voice, "There's always a great deal of gossip at a ball, and afterwards, about who danced with whom, and how often. It's best not to pay much attention, unless some enamoured fellow tries to claim you for every dance, of course."

“How many is allowable?" Tanya asked. "With the same partner, I mean?"

“Three or four," Prince Nikolai replied vaguely. "Unless he's a relation, of course.”

They circled the floor without any further conversation, but there was no longer any feeling of constraint in the silence. Tanya still felt that unsettling consciousness of his nearness, his arm about her waist, and the formal clasp of his gloved hand, but it seemed to meld with the gliding sweep of the dance and add an exhilaration which was quite enjoyable. It was a relief to be quiet for she had never talked so much in one evening before in her life.

As she dropped her curtsey at the end, Prince Nikolai said "Sweet silence," in a thoughtful tone, and as Tanya was uncertain whether he referred to her or to silence in general, she contented herself with thanking him for the dance in her usual composed manner, and was very surprised when he gave her a very faint but quite unmistakable smile.

CHAPTER

THREE

THE next morning Countess Maria and Tanya both slept late, and did not appear at the breakfast table until the rest of the family had gone about their affairs, except for Irina, who lingered to ask her mother about the ball.

“Fedor says that Cousin Tanya was a great success," she said, "and Cousin Nikolai danced with her four times! Is that really true?”

Countess Maria agreed that it was true, and added that several gentlemen had danced with Tanya more than once. When the child had gone to her lessons, her mother said to Tanya, "I expect there'll be some gossip, but you mustn't mind it if you happen to overhear anything. Some people have nothing better to do, and a newcomer must always be discussed and dissected, you know. Anything Nikolai Ilyich does attracts the gossips' attention in any case – he's very eligible and unattainable, you see. I've never known him to dance so often with one partner before, but I expect he was just making sure you were seen to be on the floor. That's so important at a first ball. Girls who sit by the wall for very long at first never seem to get many partners afterwards."

“I think he was concerned about a misunderstanding we had to begin with," Tanya said, and explained about the staircase and Prince Ruschev's intervention. "I thought Prince Nikolai was sad because his wife was dead, but he said – well, he actually said that he hated her!"

“And so he did, and with good reason!" Countess Maria exclaimed. "He had a strange upbringing. His mother was a frail little thing, really too delicate to bear children. Nikolai was her first, and the next killed her and was born dead. Nikolai was only three when she died, and his father brought him up in a determination to make him strong. He was dreadfully strict, but Nikolai was devoted to him, and did all he could to please him. The old Prince naturally governed all he did, and even chose his wife for him. She was the daughter of one of his brother-officers in the Guard, and it seemed a very suitable match at the time. Anna was very beautiful and only seventeen, and Nikolai was twenty – they were such a handsome couple! Unfortunately, neither of the fathers really knew the girl – her own father had been away at the wars most of her life, and Nikolai's father seldom came to Petersburg. The girl's mother brought her up, and made a very poor job of it, for she grew up selfish and sensuous, with a nasty spiteful streak, and her brother is much the same. Luckily, Nikolai's father died before he could learn the dreadful thing he had done to his son, marrying him to that bitch!”

Tanya was startled to hear the Countess utter this epithet, which came strangely from someone so kindhearted and charitable.

“Nikolai seemed to be fascinated by her," the Countess went on. "It's very difficult to explain, but she seemed to have an extraordinary attraction for men – even the best and most moral of them was affected by her to some extent." She paused for a moment, and Tanya guessed from her expression that Count Alexei had been one of them.

“Poor Nikolai grew to hate her for what she did to him and to his honour, but he seemed unable to break away. She began to take lovers, and treated him cruelly, but worse than that, she flaunted them before Nikolai, as if she wanted to drive him out of his reason. He started to fight duels, but the Emperor intervened. He had a great liking for Nikolai, and he ordered him not to fight any more, and threatened to banish anyone who accepted his challenge. He made it clear that what that woman did was not to be regarded as any reflection on Nikolai's honour."

“But that was dreadful!" Tanya exclaimed, as Countess Maria paused for a moment. "Why should she want to hurt him so? Even if she hadn't wanted to marry him, there was no reason to be spiteful to him!”

The Countess shook her head, having no explanation to offer, and continued, "Nikolai left her then, and travelled abroad for a time, then went into the Army. The Emperor made him Colonel of a regiment, for all that he was young and inexperienced, and he soon became immersed in the welfare of his men and their training. He spent his leaves with us, and still seems to regard us as his real family, but about this time he began to be as he is now, remote and melancholy, as if his ability to feel any emotion has been numbed. Perhaps he made himself so deliberately, because he had been hurt too much. He has friends who like and admire him very much, but he seems unable to respond. The gossips call him the Ice King, for he never seems to be the least bit aware of the tempting morsels the match-making mammas put in his way!”

Tanya remembered his cold, remote expression, and shivered.

“When the French came in 1812, he nearly succeeded in getting himself killed, which I believe is what he really wanted," Countess Maria said sadly. "He was wounded at Borodino, but Marshal Kutusov kindly allowed Vladimir Karachev and Boris to bring him to us, and we nursed him until he recovered. It was very difficult – the doctors were quite sure he would recover, but we felt sure that he really wanted to die, and we had to make up our minds to get him better in spite of himself. I still wonder sometimes if we did the right thing, for he seems to have no pleasure or purpose in his life."

“Perhaps . . ." began Tanya, then changed her mind and asked instead, "Did he recover completely? From his wound, I mean.”

Countess Maria again shook her head a little.

“He couldn't go back to the Army, for he was left permanently weakened by his injuries, but he went with the Emperor into Germany in 1813. In the winter of that year, Anna Mikhailovna fainted on the stairs at the Ruschevs', as you know, and broke her back. She had a miscarriage – not Nikolai's child of course, for he hadn't been near her for years – and the injuries left her paralysed. Nikolai was wonderful to her, and sent for doctors from all over Europe, but they could do nothing for her. She lost her looks through the constant pain, and became more and more bitter and shrewish, and then one day, about a year after the accident, when Nikolai was at Peterhof with the Emperor, she drank a whole bottle of sleeping-drops. She was dead when Nikolai returned home. I can't honestly say that I was sorry."

“There was no reconciliation?" Tanya asked. "One would have thought . . . If he repaid her dreadful behaviour with kindness like that, surely she would have been grateful, at least?" It was clear from the Countess's expression that this had not been the case. "How did she get the sleeping-drops?" Tanya asked, feeling that she would prefer to know, but might find the answer unwelcome.

“Her doctors prescribed them, for the pain prevented her from sleeping, but her maid took charge of them and kept them in a locked drawer. I think perhaps her mother may have left them within her reach, maybe by accident . . . I don't feel it's for us to ask, or judge. It certainly wasn't Nikolai's fault," Maria said, and then continued, "It's nearly five years since she died, but Nikolai seems just the same. We all hoped he would marry again and find a little happiness, and I suppose it could still happen, for he's only thirty-three, but as I said, he never shows a flicker of interest in any of the pretty girls who set out to catch his notice. He just goes about the social round as if it's a duty, dancing with the plainer girls who haven't any partners, always kind and courteous, but quite frozen and lifeless. I think the only real interest he has is in his estates, and he spends most of his time there when he's not in attendance on the Emperor."

“And there isn't anyone who can help him?" Tanya asked. "Doesn't he respond to anyone at all? Not a friend, or a relative . . . the Emperor . . .?"

“There's only . . ." Countess Maria began, then stopped and started again. "He seems to be aware of the affection some of us have for him, and to be grateful for it. Sometimes Irina wins a smile from him, but of course she's too young to understand, let alone help him.”

The Countess shook her head sadly. She was clearly much moved by her account of her cousin's history, and Tanya sympathised with her, thinking how frustrating it must be to see somebody one was fond of lonely and unhappy and being unable to do anything about it. She felt sorry for Prince Nikolai too, particularly as he had been so kind and had put himself out to set her mind at ease over the staircase affair.

He was rather intimidating, though, she thought, and she had found Boris Kalinsky an easier companion, albeit a tease with his flirting. Colonel Karachev was very pleasant too, and his shyness, hidden behind that straight face and abrupt manner, was endearing. Besides, while she was engaged in coaxing him out of his shyness she had no time to remember her own.

There was time for another drive during the afternoon to see some more of the city, and in the evening the Kirovs went to a reception at a nearby house, where Tanya encountered several of the gentlemen who had partnered her at the ball. Vladimir Karachev was there, and seemed particularly pleased to see her, and she found herself sitting with him on a little sofa for two in an alcove while he talked about his Army experiences. Not that Tanya minded, as she was used to that sort of conversation with the General's friends and was not bored by it.

After a while the Colonel left her to fetch some refreshments, and she sat alone for a few minutes. Suddenly she realised that two older ladies, out of sight round the corner, were discussing her.

“She's some sort of cousin or niece of the Kirovs'," said one. "I can't imagine what her family were thinking of, not to bring her Out long ago, for she must be twenty-five if she's a day! And I can't think why Maria Nikolaevna is bothering with her when she has two daughters of her own, and, charming woman though she is, not a rouble to spare, poor dear! This young woman's simply a waste of her time and money, for she's as plain as a plank and far too thin for fashion, and not a kopeck for a dowry!"

“Maria Nikolaevna's clever to enrol Prince Volkhov to sponsor her," the other pointed out. "They may call him the Ice King, but he's the soul of kindness, and at least he's drawn some attention to her. I expect that was the intention, in the hopes that she'll catch a husband, but I think he was quite overdoing it altogether, dancing with her so often when your poor dear Elena had no partners worth mentioning. Such a pretty girl, too!" The voice cooed with insincere sweetness.

“And Boris Kalinsky, too," replied the first lady. "I thought he had a tendresse for your dear Svetlya, but he was buzzing round the Kirova as well. Of course, he practically lives at the Kirovs' — I can't think why!"

“Oh, he's nothing but a flirt," replied her friend. "This Kirova woman will do no good wasting her time with him, nor with Prince Volkhov. He's not called the Ice King for nothing! The prettiest girls haven't raised a flicker of interest in him, so that little nobody has no hope at all!”

Tanya was beginning to feel very uncomfortable when the Colonel returned, accompanied by Boris. The two of them were squabbling amicably about which should serve her with the selection of cakes and lemonade which they were carrying between them.

“My dear boy," the Colonel said, "I've been here all evening. You've only just arrived."

“All the more reason for you to give way," returned Boris with his pleasant smile. "Move that table over here, there's a good fellow." Vladimir turned away to hook a little sofa-table into position with one foot, and Boris seated himself in an unhurried and graceful fashion beside Tanya. The Colonel turned back to find himself out manoeuvred and subsided into a small chair, grumbling a little, and they kept Tanya amused by each disagreeing with almost everything the other said in a mock-ferocious and good-humoured way.

Later that night, when she had said her prayers and climbed into bed, Tanya gave a long, luxurious stretch in the comfortable warmth and allowed herself to consider the conversation she had overheard.

It had really not occurred to her that she might "catch a husband" in the few short weeks before the coming of Lent ended the Social Season and sent her on the long journey southwards to a dull and hopeless future. It would certainly be very pleasant to be married to someone she could care for, and to have children, but she had given up romantic dreams of love and marriage when she was seventeen, common sense telling her that she must learn to be content with what she had and not waste her time and make herself unhappy by pining for the impossible. Perhaps she would have been wiser to have gone straight to Taganrog and not allowed herself this tantalising glimpse of another world, but at least she would have something to remember.

“When I'm very old," she thought, "I shall at least be able to say that people gossiped about me when I had my Season in Petersburg!" And she managed, with an effort, to convince herself that that was a joke.

*

In the morning, Countess Maria and Tanya spent a pleasant hour in the Gostinny Dvor, looking at the pretty and expensive trifles in the jewellers' windows and the beautiful shawls, gloves, laces, ribbons and silks displayed in the various tiny shops and booths. Tanya laid out three of her precious roubles on linen and embroidery silks, resolved to work a piece for Countess Maria as a small 'thank you' for her kindness.

In the afternoon, a bitter wind blew up across the Gulf of Finland and it began to snow, so after luncheon she went to her room to fetch the embroidery. As she descended to the gallery on her way back to the salon, she met Prince Nikolai coming up from the entrance hall. He stopped to greet her, and as he kissed her hand, she began to make a little speech of thanks for his kindness at the ball. He straightened up and looked at her in his usual sombre fashion, apparently unconscious that he was still holding her hand.

“It was nothing," he said, almost interrupting her as she had not quite finished speaking. She stood and waited, wondering if she should withdraw her hand from his clasp, and was saved from the necessity of doing so by a sudden joyful cry of "Cousin Nikolai!" as Irina came running down the stairs.

Prince Nikolai released Tanya's hand and picked the child up, swinging her round and kissing her cheek before putting her down again, with a great deal more animation in his face than Tanya had seen before.

“Where have you been?" Irina demanded. "We've been back in Petersburg for three days, and you haven't been to see me!"

“I'm sorry," he replied, almost smiling, "I've been with the Emperor most of the time, but I'm here now, and entirely at your service.”

Irina made him a creditable little curtsey, took his hand and went with him towards the salon, telling him all about her Christmas activities, which reminded her to thank him for his gift. Tanya walked on the other side of the child, so that when Nikita threw open the doors and they entered the room together, they made a charming little group; tall, distinguished man, slim, smiling woman, and pretty vivacious child, which made Countess Maria give a wistful little sigh as she thought how well two problems might be solved, if only.. .

Prince Nikolai went to kiss his cousin in greeting and stood by the fire talking to her, while Tanya seated herself on one of the small sofas between the windows, where the candles in a girandole provided a good light for her work, for it was such a dull day that it was already virtually dark outside.

She had not yet had time to pounce out a design on her piece of linen, but it required hemstitching first in any case, so she busied herself with that, noting unobtrusively that Boris Kalinsky had arrived while she was upstairs and was sitting with Marisha at the far end of the room, deep in what appeared to be a serious conversation. He caught the girl's hand at one point and held it far longer than convention would approve, but far from disengaging herself, Marisha was smiling at him and talking in a much more lively fashion than usual. Tanya hoped her was not flirting with her, for she recalled a few oddments of conversation which made her believe that would be unfortunate.

Fedor came in a few minutes later with two or three of his friends and soon engaged Prince Nikolai in discussion about a horse that he had been to see and was thinking of buying. Two of the young people suggested a game of Boston, so Marisha fetched a pack of cards and sat with them at the loo-table, with Boris making the fourth. Other callers arrived, some of them friends of Count Alexei, and presently Prince Nikolai wandered over and sat down beside Tanya.

“I trust you are enjoying your visit to Petersburg," he said in his courteous, lifeless way.

“Very much indeed, I thank you," she replied.

The Prince glanced at her work and commented, "You are clever with your needle, I see."

“It's a gift for Maria Nikolaevna," Tanya replied, more for something to say than because she thought he might be interested. "I would like to give her a little memento, for she's been extremely kind to me."

“I'm sure the enjoyment of your company is sufficient recompense for that," the Prince said.

Tanya was not sure whether that was intended as a compliment, and so she could not reply. She went on sewing her hem, and saw with slight consternation that the last dozen or so stitches had become very uneven. A quick glance at Prince Nikolai's face showed her that he was watching her hands with apparently close attention, and although there was a perfectly proper distance of at least eighteen inches between them, she once more experienced that half-frightening, not altogether unpleasant awareness of his nearness to her.

He looked up suddenly and their eyes met; Tanya pricked her finger on her needle. Fortunately Irina, who had been quietly playing with her dolls, suddenly remembered something she wished to know, and came across to them. She put one hand on Prince Nikolai's knee, and when she had his attention, asked in an urgent, but fortunately quiet voice:

“Cousin Nikolai, is it true that you danced four times with Cousin Tanya?"

“I believe so," the Prince replied gravely.

“Wasn't that rather a lot?"

“More than usual, I suppose," the Prince replied. "But you see, I like to dance with Cousin Tanya, so I always ask her four times."

“Madame at my dancing class says that more than three isn't proper."

“Normally that would be so, but Tanya Ivanovna will only be here until Lent, so we must make shift to allow her to do twice as much of everything because she has only half the time.”

Irina had to think that out, but apparently she accepted it as reasonable and returned to her dolls.

There was silence for a moment, and then Tanya, who had regained her composure during this interlude, stole a look at the Prince's face. Their eyes met and they regarded one another thoughtfully. Tanya's eyes were wide and clear, with gold flecks shining in her hazel irises. Prince Nikolai met their gaze with equanimity.

“That was a somewhat rash statement," she observed. "Perhaps you didn't mean to say 'always'?"

“I seldom say anything I don't mean, and I only said `ask'. You are not bound to accept.”

Tanya knew very well that it was not considered good manners to refuse an invitation to dance, but she found the Prince a little unnerving, so she concentrated on her sewing.

“You do that a great deal more neatly than many ladies who affect an interest in stitchery," the Prince commented.

“If one sets out to do a thing, one should at least try to do it well."

“You would have agreed well with my father," he said in a dry, sarcastic tone.

“I would not expect anyone to excel at everything!" she protested.

“I observe that you are aware of his aims in educating me," Prince Nikolai said in the same tone, but with an added note of bitterness. "Presumably someone has hastened to acquaint you with the rest of my history?”

Nettled, Tanya replied in a spirited but quiet voice, "I was informed of it from the same source and with the same kindly intent as you, no doubt, learned mine!”

She sounded absurdly stilted in her own ears, but she was annoyed at the implication that Countess Maria had been gossiping about him.

Prince Nikolai looked decidedly taken aback. "I'm sorry. If you refer to Maria Nikolaevna, then I deserve your anger. I, more than anyone, should be aware of her kindness. You are right to reprove me, and she was right to tell you. If we are to be better acquainted, it's as well that you should know the reason for my peculiarities. Please forgive me."

“I shouldn't have flared up at you so." Tanya was contrite, and surprised at herself for setting him down so. The words `better acquainted' lingered in her attention for a moment, setting up a little ripple of feeling — surprise? — disquiet? —excitement? It probably meant no more than the obvious expectation that they were likely to encounter one another quite frequently while she was here.

“May I make a peace offering?" He took from his pocket a small object which he placed in her hand. It was a mouse carved out of rose quartz.

“Oh, how exquisite!" she exclaimed.

“A relation of your friends at the Ruschev Palace, I expect," he said, sounding quite human after his earlier formality.

Tanya stroked the silky stone and examined the detail of the finely carved eyes, ears and whiskers, and then, with a sigh, held it out to him.

He shook his head. "I mean you to keep it, if you will.”

Tanya was overwhelmed. "Oh, but it must be valuable! You are very kind, and it's very beautiful, but I'm afraid it wouldn't be at all proper for me to accept it.”

He raised his eyebrows. "I see nothing improper in presenting a small pink mouse to a lady. I must admit it's a little unusual to find a lady who would wish to have such a creature, but it is only a mouse, not a diamond necklace! Besides, no one will know unless you tell them.”

Tanya looked at him, startled to find that he was actually joking and that there was a tiny spark of humour in those normally expressionless blue eyes. "Thank you very much!" she said. "It's the loveliest thing I've ever had. How kind you are!"

“If you call me 'kind' once more," said Prince Nikolai severely, "I shall depart at once for Sevastopol, and remain there until you have left Petersburg!"

“Irina would not be at all pleased!" Tanya replied a trifle breathlessly and at random, finding the discovery that the Prince had a sense of humour rather disconcerting. The clock on the mantel struck three at that moment, and the Prince rose to his feet. "I'm due at the Palace in halt an hour, so I must take my leave," he said. "I look forward to seeing you tomorrow," and he went before Tanya could enquire what he meant.

She watched him walk in a leisurely but purposeful manner across the room, pausing to confirm with Fedor an appointment to see the horse which interested him, to exchange a few words with Count Alexei, to pay some small compliment to Marisha, to kiss Irina's hand with proper ceremony, and to make his farewell to Countess Maria. Finally, he went out of the door with a pleasant acknowledgement to the footman on duty. Tanya had a peculiar feeling of mingled deflation and relief, and thought to herself that it was very strange how pleasant it was to talk with the Prince. Yet how self-conscious he made her feel, almost as if some invisible physical property in him could reach out to her and set her nervous and circulatory systems awry — rather like the crackling of one's hair and the odd sensation to one's skin before a thunderstorm. It was disturbing, and yet not exactly unpleasant.

The game of Boston had ended and the players were chattering about something or other. Boris got up and strolled over to Tanya, and took the place vacated by Prince Nikolai. "I'm desolated not to have seen you for so long," he murmured, kissing her hand and gazing at her with anguished devotion.

Tanya slid the mouse into her reticule and laughed. "Really, Count Boris! It must be quite eighteen hours since we parted!"

“A lifetime!" he sighed.

Tanya laughed again, and Boris abandoned his affectations and grinned cheerfully.

“I can only stay a few minutes," he said. "We poor fellows in waiting lead a dreadful life, you know, always dashing off to one Palace or another to drink gallons of china tea and stand about for hours waiting for Alexander Pavlovich to do something or other. So tedious, when one might be in interesting company."

“Isn't the Czar of all the Russians interesting?" Tanya asked, half-seriously.

Boris wrinkled his nose. "Extremely, but not feminine," he said drily.

“Ah, yes," Tanya nodded sagely, "that must make a difference."

“How well you understand me!" Boris made effective use of his dark eyes again.

“I hope I do," Tanya replied seriously, and deliberately looked towards Marisha. Boris followed her glance and said equally seriously, "It's a long wait, but not too much longer, I hope. She'll soon be seventeen.”

Tanya felt decidedly relieved, and thought what a very pleasant young man he was. She found herself thinking much the same about Vladimir Karachev a little while later, when that gentleman arrived and ousted Boris in his usual forthright way by telling him to go and flirt with someone else.

“Why should I?" Boris objected.

“You know you prefer little blondes," the Colonel replied. "And in any case, I'm your superior officer."

“Were, you mean, and that was ages ago."

“Three years he was in the Army, and never rose above Ensign," the Colonel informed Tanya, "and his path across Europe was littered with little blondes! Go away and play!" The last was addressed to Boris, who saluted Prussian style and went back to Marisha in his usual agreeable fashion.

“It's where he really wants to be," Vladimir said hesitantly, eyeing Tanya a trifle anxiously.

“Yes, I guessed as much," she reassured him. "He's a very agreeable flirt, but I do hope that she understands that it doesn't mean anything. She's very young."

“I think she decided to marry him when she was about ten," Vladimir replied, "and she should know him by now. He only does it to pass the time, and never with her."

“And how do you pass your time?" Tanya asked.

“Playing soldiers."

“Playing?"

“What else, in peace time? Not that I'm in favour of war, though! The trouble is, I'm the younger son, and in my family one boy in each generation goes into the Army." "And your brother didn't wish to?”

“Not at all. Vassily is very fastidious! He likes to travel in comfort, not on his own feet! He's the scholar of the family —always has his nose in a book — he's the only man I've ever seen reading poetry on a battlefield!"

“How did he get there, if he isn't in the Army?" she enquired.

“It was in 1812 — he joined for the campaign. He'll always put himself to a little inconvenience if he thinks it's necessary."

“Have you been in the Army very long?" Tanya asked.

“Since I was eighteen, or six, according to which way you look at it. Cadet College here in Petersburg for twelve years, then commissioned Ensign. The usual thing."

“You seem rather young to be a colonel," Tanya commented.

Vladimir looked self-conscious and touched his St. George. "That helped," he replied, "and quite a lot of luck. I got in the way when someone fired a pistol in the general direction of the Emperor once, and he thought I did it on purpose.”

Tanya wondered if she would ever hear the true story behind the modest disclaimer, but decided on reflection that if she did, it would certainly not be from Vladimir. They talked for a little longer, and then Vladimir drew out his watch and said he must be going as he was due to he on duty at the Fortress.

“I trust I'll see you at the Palace tomorrow?" he asked as he stood up.

“I don't know," Tanya replied. "Which Palace, and what is happening?"

“The Palace. New Year's Day." Vladimir replied obscurely. "I expect Nikolai Ilyich brought the tickets." And with that he kissed her hand and departed, leaving her none the wiser.

Tanya did indeed see him, and Prince Nikolai, at the Palace the next day. It was the custom for the Emperor to open the galleries of the Winter Palace and the adjoining Hermitages to the public on the first of January each year, and it appeared that everyone in St. Petersburg of every social class tried to obtain a ticket and go to wander in a great crowd through the enormous buildings, to admire their beauty and see the magnificent collection of pictures and objets d'art, to eat the refreshments provided, and dance in the great galleries.

The Kirovs went during the afternoon, and it seemed to Tanya that they walked for miles and miles among the biggest crowd of people she had ever seen. At times the sheer number of them quite frightened her, but they were not closely crowded, and they were all very orderly and good-humoured, peasants and soldiers, aristocrats and shopkeepers, coachmen and dandies, ragged workmen and fashionable ladies, all thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to see inside the Little Father's great house, and even, Tanya discovered, to see the Little Father himself. For as the Kirovs passed near the head of the great Jordan Staircase, they saw a little group standing to one side watching the slowly-moving throng, and among them was a very tall, fair-haired man in the uniform of the Semenovsky Guard, with a number of diamond-studded orders and the blue ribbon of the St. Andrei. He was smiling benignly at the people going past, and nodding affably in reply to the greetings and blessings which they called out to him.

Tanya realised whom he was at once, although he looked older than the engravings she had seen of him, and stouter; his hair was receding, and he looked rather tired, but he was undoubtedly Alexander the Blessed, and she could not help gazing at him as if he were the most wonderful and precious of all the treasures in the Palace. She quite failed to notice Boris and Prince Nikolai among the gentlemen in attendance on the Emperor, and passed on into the next gallery in something of a daze at having actually seen him so close that she might almost have touched him.

Presently they came upon Vladimir Karachev, very smart in his full-dress uniform, and he led them aside from the main stream to a long side gallery in the Little Hermitage which was reserved for friends of the Emperor's attendants, where Prince Nikolai had bespoken a table for them where they could sit down and be served with glasses of tea and little cakes. Irina, who was very tired by now, fell asleep, but the others were glad to rest and look about them in the comparative quiet, for there were only about a hundred people in the gallery.

It was a very long, narrow room, more like a wide corridor, and the windows along one wall looked into a garden. It surprised Tanya, for it was on a level with them, but she knew they were on the first floor. Before she could resolve the puzzle, Count Alexei asked her if she would like to stay for the dancing, which would start in the evening. She would have liked to say "Yes," but her feet felt as if they had been pounded with wooden mallets, and a glance at the others showed her some faint signs of apprehension amid the weariness in their faces, so she replied that she really felt too tired, unless anyone else wished to stay. But, as she expected, they all said thankfully that they would prefer to go home.

Tanya looked idly at the pictures on the walls and the fine carved and gilded capitals at the tops of the pilasters, really too surfeited with beautiful and curious sights to take in any more, and then she caught sight of Prince Nikolai standing by the door, looking about him, using the advantage of his height to survey the room in search of someone. Without thinking, she raised her hand and then lowered it again, and felt herself colour at her presumption in thinking that he might be looking for . . . for the Kirovs.

She was right, however, and he came along the gallery to them, accompanied by another man, a stranger, who somehow looked a little familiar. He was much shorter than the Prince and had a distinctly snub nose, protruding underlip and a permanent expression of mild surprise. When Prince Nikolai had greeted them all, he said to Tanya, "May I present M. Karl Ivanovich Rossi? I'm sure you'll be interested to meet him."

“The architect?" Tanya exclaimed, her face lighting up with delight. "Oh, how kind of you to think of it!" and as she gave her hand to M. Rossi, she distinctly heard Prince Nikolai murmur "Sevastopol!”

M. Rossi drew up a chair beside Tanya and said in a pleasant, friendly manner, "Prince Volkhov tells me that you have a great interest in architecture." He spoke French with a slightly Italianate accent.

“Yes, I have indeed, but almost entirely from books," Tanya replied, her enthusiasm overcoming her shyness. "This is the first chance I have had to visit a great city and see the buildings in the flesh, so to speak. I particularly admire Neo-Classical architecture.”

Rossi smiled, for this was his own preference, and he began to talk about his ideas for improving the layout of the city, becoming more at ease and forthcoming as he went on in response to Tanya's obviously eager interest.

“It's all so piecemeal, you see," he said. "The Emperor Peter laid down a good basic plan, but the actual buildings are unconnected. A little here, something else there, and we have somehow to introduce more cohesion. We've made a beginning, and you will see it here, in the Palace area. Now, we have here a great open space— the Palace Square— so." He produced a pencil and a notebook from his pocket and began to sketch rapidly. "Now, to the west, this continues into Admiralty Square. On the north side, we have the big range of this, the Winter Palace and the Hermitages, Rastrelli's fine exuberant Baroque, full of ornament and restless movement, and, because it is the Palace, it must be the most important building in the area. Further along here, we have the huge solid masses, the plain Doric of Zakharov's new Admiralty. To the east and south-east — confusion — bits and pieces. So. We have cleared them away, and now my Mikhailovsky Palace is beginning to rise here, to the east." His pencil flew over the paper as he talked, conjuring up his vision so that Tanya could readily imagine how it would look.

“It will be quite magnificent!" she said. "What will you put here, at the far end of Admiralty Square?”

Rossi turned to a fresh page and began to sketch again, showing her how he intended to set there a pair of buildings for the Senate and the Holy Synod, to form a comprehensive whole with St. Isaac's Cathedral, now in the process of being rebuilt to Montferrand's design. "One day," he said, smiling happily at Tanya's enthusiastic response, "all in time. I'm still young enough to hope to see it all come about.”

CHAPTER

FOUR

TANYA and M. Rossi were engrossed in their conversation for nearly an hour, and only stopped talking when a footman came to summon the architect to the Imperial Presence. Tanya bade him farewell with regret, but turned to the others with a happy smile curving her unfashionably wide mouth.

“Oh, I did enjoy that!" she exclaimed. "Only fancy! Sitting in the Winter Palace, talking to a real architect!"

“Only you're in the Hermitage, not the Winter Palace," Fedor pointed out.

“You can hardly expect her to realise that," Prince Nikolai said rather sharply. "I've no doubt she doesn't know where she is at the moment, for most people require a map to find their way about for the first few years they spend here, at least. I suggest that you guide us back to the Palace Square entrance, Fedor, as you know your way about so well!”

The slight asperity in his tone at the beginning of this speech had softened by the end of it and the last part was almost jocular. Fedor admitted that he knew only roughly where he was, by the garden outside the windows, and had not the faintest idea which way to turn to reach Palace Square, so Prince Nikolai said that he would endeavour to show them the right route.

As they walked through the still-crowded Palace, Tanya thanked Prince Nikolai for allowing her the opportunity to meet Karl Rossi. "It was most thoughtful of you, and k . . . and, and, er . . . thoughtful . . ." She made a helpless little gesture with her hands, and caught that faint gleam of amusement again in Prince Nikolai's eyes as he offered, "Considerate?"

“Thank you. Considerate."

“I had a momentary doubt that you might reply 'Who?' when I presented him, followed by 'I've never heard of him!' but my faith in your well-informed memory was not betrayed," Prince Nikolai observed. "You must come here again, when the place is less crowded, and see how his 1812 Gallery is coming along."

“Is that where all the portraits are to be hung?" Tanya asked, summoning up a faint memory of something she had read.

“Yes. All the Generals who commanded against Bonaparte in 1812. More than three hundred portraits. An Englishman called Dawes is painting most of them, and very good they are too."

“I should like very much to see them, as well as the Gallery," Tanya said. "My Great-Uncle knew many of them, and often talked of them. It would be interesting to see what they looked like."

“There's one now," Prince Nikolai nodded towards a tall, dark-haired man with a large beaky nose and a healthy, ruddy complexion, dressed in military uniform. "General Miloradovich. He's a friend of Vladimir Sergeivich, for Vladimir won his St. George saving the General's life."

“Oh? Do tell — what happened?”

Prince Nikolai gave her a sombre look and replied, "You must ask Vladimir to tell you himself. He might do so, if he thought you really wished to know."

“I doubt it," Tanya replied. "The dear man is much too shy!" She turned her head to look at a particularly beautiful picture they were passing, and failed to see a rather odd expression of something like bewilderment which crossed Prince Nikolai's face, as if he had received an unexpected jab.

“M. Rossi reminded me of someone," Tanya remarked thoughtfully, "But I can't think who it was. I have a vague impression of an engraving of a portrait, rather than someone I've actually seen . . ."

“Paul the First," Prince Nikolai said drily.

“Why, yes! How did you guess?"

“There's quite a strong resemblance, whereas Alexander Pavlovich resembles his mother, fortunately. Paul Petrovich was not exactly handsome. Rossi's mother was an Italian dancer.”

Tanya digested these rather cryptic remarks in silence, and had little difficulty in working out the implications, as she was by no means stupid or ignorant.

As they waited in the vestibule while a footman went to find the Kirovs' carriage, Tanya peered out across the snow covered expanse of Palace Square to where the shapeless stubs of the new building were just visible in the light of the street-lamps, and said, "You can see what M. Rossi meant. It will be much improved when his plans are carried out."

“It'll take some time," Prince Nikolai replied, "for the scale is immense. I expect he'll build the Senate and Synod louses too – he's a determined fellow, and the Romanovs are great builders.”

The carriage arrived at that moment, and Tanya gave the Prince her hand in farewell, smiling up at him, her eyes shining with delight at all she had seen and heard in the Palace as she thanked him again, and for a moment the melancholy look on his face softened in response.

“However many people were there?" Tanya enquired on :he way home, thinking of the great crowds in the Palace. "They issue thirty thousand tickets each year," Countess Maria informed her, "and I'm sure they're all taken up!" Irina was carried straight off to bed when they reached home, and the others dined and then sat cosily in Countess Maria's little sitting-room. They were all very tired, having been to midnight service in the Kazan Cathedral the previous light, and, as Count Alexei remarked, there are few things more tiring than walking about on marble floors, looking at other people's fine things, so they were content to rest and read, or sew, or, in Tanya's case, just think about all the Beautiful and curious things they had seen.

“How very kind of Prince Nikolai to think of it, and to let me meet M. Rossi," she thought. "Well, I suppose he always sets tickets for the family, as Maria says he thinks of them as his own, but I'm not – I'm just a stranger who will only be here for a few weeks, so that was sheer kindness," and she also thought she should search the dictionary for a few synonyms for "kind", for fear that Prince Nikolai might carry out his threat! The time seemed to be passing all too quickly for Tanya, but she made the most of every moment of it, spending much of the day going about the city, whenever the carriage could be spared, either with Fedor or Count Alexei, seeing as many buildings as she could, if only from the outside. Every evening and most afternoons were occupied in visiting or receiving visitors, and she attended as many as four balls in one week. Prince Nikolai appeared at many of the receptions and all the balls, and seemed to make a point of spending some time with her, particularly asking her to dance four times at each ball, as he had said he intended to do.

Of course, this caused a good deal of whispering and many raised eyebrows, and on one occasion Prince Nikolai enquired, "Does the talk worry you at all?"

“Not really," Tanya replied. "I shall be here for such a short time that it can do me no harm, and I'll soon be forgotten when I'm gone.”

She was not aware of the note of regret and wistfulness in her voice, but the Prince noticed it. "Must you go?" he asked.

“I have no choice. I've been offered a home, and I'm grateful for it. Maria Nikolaevna and Alexei Fedorovich have been more than generous – far more so than they can afford, I fear – and I shall never forget all they're doing for me, giving me this wonderful time here. I shall think back on this in years to come and be very grateful to them, and to you, and to all the others who've made me welcome and helped me to enjoy my stay."

“At least you'll have something pleasant to look back on, even if there's not very much ahead," Prince Nikolai remarked. His voice was tinged with bitterness, and that cold, remote look fell like a shadow across his face. They finished the dance in silence.

Colonel Karachev, who was more perceptive than most people realised, was made a little uneasy by some of the comments he overheard on the Prince's attentions to Tanya, and at that particular ball he took an opportunity to draw Boris aside and have a quiet word with him on the subject, with the result that both those gentlemen began to ask Tanya o dance four times in an evening, and some of the Colonel's young officers claimed her more than once as well. She realised what they were up to and was amused by it, but Prince Nikolai, although he said nothing, noted their activities and let a faint flicker of annoyance cross his face. When he asked Tanya if she would care to attend the Epiphany ceremony on Palace Quay and she told him that Boris had already invited all the Kirovs, he said with some asperity, "There was no need for him to put himself about," and sounded rather more as if he meant "poke his nose in!"

“I expect he was thinking of Marisha," Tanya replied a shade reprovingly, for she was less in awe of the Prince now that she knew him better.

“I hope so!" the Prince replied darkly, and walked away suddenly, leaving her puzzled by his reaction.

“How very odd!" She thought. "He really sounded quite annoyed!”

Thinking back over her conversation with the Prince, she debated with herself whether she might inadvertently have offended him by accepting an offer of tickets from Boris, and more than the usual number of invitations to dance from both Boris and Vladimir. She was not sure what exactly was involved in this apparently sensible custom of a friend of the family helping to launch a young lady during her debut, and she wondered if perhaps she was not expected to accept these little kindnesses from anyone but her sponsor. But surely, in that case, Boris would be well aware of the fact — he seemed to know all the rules of society very well — and he would not have offended the proper code of behaviour by offering? She repeated Prince Nikolai's words and manner through her memory, and then thought, "It was almost as if he was . . ." She hesitated for a long time before haltingly producing the word "jealous", and immediately considered herself extremely foolish to have hit on anything so unlikely. It was with something not unlike relief that she discovered another possible reason. Perhaps Prince Nikolai thought that she was attempting to lure Boris away from Marisha, and she could certainly understand that the Prince would be very annoyed about that! It would be a very shabby return for the Kirovs' kindness if she upset whatever understanding there might be between Boris and Marisha.

Apparently Marisha also had doubts about Boris's motives, for on the day before Epiphany, she asked Tanya if they might go for a drive together. Tanya was quite willing, but thought it best to ask Countess Maria, who replied that Tanya might quite well act as chaperone to Marisha, and it would do the girl good to go out more.

They spent an interesting morning inspecting those parts of the Alexander Nevsky Monastery to which visitors were admitted. Tanya found the extreme despair of the memorial figures by Martos in the cemetery decidedly depressing, but she cheered up when she saw Starov's Cathedral, set in a large open court and framed by the big pavilion-linked blocks of the monastic buildings. She thought it a most impressive building, not least for its simplicity and freedom from unnecessary decoration, and she was fortunate in falling in with an old monk who kindly pointed out to her how skilfully Starov had adapted the ground-plan, a Latin cross, of Tressini's cathedral which had stood there previously, to the needs of the Orthodox Church.

Marisha was very quiet all the time, and Tanya feared she might be bored. But it appeared that she was nerving herself to speak, for on the way home she asked timidly, "Do you like Boris?"

“Oh, very much!" Tanya replied heartily. Marisha seemed to shrink into herself and said, "Oh!" in a small, flat voice.

“He's a charming boy," Tanya went on, appearing not to notice. "I think it's very kind of him to put himself out to flirt with me when we meet, for I must be much older than he, and there can be few things more dull for a lively young fellow than to entertain an old maid!"

“You're not old!" Marisha protested. "You're so lively yourself!"

“Well, I'm not too old to be that," Tanya admitted, "but your Boris is too young for me." She hoped that Marisha was not aware that she and Boris were about the same age.

“I wish he were 'my' Boris," Marisha said sadly.

“He told me the other day that it won't be much longer," Tanya said encouragingly. "He only flirts to pass the time until you're old enough to be married."

“He never flirts with me," Marisha sounded a little regretful.

“Well, there you are, you see! He flirts with everyone else!" Tanya replied bracingly, and Marisha laughed and looked a great deal happier.

Countess Maria may also have had a few qualms about Tanya's friendship with Boris, but at the ball they attended that evening, when Tanya happened to be sitting out beside the Countess for once, she said lightly, "Oh, look! There goes Boris with another little blonde! Where does he find them all?"

“He does seem to collect them," Maria admitted. "I'm afraid he's quite a flirt."

“A very accomplished one, as far as I can judge, being inexperienced in such matters," Tanya said smilingly. "Still, I expect he'll be less active in that respect once he and Marisha are married."

“Well, of course, it's not certain," Countess Maria said hesitantly. "I mean, he hasn't formally asked me . . ."

“But it's understood, isn't it? He told me that he's waiting for her seventeenth birthday . . ." and Tanya noticed that Maria looked distinctly relieved.

They had quite a good view of the Epiphany ceremony the next day. Count Alexei declined to go as he said the cold brought on his rheumatism, and Irma was ruled too young to go by her mother, so the ladies, escorted by Fedor, wrapped up very warmly and went as far as Palace Square by carriage, then walked round the Palace to their positions about halfway along the river-front.

The granite quay and the frozen river were crowded with people of all kinds, mingling together freely, some in anticipation of an interesting spectacle, but most because it was an important religious ceremony. A small golden pavilion had been set up on the river, near to the quay and opposite the main entrance on that side of the Palace, but it was snowing a little, and the gilded roof was soon covered.

Fortunately there was not long to wait, for the cold was intense and Tanya had to keep tramping her feet up and down to keep the blood moving in them, despite her thick felt overboots. Suddenly all the chattering of the spectators died away, as a procession emerged from the Palace doors and descended to the Quay.

It had come down the Jordan staircase in the Palace and along the ground-floor gallery, led by the clergy, one priest carrying a cross and the others swinging censers. They formed an avenue to line the way for the higher clergy, who came next and followed the cross towards the pavilion, their heavy golden robes gleaming as they moved. Next came the choir of the Palace Cathedral in their scarlet uniforms, singing a hymn, then the Court, the officers of the Senate, the Ambassadors, senior officers of the Army and Navy, and the Emperor's aides and gentlemen-in-waiting, all of them in uniform or court dress, and bareheaded.

Prince Nikolai and Boris were with them, walking together. In the midst of his court came the Emperor, dressed in Cossack uniform, his face seeming almost to shine with benevolence, so that Tanya understood why many of the people around her murmured reverently that he was an angel.

The ceremony of blessing the waters of the Neva was quite short (fortunately, Tanya thought, seeing that all the participants were bareheaded, apart from the metropolitans, and none wore outdoor clothing). A hole had been cut in the ice, and after the water had been blessed, the priests ceremoniously drew a great deal for use as holy water in the many churches of the city, and then the procession returned to the Palace, and the moment they were inside (and being served hot drinks, Tanya hoped), the spectators began to file past the pavilion to fill the bottles they had brought to take the blessed water home to bring good fortune to their families.

Fedor joined the queue and returned with a bottleful, and also a filled goblet, from which each of them drank a little and murmured a prayer for the coming year, as did most of the other family groups around them. Tanya had read that it was the custom for recently-born babies to be baptised on this day, by priests dipping them bodily into the water, but Fedor assured them that the Emperor had forbidden the continuation of the custom because so many died of the shock, or slipped from the priests' frozen hands and drowned.

They were all so cold by then that it was a great relief to hurry back to the carriage and go home for a good hot luncheon, and a pleasantly idle afternoon in the warm.

Vladimir called in during the evening, and after a little preliminary throat-clearing, asked Tanya if she would care to see inside the Fortress. He seemed mildly surprised when she greeted the suggestion with delight, and modestly disclaimed any talent as a guide to its architectural features, but said that she might perhaps enlighten him a little on the subject, and so it was agreed that all the Kirovs should take luncheon with him the following day.

He sent a carriage for them, and they set out in good time, with Tanya at least full of pleasant anticipation.

The hours of daylight at this time of year were, of course, very short, but the sun made a welcome appearance after the bad weather of the past week, and the city had a fairy-tale appearance with the streets and buildings sparkling with white snow, and all the gilded domes and spires shining brightly, and the angel hanging by chains from the tip of the Petropavlovsky spire flying bravely against a blue sky.

They went the long way round, down the Nevsky Prospect, round the Winter Palace and along Palace Quay, then across to the north side on the ice, for the bridges had been removed for the winter. The Fortress was built on Hare Island, so they crossed a small permanent bridge to get to it, and entered through the impressive gateway, with the arms of Peter the Great carved over the arch.

Vladimir had provided them with a pass, so the sentry at the gate allowed them through into the courtyard, where Vladimir came out of the guardhouse to welcome them and take them to his quarters. On the way they passed the Governor's house, which was a pretty, low building with a great many windows, not at all fortress-like. Tanya was astonished to see how many trees were planted about the various buildings, all well-wrapped up in their winter overcoats of straw. When she commented on them, Vladimir said prosaically that they would be useful for firewood if the Fortress ever had to stand a siege.

After luncheon, Vladimir took his guests across the great courtyard to the Petropavlovsky Cathedral in the heart of the Fortress. There was a great deal of activity going on, with groups of soldiers drilling, and a squad unloading stores from some carts. Count Alexei and Fedor lingered to watch the drill while Vladimir took the ladies inside the Cathedral.

Tanya thought it a very curious building. The outside was extremely plain, with only a few Baroque curves to soften its very four-square, boxlike appearance, and they looked as if they had been stuck on as an afterthought. There were very large windows set between heavy pilasters and large areas of plain wall. Vladimir, who had read up the subject for the occasion, said that originally it had been much more ornate, but most of the decoration had been removed during Catherine the Great's time, when the tower was struck by lightning and fell, bringing down most of the roof and necessitating extensive repairs. The new tower and spire seemed immensely and disproportionately high at close quarters, but made a fine effect from across the river.

Inside, the first impression was of too much daylight for a church, for the large windows admitted far more of it than was usual in an Orthodox building. The crystal chandeliers also looked odd, being more suitable for a ballroom, but the iconostasis, a great gilded affair, apparently suspended from the roof by golden ropes grasped by flying cherubs, was the finest Tanya had so far seen.

In front of it, lay the tombs of all the Emperors since Peter the Great, each surrounded by iron railings, and Tanya noticed that they were all the same length, and wondered how Peter had been fitted in, as he was more than six and a half feet tall.

When they left the Cathedral Vladimir took them across to the Mint, on the opposite side of the courtyard, and they watched the processes of melting, shaping and stamping the coins for a while, and Vladimir gave Tanya one of the little souvenir medals which were made there for visitors.

By then it was time to return home to dine, and dress for a ball at the Princess Voronzova's. Vladimir escorted them back to the carriage, and when Tanya thanked him for a very pleasant afternoon, he looked decidedly wooden-faced and replied, "Great pleasure. Don't often see a pretty girl here," which Tanya found rather touching.

The ball was a disappointment. The palace in which it was held was very fine, the music was lively and melodious, the guests animated and beautiful to look at, and Tanya was engaged for almost every dance, but somehow she felt that it was not as it should have been. It seemed that she spent the entire evening expecting to start feeling enjoyment at any moment, but never actually doing so, and when the time came to go home she felt rather cheated, as if the curtain had come down on a play before the actors had time to say anything.

She knew very well why, but told herself repeatedly that it couldn't, mustn't be because Prince Nikolai had failed to appear. Over and over again, she caught herself looking expectantly towards the door of the ballroom, only to see someone else come in, and each time the evening seemed to become a little flatter and duller.

It was not until quite late that Boris remarked casually as they were dancing together, "It's a pity Nikolai couldn't come."

“Is he on duty, or whatever you call it?" Tanya enquired.

“In attendance. No – haven't you heard? No, I suppose you couldn't. The Emperor gives a luncheon for the Cadet Corps at Epiphany, and reviews them afterwards in the ballroom. Two of the little devils were a bit over-excited, I suppose, and afterwards one chased the other down a corridor on the ground floor. He came tearing round a corner like a thunderbolt, straight into Nikolai, and caught him in his damaged side. He was completely done up, and Alexander Pavlovich sent him home to rest."

“Is . . . is he all right?" Tanya asked, her face showing her concern.

“I expect so," Boris replied. "His man, Pyotr, knows what to do for him. He'll be up and about again tomorrow, I shouldn't wonder," and then, seeing Tanya still looked anxious, added, "It quite often happens," which was apparently meant to be reassuring.

Boris was right, for Prince Nikolai called on the Kirovs the next afternoon and found the ladies in Countess Maria's sitting-room, leafing through several of those invaluable little books of etiquette which help to smooth the path of a person in society. The gentlemen, it appeared, had gone out, Fedor to ride and Count Alexei to his club.

“Ah, just the man we want!" Countess Maria cried as the Prince was announced. "Nikolai, my dear! Are you well?" as she went to greet him.

“Well enough, thank you," the Prince replied, bending to allow her to kiss his cheek, and after he had greeted Tanya and Marisha, "Why have you suddenly discovered a need for me?”

“Your Aunt Elizaveta!" Maria replied in a significant tone.

“Oh. What has she done?" Prince Nikolai sounded decidedly apprehensive.

“Invited us to dinner next Saturday night, and to go with her to the gala at the Opera afterwards, in her box, and I cannot discover if a tiara is positively required or not."

“The Emperor intends to go, so I should think it would be expected," the Prince replied.

“Oh dear! The problem is, I have only one tiara. Tanya is welcome to it, but what shall I wear?"

“No problem." Prince Nikolai seemed to lose interest to some extent, for he half-turned away from her and absentmindedly picked up Tanya's embroidery, which was lying on the table, and looked at the design of flowers which she had pounced on it. "I've any number of the things at home, lying about gathering dust. Tanya is welcome to borrow one of them, if she wishes.”

Tanya's face, which had looked anxious, cleared, and she said, "Oh, thank you so much! You are k. . ." She stopped dead, and the Prince turned his head in her direction, formed the name "Sevastopol" soundlessly with his lips, and then suddenly smiled.

The effect was extraordinary. Tanya could hardly believe the transformation it made in him. He looked several years younger, full of life and mischief, and she stared at him wide-eyed with astonishment.

Countess Maria said, "It is very kind of you, Nikolai, but whatever will people think?" She could not see his face from where she was standing, and so missed both the smile and its sudden disappearance, which seemed to Tanya as if a shutter had suddenly closed, cutting off all the light. He replied in his usual quiet, rather bitter manner,

“I doubt if anyone will remember them. They are all family jewels, and not one has been worn these last thirty years. I didn't let Anna have them. Oh, the Volkhov emeralds are well known, I suppose, but they wouldn't do for anything less than a coronation. Come to luncheon on Wednesday and try them all on, and choose which you like best.”

Marisha, who had been standing quietly in the background all this time, made a sudden little movement, and Prince Nikolai looked at her as if he hadn't noticed her before, although he had greeted her when he came in.

“Perhaps Marisha might come too, if she wishes," he said. "I'd like her opinion on the ballroom, in any case."

“The ballroom?" Marisha enquired, mystified.

“For your ball. It's time it was used again, and I thought I'd open it up before the Season ends, and have your Come-out ball in it."

“Oh, Nikolai!" Countess Maria cried, Marisha being quite speechless with surprise and delight. "Oh, I'm so glad — that you want to open it up, I mean, but . . . but we've decided not to give Marisha's ball until next Season . . .”

She tailed off, obviously very conscious that the reason for putting off Marisha's ball was standing just across the room from her, looking rather embarrassed.

“Yes, I know," Prince Nikolai said calmly, "but if I mean to give a ball in any case, I might just as well give it for Marisha, and let that be my Come-out gift to her.”

Both his offers were accepted with gratitude by the ladies, and Countess Maria rang for tea. As usual, Boris arrived (with the tea-tray, as it happened, although not carrying it, of course), and no one was particularly surprised when Vladimir came in, remarking in a faintly defensive tone that the weather was too unpleasant to ride about in. He sat down in a padded armchair a little drawn back from the others and watched their faces as they talked, with no particular expression on his own most of the time. But something or other made him stare quite hard at Prince Nikolai at intervals, and once or twice he put up a hand to tug at his moustache and conceal a grin which seemed in danger of breaking through against his wishes.

Before the Prince left, Tanya found an opportunity to say quietly to him, "I'm so sorry you were hurt.”

He gave her rather a hard look, as if she had surprised him, and then said, "Oh, you mean my unfortunate collision? It's nothing of any importance. I had a few ribs rather badly broken some years ago, and anything which jars my side tends to be painful."

“What did you think I meant?" Tanya asked, looking him straight in the eyes.

He returned her steady gaze, and Tanya thought she had never seen so much in a person's eyes before, but it was difficult to tell exactly what she did see . . . puzzlement? Certainly. Doubt? Maybe. Reluctance? Possibly. She thought there was a glimpse of someone lost and lonely — the motherless boy with the harsh father, perhaps.

“Something — less recent," he said, his eyes dropping.

“I mean that, too," Tanya said very softly.

He looked at her again, searchingly, and whispered, "Yes, I think perhaps you might . . ." and then Boris exclaimed "Oh, the time, Nikolai! Look at the time!" in times of extreme agitation. "He's dining early tonight, and I forgot to tell you!"

“You did indeed!" Prince Nikolai returned sharply. "My apologies, Maria, Tanya, Marisha, Vladimir. I'll send my carriage at eleven on Wednesday, then?" and he and Boris had left almost before Countess Maria could reply.

“He called you 'Tanya'!" Marisha remarked. "How odd!”

“Well, he was in a hurry," Vladimir said bluffly. "Quicker to say than 'Tanya Ivanovna' or 'Countess' or whatever, ain't it?”

But later on, Tanya recalled that he had in fact called her "Tanya" twice, and the first time he wasn't in a hurry.

CHAPTER

FIVE

THE Volkhov Palace was on Vassilievsky Island, down-river from Peter the Great's Twelve Academies, but unlike them, it turned its back on the river, being separated from it by a large garden, and faced on to the Bolshoi Prospect which ran the whole length of the island.

The front of the house was screened from the street by fine wrought-iron railings and high gates, and a semi-circular group of trees, well shrouded in straw and sacking for the winter. Tanya noted some rather odd shapes among them, which she thought must be statues, as Prince Nikolai's carriage turned in at the gates and swept round the curve into the open court before the entrance doors.

Prince Nikolai came out to the carriage to greet his guests despite the light fall of snow which had just begun, and no fewer than seven footmen waited in the entrance hall, one to open the door, one to help each of the three ladies to remove her outdoor wraps and boots, and three more to carry the discarded garments away.

The hall seemed enormous. It was paved with white marble, and the walls were covered with panels of soft pinkish marble in white surrounds. A double staircase led to a half-landing with a balustrade, and a single flight led up from that to the main rooms on the first floor, all in white marble. As they ascended, Tanya touched it and the wall panels, and found that the marble was real, not artificial scagliola.

The house seemed to have an oddly quiet and faintly musty atmosphere, as if nobody lived in it, and yet everything was clean and polished, and there were vases of hothouse flowers standing on consoles on either side of the dining-room doors. She noticed also that their footsteps seemed to sound too

loudly on the marble floor, despite the carpet which covered most of it on the gallery.

The dining-room was dark and oppressive, although it had large windows and any number of lighted candles. The walls were covered with dark red figured silk and the furniture was heavy oak, in the fashion of the early part of the previous century. There were more flowers on the table, and a gleaming white cloth caught up in festoons by silver ribbons, and the places were laid with bright silver cutlery and sparkling crystal. As Tanya took her place on the window side of the table, she glanced round the room and unconsciously sighed.

“I'm thinking of having this room done over," Prince Nikolai remarked during the meal. "It's far too dark and oppressive, don't you think?”

Those were the exact words which had occurred to Tanya the moment she entered. She gave a guilty start when she heard them, and said hastily, "Well, yes, and I think green would be better, or gold. Light green or pale ochre, I mean."

“Yes. And the furniture?" the Prince asked.

Tanya looked at its sheer solidity and heaviness, and said, "This is very grand, and beautifully cared-for, but something much lighter would be less . . ."

“. . oppressive," finished the Prince, and Tanya nodded. "Walnut?" suggested Countess Maria.

“Satinwood," said Tanya dreamily, looking round and trying to visualise some chairs she had seen in a house they had visited earlier in the week. "With shield-shaped backs and narrow, tapered legs, and green silk on the seats, to match the walls."

“That sounds just the thing," Prince Nikolai said thoughtfully. "Yes, just the thing."

“Nikolai," Maria said hesitantly, "are you going to open up the whole house again?" She looked as if she was poised on the edge of a hopeful expression.

Prince Nikolai took the stem of his crystal wineglass between finger and thumb and swirled its contents, apparently watching the effect of the candelight on the crimson wine. "Yes, I think perhaps I am," he said slowly. "In fact, I feel that it's time I began to wake up. I've been asleep for a hundred years, and now it's time to hack away the briars." "What do you mean?" Maria asked.

Prince Nikolai stopped staring at his wine and seemed suddenly aware that he wasn't talking to himself. "Oh, just a fairy-tale," he said briskly. "A French one — La Belle au Bois Dormant. I expect you know it."

“No," replied Countess Maria, sounding mystified. "I don't think I know any French fairy-tales."

“I believe I know it, "Tanya said thoughtfully. "About a princess who was put under a spell by a wicked fairy, and slept for a hundred years."

“What happened then?" Marisha asked.

“Something woke her again," Prince Nikolai said abruptly. "Shall we take our coffee in the salon?”

The salon was vast. It ran from front to back of the house, with windows at either end, and had four white porcelain stoves, one in each corner. The lower part of the walls was panelled in white wood, and the upper part covered with silk woven in a pattern of wreaths of roses which changed colour as one moved about. There were several very fine paintings on one long wall, but only one on the other; a portrait of a man with black hair and fierce bright blue eyes. Tanya thought at first that it was Peter the Great, and then realised that the subject was wearing the white uniform of the Chevalier Guard, which was not introduced until 1802. "Is that your father?" she asked Prince Nikolai.

“Yes. How did you know? I'm not much like him." "Fedor said he thought he was Peter the Great, and so did I at first."

“I didn't realise that Fedor could remember him," Prince Nikolai said, looking up at the picture. "He's quite right —I've often thought that I can't claim to be over-certain of the identity of my great-grandfather!”

When they had finished their coffee, Prince Nikolai invited them to come to the far end of the salon, where a number of jewel-cases had been set out on a table with a mirror-stand, and a chair conveniently placed before it. The cases were unlocked, and he opened them all, except the largest and one other, revealing a dozen tiaras in a variety of styles and colours. He asked Tanya to sit before the mirror, and began putting the tiaras one by one on her head.

The first was a very striking creation set with a number of large stones of different colours, cut en cabochon and set between thick borders of gold fashioned in a twisted cable. It was very heavy.

“A barbaric thing," the Prince commented. "Reminiscent of St. Basil's Cathedral in Moscow, don't you think?"

“I've only seen it in pictures," Tanya replied, "but I think I see what you mean.”

He took it off, to her relief, and tried another, rather like a picket fence of diamonds and sapphires, rising to a point at the centre front and tapering to a narrow band at the sides.

“Tanya never wears blue," Marisha said shyly.

Prince Nikolai removed it and tried an emerald one made up of featherlike shapes, which met with qualified approval, and then five or six diamond ones in various styles, any one of which would have done very well, but which failed to satisfy him. Another sapphire creation was rejected, followed by a gold crescent set with cameos in the style of the French Empire, which looked comically old-fashioned, and a very elaborate circlet of large diamond bows with a ruby set in each knot.

“More like a crown," Countess Maria said. "It's very beautiful, though."

“Yes, very," Tanya said, "but much too grand for me.”

Prince Nikolai took it off her head, and then opened the smaller of the two cases which he had left closed, and Tanya saw in the mirror that he was almost smiling.

“And what do you think of this?" he asked, lifting another tiara from the case and carefully setting it on Tanya's dark hair.

“Oh!" she gasped. It was very light and deceptively simple, just half a dozen ears of barley and a few star-like flowers on fine stalks, spraying up from each side to meet at the front. It was made of gold and set closely with small diamonds, and Tanya thought it the most beautiful piece of jewellery that she had ever seen. After staring at it enraptured in the mirror, she looked at Prince Nikolai's reflection, and suddenly realised that he was looking at her mirrored image. Their eyes met, and that transforming smile lit up his face. "That one, I think," he said.

“May I really?" Tanya could hardly believe it. "I'll take the greatest care of it.”

Prince Nikolai put it back in its case and set it apart from the others, and then opened the remaining case, which was much larger than the others.

“I thought you might like to see the Volkhov emeralds," he said. The case appeared to be full of vivid green fire, flashing and sparkling in the light. He took the pieces out one by one and put them on Tanya. There was a tiara formed of half-hoops of small emeralds, with a large one suspended in the centre of each of the hoops, which increased in size from sides to front. As Tanya moved her head, the suspended stones swung and flashed most effectively.

Next came two wide bracelets of great square stones set in pave on a gold ground, and then a brooch in the form of a bow of small stones with one very large one hanging from it, and finally a necklace of large square stones, each simply set in gold and linked to the next by a small gold circle set with a round stone.

Tanya regarded herself in this glittering array in the mirror, looking very serious, and said thoughtfully, "It doesn't look like me at all."

“You look like a Grand Duchess, at least!" Marisha said, wide-eyed and overwhelmed.

“You could certainly carry them off," Prince Nikolai said reflectively. "But not tomorrow, I think. Aunt Elizaveta wouldn't approve at all."

“Oh. Nikolai!" Countess Maria obviously missed the unaccustomed glint of laughter in his eyes and thought he was serious. "She couldn't ever wear them! There can't be any others like them in the whole world!"

“No, I don't suppose anyone would have any doubts . . ." Prince Nikolai replied, moving around to inspect Tanya from another angle. "Green is certainly your colour."

“But not in quite such an extravagant form!" Tanya laughed.

Prince Nikolai looked over her head at his father's portrait and remarked, "I think he approves. He's looking quite benevolent," but Countess Maria thought the old Prince looked just as fierce and formidable as ever he did in life, and doubted if he had even known how to look benevolent.

Marisha was invited to try on some of the jewels, which she obviously enjoyed, but Countess Maria declined regretfully, as she was wearing a pretty lace cap and was uncertain whether her hair was quite tidy underneath it.

When all the cases had been repacked and closed, Prince Nikolai suggested that they might now like to see the ballroom, but Marisha's ringlets had been considerably dishevelled in trying on tiaras, so she and her mother stayed for a few minutes to tidy them, while Prince Nikolai and Tanya started to walk slowly along the gallery.

The salon and the ballroom were at opposite sides of the house, so there was some distance to go. Near the head of the stairs was an alcove containing a table bearing several figurines from the Gardner Factory in Moscow, and somehow they slowed to a halt beside it, as if to inspect the figures, but Prince Nikolai turned towards Tanya instead, and said softly, "You looked like a fairy-tale princess in that tiara.”

Tanya caught her breath, feeling the beginnings of a tremor inside herself, which was becoming almost a familiar sensation.

“Cendrillon, perhaps?" she asked, with an attempt at lightness.

“You've no ugly sisters," Prince Nikolai replied gravely. "I thought more of La Belle au Bois Dormant, but with the roles reversed." He was watching her face with an undecided, almost apprehensive expression.

“But . . ." Tanya began, startled, her mind grappling with the implications. "I mean . . . you're not ... haven't . . ."

“Shall we say that you've begun to hack a way in through the briars?" he replied. "Perhaps you won't find the task worth your while." He reached out one hand and gently followed the line of Tanya's brow and cheek with one finger, as lightly as the touch of a moth. He was not wearing gloves,and Tanya felt as if the line he traced was etched on her skin with molten gold.

“Well, of course," she got out in a breathless stammer, "I – I mean . . . you've been so ki . . . so v-very obliging tome .. . If . . . if there is anything I can . . . Oh, you're such a good, kind man! I think it's abominable that you've been made so wretched and unhappy! I wish there was something I could do to help you . . .”

Prince Nikolai's hand fell to his side, and the shutter once more closed down over his face.

“You mistake me," he said quietly and bitterly. "I'm not a saint or a martyr! I've done things in the past, out of sheer selfishness, that were as hurtful to other people as anything that Anna ever did to me. Worse, in fact – I didn't lose my life for her pleasure!”

He was silent, looking down at his feet, and Tanya, conscious that she had said entirely the wrong thing, desperately looked round for some means to break the tension that had risen so painfully between them. She caught sight of the figures on the table and seized on the distraction they provided.

“Oh, what charming pieces!" she said, in an agitated tone far removed from the meaning of her words. As she bent to look closely at a bearded coachman in a fur cap and caped greatcoat, Prince Nikolai unconsciously resumed his role as the attentive host and picked it up to hold it for her to sec more conveniently, making a comment about it as he took up another in his other hand, without looking to see what it was. Marisha and her mother came from the salon at that moment and joined them, and the Countess pointed out a pair of dancers, the girl with her nose in the air, swishing her skirts, and the boy crouched down and obviously about to leap up with a suitably wild shout.

“The Ukranian girl is very pretty," Marisha volunteered. "Look, the embroidery on her blouse and skirt is modelled, not just painted on."

“That one is charming too," Tanya said, indicating the figure in Prince Nikolai's other hand as he put the coachman down. "The basket looks just like woven rushes!”

Prince Nikolai looked at it for the first time since he had picked it up, and visibly stiffened as he stared at it. It was a peasant girl in a neat blue dress, with a shawl over her head and a basket of flowers on her arm.

“Oh, God forgive me!" the Prince murmured in Russian, his voice quite raw with pain, as if he was looking at something horrifying. Somehow, the figure slipped from his fingers and crashed on the marble floor.

The three ladies cried out in horror, and Tanya dropped down on her knees and began to pick up the pieces. "Oh, what a shame!" she exclaimed. "It's quite beyond repair, I'm afraid."

“It's of no consequence," Prince Nikolai said in a tight, hard voice. "I can always get another." There was a bitter, savage undertone to the words which made Tanya look up at him anxiously, but he leaned down to help her rise and said in a more gentle tone, "You mustn't mind it. Come and see the ballroom.”

Already a footman had appeared with a brush and a basket to clear away the pieces, and they went on along the gallery, Tanya glancing back once and saying sadly, "It's a great shame, though. I hate to see anything broken.”

Prince Nikolai made no reply, and Tanya, after an anxious look at his lifeless, melancholy face, cast an appealing glance at Countess Maria. She shook her head gently, but whether to discourage Tanya from pursuing the subject or to signify that she did not understand what had happened either, was not clear.

Tanya thought about it while they continued on their way in silence, and wondered if there was some association between the Prince's implied self-accusation of causing someone's death by his selfishness and the figurine of the peasant girl. Had such a girl died as the result of something he had done? If so, his reaction was understandable, and it might well be that his frozen unhappiness was due in part to that, and not only to the behaviour of his wife.

Whatever could it have been? Nothing deliberate, she was quite certain, without consciously reasoning why. She could not imagine the Prince ever making a deliberate attempt toharm someone. She was so wrapped up in these thoughts that it was quite a surprise to find herself walking through a door into the ballroom.

The ballroom was a depressing sight, for the floor was covered by a huge sheet of something which looked like canvas, and the six enormous chandeliers were swathed in muslin and hung like ghosts from a ceiling painted with clouds and patches of blue sky. It was quite dark outside by now, and in any case, the shutters were closed, but a number of tall candlestands had been placed about the room with a dozen candles in each, which a footman had just finished lighting. He bowed himself out through another door as his master and his guests entered and stood looking about them.

“Now, do look at the cornice," Countess Maria said, afraid that Tanya might otherwise miss it. Tanya obediently looked up, and saw that it had been painted with the skyline of St. Petersburg as it had been when the house was built.

“What a novel idea!" she exclaimed. "It must be a very beautiful room when it's . . ." She hesitated, and Prince Nikolai said quietly, "Awake.”

There was a pause, and then the Prince said to Marisha, "What do you think?"

“I'd be delighted to have a ball at all," she replied, "but here, in this wonderful room . . . Oh, I can just imagine how it will look with all the people, and the lights and the music! I don't know how to thank you, Cousin Nikolai!"

“No need," the Prince replied rather shortly, and crossed to the far wall to examine a piece of the white moire silk covering which seemed to be coming loose. "I'll have the place prepared," he said as he returned, "and arrange details, and the day — or night, rather — with you, Maria.”

It was soon time for the ladies to return home, and Prince Nikolai again came out to the carriage, this time to see them off. Countess Maria and her daughter chattered excitedly about the proposed ball all the way home, but Tanya, nursing the case containing the tiara on her knees, looked out of the window and was very quiet. The others probably thought she was sightseeing, but in fact she hardly saw anything of the lamp-lit streets, for her mind was in a strangely confused state, a turmoil of "Perhaps" and "Impossible", a great deal of "If only . . ." and almost as much "Don't be absurd!”

None of it was coherent, and she was not really clear what she was thinking about, except that it mainly concerned Prince Nikolai.

As the carriage negotiated the ramp down to the ice in order to cross the river, she made an attempt to pay attention to the scene outside the window, where hundreds of lanterns showed the lines of the embankments of the river, or bobbed about as the people carrying them crossed over or moved up or down-river on the ice on foot or skates, sledges and carriages, but before they were halfway across, she was searching her memory for the story of La Belle au Bois Dormant.

There was something about a wicked fairy, who put a spell on the Princess so that when . . . when what? When something or other happened, she would fall asleep for a hundred years, and . . . and someone else – another fairy – had changed the spell, so that the whole palace and all the people fell asleep too. Then, after a century, a prince had come, and somehow found his way in . . . Yes, by cutting through the briars, that was it! . . . and woken the Princess . . . how? She shook her head, for it hardly mattered. Obviously Prince Nikolai had implied, when he said that the roles were reversed, that he was the one under the spell, and she had somehow started whatever process was needed to break it. Well, she was very glad if she had inadvertently done something to help him find a new meaning in life, but that didn't necessarily mean that he .. .

Her hand went unconsciously to her face and followed the line his finger had traced. She could easily imagine that she could still feel it there, burning. That was something a man might do in flirting, she thought uncertainly, wishing she knew more about the ways of gentlemen and the rules of flirtation. She could imagine Boris doing something like that – a minor kind of caress for someone he knew very well, not exceptionable or improper, surely? But she couldn't imagine Prince Nikolai flirting, for that was something careless and lighthearted, which he was certainly not!

“You're being very foolish!" she told herself severely."You're trying to convince yourself that it meant something important, but it was really only just a ... a sort of compliment, a careless thing, no more meaningful than . . . than kissing hands. Oh, if only . . .!”

This was becoming dangerous ground, so she switched her thoughts hastily to the Prince's admission of guilt of some kind, and the curious incident of the porcelain figure. Her knowledge of the oriental habits of some of the provincial landlords of her great-uncle's acquaintance, and their attitude towards their female serfs rapidly supplied her with several lurid and unpleasant ways in which a peasant girl's death might result from her owner's indulgence in his selfish pleasures, but she could not believe that anyone as Westernised as the Prince would ever have amused himself with multiple rape, or hunting serfs with wolfhounds.

She was recalled to present realities, however, when Countess Maria progressed from talking about the ball to the more immediate future, and said, "What do you mean to wear tomorrow, Tanya?"

“I don't really know. What do you think?" she replied, and the discussion which followed lasted the rest of the way home.

She eventually decided to wear a very dark green silk gown, which had been cleverly adapted from one of Countess Maria's by taking it in and adding a deep flounce of pale green dotted with tiny flowers, and a swathing of the same about the bodice. When the Kirovs reached Princess Elizaveta Dolgorova's house and took off their outdoor clothes, Tanya gave her skirts a discreet shake and glanced sidelong in a convenient mirror to check that the tiara was on straight. Even to her own critical eyes, she looked passably well and not at all like a poor relation.

She had gathered from various little clues and hints that the Princess was something of a dragon, and she certainly gave that impression when she greeted her guests upstairs in the salon. She was a stiff, upright little figure in rustling black silk, with her white hair elaborately arranged under a flashing diamond and sapphire tiara. Her face, comparatively unlined for her age, had a haughty set to it, and she looked Tanya up and down as she made her curtsey in a manner which seemed to take in every detail of her appearance and bearing, but left the verdict undeclared.

It was a small party. Besides Alexei, Maria and Tanya, there was Vladimir Karachev, resplendent in full dress regimentals, with a row of campaign medals to accompany his St. George; a nervous, wispy lady on uncertain age and colourless aspect, who appeared to be terrified of the Princess and never spoke above a whisper; and an important Minister of the Government, who seemed bored with himself and everyone else.

“My nephew is late," the Princess pronounced in an incisive voice. "While we wait for him, you will excuse me for a few moments. Countess Tanya Ivanovna, be so kind as to accompany me.”

Tanya gave a nervous start at this summons, and hastened to follow the old lady from the room. They mounted the stairs in silence and went into a small room on the floor above, which was furnished with a large icon of the Holy Mother and a prie-dieu , and half a dozen portraits hanging on the walls. A twelve-branched candelabrum stood on a small table, its candles alight. The Princess took it and held it up so that its light fell on one of the portraits.

It was a full-length study of a young woman in a bridal gown in the style of the 1780s. She was not unlike Princess Dolgorova might have been in her youth, but the softness of her expression and an air of delicacy about her appearance made it clear that she could never have turned into that steely old lady. Tanya studied the painted face and noticed the look of gentle melancholy, which the artist had caught very well. It was several moments before she realised that the woman in the portrait was wearing a tiara, and then her hands flew at once to the original of it, which was on her own head. She flushed with embarrassment and turned to the Princess.

“My younger sister, Nikolai Volkhov's mother," the Princess confirmed in a calm, expressionless voice.

Tanya opened her mouth to launch into a detailed explanation, but found herself unable to say anything.

“I assume that there is some good reason for my nephew to allow a young lady to appear in public wearing his father's bridal gift to his mother. I merely wish to convey to you that I am aware of the occurrence," the Princess said. "It is for Nikolai to provide the explanation, if he wishes to do so."

“It was a kindness," Tanya stammered. "I haven't one, so he offered to lend it. I didn't know it was . . . Oh dear! I'm sorry!”

The Princess looked her straight in the face and said in the same calm, incisive tone as before, "Nikolai has suffered a great deal of loneliness and a gross betrayal in his life. I trust you will not add to his unhappiness."

“I hope not," Tanya replied sincerely.

The Princess inclined her head in a decidedly regal manner, set down the candelabrum and led the way back to the salon without another word.

Prince Nikolai had now arrived. He was in Court dress with his ribbon and order of St. Andrei. He looked disconcerted when his aunt came in with Tanya, but made his apology for being late, which was received with a long, inscrutable look from the Princess. Tanya was too self-conscious after the recent exchange with his aunt to meet his glance, but she stole a look at him later and thought he looked pale and tired.

The loud, didactic pronouncements of the Government Minister dominated the conversation at dinner, and afterwards the party had no time to linger, but put on their cloaks and hats and were directed by the Princess into her two carriages, the Kirovs in one with Vladimir, and the nervous lady, Prince Nikolai, and the minister were to accompany the Princess in the other. Vladimir, with a perfectly blank face, firmly climbed into the wrong one, thus confirming the Princess in her poor opinion of the intelligence of the military, but she apparently didn't think it worth while to correct the error, and Prince Nikolai, after the briefest hesitation, got into the other carriage and sat opposite Tanya. He said very little on the short journey, no more than to reply politely to any remarks addressed to him, but looked at Tanya with his usual air of settled melancholy, except once when he caught her eye and gave her a faint smile.

When they reached the Opera House there was a slight delay at the doors because of the great throng of people, for, of course, they all had to dispose of their wraps and greet their friends. Tanya took the opportunity to say urgently to Prince Nikolai, "Your aunt recognised the tiara! She took me to see a portrait of your mother in her wedding-dress . . ."

“And the tiara, of course!" exclaimed the Prince. "I'd forgotten about that. What did she say?"

“That it was for you to supply an explanation, if you wished to do so. She wasn't unpleasant about it, just . . ."

“Dragonish?" the Prince supplied. "Don't worry about it. I'll set it to rights. It's the result of my action, so I must bear the responsibility for it. I'm sorry you were put to the embarrassment, though.”

There was no time to say any more as the crowd in front began to move, and they followed the Princess up the stairs to her box. She bade Tanya, in quite a friendly tone, sit well to the front so that she could see everything, and the others disposed themselves on the velvet-coloured chairs, the ladies to the front, the men behind.

Tanya enjoyed the lively Rococo decorations of the theatre and the spectacle of the finely dressed and bejewelled audience, and particularly a very good view of the Emperor when he appeared in the Imperial box, but she found the opera incomprehensible. She struggled to follow the story all through the first act, and then gave up and just listened to the music.

When the curtain swept down for the interval, the auditorium became full of chatter and movement as people went about to talk to their friends. Alexei and Maria went to see someone in another box, the minister drifted away to make some more pronouncements in more important ears, and Vladimir marched off to talk to some brother-officers. Boris came in to make his bow to the Princess, who actually smiled at him, and then he turned to Tanya.

The wispy lady had faded away at some point, and Prince Nikolai, seeing that his aunt was virtually alone for a moment, took the opportunity to sit down beside her and began to speak quietly to her. Tanya was unable to hear whathe, said, but she saw the Princess tap him lightly on the arm with her fan and nod her head two or three times, and then she said, "Quite right, my dear boy!”

With that, she turned to speak to someone in the next box, and Prince Nikolai went to stand in the shadows at the back of the box behind Tanya, and stayed there until the curtain rose on the next act, when he sat down in the nearest chair.

Tanya thought he had gone out, and as none of the others returned she assumed that he, like them, had been taken unawares by the beginning of the overture and had stayed wherever he was, as Boris did, drawing his chair a little nearer to hers. She turned her attention to the stage as the curtain rose, and was at first unaware that Boris was still turned towards her and was gazing ardently at her profile until he slyly stole one of her gloves and her fan from her lap.

She unobtrusively twitched the glove out of his hand, but he retained the fan, opened it, and began to fan her gently, leaning closer until she could feel his soft breath on her cheek and she wondered, with a strange mixture of fear and excitement, if he was about to kiss her neck. She made a quick snatch and recovered the fan, closed it and gently pushed his face away with it. He gave a mischievous grin, and she made an urchin-like grimace at him which appeared to amuse him vastly, but he accepted the rebuff in his usual good-humoured way and behaved himself for the rest of the act.

When the curtain fell, Tanya turned round and found Prince Nikolai was sitting just behind them, staring at Boris with his brows drawn together in an angry frown.

The Kirovs returned at that moment, and Boris took his leave, gazing soulfully into Tanya's eyes as he kissed her hand. She shook her head at him and he winked, his expressive eyes twinkling. When he had gone, Tanya moved to the back of the box, where the Prince was standing again, and said quietly to him, "Boris is a shocking flirt."

“Yes, but fairly harmless. You mustn't mind him," the Prince replied in level tones. His face was hidden in the shadows, but Tanya thought he didn't sound angry, so perhaps she had been mistaken about the way he looked at Boris.

“He needs a set-down from time to time," she said, "but I don't suppose I manage it very well. I haven't had much experience."

“As long as you don't mistake flirting for anything else," Prince Nikolai replied, "or anything else for flirting, for that matter. I've explained to my aunt. She approves.”

After the opera there was a short ballet, which quite entranced Tanya, and then it was time to thank Princess Dolgorova, who surprisingly took both her hands and said, "You may kiss me, my dear.”

Tanya did so, and the Princess smiled and said, "I'm very happy to have made your acquaintance," in quite a warm tone.

When the Kirovs' carriage arrived, Prince Nikolai handed Tanya in, kissing her hand as he did so. With a sudden thought, she tightened her clasp on his hand and whispered, "The tiara! How shall I return it to you?"

“You may need it again. Keep it until you leave," he replied. He then kissed her hand again, as if he had forgotten that he had already done so, and stepped aside to make way for Count Alexei, who was waiting to get into the carriage.

As they drove away, Tanya looked back and saw him standing there amid the crowds and carriages, with snowflakes settling on his hair, and hoped he would not take cold.

*

She saw nothing of him for several days after that, but gathered from snatches of conversation that he had gone to Czarskoe Selo with the Emperor, who was suffering from the recurrence of an old injury to his leg and had gone into the country to rest between the activities of the Season. While the Prince was away, she was surprised to receive another invitation from the Princess Dolgorova, this time for an evening reception. Count and Countess Kirov were also invited, but Maria did not seem very enthusiastic, and on the way there she confided to Tanya that she was not much looking forward to it, as the Princess frightened her.

“She spends a great deal of time with the Dowager Empress, and the Imperial manner seems to have rubbed off on her," she said. "I feel positively provincial when I meet her, and I can never keep up with the conversation — it's so intellectual!”

The Princess welcomed them very graciously, and again invited Tanya to kiss her, which caused a little stir of interest among the other guests waiting to greet their hostess.

Tanya wandered off to a quiet corner, where she could look around at the elegant room and study it at more leisure than she had been able to do on her previous visit. It was very classical and restrained in its ornamentation, with dove-grey walls broken by white fluted pilasters with a little gilding on their Ionic capitals, and there were white marble statues in the alcoves at each end of the room. The ceiling was panelled, with Greek fret borders, and the pattern was mirrored in the design of the carpet, which covered the whole floor in muted greys and blues.

The furniture had clearly been designed for the room, in polished rosewood with shell-pattern inlays and a little ormolu. At least Tanya assumed that the fine line of metal running along the back-rest and down each leg was ormolu, but in fact it was gold. There were tall cabinets against the walls between the pilasters, filled with curios and objets d'art, which Tanya would have liked to inspect more closely, but she did not wish to appear vulgarly curious.

A number of guests were playing cards at the various tables about the room, but Tanya saw that the table nearest her was set ready for chess. There was no one near it, so she went over to look at the pieces. They were made of coloured porcelain from the Imperial Factory, the pieces nearest her being mainly green in colour. The pawns were soldiers of the Imperial Guard, each with the collar-band of a different Foot regiment, and they held little muskets at the Present. The knights were hussars, perfect in detail to the fur edging on their pelisses; the bishops were dressed in full Orthodox robes; and the castles were onion-domed towers. The King was a Czar in coronation robes with the crown of Monomakh, and the Queen a Czarina in robes and tiara.

The other pieces were blue-clad, with high-shakoed French Imperial Guards for pawns, French dragoons for knights, Marshals for Bishops, and guillotines for castles.

The King was a dumpy figure in a grey overcoat and a cocked hat, and the Queen wore a high-waisted blue gown and a tiara in the style of the Empress Josephine.

“Nicely modelled," Vladimir Karachev remarked beside her. "Very accurate, considering the size.”

Tanya gave him her hand and a warm smile in greeting, and agreed that it was a very neat and precise rendering of the two armies. They stood discussing the pieces and showing details to one another for a few minutes, and then Vladimir said hopefully, "Do you play?"

“Oh, yes!" Tanya replied. "My Great-Uncle liked to play every evening. He said it was the only game for a soldier." "Play you a game?" offered the Colonel.

Tanya agreed smilingly, and they sat down and began. Presently, she became aware the Prince Nikolai had come and was standing silently watching, but from a slight distance, as if he didn't wish to distract their attention, or was perhaps not certain of his welcome.

Tanya turned to smile at him and bid him "Good evening." He stepped forward and kissed her hand, then drew up a chair and sat down. Vladimir glanced up and nodded a brief greeting, then bent a frown of fierce concentration on the game. Tanya said, "I thought you were gone to Czarskoe Selo?" to the Prince while the Colonel was considering his move.

“Yes," replied Prince Nikolai, "but we returned this afternoon." He kept quite still after that and said nothing, but his eyes remained on Tanya throughout the rest of the game, not watching her moves, but studying her, moving constantly and slowly over her features, her hair, her throat, the modest amount of bosom and shoulders revealed by the swathed neckline of her gown, as if he were trying to memorise every detail of her appearance, or perhaps as if she were a picture which he must study in great detail in order to understand its meaning.

Tanya was conscious of his searching regard, and felt the blood burning in her cheeks, as if his eyes were scorching her, yet when she ventured a quick glance at him, they were as cool and dispassionate in their vivid blueness as if she wasnothing but an indifferent marble statue. She half-wondered if he was compiling a mental catalogue of the faults in her appearance, from retrousse nose to overwide mouth, but she could not believe that he would do anything so petty.

He seemed unaware that she was conscious of his gaze, and as he did not so much as glance away from her, he failed to see that Vladimir had noticed, and had allowed his moustache to twitch once or twice. He had even, on catching Tanya's eye, given a quick little quirk of his eyebrows, as if to encourage her in some way. Under the circumstances it was hardly surprising that he won the game, but not as easily as he expected.

CHAPTER

SIX

“You play very well," Prince Nikolai commented.

Vladimir chose to assume that this meant that he wished to play against Tanya, so the two men changed places. Tanya concentrated much harder on the game, the more so because the Prince was now, of course, facing her, and if she looked up, she still found his eyes on her face, or contemplating her white shoulders and neck, an unfathomable look in his startlingly blue eyes. He gave very little of his attention to his moves, and looked quite surprised when Vladimir exclaimed, "Checkmate!"

“Indeed it is!" the Prince said, surveying the wreck of his army, "I owe you a pair of gloves, Tanya!”

Before Tanya could reply, Princess Dolgorova appeared, tapped her nephew sharply on the shoulder with her fan, and sent him to discuss the recent events in Naples with a remarkably dull fellow from the Foreign Ministry, despatched Vladimir to escort the wispy lady to the winter garden to see the flowers, and invited Tanya to sit with her for a little talk.

They moved across to a sofa and sat down, Tanya trying unsuccessfully to hold her back as straight as the Princess Dolgorova's.

“Are you enjoying your stay in Petersburg?" the Princess enquired.

“Very much, thank you," Tanya replied. "I've never been in such a large city before, and it is so beautiful, it seems like fairyland!"

“I understand that you are interested in architecture. Do you also like children?”

Tanya could see no connection between the two, but she replied, "I think so. I hardly know any except my little cousin, and I'm very fond of her."

“How old are you, my dear?"

“Twenty-five," Tanya admitted, thinking that few people would ask such a question with such directness.

“You wear well. I thought you younger. Are you religious?" "I believe," Tanya replied simply.

The Princess nodded. "Despite my age, I might consider marrying again, for my husband has been dead some years. Would you think me wrong to do so?”

Utterly mystified, Tanya replied, "Why, no! I know the Synod doesn't allow the full service for a second marriage, but I think it would be cruel, if one partner dies, to forbid the other to seek companionship and further happiness. Divorce is different, of course.".

“Of course!" agreed the Princess. "You're a sensible young woman, my dear, and very patient with an inquisitive old woman. Now, I must look after my other guests, if you will excuse me." She left Tanya quite nonplussed.

*

The next morning, Prince Nikolai's valet Pyotr, a burly, moon-faced fellow, delivered a package for Tanya at the Kirovs' house. When she opened it, she found a pretty lacquer box, inlaid with flowers and leaves of mother-of-pearl, with a silver lock and key. Inside was a pair of exquisite white kid gloves, embroidered from the base of the fingers to the elbows with trails of flowers and leaves in delicately coloured silks. She exclaimed that they were far too good to wear, but Countess Maria noticed with mild amusement that she wore them on every possible occasion from then on.

She had an opportunity to thank Prince Nikolai when he called in after church the next day, which was a Sunday, but had to await the opportunity for a few minutes, for Irina claimed his attention as he was crossing the salon towards Tanya after greeting his cousin.

“Please, Cousin Nikolai," she said, "I didn't know you knew any fairy stories!”

The Prince looked puzzled, and glanced at Tanya for enlightenment.

“I was telling Irina some stories one morning when it snowed and she couldn't go out," Tanya explained. "She asked for some new ones, but I couldn't think of any I hadn't already told her, except the one about the sleeping Princess, and I couldn't remember it very well."

“I don't believe I've ever told Irina a story," Prince Nikolai said. "Perhaps I'd better repair the omission.”

He sat down beside Tanya and related to the child the story of La Belle au Bois Dormant, much to her delight. She listened with rapt attention, and when it was over, thanked him and went to recount it to her nurse, Drusha.

“I'm sorry I committed you to that," Tanya said apologetically. "You told it very well. One would think you had great experience of telling stories to children.”

The Prince looked at her with a perplexed frown and seemed as if he might be about to say something, but remained silent. After a pause, Tanya thanked him for the gloves, and then he asked her what she had been doing, and whit sights she had been to see. She told him that she had visited the Kazan Cathedral with Vladimir and Marisha that morning, to see Marshal Kutusov's and Marshal Suvorov's tombs and the standards captured from Russia's enemies in various wars.

“Vladimir Sergeivich isn't given to sight-seeing," Prince Nikolai commented. "I suppose the military connection . . ." He left the sentence unfinished, as if something had interrupted his line of thought, and then said, "He's a very good fellow, but rather ill-at-ease in the company of ladies.”

Tanya smiled. "He's very shy behind that moustache!" she agreed, "but such a good, kind man." Her eyes met the Prince's, and he gave her a long, questioning look which made her feel breathless and quite unable to speak, and then he looked away and said that he must speak to Maria about Marisha's ball before he left. Tanya gave him leave, and watched him go across the room with a very curious feeling inside her, somewhere in the region of her stomach.

It happened that Marisha was a little indisposed with a cold on Monday morning, and Countess Maria was so distracted by the fear that it might be something worse, that she quite forgot to tell Tanya anything about the family who were giving the ball which they were to attend that evening.

Natasha informed Tanya that the Dmitrievs were "very grand", and gave some of the most brilliant balls in Petersburg. "The old Princess loved it all and really put herself about," she said as she was brushing Tanya's hair. "She's passed away now, poor lady," crossing herself with the hairbrush, "but the Prince goes on with them for her sake, and has his sister to be hostess, and they say there's nothing to beat them, except at the Palace, of course. But there aren't many of those nowadays, with the Empress always poorly and the Emperor's bad leg. -This is the first this season at the Dmitrievs', come to think of it, for they've only just returned from Moscow.”

Tanya took thought and chose to wear the dark green silk, which she thought the most becoming of her gowns, and the pearl comb which Marisha had lent her, with a little pearl necklace which was the only jewellery her mother had left her. Countess Maria, dressing in a small whirlwind of haste after too many last-minute visits to the sickroom, gave her a quick look-over and said she would "do" very well, and then they were off, as Count Alexei had already said three times that they were late.

The house, which was in Millionaires' Row, was particularly splendid and luxurious. The entrance hall and staircase were covered, walls and floor, with honey-coloured marble and bands of malachite. The effect was startling and, Tanya thought, a trifle vulgar. Tubs and troughs of flowering plants occupied every corner, and were trained to climb on the balustrade of the staircase.

Prince Mikhail Dmitriev stood at the top receiving his guests, and seemed in ill-accord with his surroundings, for he was a thin-faced, elderly man with an ascetic look about him, dressed in plain black court dress, the red ribbon of the Order of Alexander Nevsky providing his only touch of colour. Tanya suspected that he didn't really enjoy entertaining.

The ballroom had pale ochre walls divided by alternate pilasters and caryatids in gilded wood or plaster, and an ornate ceiling segmented into square panels bordered by moulded key-frets and filled with acanthus leaves, and eight large crystal chandeliers hung two by two down the length of the enormous room. The entrance doors were at one end, and a similar pair at the other end stood open, showing a gallery leading towards the back of the house. On one long wall hung a vast painting of half-naked goddesses and nymphs disporting in a setting of trees and clouds.

The floor was already filled by dancing couples as the Kirovs entered, and the room was a fine sight with the sparkling of crystal and jewels, the bright dresses of the ladies and a sprinkling of gold- and silver-braided uniforms among the men.

Boris soon appeared to claim a dance with Tanya, followed by Vladimir and then a succession of other partners. It was quite late when Tanya saw Prince Nikolai enter the room, and she returned to her place by the Countess at the end of the dance, hoping that he would see her. He did indeed look in her direction and start to move towards her, but someone stopped him for a word, and before he could reach her she found a dark young man bowing over her hand as Countess Maria introduced him as their host's son, Prince Sergei.

He asked her to dance, and Tanya perforce stood up with him, but she thought he held her a little too closely as they began to waltz, and the admiring looks he cast with his bold black eyes made her very conscious of her low-cut gown and bare arms.

“He's quite overdoing it," she thought. "I'm not a Beauty, so why does he pretend to be so enraptured?" She was unaware that her large hazel eyes with their intriguing gold flecks and her wide, engaging smile had a vitality and freshness which were most attractive.

One or two of the murmured compliments Prince Sergei paid her were not much to her taste, and she hastily led the conversation on to the magnificence of the ballroom.

“Oh, my mother's taste," he replied with a marked lack of interest, his eyes moving over her face at close range in a most disturbing manner. "All rather démodé now. It's time Father had it all done over."

“That's a wonderful painting," Tanya said nervously. "Very beautiful."

“Oh, the Rubens," he drawled. "All very well, if you've a taste for painted flesh." Tanya disliked the way he stressed "painted" and was silent. The Prince danced her on a little further down the room, then looked sidelong at her in a rather sly way, which she failed to see as she was firmly looking over his shoulder to avoid his over-ardent gaze.

“I think the other one is better," he said thoughtfully.

“You have another Rubens?" Tanya said in surprise.

“Oh, yes. In the gallery," he replied. "Come and see it. It's just through here and down the stairs at the end.”

They were close to the doors at the end of the ballroom, and he stopped dancing, placed Tanya's hand on his arm, and Tanya could do nothing but accompany him, rather unwillingly, along the gallery.

Boris had been watching Prince Sergei dancing with Tanya with growing unease. He disliked the Prince, who had an unsavoury reputation, and when he saw him take Tanya out of the room he started after them at once, but was halted by Colonel Karachev's iron grip on his arm.

“Think before you act, lad!"

“You know Sergei Mikhailovich's reputation as well as I do," Boris protested, discreetly keeping his voice very low. "And you also know that the gallery only leads to the winter garden!"

“Quite true," Vladimir agreed, "and what precisely are you going to do? He's told her some cock and bull story, I expect, and he'll get her down to the winter garden and kiss her, I shouldn't wonder, but I doubt if he'll do anything more. He's a coward, and the winter garden's well within screaming distance. If you go after them, you'll probably end up by calling him out, and then you'll either get shot or have to marry Tanya because of the scandal, and that won't suit either of you." All this was said in a low, rapid voice and completely belied Vladimir's usual guise of the slightly stupid military man.

“Yes, you're right," Boris admitted grudgingly. "You'd better go."

“No need," replied Vladimir. "While you've been standing here steaming, Nikolai's gone to the rescue. Leave it to him— Sergei's frightened of him, and there can't possibly be a duel because of the Emperor's decree. It still stands, and Sergei won't risk exile. Besides, it'll give Nikolai a chance to cut you out by playing St. George. Just the thing!" And the Colonel grinned.

Boris looked at him, aghast. "Nikolai!" he exclaimed incredulously. "You mean .. . Nikolai? Heavens, I'd no idea! I thought he had no interest in women!"

“He wasn't always the Ice King, you know," Vladimir replied tartly. "And there've been signs that the thaw's setting in ever since Tanya Ivanovna came here. You must be either blind or short in the wits!”

Boris accepted this stricture as he always took the Colonel's remarks, with unperturbed good humour. "A little of both, no doubt. What on earth shall I do?"

“It depends," Vladimir grunted. "If you're committed you'll have to stand your ground, but if you're only staging a diversion, you'd better disengage and concentrate on your main objective, or you may lose it. You're getting in the way, you know, and wasting time. If you've really transferred your affections to Tanya Ivanovna, I don't know what to suggest.”

Boris gave him a curious glance, wondering what his friend's own feelings were towards Tanya. "I wish you wouldn't put everything in military terms," he said. "You make it all sound like a major war. You know very well where my affections lie, and so does Tanya, I think." A momentary doubt seized him. "In any case, I'll take the first convenient opportunity to disengage, as you put it. But Nikolai! Are you sure?”

The Colonel gave him a very expressive look, and Boris subsided into a reflective silence, rehearsing various graceful little speeches in his head, while Vladimir chewed the corner of his moustache and watched the door.

*

Prince Sergei took Tanya along the gallery, pointing out one or two very fine pictures as they passed, and then down a flight of wide stairs and through a pair of glass doors into the winter garden.

It was a very large one, with masses of flowers and greenery arranged in beds and arbours, with pathways winding between, and the faint tinkling of a fountain. The air was warm and moist, and heavy with the scent of tuberose. The only light came from a large wrought-iron stand supporting a dozen lighted candles, which stood a little way in from the door, behind a marble seat.

Tanya stopped, alarmed and uncertain, but Prince Sergei shut the door behind them and slid his arm round her waist as he murmured, "Now we can get to know one another better," and kissed her neck.

“Please don't do that!" Tanya said sharply. "And kindly take me back to the ballroom!”

Prince Sergei sniggered. "Oh, don't play coy!" he said. "Come here!”

He pulled her away from the door, caught her into his arms and tried to kiss her mouth. She twisted her face away so that the kiss landed on her ear, and tried to push him away, but he was too strong for her.

She stood still and said coldly, "Let me go at once, or I shall scream!"

“You won't!" he said, laughing, "Think of the scandal!" and tried again to kiss her, but she put her head down and butted him in the mouth, and kicked his shin as hard as her velvet slippers allowed.

“You damned little vixen!" Prince Sergei yelped. "You'll pay for that!”

At that moment Prince Nikolai entered, closing the door quietly, and stood looking at them. Sergei glared at him and exclaimed, "What do you want, brother-in-law? Can't you see you're not welcome here?"

“Let her go," Prince Nikolai said quietly.

“No, why should I? Don't tell me she's your interest, eunuch!" Prince Sergei said defiantly, but with a distinctly nervous undertone.

Tanya suddenly twisted free and backed away from him. He started after her, but Prince Nikolai caught him by the shoulder and threw him down on the marble seat, where he sprawled in a most ungainly fashion.

“Get up!" Prince Nikolai said in a cold, contemptuous voice. "Down there, go on!" gesturing towards the dark recesses of the winter garden.

Prince Sergei got up slowly and slunk off down one of the green alleyways, glowering. Prince Nikolai calmly stripped off his white gloves and dropped them on the marble seat, saying to Tanya, "Stay here, if you will, and keep the door. If you hear anyone coming, give a cough to warn me." Tanya nodded, avoiding his gaze, and watched him as he followed Prince Sergei into the darkness.

She was trembling, and felt very much inclined to weep with mortification at getting herself into such a ridiculous predicament. No, it was more than that! It was being found in that predicament by Prince Nikolai— that was the trouble! Presumably he had considered rescuing her to be part of his responsibilities as the friend of the family who had under. taken to sponsor her, but he must think her a fool, at least, or . . . or worse .. .

She gave a stifled little sob and sought in her reticule for the scrap of lawn and lace which passed for her handkerchief, found it, and gave her eyes a vicious scrub, and tried to pull herself together.

There was silence for a second, and she heard the distant music from the ballroom, then there was a scuffling sound, followed by something like a sharp slap, then a crash, and Prince Nikolai said "Get up!" again. There followed a few more unidentifiable sounds, a sob, and "No, Nikolai! I'm sorry!" from Prince Sergei, another slap, and then feet running away, the slam of a door, and then silence.

Prince Nikolai came back slowly into the pool of light by the candlestand, sucking his knuckles, and stood still, breathing rather hard. Tanya looked at him and he returned her gaze, his face inscrutable. She took a step towards him.

“I — I'm sorry," she faltered, "so stupid of me not to have guessed it was a trick. He said there was another Rubens I should see, and set off before I could think of an excuse, and I didn't know how to refuse . . . You must think me a fool!"

“I doubt if you've ever met his sort before," Prince Nikolai replied calmly. "I should have warned you about him. Did he hurt you?”

Tanya shook her head. The Prince looked very pale, she thought, and he moved his right shoulder uneasily, as if he was trying to shift the pain in his side. "He's hurt you," she said.

“I jarred my side a little when I hit him," Prince Nikolai said dismissively. He took a few steps forward, apparently without noticing that he was doing so. "He won't worry you again."

“What did you do?" Tanya asked, alarmed by the grim note in his voice.

“Blacked his eye and made his nose bleed," the Prince said in an undoubtedly satisfied tone. "He fell on a flowerpot and broke it, which probably injured his dignity as well as tearing his breeches. He wouldn't have done anything very desperate to you — only stolen a kiss or two."

“I wasn't really frightened," Tanya assured him, unconsciously taking two more steps towards him, which brought her very close, "but I've never been, kissed, you see, and I didn't want him to be the first.”

She looked up at Prince Nikolai, her eyes very wide and serious. He stared at her for a moment, then took the last step forward, gathered her into his arms, and kissed her very thoroughly indeed.

Tanya had never imagined that being kissed would be anything like this. He wasn't just pressing his lips to hers, but somehow his tongue was probing and caressing inside her mouth, his hands were stroking her back and shoulders, and some enormous, powerful feeling was growing in him and flowing into every part of her body through every point of contact between them. It burned into her through his lips and his hands, and she was pressed so tightly against him that her body seemed to be melding with his into one entity. She thought vaguely that it must be like being slowly struck by lightning, but there was not the slightest feeling of fear, or any impulse to break away from him . . . on the contrary, she was unconsciously pressing even closer to him and losing herself in this strange, timeless tide of emotion. Another vague thought wandered through her mind — drowning was said to be quite pleasant if one didn't fight against it .. .

When Prince Nikolai stopped kissing her and abruptly broke away, she said "Oh!" in a small, surprised voice and stood still, her eyes larger than ever, looking utterly astonished, for a shock of Signor Galvani's animal electricity still seemed to be coursing through her veins.

“I'm no better than Sergei Mikhailovich!" Prince Nikolai said bitterly, letting her go and moving away a few steps. "I apologise."

“You're not at all like him!" Tanya said breathlessly. He had half turned away, but he stopped and gave her a sidelong, uncertain look.

“I didn't plan it, but it happened all the same," he said. "I'm sorry."

“Are you?"

“No.”

Tanya caught up her fan, which she had dropped on the floor, then gave him a quick, nervous smile, wishing she dare say "Neither am I.”

There was an awkward silence while he continued to look at her in that uncertain, almost shamefaced manner, and she stood staring at him, her lips parted, breathing in a quick, tremulous manner. Her eyes were still enormous, and looked darkly reproachful and frightened to him, for the single stand of candles cast a shadow across them which concealed the fact that they were actually shining with a warm golden glow.

“We'd better go back," he said, picking up his gloves and pulling them on so viciously that one of them split a little along the side-seam. He offered her his arm, and they returned up the steps to the gallery. As they walked along it, he paused by an alcove and said, "I'd like to show you something.”

She waited a moment while he picked up a candelabrum and held it so that the light fell on a picture hanging in the alcove, and she felt that this had happened before, and then remembered his aunt showing her his mother's portrait.

This too was a portrait. It showed a young woman seated on a gilt chair and dressed in the simple Grecian drapery of the early years of the century. She had very dark, glossy hair, which fell in long ringlets from her chignon over the magnolia-petal perfection of her shoulders and bosom. Her face was a smooth oval of classically pure beauty, with lips parted to show a glimpse of pearly teeth, and black eyes which looked at the beholder with a smouldering animal Attraction, even in the painted likeness.

Tanya stared at the portrait in silence. It filled her with an odd sensation of dismay and uneasiness, and she was not surprised when Prince Nikolai said in a flat, expressionless voice, "My wife."

“He called you 'brother-in-law'!" Tanya exclaimed. "I didn't realise . . ."

“Didn't Maria tell you?"

“No."

“Sergei is Anna's brother. You must pity their father. He's a fine man, but he was away with the Army for too long, and left the children's upbringing to his wife, and she nurtured a pair of vipers." His hand shook, setting the candle-flames guttering and the shadows moving across the painted face, which seemed to Tanya to sneer in a vindictive, cruel way.

Prince Nikolai turned away abruptly and put the candelabrum back in its place, and the portrait vanished into the shadows. Tanya looked up at his face, her own troubled.

“I don't feel anything at all about her now," he replied to her unspoken question. "It's over and done with." But he sounded hesitant, uncertain.

They went on towards the ballroom, but just before they reached the door Prince Nikolai stopped again and caught his breath, putting out a hand as if to steady himself. Tanya caught hold of it, for there was nothing else within his reach, and he gripped her hand painfully tightly for a moment, then suddenly let it go.

“I'm sorry," he said, his face drawn with pain.

“You're not well," Tanya said anxiously. "What can I do?"

“It's nothing," he replied. "Tanya, I think we'd best not return together – someone is bound to notice. Just slip into the room by yourself, as if nothing's happened. I'll stay out here for a while.”

Tanya looked at him uncertainly. He was very white, and the muscles about his mouth were taut, but something in his face compelled her to agree. She left him unwillingly and walked into the ballroom.

A polonaise was just ending, and the dancers were moving in different directions as it broke up. Tanya edged in and began to walk along the edge of the floor, and suddenly Vladimir was beside her, as if he had been dancing with her. She looked up at him, startled.

“All right?" he asked quietly.

“N – no," Tanya replied. "Nikolai Ilyich is in the gallery, and I think he's ill, but he told me to come back in here.”

Vladimir gave a quick nod, looked across at Boris, who was nearby watching them unobtrusively, quirked his eyebrows and jerked his head towards the gallery door. Boris at once began to move unhurriedly in that direction, disappearing into the gallery as Vladimir gave Tanya his arm and invited her to go out for supper.

It was served in another very handsome room, but Tanya hardly spared it as much as a glance, being in a turmoil of mixed feelings. She was painfully aware of a few curious glances and whispers, anxious about Prince Nikolai, and in a very confused state of mind about what had happened in the winter garden. Vladimir found a table in a quiet corner, summoned a footman with an imperious gesture as Tanya sat down rather suddenly, as if her knees had given way, and then seated himself very squarely between her and the rest of the world. The footman spread several dishes with a variety of light refreshments on the table, fetched a well-chilled bottle of wine and some glasses, and bowed himself away to some other guests.

“What did he do to Sergei Mikhailovich?" Vladimir enquired conversationally, serving Tanya with a little chicken and some salad, and himself with a great deal more.

Tanya shivered and said unhappily, "He took him away out of sight and hit him, but he hurt himself doing it, and it's all my fault for being stupid. Now I expect there'll be a lot of gossip . . . Oh, Vladimir! What shall I do?"

“Drink this and stop worrying," Vladimir replied, pouring her a glass of wine. "Nikolai Ilyich was badly injured in the war, and he's often in pain. It's a great pity, but there's nothing anyone can do about it, and he hates a fuss. He's not in any danger – it just hurts, but his man will give him something to dull the pain and help him sleep, and he'll be well again by morning.”

Tanya drank a little of the wine and looked at Vladimir over the rim of the glass. He smiled reassuringly at her, his eyes very kind and understanding, and said, "And about the gossip– well there's always some of it when anything unusual happens. People haven't anything else to talk about but other people's business. No sense in upsetting yourself about it."

“But it's so unfair to him," Tanya said, her eyes filling with tears. "He must have suffered so much from it in the past, and now I've caused a whole lot more . . .”

Vladimir absent-mindedly served himself some more of the excellent food and replied, "You haven't caused it – he's done that himself! He chose to dance with you a trifle too often, and no one made him follow you tonight. He knows what he's doing, more or less.”

Boris joined them and said quietly, "He's jarred his side ⁴ again. I gave him a hand down to his carriage, and now he's gone home. Nothing to worry about. I've made his apologies to Prince Dmitriev." He smiled at Tanya, who was still looking troubled.

“There you are!" said Vladimir cheerfully, giving Tanya's hand an encouraging pat. "Now, put a brave face on it, m'dear. Don't let the gossips see anything.”

Tanya nodded and set about eating her supper. It all tasted like sawdust, but she got it down somehow, and drank her wine, and smiled and talked to Vladimir and Boris, and the pretty blonde Princess whom Boris conjured up from somewhere. Then she went back to the ballroom and danced and smiled for something like eternity until it was time to go home.

As soon as the carriage began to move away, Countess Maria exclaimed, "Oh, Tanya! I'm so dreadfully sorry! It wasn't until I saw you go out with Sergei Mikhailovich that I realised that I hadn't told you! I didn't know what to do! Oh, my poor dear! What happened?"

“Nothing," replied Tanya, by now in a state of frozen calm. "Prince Nikolai arrived and took me back to the ballroom. That's all.”

Countess Maria looked at her doubtfully, but it was too dark to see her face and she sounded very tense, so she wisely left the subject alone and talked to her husband about something else instead.

Tanya retained her self-control all the way home, upstairs to her room, during the time it took Natasha to help her out of her gown and say "Goodnight", and through all her preparations for bed. She knelt before her icon and said the Lord's Prayer, and then put her hands over her face and cried as if her heart was broken.

After a while she stopped crying and stumbled to her feet, washed her face again, put out the candles and got into bed. "What am I going to do?" she thought. "There's nothing Odd phrases she had heard came into her mind. "As long as you don't mistake flirting for anything else." "He knows what he's doing, more or less." "They call him the Ice King." "I'm no better than Sergei Mikhailovich.”

She recalled the visit to the Opera, when Boris had flirted with her, and the frown on Prince Nikolai's face . . . it must have been directed at her, for allowing Boris too much liberty, and then she heard herself saying, "But I've never been kissed, you see, and I didn't want him to be the first," moving towards Nikolai as she said it.

“He must have taken it for an invitation!" she thought. "He must think I'm fast!”

For all her inexperience, she had read widely enough to know there was a difference between love and lust, and that a man was likely to respond to an open invitation from a woman without necessarily having any particular feeling for her. She blushed scarlet in the darkness at the realisation that she might unwittingly have given Prince Nikolai a totally misleading impression of herself.

She tried to tell herself that his opinion of her could hardly matter when in four weeks' time she would be leaving St. Petersburg for ever, and he would never see her again. But that made her feel even more miserable, for she had not counted up the amount of time left to her before, and it came as a shock to find how short it was. But still, surely for a mere four weeks she could manage to be a little cool towards him, a little less impulsive . . . She gave a despondent sniff and wiped her eyes with a corner of the sheet, then turned over and wept hopelessly into her pillow.

After a wretched night, she went down to breakfast looking pale and hollow-eyed, and Countess Maria asked anxiously if she thought she might have taken Marisha's cold. Tanya said she believed not, and after a moment's reflection, Maria caught her husband's eye in such a manner that he finished eating rather hurriedly, excused himself and went down to his study, where he puzzled the servants by sending a footman to fetch him more toast and a pot of coffee. Irina had already gone to her lessons, Marisha had remained in her room nursing her cold, and Fedor was from home, staying with friends at Gatchina, so Countess Maria and Tanya were left alone.

“Now tell me what happened," Maria said kindly but firmly, "and don't say 'nothing' again, for it looks to me as if you have been crying, and you're not the sort to do that for nothing.”

Tanya told her the story of her adventure the previous evening in a plain, straightforward fashion up to the point when Prince Sergei ran away and Prince Nikolai returned to her as she waited by the winter garden door, and then she stopped.

There was a momentary pause, and then Countess Maria said, "And then?”

Tanya looked down at her hands, which were clasped together on the edge of the table, and said in a low, hurried voice "Then he asked if I was hurt, and I said no, and somehow or other – I can't remember how – I said I'd never been kissed and I didn't want Prince Sergei to be the first, and then he kissed me, and apologised, and we walked back along the gallery."

“He did what?" Countess Maria interrupted.

“Kissed me," Tanya replied faintly.

“Nikolai? Good heavens!" Countess Maria was flabbergasted, but after a second or two she said, "Then what?"

“As we walked along the gallery, he showed me a portrait of his wife. She was very beautiful."

“Beauty isn't everything," Countess Maria said significantly. "Go on."

“I think he felt ill, then, because he'd jarred himself hitting Prince Sergei, and he asked me to go back to the ballroom by myself, so I did, and told Vladimir Sergeivich that Nikolai was unwell, and he sent Boris to help him, and . . . and that's all, really."

“I blame myself!" Maria said. "I should have warned you about Sergei Mikhailovich, and then you'd have been on your guard, and it wouldn't have happened. But Nikolai, of all people! Did you mind very much, Tanya?"

“No," Tanya replied, her eyes still firmly fixed on her interlaced fingers, then she suddenly looked Maria straight in the face and went on, "But he must have thought I was inviting him to do it, and I do mind that, very much!"

“I really don't know what to say," Maria sounded thoroughly puzzled. "It's so unlike Nikolai . . . Perhaps I should speak to him about it?"

“Oh, please, no!" Tanya cried. "Please don't say anything! It's not important! I'm sure it won't happen again, and in any case I'll soon be gone, and it won't matter then."

“Well, if you're sure . . ." the Countess began, but before she could say anything more Nikita entered, followed by Pyotr, who was carrying an armful of very beautiful hothouse flowers.

“Pyotr Efremovich, Prince Volkhov's man, is here, Maria Nikolaevna," Nikita said, sounding distinctly put out. "He has these flowers, and he says he's been instructed to deliver them himself.”

He cast what was meant to be a severely setting-down glare at Pyotr, who stared straight back at him with a slightly vacant look on his round face; the perfect picture of a bovine, stubborn serf with his heels dug in. Nikita turned away, defeated, and a cheerful grin flitted across Pyotr's face, and then he carefully sorted out his burden, which turned out to be four bouquets. With suitable gravity, he gave one of crimson and pink carnations to Countess Maria, and one of white roses to Tanya. The other two were round posies of various flowers and colours, and these, he said, putting them on the table, were intended for the younger ladies. He then bowed to Maria and Tanya in turn and went out. Nikita scooped up the two posies and hastened after him with an indignant cluck.

“I can only conclude that Nikolai has taken leave of his senses," Countess Maria remarked, sniffing delicately at the perfume of her flowers. "What do you think, my dear?”

Tanya had found a note among her flowers, and she picked it out and held it up silently, her eyes very large and serious.

“Oh, of course!" Maria nodded understandingly. "Send to all, and no one knows which! That's a very old trick!”

Tanya unsealed the note and read it to herself. It was quite short and said;

“My dear Tanya Ivanovna,

“You said that I am not at all like him, and I pray that you really think so, but I hardly dare hope that you may forgive me.

“Yours to command,

"N."

Maria was still waiting expectantly, but Tanya only said, "It's an apology.”

Later, in her own room, she read it again, not knowing quite what to make of it. At least it appeared to mean that Prince Nikolai blamed himself for what had happened, and didn't seem to think that she had invited him to kiss her, and that was a comfort. She put the note away in her pretty glove-box with the pink mouse, and wondered what she should do when she next encountered the Prince.

CHAPTER

SEVEN

TANYA went with Countess Maria to pay a series of calls later that day, but they returned quite early, for they were to dine out that evening. When they entered the house, Maria went to see if Marisha showed any signs of recovering from her cold in time for her Coming-out ball, which was to take place on Friday, in three days' time, and Tanya went to the sitting-room, rang for tea, and stood at the window sipping it and looking out into the early darkness at the snowflakes drifting down to carpet the lamplit street below.

A carriage drew up outside, and presently Nikita ushered in Boris, who made his bow, enquired after Marisha, accepted an offer of tea, seated himself at Tanya's invitation, and after a few preliminary remarks of a generally social nature, said hesitantly, "Tanya Ivanovna, may I ask your advice?"

“If you think it would be of any value," Tanya replied.

Boris scratched the end of his nose with his thumbnail, tugged the lobe of his ear, then set down his glass on the table at his elbow and began fairly confidently. "Let me put a hypothetical case. Say that a man— a gentleman — engages in a little light flirtation with a lady — nothing serious, you understand — just an amusement. And then he discovers that one of his friends — a fine man, someone he very much admires and likes, a man who has always been particularly kind and helpful to him . . ." He floundered to a halt, having lost the thread of his sentence.

“He discovers that his admirable friend . . ." Tanya prompted helpfully.

“Yes." Boris was about to begin again when he changed his mind and said in a serious and straightforward way, "Look here, Tanya Ivanovna. I think I may be getting in the way of someone else, so do you mind if I stop flirting with you?"

“Not at all," Tanya replied. "I've enjoyed it, and you've been most kind, but I must admit that I think it may have worried Marisha a little." She wondered to whom precisely he had referred, and wished she dare ask him. He had two close friends, and it could have been either.

“But she knows I . . ." Boris began, then stopped and looked thoughtful. "Perhaps she doesn't!"

“Have you ever actually told her?"

“No," Boris admitted. "I thought it wouldn't be proper until she's Out, but I thought — well, it's understood .. . Maybe I'd better!”

He had to leave a few minutes after, having just called in on his way home from the Palace, but Tanya saw him again a short time later when she went with Count Alexei and Countess Maria to dine with their friends the Tutaevs, it being Count Tutaev's name-day.

Vladimir was also there, and while the guests were standing or sitting about and talking before dinner in their host's fine double-cube drawing-room he wandered over to Tanya and said quietly, "How are you this evening?"

“Recovered now, thank you," she replied, smiling up at him. "You were very kind and helpful last night. I don't know what I should have done without you.”

He looked at her in his usual rather expressionless fashion and smoothed his moustache with one finger. "Nothing at all," he muttered briefly. "Do anything I can to help.”

There was a slightly embarrassed pause, and Tanya wondered if Boris had been referring to Vladimir earlier that evening, and then the Colonel's face broke into a more lively expression which was almost a smile and he said, "I've something to tell you! The Regiment's going to be on parade! The week after next! Will you come and watch?"

“I'd like to very much," Tanya replied with enthusiasm, having heard a great deal in her life about military parades, but never having had the opportunity to see one. "Where will it be?"

“Either in Palace Square or on the Field of Mars by the Summer Garden. The Emperor reviews a few regiments every now and again, and we're to be in the next batch. Two weeks today."

“I shall look forward to it very much," Tanya said sincerely.

Vladimir actually allowed his face to lapse into a full smile, revealing a row of even white teeth and looking remarkably handsome, and then he glanced towards the door and said very quietly, "Nikolai Ilyich has just come in." His eyes met Tanya's and she saw nothing there but kindness and concern. If Boris had referred to the Colonel, then Boris was mistaken.

She was sure her colour must have risen, but she managed to say, "He must be better, then," and look in his direction with reasonable calm. He met her eyes across the room and regarded her in his old sombre, melancholy way. She was torn between a strong wish to give him a friendly smile, and the fear that if she did so he would think . . . but before she had arrived at deciding what he might think, Vladimir said loudly, "Hallo there! I thought you were dining at the Palace tonight!"

“No, that's tomorrow night," Prince Nikolai replied, naturally crossing over to join Vladimir and Tanya. "As you know very well!" he added quietly, giving the Colonel a very straight look. Vladimir's face was quite blank again, and he looked equally straightly back at the Prince, and then gave the slightest possible flicker of one eyelid.

Prince Nikolai turned his attention to Tanya and said, "Good evening," in a hesitant, questioning tone.

“Good evening, Nikolai Ilyich," Tanya replied, giving him her hand and the smile she had been uncertain about before. He lifted her hand to his lips, his eyes on her face, and then, presumably feeling the embroidered flowers on the back of her glove, glanced down at it and said, "They fit you well."

“Yes," she replied, "they were a very pretty gift, and so were the flowers. We were all so pleased to receive them. Thank you very much.”

Apparently he realised what she was trying to convey to him, for his melancholy air lifted and he began to look almost cheerful.

Boris came over at that moment, kissed Tanya's hand and bade her "Good evening," without his usual languishing glance, and greeted the two men, then excused himself and went on to speak to Countess Maria.

“You haven't fallen out with Boris, have you?" Prince Nikolai asked, sounding quite concerned.

“That would be very difficult!" Tanya replied. "You know that Marisha will be officially Out the day after tomorrow, when you give your ball for her, and Boris realises that it's time for him to stop flirting." Prince Nikolai gave her a questioning look, and she added, "He was only amusing himself."

“And you?" he asked.

“It amused me very much," Tanya replied. "I'd never been flirted with before. It was quite a novel experience."

“If I thought he'd hurt you . . ." Prince Nikolai began in such a low voice that Tanya could hardly hear the words.

“Not at all!" she said firmly. "I didn't mistake it for anything else.”

Count Tutaev's major-domo had just announced that dinner was served, and the Count was busily marshalling his guests in the right order. He called to Prince Nikolai to take in a very beautiful and elegantly-dressed lady with a magnificent sapphire parure. Prince Nikolai said hurriedly to Tanya, "I am not amusing myself!" and went in obedience to the summons, leaving Tanya in a state of some confusion, wondering if he could possibly have meant .. .

“Afraid you'll have to make do with me," Vladimir said apologetically, offering her his arm.

“Oh, Vladimir!" Tanya exclaimed. "It's not a matter of 'making do' at all! I'm quite happy to go in with you!"

“Under any other circumstances, I'd be very pleased to hear that," the Colonel said pensively as they joined the procession to the dining-room. Tanya gave him an enquiring look, and he said ruefully, "That was meant to be a compliment, but it didn't come out quite right!”

- The Tutaevs' dining-room was attractively and unusually decorated with groups of girls in Grecian draperies dancing in various formations painted life-sized in pretty pastel colours on the white walls. At one end was a large semi-circular bay the whole width of the room, the windows hidden now by long blinds, each with one dancing girl painted on it. At the other end, over the door by which the guests entered, was a gallery where an orchestra played during the meal.

The table was very long and the guests were seated with the ladies on one side of it and the gentlemen on the other, in the old Russian style. Tanya found herself between Countess Maria and a porcelain-pretty blonde with a most attractive lisp, and opposite Vladimir, who had Boris on one side of him and a stout, red-faced man with spectacles on the other - a Count Bezuhov, or some such name. The latter said hardly a word all through the meal, but gave his full attention to the food set before him, and Boris was also surprisingly quiet. He made polite conversation with his neighbours and to the ladies opposite, but cast not a single flirtatious glance, even at the blonde, the whole time.

Towards the end of the meal he remarked that his sister was expected to arrive in Petersburg the next day.

“What, little Olga?" Vladimir said. "How's that?"

“Father has been promising her a Season these past two years, but every time anything is arranged, my mother falls ill and can't spare her," Boris replied. "I hope she manages it this time. She'll be staying with our Aunt Dorya, who will take her about a bit, so she'll have a few balls and parties before the Season ends. She's nineteen now, and it's time she saw something of the world."

“Is she Out, then?" Countess Maria asked.

“Yes and no," Boris replied. "She's been going about in Moscow a little, but she knows hardly anyone there, and she's very shy.”

Prince Nikolai was sitting at the far end of the table from Tanya, and she could not even see him without craning her neck in an unseemly manner, which, of course, she couldn't do. After dinner he went with some of the gentlemen to the Count's study, while Tanya went to the drawing-room with Countess Tutaeva and the other ladies, and so she only saw him again for a second or two as she was leaving. He went up to her and said hurriedly, "I'll be at the Palace all day tomorrow, but I shall see you at Marisha's ball on Friday?"

“Yes. We're all looking forward to it very much," Tanya replied breathlessly.

“I have to go away the day after."

“Away?" Tanya experienced an odd lurching sensation. "To Novgorod."

“Shall . . . shall you be away long?" She looked down at her hands, which were clenched tightly on the handle of her reticule. She was afraid to look up at his face in case her own gave her away, for she felt a dreadful sinking of her spirits at the news that he was going away, when she had only a little more than three weeks left before she must go from St. Petersburg.

“About a week," he replied. "I'll be back for the review.”

There was no time for more, but as Tanya followed Maria out into the portico, she cast one glance back at him, and he gave her a sudden, unexpected smile, which made her feel a little less unhappy.

The next day seemed one long series of crises. Marisha was very much better and there was no danger of her being unable to go to her ball, but when her white silk and tarlatan gown came home from the dressmaker's, it was found to be quite three inches too long, and her maid had strong hysterics at the mere thought of trying to shorten it. So Tanya took courage, a pair of scissors and a deep breath, and cut off the buckram stiffening round the hem, pinned the skirt to the proper length, and spent the afternoon stitching away at the new hem and replacing the buckram. Countess Maria's maid burnt her mistress' ear with the curling-tongs, Fedor returned from Gatchina with his arm in a sling, having sprained his wrist in a tumble while skating, Count Alexei mislaid his snuff-box and turned the house upside-down searching for it, Irina fell downstairs and bruised her knees, and one of the Borzois misbehaved in the middle of the entrance-hall floor.

Nikita was standing in an awe-inspiring manner at the foot of the stairs directing the cleaning-up of the small puddle and supervising the two footmen who were trying to catch the dog, who thought it a fine game and bounded round the hall barking, when Boris arrived with his sister Olga.

Vladimir had come a few minutes before and was in the sitting-room with Countess Maria and Tanya, and all three came out on to the gallery to see what was going on. They found Boris attempting to catch the great hound by spreading out his cloak on either side of him and shaking his beaver hat at it, while the animal twisted and turned and barked all the more. It stopped for a moment for a better bark, and a slim figure darted out from the shelter of the entrance doorway and seized its collar, the hood of her cloak falling back as she did so to reveal a mass of dark ringlets arranged a la Madonna, a very pretty oval face and a pair of large dark-brown eyes.

“Good heavens! It's little Olga!" Vladimir exclaimed in a hushed voice, and he ran down the stairs like an avalanche to take hold of the hound's collar. The girl looked up at him shyly, an uncertain smile hovering on her lips, and he looked down at her and said gruffly, "You were a skinny little thing with freckles the last time I saw you. What happened?"

“She grew older," Boris said a trifle tartly. "It comes to us all, but unfortunately, we don't all become pretty — at least, some of us don't," with an expressive look at Vladimir, who was still holding the Borzoi's collar and gazing at Olga in a mesmerised fashion, at which she blushed becomingly and hung her head.

She was indeed a shy girl, but very pretty, with a strong resemblance to her brother. She answered in a quiet, pleasant voice when anyone spoke to her, but seemed content to sit and listen to the conversation of the others, looking from one to another with her great dark eyes intent on their faces. She looked serious and a little overwhelmed, and Vladimir, normally so phlegmatic and expressionless, gazed at her in a state of trance all through her visit.

When all the visitors had gone, Countess Maria said privately to Tanya, "Well, would you credit it? One look from the top of the stairs, and the poor man's practically at her feet, and she didn't so much as lift a finger! Vladimir Sergeivich, of all people!"

“I rather suspected that he has a heart like butter under that stern exterior!" Tanya replied. "I hope it prospers for him — but did you notice the funniest part of it? He was gazing at Olga all the time, and I do believe that Boris didn't even notice, for he was too taken up with Marisha!"

“Oh dear! Two of your admirers fallen away!" Countess Maria was half laughing, half serious. "Do you mind, Tanya?”

Tanya's warm smile was perfectly genuine. "Not in the least! They were both only being kind to me — I've never thought otherwise.”

The day of the ball dawned, in a manner of speaking; late, overcast, cold and promising more snow. Marisha's gown, freshly pressed, was tried on and pronounced perfect. A footman from Count Tutaev's house brought round Count Alexei's snuffbox, which had been found in his master's study. No further disasters occurred at the Kirovs', and they arrived at the Volkhov Palace in good time, well before the first guests were expected, and had leisure to look around the transformation Prince Nikolai's servants had wrought in the house.

The entrance-hall and staircase were ablaze with light, and flowering plants bloomed profusely against the marble walls. The ballroom was like something from a fairy-tale, the crystal chandeliers blazing, each drop freshly washed and polished; the floor was like a skating-rink, dainty gilt chairs and sofas were set against the walls and the orchestra was tuning itself up on a dais at the end, surrounded by pink and white flowers to complement Marisha's white gown with its trimming of pink moss-roses.

Prince Nikolai was looking exceptionally cheerful and handsome in a dark-blue velvet coat and white small-clothes, his diamond-studded Order and blue ribbon. He complimented Marisha on her charming toilette and gave Tanya a look which told her without any words being necessary that he thought her amber silk vastly becoming, and made her catch her breath and feel a little giddy.

When the guests began to arrive, Fedor and Tanya went to the ballroom, leaving Count Alexei, Countess Maria and Prince Nikolai with Marisha at the head of the stairs to receive more than two hundred people, the cream of St. Petersburg society, including the two younger Grand Dukes, Nikolai and Mikhail Pavlovich, and the former's beautiful wife, the Grand Duchess Alexandra Fedorovna.

Fedor made shift to dance with Tanya, despite his injured and painful wrist, and as usual, she was not lacking in partners. When Vladimir arrived to claim her for a gavotte, she said mischievously, "I hardly dared hope you might have a dance to spare for me, Vladimir Sergeivich!"

“I like dancing with you," he replied. "I like talking to you, as well. I'm not much of a hand at social chatter, and you don't mind a bit of Army talk."

“Boris and Olga have just come in," Tanya said, catching sight of them as she moved round her partner in one of the figures orthe dance. Vladimir turned his head to look and trod on her toe without noticing that he had done so.

“D'you think I'm making a fool of myself?" he asked.

“Not in the least," Tanya replied. "She's a remarkably pretty girl."

“I took quite a fancy to her before, when I spent a leave with Boris and his family in Moscow, four years ago," Vladimir admitted, "when she was all elbows and freckles. I often find myself thinking about her." He spoke in a very natural, unselfconscious way, and Tanya was happy to realise that he found it easy to confide in her.

By the time most of the guests had arrived it was time for the Imperial party to depart, as they had several other visits to make that evening, and so it was nearly half-way through the evening before Prince Nikolai was able to break away from his hostly duties and seek out a partner. Tanya was standing with Boris, Olga and, of course, Vladimir, laughing at something Boris was telling them, but she turned towards Prince Nikolai as he approached and he led her on to the floor and into the dance with no more than a look and a smile.

“Am I deluding myself in thinking that you're not angry with me?" he asked.

“I've no reason to be angry," she replied. "I was just afraid that you might think . . ." she hesitated, uncertain how to express herself.

“Think what?"

“That I was inviting you . . ." It didn't seem a very clear way of saying it, but he appeared to take her meaning.

“No, I know you better than that," he said. They finished the dance in companionable silence, and then he said, "The dining-room is almost finished. Would you care to see it?"

“Very much," Tanya replied. "But . . ." She glanced around, conscious that quite a few pairs of eyes were observing.

“Yes." Prince Nikolai glanced around and caught Vladimir's eye. He was standing by himself near the door, and he sauntered over to them, or came as near to a saunter as a man could after twenty-odd years of military drill. He exchanged a brief mutter with the Prince, and then gave Tanya his arm out of the ballroom, while the Prince strolled along behind.

They walked along the gallery and turned into the vestibule, and then Vladimir, apparently catching sight of himself in the mirror, remarked that Yuri had pinned his St. George on crooked, and he must put it straight at once. Tanya and Prince Nikolai left him fiddling with it and went on to the dining-room, entered, and Prince Nikolai closed the doors behind them.

“It occurs to me that I blacked Sergei Mikhailovich's eye for doing much the same as this the other night, and now I'm doing it myself, with Vladimir Sergeivich's connivance," Prince Nikolai remarked in a grim tone.

Tanya, her stomach fluttering with apprehension at finding herself alone with him again, and yet quite well aware that she had known that this was his intention in inviting her to see the room, clasped her hands tightly on her fan, made herself breathe steadily and as normally as possible, and looked round the room, turning slowly as she did so in order to see every part of it.

All the candles were alight, and their flames reflected in soft golden pools on a glowing satinwood table and a set of chairs with green silk padded seats, backs carved with the Volkhov arms and slender, straight legs inlaid with a narrow band of gilded brass. The walls were now pale green and hung with large mirrors in gilt rococo frames, interspersed with hanging pendants of white plaster flowers and fruits. There was a strong smell of fresh paint.

“What a difference!" she exclaimed. "I wouldn't have thought it possible in such a short time!"

“It's surprising how quickly things can happen," Prince Nikolai replied. "One goes on for years thinking that everything will be the same for ever, deadly, lifeless, hopeless, and then suddenly, within a few days, life seems full of hope and purpose. Unless, of course, one is mistaken, and then, presumably, it all reverts to its former state, only worse. Are you in love with Vladimir Sergeivich?”

He had been speaking in a quiet, conversational tone, as if he was talking about the weather, or the room, or something equally indifferent, and even the last question was in the same tone.

Tanya turned to look at him, her mind still grappling with what he had just said, confused by the incongruity of the words and the tone in which they were uttered. He looked no more than politely interested, as if the answer to the question hardly mattered to him, but, in that case, why had he asked it? The obvious answer seemed far too wonderful to be possible; but if he did mean that he cared for her, but doubted if his feelings were returned, some of his recent words and actions would make more sense.

“No," she replied breathlessly. "I like him very much, but just as a friend — a brother, almost. I rather think he's in love with Olga Mikhailovna."

“Good," said Prince Nikolai absently. "I'm sorry I have to go away tomorrow, but it's something important, an obligation to someone who depends on me. I can't put it off.”

She wondered whom he could mean. Hadn't Maria said he had no family, except the Kirovs?

“No, of course not. Novgorod, you said? Your home is near there, isn't it?"

“Yes. White Gates. My refuge and hiding place. I have other houses and estates, but that's the one I've always run to when things were too unpleasant. When I left Anna, and after Borodino . . . I stayed a long time then. 'Io no piangeva; si dentro impietrai' ."

“Is that Italian?" Tanya asked, recognising the music of the words, but not their meaning.

“Yes. Dante. 'I did not weep, so much of stone had I become'." He sounded very bitter and sad.

Tanya's feelings for him swamped any idea of prudence or propriety. She went to him and put both her hands in his in a spontaneous gesture of love and understanding. He looked at her questioningly for a moment, then bent his head and gently kissed her lips.

“Moya dushka!" he said in Russian.

It was such a gentle, brotherly kiss, yet Tanya felt that same electric tingling flooding through her, and was so shaken by it that she stood still and silent, looking half-dazed. Prince Nikolai waited for a few moments, as if he expected her to say something, than apparently concluded that her gesture had only been made out of pity after all. He uttered a faint sigh, and then said, "I suppose we had better go back," and turned to open the door. Tanya accompanied him in something of a trance.

“Ah, that's better!" said Vladimir, giving his medal a final approving pat which knocked it crooked, and offering his arm to Tanya. He gave Prince Nikolai one of his fleeting winks as he walked her back to the ballroom. The Prince hung back for a few minutes, looking into the salon to see that everything was ready for supper, before returning to the ballroom quite clearly by himself, as several people noted.

“What colour is it?" Vladimir asked Tanya, but she stared at him uncomprehendingly. "The dining-room," he prompted.

“Oh. Green. And white. With satinwood.”

*

Marisha spent the whole evening in a delightful haze of enjoyment, and sat in a corner of the carriage all the way home with a happy smile and a dreamy expression on her face. Tanya sat in the opposite corner staring unseeingly out at the wintry streets. Half of her felt that she couldn't poss‑ ibly be mistaken about Prince Nikolai's feelings for her, and the other half was equally positive that she couldn't possibly be right. It was very confusing.

She tried to make a sensible analysis of the conversation with him in the dining-room. Perhaps he had asked her about Vladimir in order to warn her of the Colonel's captivation with Olga, if she appeared ignorant of it. That could fit. If he knew of her dull life at Yaroslavl, and the gloomy prospects before her at Taganrog, he might have been referring to the sudden change in her life, and trying to warn her not to build any hopes on her acquaintance with Vladimir. Perhaps he had also tried to warn her that there was someone in his own life at White Gates. Perhaps a mistress – someone Maria and the others knew nothing about.

Casting her mind back to her earlier visit to his house, she recalled his reference to destroying someone's life for his selfish pleasure, and once he had said something about bearing the responsibility for the results of his actions . . . Perhaps he had seduced someone and then felt obliged to marry her, but she was quite unsuitable to appear in society as his wife. The days when a noble could marry a serf and make everyone accept her, as Count Sheremetyev had done a century or so ago, were long past. Tanya could visualise him being tormented by guilt over something like that, but, at the same time, she couldn't imagine him as a seducer! ' She continued to stare out of the window and puzzle about it all the way home. Count Alexei had dozed off. Countess Maria was humming a little tune and thinking how splendidly everything was working out, and Fedor gave a lengthy account of a discussion he had been having about Orlov horses with a fellow who didn't really know a pastern from a fetlock. Neither did any of his companions, but they were not listening, so it hardly mattered.

The next week seemed extremely long to Tanya, and yet at the same time Lent seemed to be approaching extraordinarily quickly. Now that Marisha's cold was better, she and Tanya resumed their visits to various buildings in the city, and Olga often joined them, gradually losing her shyness as she became more used to going about and meeting people, particularly as it was obvious that she was generally considered to be a Beauty, a position which would give confidence to any, fortunate young lady.

Boris obligingly applied to the Court Chamberlain for tickets of admission to some of the buildings which belonged to the Emperor, and took them first to see Peter the Great's charming blue-and-white Kunstkamera on Vassilievsky Island. It was Petersburg's fi^rst purpose-built museum, built by a consortium of architects to house Peter's own collection of oddities, souvenirs of his travels, stuffed birds and animals, and all kinds of tools and gadgetry. The young ladies found it fascinating.

On another day, he took them to the Tavrichevsky Palace, and entertained them by recounting some of the less shocking anecdotes he had heard from his father about its former owner, Grigor Potemkin, Catherine the Great's lover and general. Czar Paul had quartered the Chevalier Guard and their horses in it, for he had hated Potemkin, but Tanya was pleased to see that it was being carefully restored.

That evening, Vladimir asked her if she would like to see the Engineer's Castle, a very curious building near the Summer Garden. Of course she replied that she would, so he escorted her there with Marisha and Olga the next afternoon.

The Castle, built for Paul, had been given to the Corps of Engineers by the Emperor Alexander after his father died in it in 1801 (officially of apoplexy, but rumour very quietly whispered otherwise), only a few weeks after he had moved into the place in such haste that the plaster had not even had time to dry on the walls, and it was now used as a school for cadets who intended to enter the engineering branch of the Army. Consequently there was little to see inside, but the ladies found it quite interesting, if only because it was such a satisfyingly hideous confection. It was as if Bazhenov and Brenna, the architects, had been in fundamental disagreement with each other, and forced to use up bits left over from a couple of dozen other buildings in a variety of styles.

The decorations seemed to consist almost entirely of variations on Paul's Imperial cypher, which sprouted from every possible surface. Olga enquired how many there were, and Vladimir replied replied that someone had once counted up to eight thousand before giving up. They were crossing the courtyard at the time, and Olga smiled up at him in her chanting, shy fashion, and said inconsequently, "I do believe you're the only gentleman I know with a moustache!"

“Shave it off if you like," Vladimir offered. All three young ladies looked at him in consternation. Tanya thought such a sacrifice was on a par with laying his entire fortune at Olga's feet, or some such extravagant gesture, and she was quite relieved when Olga said, "Oh, pray don't do that! I like it!" and blushed prettily.

Boris was in attendance the next day, but he sent round tickets of admission to Peter the Great's little wooden house on the north side of the river, opposite the Summer Garden, and Vladimir volunteered to escort the ladies again. His carriage took them across the ice and drew up by the steps rising from the river to the embankment outside their destination, so that they climbed up to it as if they had arrived by boat.

The house was a small log cabin, built by Peter with his own hands when he first came to the site of his new city, and Catherine the Great had it enclosed inside a brick and stone building to preserve it. It still contained the furniture which Peter had made for it, and the big rowing-boat he built to go about the swampy, flooded city site in. He had gone out in it to rescue some drowning soldiers when he caught the chill which led to his death.

It seemed very easy to imagine Peter in this setting, and Tanya felt that she could understand him a little better after seeing the things he had made so well and with such obvious pleasure with his big, capable hands, and she could imagine him in her mind's eye, running a hand along the gunwale of the boat, as she was doing at that moment, feeling its smoothness and the tough resilience of the wood.

After they had seen everything in the house, they returned to the carriage and put on the skates which Fedor had unearthed from a cupboard in the schoolroom, and spent the remainder of the afternoon skating on the frozen river as the daylight faded and the lamps cast pools of light and patches of darkness over the ice. Tanya and Marisha stumbled about supporting one another and gradually gaining confidence as their balance improved, but Vladimir and Olga were both excellent skaters, and flashed to and fro and round about, executing complicated turns and figures of eight, Vladimir frequently finding it necessary to put an arm round Olga's waist.

On other afternoons there were visits to make, and the evenings were filled with balls and parties and receptions, and another visit to the theatre, and before long it was Monday again, and Tanya realised that she had only two weeks and two days left before Lent began and she must go.

CHAPTER

EIGHT

PRINCE NIKOLAI returned to St. Petersburg on Monday evening and sent some flowers and out-of-season strawberries from his hothouses to the Kirovs, with a message saying that he hoped to see them next afternoon at the review.

It was a bright, cold day, and the city sparkled under a blue sky. The Kirovs once more set out for Palace Square, Fedor on horseback, the others in the carriage, and were directed to a place near the Hermitage end, where Millionaires' Row led off towards the Field of Mars and the Summer Garden. The huge square had been swept clear of snow and the granite setts had been sanded to save the horses from slipping. A large crowd had already gathered and lined the side of the square in front of the half-built General Staff building, penned in behind the Semenovsky Guards who were standing in a long line facing the Palace.

The Kirovs' coachman let down the hoods of the carriage so that its occupants could get an unimpeded view, and before long they heard a military band playing, and soldiers of the various regiments involved in the review began to march into the square from every entrance, company by company, and take up their positions.

Irina, who was bouncing about excitedly, asked her mother if they might get down from the carriage as she was cold, and the Countess agreed. The family descended one by one, and Tanya, who was last, was about to follow when Prince Nikolai rode up on a fine black mare, accompanied by Pyotr on a bay.

The Prince edged his horse alongside the carriage, and Tanya sat down again, smiling as she welcomed him, too pleased to see him to attempt to conceal her feelings.

“Are you warm enough?" the Prince enquired after preliminary greetings.

“Yes, capitally, thank you," Tanya replied, showing him the flannel-wrapped hot brick in her lap, and then a cry from Irina and a cheer from Fedor and Count Alexei drew her attention back to the square. Vladimir was just emerging from Millionaires' Row on a fine grey charger, looking exceedingly handsome and impressive in his full-dress uniform.

Behind him came the colour-party, a young Ensign carrying the Regiment's white silk standard, escorted by a dozen very tall men, the Colour-Sergeant being nearly seven feet from his boots to the top of his kiver or shako. Tanya could see the Grenadier Company of the First Battalion following, every man picked out for his height rather than any particular military ability, and she exclaimed, "Now I see why they called you the Little Colonel!”

Prince Nikolai gave her a startled look, but before he could ask her how she knew that, the colour-party drew level with him. The giant sergeant bellowed some orders, and the ensign swept the standard down and up again in salute. Prince Nikolai had, of course, already removed his beaver hat out of respect for the standard, and he now bowed in acknowledgement of the salute, and said quietly to Tanya, "They shouldn't really have done that."

“Why not?" asked Tanya. "You were their Colonel, after all. How neatly the ensign did it!"

“You should have seen Boris," the Prince replied, replacing his hat on his head. "That lad had a real talent for handling the standard. It's far from easy, you know, for it's very heavy and badly balanced.”

Vladimir's Regiment crunched past and took its place among the others, followed by two more. The square now seemed comfortably full of men, each regiment drawn up with an interval between its companies and a wider space dividing it from the next. Prince Nikolai pointed out to Tanya that only the First Battalion of each was present, but this still amounted to a great many men, all dressed in long grey overcoats which covered their green uniforms, except the officers, who were apparently expected to put up with being cold, although their rather bulky look led Tanya to suspect that they had several layers of clothes on under their uniforms.

The gate of the Palace courtyard opened and a dozen men on horseback rode out, their various orders and medals sparkling in the sunshine. At their head rode the tall figure of the Emperor in the white uniform of the Chevalier Guard, an ostrich-plumed cocked hat on his head, sitting very straight on a milky-white charger. He made a very impressive and striking figure, the diamonds of his orders adding a sparkle to the lustre which seemed to surround him.

For the next hour, the great gathering of soldiers marched and counter-marched, wheeled right and left, formed line, column and square, going through most of the evolutions in the English drill-book which Alexander had introduced into the Russian Army after Waterloo. From time to time, he would call out a word of praise, and once he pointed a white-gloved finger at a man who was fractionally out of line, so that Tanya felt very sorry for the poor fellow.

Eventually all the men arrived back at the positions from Which they had started, and the Emperor and his entourage rode in a group backwards and forwards between the companies, occasionally stopping while the Emperor leaned down to speak to a man who had caught his attention for some reason. Then the group returned to the front of the parade, and Alexander called out in a very clear voice his traditional greeting to his Army, "You have done well, my children!"

“We shall do better, Little Father!" came the deep roar of the reply.

Irina, excitedly hopping about and laughing, turned and said something to the Kirovs' coachman, who was standing by the carriage-horses' heads. He let go of their harness and stepped forward, unable to hear what she was saying, and as he bent towards her, all the immense throng of soldiers in the square raised their muskets and rifles as one man and fired a feu de joie.

The volley crashed out, the sound waves striking the front of the Palace and rolling back again in a great echo, and the Kirovs' horses flung up their heads and, with no more ado, bolted. The coachman made a frantic grab for the reins, missed and fell over, everyone shouted and people in the way screamed and scrambled clear as the team raced out of the square towards Millionaires' Row, the carriage bouncing and swaying after them.

Tanya clutched at the side of the carriage, terrified, as it lurched over the canal bridge, nearly overturning, and then flung herself forward and scrambled on to the other seat, leaning over the folded hood, but without any very clear idea of what she hoped to achieve, while the horses laid back their ears and stretched out into a gallop along the straight street, towards the Field of Mars.

“Hold on!" a voice shouted, and Prince Nikolai spurred his horse up level with her, crouched low over the animal's neck, and began to draw ahead a little as they erupted from the street into the great open, gravelled space of the parade ground.

Prince Nikolai was level with the horses now, and Tanya watched in horror as he leaned over and gripped the head-harness of the nearest, withdrawing his feet from his stirrup and lying along his horse's back, then shifting his weight until it was balanced between his hands on the carriage horse and his thighs on his saddle. With a sudden tremendous effort, he flung himself from his own horse on to the back of the carriage horse, clinging with both hands and fighting for balance.

For a second Tanya thought he would fall 'under the wheels, but he gave another great heave and hauled himself safely upright astride the animal, gathered up the trailing reins, and gradually slowed the team to a steaming, shuddering halt. The whole action had taken only seconds, and they were still little more than two-thirds of the way across the Field of Mars. The Prince dismounted and ran to the horses' heads, talking quietly and soothingly to them.

Pyotr and Fedor came up at a gallop, the servant with Prince Nikolai's mount in tow. He dismounted and took over the carriage horses from his master, who ran back to the carriage door, climbed in and seized hold of Tanya's hands. He was hatless, dishevelled, and looked totally distraught.

“Are you hurt?" he demanded, his voice raw with anxiety, searching her white face for reassurance.

“No, just frightened. Oh, how did you do it?" she gasped. "I thought you would fall!”

Prince Nikolai closed his eyes and shook his head. He was breathing in a painful, gasping fashion, his injured side thoroughly jarred and knocked by the violent activity. After a moment he looked up and managed to say, "It's just a trick. Not very difficult, but rather showy. I only did it to impress you!”

His eyes were shadowed with anxiety and pain, belying the lightness of his voice. He gave Tanya's hands a painful squeeze, and turned to Fedor, who was leaning anxiously over the side of the carriage.

“Can you manage the three horses?" he asked, and Fedor, who was already doing so, nodded.

“Then will you go back to the others and tell them that Tanya is quite safe?" the Prince went on. "I'll take her home, and then send Pyotr back with the carriage to fetch them."

“Er — yes, of course. I suppose . . ." Fedor began doubtfully, but a particularly hard stare from the Prince penetrated his obtuseness, and he nodded again, marshalled his charges into an orderly triangle, the two led horses side by side behind his own, and trotted off back to Palace Square. Pyotr gave the reins of the carriage horses to a likely-looking urchin among the little crowd of onlookers which had gathered, and put up the hoods of the carriage, then retrieved the reins in exchange for a small coin, mounted the box and drove the carriage off right-handed across the open ground, heading for the Malaya Sadovaya and a route home to the Kirovs' house through the back-streets.

Tanya, freed from the interested audience and now feeling the reaction to her narrow escape, began to shiver. The rug she had earlier had tucked round her had fallen to the floor, so she retrieved it and huddled in its warm folds, feeling that it would be very pleasant to fling herself into Prince Nikolai's arms and be comforted and cossetted by him. She took a sidelong look at him, but he was leaning back in his seat, and appeared very white and drawn.

After a few moments he seemed to gather himself together with an effort, and sat up, shifting awkwardly, and picked up another rug, which he carefully tucked round Tanya, as if she might be made of fragile porcelain. She gave him an unsteady smile, and suddenly became conscious that it was very improper for her to be travelling alone in a closed carriage with a gentleman.

“You'll soon be home," Prince Nikolai said gently.

She nodded, and turned her head to look out of the window, afraid that he might guess that she wished he would take her in his arms.

“How odd all the statues look in the Summer Garden!" she said, her voice wobbling a little. "Like untidy parcels wrapped up against the frost in straw and sacks!"

“They're a fine sight in the summer," he replied. "You'll enjoy strolling there when the White Nights come in June. You must come out to Peterhof and see the gilded statues on the Great Cascade. It's a beautiful sight when the water flows and the fountains play, shining in the sun like a garden of the Gods."

“I shan't be here in the summer," Tanya said in a small, despondent voice. She could imagine few things more pleasant than walking with Prince Nikolai in a beautiful garden, but she would be far away in bleak, ugly Taganrog, long before the ice thawed at Peterhof, and Prince Nikolai would walk there with someone else.

She began to shiver again. The Prince seized all the rugs in the carriage and spread them over her. She started to try to thank him for rescuing her, but her voice seemed beyond her control, and a couple of tears suddenly formed in her eyes and spilled over on to her cheeks.

“Not a word!" Prince Nikolai said sternly, touching her lips lightly with one finger. He produced a large clean handkerchief and carefully removed the tears. "Isn't Petersburg beautiful in the winter sunset?”

He was not looking at the sunset, but it served to distract Tanya, who looked out at the sky flaming in pink and lilac, reflecting strange hues from the pastel buildings, gleaming on golden domes and spires, and colouring the white snow on the rooftops. She nodded and managed to wriggle one hand out from under the rugs. He took it in a warm, comforting grip, and they passed the rest of the short journey holding hands in comfortable silence.

By the time they reached the Kirovs' house, Tanya was much calmer. Prince Nikolai handed her down from the carriage and told Pyotr to give the horses a good rub-down before he went back to Palace Square, and then he followed Tanya into the house and helped her off with her cloak and overshoes.

She asked Nikita to send up a tray of tea, Prince Nikolai having already told him briefly what had happened, and then she led the way up to the sitting-room, taking off her bonnet as she went and giving her hair a few pushes and tugs into place, checking that it looked reasonably tidy with a swift, surreptitious glance in a mirror as she passed.

She sat down on the sofa before the fire in the sitting-room, and invited Prince Nikolai to be seated. He took an armchair at the fireside, easing his aching side as he did so. Tanya drew breath and opened her mouth to say something to him, but subsided again as Nikita came in with the tea-tray, which he placed on the sofa-table by Tanya. He bowed himself out, closing the door quietly behind him.

As she poured water from the samovar into the porcelain teapot, and presently filled the pretty flower-painted cups, she thought, "He saved my life just now! He came after me, and risked his own life for me! That was a wonderful thing to do, and I don't know how to thank him.”

She passed a cup and saucer to the Prince, and they sat sipping the lemon tea as the last of the daylight faded outside and the fire crackled brightly in the hearth. After a while Tanya put down her cup and turned wide, glowing eyes towards the Prince. "You must let me thank you," she said. "I might have been killed if you hadn't stopped the horses!”

He jerked his head in an awkward, embarrassed fashion and replied, "I doubt it. They'd have stopped by themselves eventually. It's just a natural reaction – one sees horses go off, and one goes after them, that's all. Anyone would have done it."

“I can't imagine 'anyone' being able to do what you did!" Tanya protested, surprised at the casual way he dismissed the incident.

“A silly piece of unnecessary flamboyance," the Prince replied flatly. "I could have stopped them just as well without getting on one of them. Changing horses at a gallop is a Cossack trick which my father made me learn. It's never been the slightest use to me before." He suddenly looked at Tanya with a rueful, uncertain half-smile, like a schoolboy caught making a fool of himself. "I'm afraid I was showing off to impress you!"

“But you might have fallen!" Tanya said faintly, gazing at him with a mixture of horror and incredulity.

“In which case, presumably you would not have been impressed after all," he said sardonically, then changed the subject by asking, "Where does your Great-Aunt's cousin live?"

“Near Taganrog," Tanya replied absently, still digesting the information that he had wanted to impress her.

“Good heavens!" exclaimed the Prince. "I'd no idea . . . I thought it was somewhere reasonably near, where your friends might visit you. I didn't realise that it was as far away as that!”

Tanya was jerked back from the dream-world where handsome princes rescued damsels in distress, to the harsh realities of poverty, distance and hopelessness.

“It's a thousand miles away," she said sadly. "I went there for a while after the General died. It's a big, square house, miles from anywhere, no garden, no trees or flowers, no neighbours, no village, nothing. The house is bare and ugly, and the old lady never goes out. There are no pictures or books, nothing to do, nothing to see." She began to twist her fingers together, a faint note of hysteria entering her voice. She had been badly frightened by the afternoon's adventure, and the reaction was breaking through her efforts to remain calm. "I'll be shut up there for the rest of my life, and I'll never see you again!”

Only now did she realise how horrifyingly imminent was the total loss of everything which had suddenly become so vitally important to her. It had been bad enough when she had only visualised the house at Taganrog as a place without books or pictures, but now it had also become a place without friends, without beauty, and, above all, without Prince Nikolai. She burst into tears.

The Prince set down his cup with a bang and moved to her side so swiftly that she had hardly drawn breath after her first sob. He gathered her into his arms, setting her head comfortably against his shoulder. "Please don't cry, Tanya!" he begged in agitated tones. "You can't possibly go to Taganrog! It's much too far away! I won't hear of it!"

“I've nowhere else to go!" she sobbed.

“Nonsense! Leave it to me — I'll arrange it all, one way or another.”

She lifted her head to look at him, and even with her vision blurred by tears, there was no mistaking the concern and tenderness in his expression.

`He really understands how I dread going there!' she thought. 'Even if he doesn't know why. He only thinks of it as somewhere too far away for my friends to visit me, not where he could not easily come! At least he cares about me being unhappy, but what could he do?'

“H-how?" she asked.

“Leave it to me," he repeated. "I've one or two ideas — if one won't serve, perhaps another may.”

She sat up, feeling ashamed of her emotional outburst, for tears had been very much discouraged in the General's household, even when she was a child. She felt in her reticule for her handkerchief, then dried her eyes with a quick, half-furtive movement which Prince Nikolai remembered from his own childhood as a method of trying to pretend that one had not really been crying at all. His lips twisted in a bitter little grimace, which Tanya saw and misinterpreted.

“I'm sorry to be so silly," she said in a tight, defensive tone. "I expect it was the fright. I'm not given to weeping all over people."

“It's better to cry sometimes," he replied gently. "I'd rather you wept all over me than tried to pretend there was nothing wrong."

“Do you really think that you might be able to find a way for me to stay in Petersburg?" she asked, doubt struggling with hope.

“Yes, quite easily," he replied, with the beginnings of a smile.

“You're so very good and considerate, and — yes, I will say it — kind!"

“Not really," he replied soberly. "My life contains an accumulation of wreckage from the results of my ungood, inconsiderate and unkind actions. Even in this, my motives are mainly selfish. I don't wish to be deprived of my dancing-partner, you see.”

Tanya regarded him with wide, questioning eyes, the word `wreckage' reminding her of that porcelain figurine slipping from his hand to smash on the floor, and she wondered again if that figure had reminded him of a victim of some unkind or selfish action of his. She could still not believe that he would ever hurt someone deliberately — perhaps it had been inadvertent, an accident.

Then she realised what his last sentence implied —he didn't want her to leave! The gold flecks in her eyes suddenly lit up, and as if he had read her thoughts, Prince Nikolai's grave face relaxed and he leaned forward and kissed her, his arms sliding round her and tightening, his body pressing her painfully against the arm of the sofa. It was a very deep and passionate kiss, and the startling effects of that first kiss in the Dmitrievs' winter-garden paled into insignificance beside the sensations aroused in her now, but also provided her with enough of a forewarning to prevent her flying into a panic. After a few moments, when she realised that she was not going to faint or explode, she was able to respond in a perfectly natural, though hesitant fashion, which told Prince Nikolai a great deal about the warmth of the nature behind her obvious inexperience.

They did not hear the carriage draw up in the street below, or its passengers enter the house, but when someone came running up the stairs, calling Tanya's name, they both jerked back into consciousness. Prince Nikolai left the sofa as swiftly as he had come, and when the door burst open and Countess Maria swept in, he was standing by the fireplace, breathing a little hard and very pale in the face. The Countess did not notice, for she went straight to Tanya, exclaiming, "Oh, my dear! Are you hurt? You must have been terrified! What a dreadful thing to happen!"

“I'm quite all right," Tanya assured her. "Not hurt at all, only a little frightened and shaken.”

The rest of the family came in and surrounded her, questioning, full of concern and sympathy, and the coachman appeared in the doorway with Nikita clucking disapprovingly at his large, damp boots, and he, too, had to be comforted and reassured that it was not his fault. Tanya gave him her hand, which he kissed and wept over, the whole thing showing every sign of developing rapidly into a dramatic and very Russian scene of great sentiment and emotion.

In the confusion and uproar, Prince Nikolai slipped quietly from the room and went down to the entrance-hall, where Pyotr was waiting. The servant took one look at his master's white face, commandeered the Kirovs' carriage again and took him home, where he dosed him with laudanum and put him to bed.

The Kirovs realised that he had gone too late to speak to him, and it was left to Nikita to tell them what had become of him. They were very concerned, realising how much he must have hurt himself from Tanya's description of his exploit in stopping the runaways, and Count Alexei was about to send a footman to enquire after him when Prince Nikolai's coachman brought their carriage back and told them that his master was safely in bed.

Countess Maria, thinking that Tanya looked very fagged after her adventure, suggested that she might like to lie down for a while, and she gratefully went to her own room and sat quietly by the stove, thinking over the events of the afternoon. The crash of the feu de joie echoed in her mind, and she recalled the sight of the carriage horses rearing up and the sudden jerk as the vehicle began to move, the way it had lurched and swayed.

What if it had overturned? What if the horses had slipped on the icy pave? She would have been thrown out, or perhaps crushed under the carriage – killed, or, worse still, maimed. . . . What if Nikolai's horse had stumbled, or if he had mistimed that movement from one animal to the other? She had a vivid mental image of him falling under the carriage-wheels, and stumbled across to her prie-dieu to give thanks for his safety and her own in a murmured prayer much broken by sobs.

After that she felt much better, and returned to her chair to dream and puzzle over everything Nikolai had said to her afterwards, telling herself rather severely that she must not start building great hopes that stood little chance of being fulfilled. Obviously he would have gone after the runaway carriage whoever had been in it, just as both Fedor and Pyotr had done, and it would be very foolish to allow herself to think that he had done it because she was the passenger! On the other hand, he had half-jokingly said that he only did it in that particular way to impress her! (Half-jokingly! Not long ago it would have been quite impossible to imagine Prince Nikolai making even half a joke!) What means could he possibly find to allow her to stay in Petersburg? One extremely wild, glorious, incredible way naturally occurred to her, but it was so far from her nature to expect anything miraculous to occur in her life that she immediately dismissed it as an impossibility, too foolish even to speculate about. Except that . . . She shivered uncontrollably, remembering the feel of his lips against hers and the extraordinary sensation of being totally alive in every fibre of her body.

Could a man kiss like that if he didn't feel anything more than kindness or pity? If only she knew more about such matters, she thought. Perhaps Maria. . . ? No, she couldn't possibly say anything to anyone about it. It was too precious and fragile to speak about.

She shifted in her chair, vaguely aware of some physical discomfort, and pressed a hand to her waist. It was surprisingly tender, as if she had been bruised. Then she recalled the arm of the sofa pressing so unyieldingly into her back, and that led her to think of the pain poor Nikolai must have been suffering in his injured side all the time he was talking to her in the carriage and in the sitting-room.

“I should have realised!" she thought. "I did at first, when he looked so white and tired, but then I forgot! I love him so much, but I just forgot that he must be in pain!”

It seemed such a terrible betrayal of all that she owed him and felt for him, that all her other problems, doubts and fears faded into nothing in comparison. She could only try to comfort herself with the thought that at least Pyotr had not forgotten, but had been at hand to help his master and take him safely home, where he could be properly cared for by people who knew what to do.

Natasha came before long to help her to change for dinner, and there were guests for the meal. After it, quite a number of callers dropped in on the way to somewhere else, or simply to stay for a while, all wishing to enquire if she was safe and unhurt, for the news of her mishap had travelled round the city and lost nothing in its journey.

Vladimir Karachev arrived a little before eight o'clock, coming straight from the dinner which had followed the military parade. "I've come to apologise," he said to Tanya.

“It wasn't your fault," she replied with a smile. "It was the feu de joie which startled the horses, and as you neither fired a musket nor gave the order, how can you be to blame?"

“Well, I have a vague feeling of responsibility about it," he said, sitting down beside her. "After all, I invited you to the parade. I gather that Nikolai stopped the horses. What did he do?”

Tanya told him, and his moustache twitched several times as she did so.

“Capital!" he said when she finished. "It must have been quite spectacular! The great idiot," he added reflectively, a broad grin making an unseemly appearance for a few seconds before he could reduce it to a gravity more suited to the occasion, "I expect he hurt himself, though."

“I'm afraid so," Tanya replied.

They were sitting in the salon, and a stir of interest among the other guests drew their attention to the doors, where Boris had just come in, looking unusually flushed and self-conscious and carrying an enormous, unwieldy bouquet of carnations and lilies.

“Good lord! The lad's taken leave of his senses!" Vladimir remarked as Boris advanced towards them, trying to see round the bouquet and avoid knocking it into anyone who might be in the way. He arrived in front of Tanya and stood there awkwardly, shifting the flowers from one arm to the other, and finally laying them at her feet.

“For you, Tanya Ivanovna," he said apologetically. "From the Emperor!”

A murmur of surprise and interest ran round the circle of faces turned towards Tanya.

“Oh!" she said, quite overcome. "Oh, dear!”

Boris rummaged among the blooms and ribbons and unearthed a note, which he handed to her. It said:

“I trust that you are safe and unharmed, and thank God that the mishap was no worse. My deepest apologies that my Army should have been the cause of such an unfortunate occurrence." It was signed "Alexander".

Tanya read it with a sensation of unreality and bewilderment, and looked helplessly at the mass of flowers at her feet, wondering what on earth to do with them. "How very kind," she said inadequately.

Nikita and a couple of footmen advanced on the bouquet and managed to whisk it away out of the room with remarkably little fuss, and distributed it among a couple of dozen vases in the dining-room, where it made quite an impressive display.

“He would send it," Boris said morosely, drawing up a chair and sitting down by Tanya. "He wanted Nikolai to bring it, but he didn't come to the Palace and his people sent a message that he was ill, so Alexander Pavlovich gave me the task. I've had an awful time with it — it wouldn't go in through the door of my carriage, so I had to have the hoods put down and carry it like that, and it kept getting snowed on. it's always the same with him — he gets an idea into his head, and somehow it all turns into a farce, or a disaster."

“Never mind," Tanya said soothingly, "it was a very kind thought."

“It's a good thing Nikolai's ill," Vladimir said astringently. "The gossips would have made a field-day of it if he'd turned up with half the Imperial hothouses. I owe you an apology." The last was to Boris.

“What for?" he enquired.

“Thought you'd brought them from yourself," Vladimir replied briefly. "Should have known you wouldn't be such an ass!" By which means he made his opinion of the Emperor's bouquet quite clear without actually expressing it.

*

Prince Nikolai's drug-induced sleep was heavy but unrefreshing, and he woke in the morning with the feeling of malaise and depression which he knew from experience were the after-effects of the laudanum. His side was still aching abominably, but in spite of it he had his carriage sent round after breakfast and went to call on his Aunt Elizaveta.

He found that redoubtable lady in morning dress and starched lace cap, writing a letter in her boudoir. She tilted her face to allow him to kiss her cheek, and said, "I was just writing a note to request you to call on me."

“For some particular reason?" he enquired, taking the chair she indicated.

“I understand that His Imperial Majesty sent for you last night, and that your steward replied that you were too ill to attend him."

“Yes. I jarred myself rather badly yesterday afternoon, and Pyotr gave me a sleeping-draught."

“Laudanum?"

“Yes.”

The Princess shook her head sadly. "I wish there was something less harmful that you could take, but I suppose it is the only effective palliative for the pain. I am sorry you were hurt, nephew. I understand that the dear girl was not harmed?”

Prince Nikolai noted the "dear girl" with a sudden lift of the spirits, and replied, "No, not at all, thank God! Frightened and shaken, of course, but she drank some tea and wept a little, and I think was then quite well."

“Good. What do you mean to do about her?”

Prince Nikolai studied the toe of one boot and replied, "I came here this morning to ask if you perhaps know of a pleasant lady who needs a companion.”

There was silence for a few moments, and then he went on, choosing his words carefully and deliberately, "I knew that she would have to leave Petersburg at the beginning of Lent, but I thought she would be going somewhere not too far away, where I might visit her. But I have discovered that in fact she is — was — going to Taganrog, and that I cannot allow."

“What business is it of yours?" the Princess asked bluntly.

“I intended to ask her to marry me after a suitable length of acquaintance," the Prince replied, looking her straight in the eye. "Seven weeks is hardly long enough time for a lady to decide if she wishes to marry a man or no . . ."

“But long enough for the man to decide?" the Princess cut in sharply. "She has no objections to the remarriage of widowed persons."

“How do you know that?" the Prince enquired. "I asked her. She likes children, too."

“Oh, good. One would hope for children, of course." Prince Nikolai's eyes returned to the toe of his boot. "Yes. To return to your earlier remark, I do know my own feelings. I'm not sure of hers, but I think I shall try my fortune, despite the brevity of our acquaintance. I should like to have an alternative to offer her in case she refuses me."

“In that case, I shall invite her to make her home with me," the Princess said decisively. "A very pleasant, sensible young lady. I wish you good fortune, nephew. I advise you that in general, an intimate relationship can only succeed if it is based on honesty from the outset.”

Prince Nikolai stared at her, a stricken expression in his blue eyes, and then said uncertainly, "Yes. Yes, of course. I'm sure you're tight."

“Now you had better go to the Palace and make your apologies to the Emperor. You should have gone there first, of course.”

Her nephew took leave of her and went to the Palace, where Alexander received him with great kindness, expressing relief to see him so quickly recovered, and Boris took the first opportunity to draw him aside and tell him about the bouquet. "It's a good thing you weren't well enough to take it," he finished.

“I suppose so," Prince Nikolai replied. "How was Tanya Ivanovna?"

“Oh, pretty well," Boris said vaguely. "Vladimir was there, and about half of Petersburg. I know you had to stop the damned horses bolting, but couldn't you have done it a bit more discreetly? It's gone the rounds of the gossips, and they've made it into something between Mazeppa's ride and St. George slaying the dragon!"

“I was a trifle carried away," Prince Nikolai replied meekly. "Over-excitement, no doubt.”

During the afternoon, he accompanied the Emperor on his daily visit to his mother, the Empress-Dowager Maria Fedorovna, who was in residence at the Yelagin Palace on one of the islands to the north of the city. Alexander liked to go without ceremony, in one of his small, light carriages, and Prince Nikolai was his only attendant, so he took the opportunity to ask the Emperor's permission to invite the Kirovs to the State ball planned for the following week.

“By all means," Alexander replied. "And does that include Countess Tanya Kirova?"

“I hope so," Prince Nikolai replied hesitantly. "I should like to present her to you, if I may."

“Ah!" said Alexander significantly. "I wondered if matters were moving in that direction!”

Prince Nikolai looked a little embarrassed and said, "Well, I'm not sure if she'll wish to come. I mean – I've no doubt she would very much wish to attend a State ball and be presented, but possibly not by me.”

Alexander nodded understandingly. "I pray for your good fortune and your happiness, then, Nikolai Ilyich. Ask her, and if she's willing then present her, and I shall rejoice with you," and he patted Prince Nikolai on the shoulder in the pleasant, benign manner which made him so much loved by even the most exasperated of his ministers and friends.

Later, Prince Nikolai had a word or two with the Court Chamberlain, and next morning he went to call at the Kirovs' house with a great deal of nervous apprehension.

Tanya and Countess Maria had been checking the household linen against the steward's books, and were still sitting in his office drinking tea and resting from their efforts when Prince Nikolai arrived and was shown in to them.

“Oh," said Countess Maria, conscious that she was wearing an old morning-dress and a cap that had seen better days. "How nice to see you, Nikolai! I thought you were gone to Czarskoe Selo."

“Not until tomorrow morning," Prince Nikolai replied, kissing her cheek. He turned to Tanya and looked at her searchingly. She coloured slightly and smiled in return, saying, "I hope you are recovered?"

“Yes, I thank you." He kissed her hand and then said rather abruptly, "I called to tell you that you'll be receiving cards for the State ball at the Palace next Tuesday. I hope you have no other engagement for that evening?"

“N-no – nothing that can't be altered," Countess Maria assured him. "How very kind of you, Nikolai! It will quite crown Tanya's visit, to attend a ball at the Palace."

“I mean to present her, if she will allow me to do so." The Prince looked at Tanya again.

“Present her!" Countess Maria exclaimed. "Oh, Nikolai! Is that wise? I mean . . . everyone will think . . ." She too looked at Tanya, and wrung her hands together in agitation. "There's already been a great deal of gossip, Nikolai!" Tanya looked puzzled.

Prince Nikolai gave a rueful smile. "Yes, I know, and I'm sorry for it, but I don't mean to let the fear of it rule my life. I've come this morning to explain the implications to Tanya, so do you think I might have a few minutes alone with her, Maria?”

Countess Maria brightened up considerably and said,

“Oh, yes, of course! I'll leave you together in here, for I suppose this will do as well as anywhere." And she whisked out of the door, closing it behind her.

Tanya was looking even more puzzled by now, and she turned her wide, beautiful eyes on the Prince in expectation of enlightenment.

“A gentleman-in-waiting to the Emperor occasionally finds himself in a predicament," the Prince began, fidgetting about with the small pile of books on the steward's desk. "At least, he does once in his life, usually. When he wishes to be married." He glanced obliquely at Tanya, who was still watching him, with a slight frown on her brow.

“He has to ask the Emperor's permission before he speaks to the lady concerned, you see, and the Emperor can't very well give permission unless he has met the lady, for, from the point of view of protocol, she doesn't exist, so to speak, until she's been presented." Another quick glance at Tanya showed that she now looked very uncertain, almost disbelieving. He made a sudden movement and knocked the steward's books off the table, picked them up and went on hurriedly and nervously, "So you see, if I present you, everyone will assume that I mean to ask you to marry me, but of course, you don't have to if you'd rather not.”

Tanya was silent, too overcome to speak.

“I mean," Prince Nikolai resumed, a note of desperation creeping into his voice, "you don't have to come to the ball if you'd rather not, or you can come but not be presented, if you'd prefer not to be, but if you come and are presented, then the gossip will practically deafen us, which no doubt will embarrass you fearfully, so I'll quite understand if you'd rather not . . . You'd be under no obligation to marry me, in any case. My aunt would like you to be her companion, so you can stay in Petersburg either way.”

He stopped and looked at her in his old, sombre manner, but with a painful expression of anxiety in his eyes in place of the former dead, hopeless look.

“W – what shall I have to do?" Tanya enquired, sounding much more calm than she felt.

“Oh, go about with her, write her letters, keep her company, I suppose. She's not nearly as fearsome as she appears, once you get to know her."

“I meant at the ball," Tanya said faintly.

Prince Nikolai, having by now convinced himself that there was no possible chance that she would wish to go anywhere near the ball, let alone be presented, looked quite as astonished as he felt.

“To be presented," Tanya added.

“Oh! Well – er . . ." The Prince floundered. "Well, you'd be told where to stand, about half-way down the room, usually, and when the Emperor comes in, he'll make a remark to whoever has asked to present someone, and he – I –will come over to you and offer you my arm, and take you to him. I tell him your name, and you give a very deep curtsey and stay in it until he says something to you – he might even give you his hand – and then you stand up, and – well, that's all, really."

“It doesn't sound very difficult," Tanya said earnestly. "As long as I don't fall over, or wobble."

“I'd steady you if I thought you seemed off-balance," Prince Nikolai assured her, equally earnestly. "Er – do you think you might come, then?"

“I should like to, very much," Tanya replied, and then added bravely, "You're not obliged to ask me to marry you, unless you want to."

“I do want to," he said quietly. "I can't think of anything I've wanted more in my whole life.”

Tanya's big hazel eyes filled with tears which hung on her lashes, not quite spilling over, and then the longcase clock in the corner of the shabby office chimed eleven, and the Prince exclaimed, "I'm sorry to be so abrupt, but I really must go! May I hope to see you on Tuesday, then?"

“Yes," Tanya whispered, "yes, I shall certainly be there.”

Prince Nikolai smiled and said briskly, "I'll be at Czarskoe Selo until the day of the ball, unfortunately. If – if by any chance you change your mind . . ." His smile vanished at the thought.

“I shan't," Tanya assured him, standing up and moving a little towards him. He put his hands on her shoulders and bent his head to kiss her lips, and then left her, over-tipping the footman who helped him put on his outdoor clothes so lavishly that the fellow's eyebrows nearly disappeared under his powdered wig. He later informed the servants' hall at large that Prince Nikolai was either insane or in love, to which Nikita replied repressively to the effect that a mere under-footman was too low a form of life to judge the sanity or otherwise of the Nobility.

Tanya stood staring at the door after Prince Nikolai had closed it behind him. She felt very peculiar, as if she was in a dream or a trance, partly aware of her surroundings, but really not fully connected with them in any way. The long-case clock was ticking very loudly, and the sound seemed to prevent her thinking properly, for it was like a voice inside her head saying "Tuesday, Tuesday, ,Tuesday ." It was even an effort to breathe.

The clock whirred and chimed the quarter-hour and she started, blinking and looking about her as if she had suddenly woken in a strange room, and then sat down rather abruptly in her chair as her knees gave way.

“I must have imagined it!" she thought. "Maria was here. We were taking tea." She looked round, and there was the tea-tray, with two cups and saucers. "Then he came in, and . . ." She looked round again, seeking some evidence of Prince Nikolai's having been in the room. The little pile of books on the desk was very higgledy-piggledy, and one still lay on the floor where the Prince had overlooked it. So he had been here.

“He said he would present me to the Emperor. He said he wanted to marry me!" she murmured aloud. "That there was nothing he wanted more in his whole life!”

It was such a very long time since she had learned to accept that nothing wonderful was ever likely to happen to her that even now she found it very difficult to believe that, by some miracle, Prince Nikolai could really care so much for her. How could it be possible that Tanya Ivanovna Kirova, a nobody from nowhere, with nothing, not even a pretence to beauty, could have penetrated that icy barrier of indifference and hopelessness and found a spark of life inside the Ice King after all?

“He didn't say that he loves me," she thought, finding at least one of the flies in the ointment. "But if he doesn't, why. . . ? He must be very lonely, I suppose, and we do have so many interests in common. To be married to him would be. . .”

She shook her head, for she could not think of an adjective sufficiently unique and unsullied by over-use and mundane associations. "I wouldn't mind his not loving me. It would be enough just to be with him . . . Only yesterday, I thought that in a few days I should have to go away and never see him again!”

She shed a few tears of sheer joy and then calmed herself, and went upstairs to the sitting-room, where Countess Maria looked up from her sewing, saw the light in Tanya's face, and regarded her with an odd mixture of doubt and pleasure.

“He didn't take very long," she remarked.

“He told me what presenting me implies," Tanya said. "And I told him I would go to the ball and be presented, and . . . Oh, Maria! I'm so happy! I can hardly believe it!”

Countess Maria kissed her and said, "And I'm happy for you! Dear, dear Tanya! He didn't tell you anything else, then?" with a return of her look of doubt.

“No," Tanya replied. "He can't really say any more until I've been presented, can he?”

Countess Maria hesitated for a moment, and then said slowly, "Tanya, I'm more pleased than I can tell you that Nikolai wishes to marry you, and I'm sure that if you accept him, he'll do everything he can to make you happy, for he's a very good, kind man, but – but he isn't perfect, dear! If you find there are some things about – about his past life which . . . well, which are unpleasant and distressing, do try to forgive him for them. There have been times when he was so unhappy and lonely that I don't know how he managed to live through them, and if you find that during those times he did some things that he's ashamed of . . ." She seemed uncertain how, or, indeed, if, to go on.

“I'll try to understand," Tanya replied. "I can't imagine him doing anything really dreadful, but if there were some bad things, and he chooses to tell me about them, I'll remember what you've said.”

Countess Maria nodded, and decided to leave it at that.

CHAPTER

NINE

PRINCE NIKOLAI'S conscience began to trouble him from the moment he left Tanya, but he tried at first to ignore its demands. When he reached home, he went to his room, summoned Pyotr, and told him what he would require the servant to pack for the weekend at Czarskoe Selo. Pyotr noted down the list and added a number of things which his master had forgotten to mention, and then waited for the Prince to come out of the reverie into which he had fallen.

At length the Prince said hesitantly, "Countess Tanya has agreed to allow me to present her to the Emperor at the ball on Tuesday.”

Pyotr crossed himself and murmured a brief prayer of thanks, and then asked, "What about the boy?”

Prince Nikolai made no reply, but gave him a doubtful, sidelong look, at which Pyotr said bluntly, "Yes, Nikolai Ilyich, it's not my business, or my place, but you'll have to tell her."

“How?" Prince Nikolai asked in a despairing tone. "I shan't see her again until the ball, and in any case, I don't think I have the courage." His imagination conjured up a picture of Tanya regarding him with contempt and disgust.

“Write it, then," Pyotr said. "Just write it down as it happened. She'll have to know sooner or later — better now than afterwards.”

Prince Nikolai sighed. "Yes, you're right. After luncheon I'll . . ."

“Now," said Pyotr inflexibly.

The Prince sighed again and went on leaden feet to his study, sat down at his desk and set out a few sheets of paper and a fresh pen, then said a silent desperate prayer for help, picked up his pen and began to write.

“My dearest Tanya,

“I have to write to you because I lack the courage to tell you to your face, precisely why I am not the good, considerate, kind man you seem to think me. I am more sorry than I can express that I have to hurt you in this way, but you must know the truth.

“You know already something of my upbringing, so it will not surprise you that my father chose my wife for me, and I accepted his choice without question. Anna was very beautiful and I thought myself to be in love with her – I know better now what love really is. She had a great attraction for men and I was as ensnared as any, even when I discovered her real nature. I was too weak to break away, and I cannot tell you the depths to which I sank in my efforts to retain her interest, or the humiliations she forced on me before she would grant me even a share of her favours.

“Eventually my feeling for her turned to hatred, and I grew so revolted by my enslavement that I left her. I was wretched and lonely, so hurt that I became numbed to any kind of feeling or emotion, and this condition seemed to worsen as time passed. I travelled a great deal, and then went into the Army on the Emperor's advice. He has always been extremely kind to me, and I think he saved my reason by giving me the occupation of a regiment to command. Meanwhile Anna continued her vicious career, as if her appetite increased with feeding.

“As you know, I was wounded at Borodino, and lay on the brink of death for some time, too sunk in apathy even to pray for the ultimate release. Thanks to Maria (although I felt no gratitude then, or for long after), I survived, recovered, and went to White Gates for the long, slow period of recuperation.

“One day, in the March of 1813, Anna arrived there without warning, and told me that she was with child by one of her lovers. She demanded that I return to Petersburg and recognise the child as mine. When I refused there was an indescribable scene, and eventually she stormed away in a fury.

“When she had gone I wandered out of the house in a trance-like state, due, I believe, partly to the shock of Anna's rage, but even more, I later realised, to the effects of the laudanum which I was then taking far too frequently for the pain of my wound. My recollection of what followed is far from clear, and has become more like the clouded memory of a dream than of a real happening.

“As I wandered down towards the lake, I met a peasant girl, one of my own serfs. She had a shawl over her head and carried a basket, but I cannot recall her face, to my shame. She stopped me and said something – I cannot remember what – but her voice was gentle and kind, and I went with her into a nearby barn, where she soothed and comforted me like a child as we lay together in the hay, and eventually I took possession of her.

“It meant nothing to me emotionally – I might as well have been dead for all that I could feel at that time – but it gave me a vague feeling of physical relief and comfort. During the next few weeks, I encountered her again, perhaps half-a-dozen times, and much the same thing happened. I have tried since to find out about her, but I do not even know her name. My steward has told me that she was a virgin and clean, but he will add nothing more than that, save something to the effect that it was 'meant', which he cannot or will not explain.

“In May, the Emperor summoned me to join him with the Army in Germany. He had heard of Anna's pregnancy, and wished to be sure that I would not give recognition to her child. I stayed with him until December, when I heard that Anna had fallen on the staircase at the Ruschev Palace. She had lost the child and was paralysed. I returned to Petersburg and did what I could for her, for she was still my wife and my responsibility, but there was little anyone could do for the poor soul, and as you probably know, she took her own life a year later.

“At the end of January, 1814, my steward at White Gates sent urgently to ask me to go there. When I arrived he brought me a baby, the girl's child, my son, and told me that she had died in giving birth to him. He is six years old now. My recent 'business' in Novgorod was to visit him for his birthday. He lives in that city with his tutor's family in the winter, when I am away from White Gates. I freed my serfs because of him, not out of philanthropy, as you may have thought. It was the only way I could show my gratitude to his mother's family, whoever they are.

“He is named Ilya, after my father, and he is a fine, bright boy, much like me in looks, and a child any man could be proud to own his son. It is the circumstances of his begetting which fill me with shame beyond telling, not Ilya himself. A few of my closest friends have seen him, and must know he is mine, but only Vladimir Sergeivich has ever asked about him, for you will know Vladimir well enough by now to realise that he likes everything to be clear and orderly.

“I have to tell you that, much as I love you, even for your sake I cannot abandon my son. I love him. I owe a debt to his mother that I can never repay as it is, and I cannot add to it and to my burden of guilt by giving him up, even if it costs me the chance of a happiness beyond anything I ever dreamed might be possible for me.

“If you now feel that you do not wish me to present you to the Emperor, I will understand and not blame you, for you will now know that I am riot the man you thought me to be. Do not put yourself to the trouble and distress of seeing me, or of trying to write to me, but simply do not come to the Palace on Tuesday night. A note to the Court Chamberlain saying that you are indisposed will be sufficient for courtesy. There will still be the possibility for you to stay in Petersburg by becoming my aunt's companion. She is a very kind woman, despite her formidable manner, and she has a great liking for you. You need not fear any embarrassment from encountering me, for I shall go abroad.

“If however, you would like to attend the ball but not be presented, pray do so. I shall not come near you, unless I see that you are wearing the ornament which I shall send you with this letter. If you can forgive me and accept me as I am, with all my faults and shameful history, then wear it, and I shall present you and dare to go ahead with my plans, thanking God for your kindness. Whatever you decide I will accept, for you must believe that with all my heart I am

"your

“Nikolai."

He read through what he had written. It seemed extremely stilted and lacking in conviction, but he could see no way of improving it, for his self-control was near to snapping and it would do no good to give way and scrawl incoherent and tear-stained pleadings. Better to leave it at this restrained, rather cold account, giving Tanya the facts and leaving her to judge him without appealing to her emotions.

One drawer of his desk was kept locked, and he now took the key from his waistcoat pocket and opened it, removed a small case bearing the name of the Imperial jeweller, and relocked the drawer. Then he opened the case. It contained a brooch in the form of a rose, complete with stem and leaves. The petals of the flower were set with pave rubies and it was mounted en tremblant, so that the slightest movement made the stones flash and sparkle as the light caught them. The leaves and stem were of green-enamelled gold, with ruby thorns and gold veins, and a diamond dew-drop sparkled on one leaf. He had intended it as a betrothal-gift for Tanya. There was a small card in the case, and he wrote on it, "If you do not wish to wear this, or even keep it, then sell it or give it away, but I beg you will not return it to me.”

He folded his letter round the case, enclosed the whole package in an outer wrapping, sealed and addressed it, and then rang the bell on his desk. Pyotr at once entered the room instead of the servant whose duty it was to answer the door. He gave him the packet without a word, and Pyotr took it, nodded approvingly, and made the sign of the Cross over his master.

“You'd better eat some luncheon now," he said. "I'm not hungry."

“No doubt, Nikolai Ilyich, but the Emperor is dining late tonight, and it won't do for you to faint in his presence!”

Prince Nikolai managed a faint, wry smile, and murmured "Tyrant!" but he went obediently to the dining-room and managed to choke down a little of the excellent meal served to him there, while Pyotr went to the Kirovs' house to deliver the package. He had not returned when Prince Nikolai left to go to the Palace, where he found that the Emperor had not yet come back from escorting his mother from the Yelagin Palace to Pavlovsk, her favourite home. The Empress Catherine had employed the Scottish architect Cameron to build a palace for Marie Fedorovna and the Grand Duke Paul soon after the birth of the present Emperor. It was only two or three hours' drive from Petersburg, and not far from Czarskoe Selo.

Prince Nikolai passed the time in earnest discussion of the news from abroad with one of his friends from the Foreign Ministry, trying to prevent himself from imagining Tanya reading his letter. The news did little to improve his feeling of depression; rumours had arrived of a revolt in Spain against the Bourbon monarchy, the old, mad king of England was said to be dying and his son, the Regent, talking wildly of divorcing his wife as soon as he succeeded to the throne. That might well cause a revolution in that strange, foggy country.

Boris arrived during the last part of this conversation and overheard the end of it. He waited until the Foreign Ministry official had gone to talk to the Hanoverian Ambassador, and then said to Prince Nikolai, "Was that the fat prince we were presented to in London when we went with the Emperor in '14? The one everybody booed and threw things at whenever he went out?"

“Yes, the very same," the Prince replied.

Boris glanced round to see if anyone was near enough to overhear, and then sank his voice to a confidential level and said, "I meant to tell you yesterday, but there wasn't time. Sergei Dmitriev turned up at the Kirovs' on Tuesday night, not long after I got there with those damned flowers.”

Prince Nikolai stiffened and frowned. "What did he want?"

“Said he'd just arrived back from Moscow, and had called to apologise for his behaviour at his father's ball, and to see if Tanya was all right after the horses bolting – he'd just heard about it at his club. Vladimir and I didn't spot him when he first arrived, there was such a crush there. I happened to look round and there he was, holding on to Tanya's hand and simpering. I shot over there as fast as I could, and so did Vladimir, who spotted him at the same time, and we came up on either side of him like a pair of bully-boys – he looked quite frightened.

“I asked him what he wanted – quite quietly, of course, and he said to apologise and enquire, you know. He still had quite a bruise round his eye, by the way. Anyway, Vladimir said 'Say your piece and go, then,' and then I added `Quickly', and he said he'd finished what he had to say and was going anyway, but not for our bidding! Then the fellow had the impudence to call me a lapdog! Tanya Ivanovna passed it off as a joke when he'd gone, and said it was because of my spaniel eyes, but I could have uncorked his claret for him, I can tell you!"

“Better not," Prince Nikolai advised. "He's not worth the trouble."

“No," Boris said regretfully. "Fisticuffs isn't my line of country, anyway. Look out – here comes Alexander Pa^ylovich!”

The Emperor dined privately, with only fifty or so members of the Court, for the Empress was indisposed again and had already gone to Czarskoe Selo to rest. After dinner everyone sat about talking, playing cards and sipping innumerable glasses of the Emperor's favourite China tea, until Alexander retired at eleven, freeing them to go to bed or out into the town, as they preferred.

Prince Nikolai made his escape from a few friends who wished him to go with them to see the gypsy dancers at one of the restaurants in the town, and went to the pair of rooms allocated to him in the Palace, where he found Pyotr fast asleep by the stove in the outer room. The Prince didn't wake him, but sat down and tried to read a book until Pyotr woke of his own accord and stood up, annoyed and flustered.

“I'm sorry, Nikolai Ilyich," he said. "Have you been here long? You should have woken me."

“Sleep is too precious to disturb," the Prince replied. "Did you deliver the packet?”

Pyotr looked worried and put out. "I tried to," he said, "but when I got to Count Kirov's house I found the whole family, except the little girl, had driven out to Gatchina to dine and spend the night with some military connection of the Count's. They won't be back until tomorrow, and possibly not until Saturday if their host has managed to get tickets to show Countess Tanya the Emperor Paul's palace."

“She won't like it very much," Prince Nikolai said inconsequentially, with a betrayingly tender note in his voice. "It's a hideous place – exactly to Mad Paul's taste. What did you do with the packet, then?"

“I left it with their major-domo. He's a reliable sort of fellow, even if he does give himself airs. He'll give it to her as soon as she returns. I hope that was right?"

“Yes," Prince Nikolai said despondently, "as long as it reaches her before Tuesday." And he sighed. Pyotr stood and stared at him, his lips moving silently, until suddenly the Prince looked up and saw him. "What are you doing?" he asked.

“Praying," Pyotr replied stolidly. "Shall you go to bed now?"

“I might as well," Prince Nikolai replied.

The bed provided for him was narrow, hard and uncomfortable, as, notoriously, were all the beds in the Palace, including the Emperor's, which was a simple folding canvas contraption of the type issued to the Army. Prince Nikolai always had difficulty sleeping in his, for his side ached at the slightest provocation, and really required an easier surface. He tossed about restlessly for an hour or two, and then Pyotr came in with a candle and a glass of warm milk, and stood over him while he drank it. The dregs tasted bitter, and he guessed that Pyotr had put a few drops of laudanum in it. After that he slept for a few hours.

The Emperor set out for Czarskoe Selo early the next morning and took only a hundred or so guests, as this was to be a quiet and restful weekend. Each guest required at least one servant, of course, and the Emperor's cooks and guard always accompanied him, so a procession of about fifty carriages and a detachment of the Life Guard Hussars set out from the Palace, swung across Admiralty Square and turned down the Gorokhovaya, heading south for the fifteen mile drive, which took about two hours.

There were two palaces at Czarskoe Selo. The smaller had been given to Alexander when he was Grand Duke by his grandmother, and was called the Alexandrovsky. It stood in the gardens of the larger palace, the Ekaterininsky, and it was to the latter that the Emperor went on this occasion. It was a huge building, a thousand yards long but only one or two rooms deep, with a narrow wing at each end. It rose three storeys high and was painted a rich bright blue, with plaster decorations of acanthus leaves, masks, heads, and massive caryatids all coloured bronze, and five golden onion-shaped domes projected above the roof-line at the left-hand extremity of the frontage, over the chapel. The Palace was an extremely impressive sight, springing suddenly upon the visitor who came down the road from St. Petersburg and approached it from the side, entering the vast courtyard in front between the Palace and the semi-circle of single-storey apartments for the Court officials after driving half-way along the front to the great gilded gateway opposite the imposing entrance door.

In the afternoon, the Emperor drove to Pavlovsk to visit his mother, and the Empress decided to venture out with him. Prince Nikolai took the opportunity of a quiet afternoon to sit for a while in the Amber Room, which was quite literally panelled with carved amber between large mirrors. The amber, a gift from the King of Prussia to Peter the Great, was a deep honey colour and the very air in the room seemed to be turned to gold by the light reflected from it. Prince Nikolai had first seen it as a child, and had been fascinated by it ever since.

This time, however, he failed to find any peace of mind even here, and after an hour or so he wandered into the neighbouring Picture Gallery and studied a dozen of the more interesting paintings which covered the walls. From there he went past the Empress's suite to the chapel and tried to pray. A strong sense of guilt and shame prevented him from asking anything for himself, but he felt a deep need to pray for Tanya's happiness, and that at least gave him some comfort.

The afternoon ended eventually, and so did the equally long and dragging evening, spent playing chess with the Emperor until Alexander rang for tea at nine o'clock and then went to work on his papers in his study. Prince Nikolai put on his outdoor clothes and took a brisk walk in the dark, snow-covered grounds, down to the frozen lake and back, and then went to bed.

The next day was just as tedious. The Emperor rose at six, and Prince Nikolai had to be ready with two or three others as soon as it was light enough to accompany him for his morning walk, down to the lake again to feed the ducks and geese, which came to Alexander's whistle to receive bread from the Imperial hands, and then on along the lake shore, over the neat Palladian bridge, and back along the far side of the lake, walking all the way on a path swept clear of the overnight snowfall by the army of gardeners who worked there.

It was a clear, dry morning, and the sun shining on the crisp snow gave a slight lift to the Prince's weary spirits and stirred Alexander's appetite, so that he called for hothouse fruits to be served with the inevitable China tea when they returned to the Palace.

Various callers had arrived, and several officials from St. Petersburg, and Prince Nikolai remained in attendance while the Emperor talked to them, and after luncheon, drove out with him to Pavlovsk. The War Minister accompanied Alexander and the Prince in the carriage, and talked business with the Emperor all the way there and back, leaving Prince Nikolai free to stare unseeingly out of the window, trying not to think about the future.

Had Tanya read his letter yet? How had she reacted? What if, by some mischance, it failed to reach her? The sun shining on the snow gave him a headache, and his restless, half-drugged sleep during the past few nights had left him with a general feeling of malaise and depression. He began to long for Tuesday night to come quickly, so that this dreadful uncertainty would be ended, one way or the other.

The evening passed even more slowly than the previous one, and so did the next day. It was Sunday, so everyone attended service in the Palace chapel during the morning. Prince Nikolai sought out the icon of his patron saint amid the gilded sunbursts, winged cherubs and flying angels on the great blue and gold Baroque iconostasis, and tried to pray for courage, but St. Nikolai's dark, brooding eyes seemed to look accusingly and coldly at him, and he gained no peace or comfort from his prayers. There had been no time for him to go to confession, so he did not take the Holy Bread, but, with everyone else present, he received the Antidoron at the end of the service. Usually he gained some spiritual comfort from this, but today it stuck in his throat like sawdust and left him feeling sick and uncomforted.

That night, his head was aching so much and his wits seemed so befuddled that he refused the drugged milk which Pyotr brought him, and said irritably, "I thought we'd agreed that you are only to give me laudanum when the pain is too much to bear."

“I don't like to see you suffer in body or mind," Pyotr replied stolidly. "No doubt you're right, though. The stuff is bad for you. I won't bring you any more until you ask me for it.”

He took the milk away, and Prince Nikolai spent the long night staring into the darkness, which was no blacker than his depression, until he fell asleep for an hour or two from sheer exhaustion.

On Monday Boris, who had watched his friend's increasing gloom with puzzled alarm, suggested that they might ride out together during the afternoon. Prince Nikolai agreed without much interest or enthusiasm, thinking that it would pass the time, and they dressed in fur-lined Tartar coats and caps with ear-flaps, and set out on horses borrowed from the Emperor's stables, across the park and into the country.

Prince Nikolai hardly spoke, and after some time Boris stopped talking about the Emperor's lame leg, which seemed better, and the latest scandal about the Grand Duke Constantin, who was now Viceroy of Poland and causing a great deal of trouble in Warsaw, and whatever else entered his head, and said tentatively, "What's wrong, Nikolai? You seem very down in the mouth.”

The Prince replied reluctantly, "I'm awaiting execution, in a manner of speaking. I'm afraid it makes me poor company. My apologies."

“That's all right," Boris replied. "What execution?" "I've invited Tanya Ivanovna to the State ball tomorrow night, and asked her to allow me to present her."

“Oh. Er — what did she say?" Boris asked uncertainly. "She agreed."

“Why, that's capital!" Boris beamed with delight. "I couldn't be more pleased!" He suddenly realised that this did not account for his friend's air of depression — quite the contrary, in fact. "What's wrong, then?"

“I had to write her a letter when I returned home, to tell her about my son. I don't know how she reacted." Prince Nikolai replied bluntly.

Boris digested this. "Oh, Ilya is yours, then. I thought he must be — he has your eyes. He's not — I mean, Anna Mikhailovna wasn't . . .?"

“His mother? No." Prince Nikolai cut short Boris's floundering, but without being very informative.

“Oh. Well, no, of course. You surely don't think Tanya Ivanovna will mind, though? I mean — it was long before you met her, and she's not a silly girl full of dreams and ideals, but a very sensible, kind sort of woman. I'm sure she'd understand and accept that — well — that these things happen."

“That's not the whole of it," Prince Nikolai said. "I'm sorry, Boris, but I can't talk about it. It all happened when I was in a very bad way, and I'd give anything to be able to go back and undo it all, but I can't, and I'm very much afraid that Tanya will be lost to me because of it."

“She's very kind, though," Boris persisted. "I'm sure she'd not wish to make you wretched . . ."

“Would you like to think that Marisha would only marry you out of pity?" Prince Nikolai asked in a curt, anguished tone, and Boris fell silent.

They rode on without talking for some time, and then Prince Nikolai said, "I'm sorry, Boris. I've no reason to bite your head off. I know you would like to offer me some crumb of comfort, but I'm afraid there isn't any. My prospects are as bleak as the landscape before us." Boris looked at the stark black tree-trunks against the white snow, and shivered.

They returned to the Ekaterininsky in good time for dinner, and during the meal Prince Nikolai hardly ate anything, although he made some effort to take part in the conversation. The Emperor gave him one or two curious glances. After dinner there was a concert in the Picture Gallery, and while the small orchestra pursued the intricacies of Haydn and Mozart, Prince Nikolai's eyes followed the curves and interlaces of the pattern in the inlaid wooden floor round and round, in and out, his mind revolving in much the same inconclusive way as he tried to plan some sort of occupation to keep him busy for the next few years, but always coming back to the fast-dying hope that it might not be necessary after all, that by some miracle Tanya might be as loving, forgiving and understanding as his ideal picture of her.

Alexander called for an interval at nine o'clock so that the usual glasses of tea might be served, and then rose to his feet and bade the company continue to enjoy the music while he retired to his study for his usual session with his papers. As he passed through the standing, bowing company, he beckoned to Prince Nikolai to accompany him.

The Emperor's study was a comparatively small room on the garden side of the Palace, next door to the Picture Gallery, so that the music of the resumed concert penetrated in a pleasant, muted fashion. It was furnished in the curious pale, mottled wood of Karelian birch-trees, which grow thick, stunted and tortuously twisted by the permanent ice close below their roots, and which can be cut and polished to a beautiful satin surface. The Emperor sat down in one of the chairs and invited Prince Nikolai to another with a graceful gesture of one white-gloved hand. "Would you care to tell me what it is that troubles you so deeply?" he asked.

“I asked Countess Tanya Kirova to come to the ball tomorrow," Prince Nikolai began reluctantly. He would far rather keep his troubles to himself, but the Emperor's invitation was tantamount to a command. "I also asked her to allow me to present her, and explained the implications. She agreed . . ." He hesitated.

“Then why are you so unhappy?" Alexander asked gently.

“Because I was foolish enough to think that I could go even as far as that without telling her about my son. I realised as soon as I left her that it wouldn't serve, and I wrote her a letter, but now I don't know if she will come or not."

“And in this letter did you tell her the whole story?" Alexander alone, of all the Prince's friends, knew the whole of it.

Prince Nikolai nodded, looking thoroughly wretched.

The Emperor, who had suffered a great many guilt-ridden, sleepless nights over his own relationship with Marie Narishkin and the effect of that relationship on his wife, had some understanding of the Prince's feelings and doubts. "What will you do if she doesn't come?" he asked.

Prince Nikolai shrugged. "Nothing. I said in my letter that I would take that as my congé. I've no wish to distress her by persisting in an unwelcome suit."

“Even the best of women find some things too hard to forgive," Alexander murmured, thinking of his Empress. "Would it help at all if I talked to her, explained the circumstances, perhaps?”

Prince Nikolai sighed. "You are very kind, Sire, but if she won't take me on my own merits, such as they are, I fear that even an Imperial recommendation would hardly serve. I – I wouldn't wish it to appear that I was exerting any influence, or pressure.”

Alexander took the point, knowing that most people took his wishes as orders. "Then there is nothing I can do, except pray for you? I'll do that, with all my heart."

“Thank you, Sire.”

The Emperor nodded kindly. "Try to sleep tonight, my friend," he said, "and leave it to me to pray for a happy ending to your doubts.”

Prince Nikolai bowed himself out with some relief. Grateful as he was for the Emperor's kindness, even the gentlest probing into the soreness of his doubts and fears was painful. He avoided the Picture Gallery by a long detour through the service and drawing-rooms of the Empress's suite, the gallery of the chapel, and thence back along the ground floor of the Palace to the main staircase, then up to his own room, where he read for an hour and then went to bed.

Tuesday arrived at last, and during the afternoon the Emperor and his entourage returned to St. Petersburg. There had been a heavy fall of snow during the morning, and although the sky cleared before they set out, progress was slow through the soft drifts, and when they arrived at the Winter Palace there was barely time to change before dinner.

Pyotr had come back during the morning and had Prince Nikolai's clothes laid out ready for him, but the Prince looked at them in surprise and said, "I'm positive I told you a blue coat, but you've brought green."

“I thought green, Nikolai Ilyich," Pyotr replied with a marked lack of expression. "Shall I go home and get another?"

“There isn't time," the Prince replied. "I suppose it will do. It clashes with my St. Andrei, but it doesn't really matter." His lack-lustre tone made him sound as if nothing mattered any more, and indeed he was now so certain that Tanya would not come that he was almost resigned to it, and the long, empty years ahead of him.

Pyotr shook his head and scowled behind his master's back while he helped him to change his clothes, handing him the garments one by one, easing him into the close-fitting green coat, vigorously brushing away a few imaginary specks of dust, then standing back to run a critical eye over his appearance, and finally giving a little nod of approval before open‑ ing the door for him to go down to dinner. Prince Nikolai gave the valet his usual quiet word of thanks and Pyotr watched him go down the stairs, muttering a blessing and signing him with the Cross as he passed out of sight.

A number of guests had been invited for dinner, and they were collected together in a large gallery which looked out on the central courtyard of the Palace. Prince Nikolai acknowledged the greetings of several acquaintances, and was engaged in a one-sided conversation by Lord Cathcart, the British Ambassador, who had a lengthy complaint to unload into any willing ear about the length of time it took for letters to reach him from London, and the even greater length of time his replies took to travel the same journey in reverse. Both he and Prince Nikolai knew that the delay was not caused by bad roads, but by the number of employees of various ministries and influential individuals who opened and read the letters in transit, but it would hardly have been diplomatic to say so. Cathcart knew that his complaint would reach the Emperor, who would see that things improved for a time at least.

The conversation ceased in mid-flow when two of the Emperor's giant Mameluke servants flung open the doors of the gallery and the Emperor came in, wearing tonight the dress uniform of his favourite Semenovsky Regiment of Foot Guards. He passed through the bowing and curtseying guests, who fell in behind him and followed to the State Dining-room, where dinner was served at a number of round tables, each of which had a real orange-tree growing from its centre.

Prince Nikolai forced down a mouthful or so of each dish set before him without tasting anything. He answered the remarks of his neighbours with quiet courtesy, but could not have told afterwards what they had said. He drank a glass or two of wine, and wished he had not, for it gave him a curious feeling of detachment, as if some wretched stranger were occupying his body and he was outside somewhere, watching the poor fellow moving towards his doom.

Everything seemed to move with an agonising slowness. Even the wine took an appreciable length of time to drop from bottle to glass, and every gesture of the people around him seemed to be made in slow motion. When eventually the Emperor's chair was drawn back and he stood up and began to walk towards the door, he did so at far less than his usual brisk pace.

The majority of the guests passed on ahead to join those who were already in the ballroom, and the Emperor stood talking to a group of his attendants for the necessary few minutes, then looked about him and said loudly, "Are we ready, then, gentlemen?" The gentlemen-in-waiting in attendance, including Prince Nikolai and Boris, drew together behind him and went with him along the gallery, through an anteroom to the head of the Jordan staircase, and then into another, larger anteroom, where Alexander paused to make sure that all was in order.

Two Mamelukes stood beside the doors into the ballroom, which were also guarded by two troopers of the Chevalier Guard with drawn sabres. One of the Mamelukes gave an agreed signal by tapping lightly on the panel of one door. The sound of voices and music in the ballroom suddenly ceased. A fanfare of trumpets rang out, and the Mamelukes flung open the doors.

The ballroom was brilliantly lit by more than a thousand candles in the crystal chandeliers, reflecting dazzlingly from the plain white of the walls and ceiling, which were unbroken by even a line of gold. A great throng of brilliantly-dressed people waited in a thick band round the edge of the floor, the central area of which was empty, all their faces turned towards the doors. A herald called out the titles of the Emperor in a powerful voice, and another fanfare sounded as all the company bowed or curtseyed in a susurration of silk dresses, and Alexander advanced into the room.

Prince Nikolai followed with the other attendants, walking a little behind and to the right of the Emperor. He wished desperately that he had not taken wine with his dinner, for it tasted acid in his mouth and he feared he might be sick. He half-closed his eyes against the brightness of the light and looked hopelessly along the rows of faces before him, some smiling, some curious, some bored .. .

Halfway along the room his glance came to rest on a familiar face, and he stared for a second or two, quite unable to believe that he was not imagining it, but there was no doubt. It was quite certainly Tanya, her eyes enormous and shining, her lips parted on the verge of a smile. She appeared to tremble slightly, and the movement made something flash red and green fire on the bodice of her green sarcenet gown. It was the brooch.

CHAPTER

TEN

“NIKOLAI ?" the Emperor murmured urgently, just loud enough to catch his attention. Prince Nikolai jerked his eyes away from Tanya and replied, "Yes, she's here!"

“Bring her, then!" Alexander's lips hardly seemed to move.

Still in a dreamlike state of incredulity, Prince Nikolai moved across to Tanya, held out his hand, and realised that the hand which clasped it was not only real but shaking slightly, and that Tanya was very nervous. He gave her a reassuring smile, and led her forward to the Emperor, barely conscious of the murmur of interest which ran round the room as he said in a clear, calm voice, "Sire, may I present Countess Tanya Ivanovna Kirova?”

Tanya sank into a deep curtsey, and Alexander gave Prince Nikolai a smiling look of approval, or congratulation, or perhaps simply of pleasure, and took Tanya's hand from him, raised her and said, "I am very happy to make your acquaintance, Countess. Will you honour me by opening the ball with me?”

Tanya looked horrified for a moment, but recovered quickly as the orchestra struck up a waltz and Alexander put his hand on her waist. They began to circle the floor, quite slowly and a fraction out of time with the music. Prince Nikolai stood watching, oblivious still of the interested glances directed at him and the whispering all round the room. The Emperor made a circuit of the floor with Tanya, and then brought her back to the Prince.

“Charming, my dear fellow!" he pronounced. "I shall hold the crown for you myself, if you will allow me." He slapped the Prince heartily on the shoulder, and then said quietly, "And now I must go and make my peace with the partner with whom I was meant to open the ball!" He gave them both his gentle, benevolent smile, and walked away.

Tanya looked up at Prince Nikolai, and said anxiously, "Are you not well? You looked dreadful when you came in. I thought you were going to faint."

“I'd almost given up hope of seeing you here," he admitted. "I've hardly slept or eaten since I last saw you."

“But I said I would come." She sounded puzzled.

Prince Nikolai was seized with a horrible doubt and glanced at the ruby and emerald brooch on her corsage. He said hesitantly, "But you ... you must have had my letter ..."

“Yes." She looked down at her hands and coloured slightly. "It was a wonderful letter!" Her voice was low and tremulous.

Prince Nikolai stared at her incredulously, wondering if he had lost his reason, or at least misheard her, for they seemed to be talking about two totally different letters. A dancing couple brushed past them, and he glanced round, suddenly conscious that they were standing amid a large number of people and were in fact in the way of the dancers.

“Would you care to see the new gallery?" he asked abruptly. "The 1812 one, which I mentioned to you when you were here before?"

“Yes, please!" she replied with a warm smile, taking his proffered arm. He took her back the way he had come with the Emperor. There was no one in the small anteroom beyond the Jordan staircase, so he stopped there and turned to face her.

“How could you call it 'wonderful'?" he demanded.

Tanya looked at his anxious face with a little puzzled frown. "Because you said . . . you said that you love me!" she explained breathlessly. "I didn't know before.”

Prince Nikolai ran an agitated hand over his hair. "But why the devil . . . why on earth did you think I wanted to marry you, then?”

Tanya gave a wry little smile. "Well, I realised a very long time ago that no man would ever want me for my beauty or my fortune, for I've neither, and you hadn't said anything about loving me before. So I thought perhaps it was because you were lonely, and we do seem to share a great many interests . . . and then you concerned about the grim prospects for my future . . ." She realised as she spoke that she had gone to somewhat perverse and ridiculous lengths in trying not to take too rosy a view of his feelings. "It all sounds quite silly now," she finished apologetically.

“I hadn't realised," he began. "I mean, it seemed to me that it was patently obvious to everyone, for the past month at least! I felt that it couldn't have been more apparent if I'd had it painted on the ice in scarlet letters six feet high, right down the middle of the Neva — Nikolai Ilyich loves Tanya Ivanovna!" He gave a rueful grin, and then sobered suddenly. "The rest of my letter wasn't wonderful, though! I was afraid you would not be able to forgive me . . ."

“Forgive you?" Tanya looked very seriously and searchingly into his face. "What was there to forgive? I was thankful that you had been able to tell me, for I guessed there was something tormenting you, but it doesn't require forgiveness, only a little understanding! In any case, I've heard of far worse than that! My Great-Uncle's neighbour always celebrates the fourteenth birthday of each of his female serfs by taking her to his bed for the night — he thinks it his right, and expects them to be grateful! Even my Great-Uncle offered some of his male guests a bed-warmer! What happened to you was far easier to understand and accept than that. In any case, your steward told you it was meant!”

Prince Nikolai was looking at her with such amazement and dawning relief that she realised that she had underestimated the depth of his feelings of guilt and shame. If only she could find the right words now, here was a heaven-sent chance to do something to help him lose some of his burden. She braced herself, took a deep, steadying breath, sent a mental "Please, St. Nikolai!" to his patron saint, and went on as steadily as she could.

“Your people wanted you to have a child — someone to love, someone to live for. They must have been afraid for you, because they know that a man who has no reason to live very easily dies. A child would be a responsibility which you couldn't leave to someone else — they knew that a man like you couldn't disregard it. You would have to take some interest in it, at least, and you might grow to love it — him. I dare say that if that particular girl hadn't succeeded, another would have tried. Your people must love you very much."

“I . . ." Prince Nikolai croaked, cleared his throat and tried again. "But I didn't feel anything for her."

“You couldn't feel anything then. She wanted to help you, and she did, by giving you a son to care for. What would have become of you without him? I'm sorry she died, but I expect she probably thought it worthwhile."

“How can you think that?" he asked, almost knowing the answer but not yet daring to believe it.

Tanya looked up at him, deliberately turning her face a little so that the full light of the chandelier above their heads fell across it, and tried to let all her defences fall and her love for him show in her eyes. "Because I would feel the same.”

He was silent for several seconds, staring at her, and she could see in his face that there was struggle going on inside him between his fears and doubts and his longing to accept what she said. She prayed for him wordlessly, harder than she had ever prayed for anything in all her life, and was at last rewarded by seeing his doubts give way to the beginnings of acceptance.

Some people entered the anteroom, chattering and laughing. Tanya turned away from them, feeling self-conscious and vulnerable. She had freely revealed her feelings to Nikolai, but shrank from the curious glances of these strangers. Prince Nikolai seemed to know, and perhaps felt the same, for he said rapidly and a trifle too loudly, "Mr. Dawes and his assistants have been working on the portraits for nearly a year now, but of course it will take a long time, for there are over three hundred to be done.”

As he drew her towards the door of the new gallery, Tanya managed to reply in a reasonably bright and interested voice, "And they will show all the Russian generals who commanded in 1812? How interesting.”

There was, in fact, little to see in the 1812 gallery, for it was hardly begun and was only lit by one wall-sconce, leaving most of it in semi-darkness. As it was not on the usual route from the Winter Palace to the Hermitage, and did not lead to any of the State Apartments, there were not even any guards stationed in it. Prince Nikolai drew Tanya into the darkest and most remote corner and said, "I'm only just beginning to realise what a treasure I've found! You've done more for my peace of mind in the last few minutes than I can ever tell you!”

Tanya, feeling a little dizzy and limp with relief, rested her head against his shoulder and slid her arms round his waist, remembering just in time not to press against his damaged ribs. Prince Nikolai held her and rested his cheek against her hair, receiving a painful jab from one of the barleycorns in her tiara, which he manfully ignored.

“You do realise that I have to see Ilya quite often?" he asked softly. "He — he counts on me, you see, and his tutor says he mopes a little if I let too much time pass between visits."

“Even a week seems a long time to a child," Tanya replied, not paying enough attention to the unspoken thoughts behind his words, for she had never before shared a peaceful, loving embrace like this, and was quite lost in the delight of it. Nikolai hesitated, decided that this was not the time to pursue the matter, and kissed her instead.

Eventually Tanya became hazily aware that they must have been here for quite a long time, and there was still an important matter to be mentioned.

“I haven't thanked you for the brooch," she said.

“Brooch?" Prince Nikolai murmured vaguely. "Oh, that brooch. I wonder if any man's future ever hung on the wearing of a brooch before. Do you like it?"

“It's the most beautiful thing I've ever had," Tanya assured him. "Because of what it means to both of us, and because it's your gift. It's beautiful in itself as well.”

He kissed her again, and Tanya, drowning most happily in the wonder and exultation of it all, broke surface long enough to utter a dazed, inconsequential, "No, I was wrong! It isn't the most beautiful . . . This is more beautiful than anything!”

Normally, Prince Nikolai was so used to the motionless figures of the guards stationed here and there about the Palace that he hardly noticed them, but they were relieved at intervals, and this entailed a certain amount of muted military activity in the way of marching feet and quiet commands. It was this which finally roused him to the fact that he and Tanya had been absent from the ballroom for a length of time totally beyond the bounds of propriety. He reluctantly took her back there and they danced a promenade together. Vladimir appeared beside them as the music ended and said, "You both look remarkably pleased with yourselves! Does that mean we can stop worrying now?”

Prince Nikolai looked at him severely and said, "Everything in the proper order, Colonel! I haven't spoken to Maria Nikolaevna yet, so continue to worry until sometime tomorrow, there's a good fellow!"

“Oh, very well," Vladimir replied obligingly. "In that case, I'll have a dance with Tanya Ivanovna myself." And with that, he whisked her off into a polonaise.

“I see that Olga Mikhailovna is here this evening," Tanya remarked.

“Er — yes," Vladimir replied. "Do you think — urn — would you say that I'm — er — too old for her?”

Tanya considered. "She's what? Nineteen? And you?" "Thirty-two."

“No, not at all! I hope you won't let that discourage you?"

“Well, I thought I might try my luck," Vladimir admitted sheepishly, and Tanya wished him every good fortune in the enterprise.

Olga was, of course, not short of partners, for hardly any young lady present could claim to be prettier, but presently Vladimir approached her and found two personable young men vying for the honour of dancing with her. She looked shyly from one to the other, and then said in her quiet, pleasant way, "Excuse me, gentlemen, but I'm already promised for this dance," and held out her hand to Vladimir, giving him one quick, appealing glance with her great dark eyes.

With admirable self-control Vladimir stopped his eyebrows in the middle of an upward jerk, went a trifle red in the face, and took her out on the floor for a mazurka, which she danced very well. At the end of it she ventured a slightly mischievous smile as she thanked him, and he summoned up his courage and engaged her for the supper dance, then pressed home the attack by asking for the next waltz as well, which was as much as propriety would allow.

During the course of the evening, Boris danced a polonaise with Marisha, and at the end of it he said, "Are you engaged for the next dance?" in rather too casual a manner.

“No," she replied, "I believe not."

“It's – er – hot in here," Boris remarked, looking vaguely up at the chandeliers. "Would you care to take a turn in the corridor?" He gestured towards the door in the side wall which led into a corridor between the ballroom and the central courtyard. "It's quite in order to do so," he added reassuringly.

Marisha was feeling a little too warm, so she took the arm Boris offered and accompanied him into the corridor, which was almost wide enough to be called a gallery. It was hung with pictures, and troopers of the Chevalier Guard stood at either end of it. In between, a dozen or so couples were strolling up and down, talking and cooling off.

Boris and Marisha moved slowly along in silence for a few moments, and then Boris said, "Do you remember how you used to write to me when I was in the Army?"

“Yes," replied Marisha. "Of course, I was only a child then."

“And now you're grown up," Boris said musingly. "I still have all your letters."

“Have you? I still have yours.”

They looked at one another consideringly, and then Marisha said a trifle breathlessly, "Perhaps we might read them all through again together some time – if you would like to, that is."

“I'd like to very much," Boris replied. "Vladimir's brother used to tease me about them, and pretend he thought they were love-letters. He was always a very far-sighted fellow.”

Marisha looked up at him questioningly.

“It was just as if he knew that I would end up by falling in love with you," he went on, watching her face. "As I did."

“D – did you?"

“I thought you probably knew by now."

“It's not very easy to be sure if one really knows a thing, or is being deluded by one's own hopes," she said softly.

“If I tell you my hopes, will you tell me yours, and then we can see if it's all delusion or truth?"

“Yes," she whispered.

“I hope that you love me as much as I love you, and as soon as you're seventeen, I hope you will give me leave to speak to your mother, and I hope she will then give me leave to speak to you."

“That is just exactly what I hope!" she said, smiling.

“Dear Boris! Vladimir's brother was quite right, of course!" "You knew as long ago as that?" he asked blankly., "Yes, but you didn't. But then, you had a great many other things to think about. There is one difficulty, though." "What is it?"

“You know Papa is not at all wealthy? My grandfather gambled, unfortunately, and there was not very much left when he died. I'm afraid I shall have a very small dowry.”

Boris put his free hand over hers as it lay on his other arm and gave it a squeeze. "That doesn't concern me," he said. "If I wanted a fat dowry I'd take a fat wife, like that spotty Kornilova creature – her father is offering a fortune to anyone who'll take her!"

“That is unkind!" Marisha said severely, and Boris apologised at once.

“There's something else I should apologise for," he added. "I didn't realise until a few days ago that you might have been a little upset by my bad habit. I'm trying to cure myself of it." "What habit?" Marisha asked.

“Flirting."

“Oh." Marisha looked a little self-conscious. "Well, yes, I was rather anxious. I didn't know if it meant anything to you, you see. I wasn't sure as I said just now, I hoped you might care for me, but I didn't know."

“And now?”

“Oh, now I know, and I don't mind if you flirt a little bit—not too much, though.”

By now they had walked to the end of the corridor and returned again to the door, and Boris took her back into the ballroom, smiling down at her and saying, "I'll try not to do it at all, but if I can't resist, I'll be sure to tell you that's all it is," as he reluctantly surrendered her to a new dancing partner.

Later Boris observed his sister going out to supper with Vladimir, and when he saw that gentleman, about half an hour after, standing alone by the edge of the floor, he went up behind him and said sharply, "May I ask your intentions, sir?”

Vladimir jumped and turned towards him, and replied quite seriously, "Well, I'll tell you if you like, but it's a bit early yet, isn't it? Shouldn't I see her mother about it?"

“Are you serious?" Boris asked, and when Vladimir replied "We've always been quite good friends. Would you mind a closer relationship?", he could not resist seizing the rare opportunity to score in a discussion with his former superior officer, and drawled, "Don't ask me, old fellow! I assume it ain't me you're thinking of marrying!”

Meanwhile, Prince Nikolai was behaving scandalously. Having danced with Tanya quite half a dozen times, and taken her out to supper as well, he found himself suddenly ravenously hungry and demolished two full plates of food. Tanya watched him, the gold flecks in her hazel eyes glowing with happiness as she recalled with amazement that this man had once seemed intimidating to her, with his cold, detached manner and his air of settled melancholy. Now he was smiling and laughing, his eyes sparkling and his voice animated, and he looked years younger.

“No one would take you for the Ice King now," she observed.

“The thaw set in early this year," he replied. "I think it began when we went mouse-hunting together. Tanya, may I call on Maria Nikolaevna tomorrow? I know you're of age, and she and Alexei are not your guardians, but I think I should speak to her first, as a courtesy. May I?”

“If – if you wish," Tanya murmured breathlessly, her colour rising.

“Only if you wish it."

“Oh – I do!" she assured him.

The ball ended at three in the morning. Prince Nikolai bade Tanya "Goodnight" at the door of the Kirovs' carriage and then went home, where he astonished the footman who opened, the door to him by perching his beaver hat at a rakish angle on the head of a bust of the Empress Catherine II and running upstairs whistling. When he reached his dressing-room, Pyotr looked at him with dour satisfaction and said, "The green coat was better, wasn't it?" and it was only then that the Prince realised that it had matched Tanya's dress.

Tanya showed no inclination to talk on the way home, and the Kirovs, apart from a few speculative glances among themselves, left her to enjoy her reverie, Prince Nikolai's obvious happiness having reassured them that all was well. She undressed, washed and said her prayers in a blissful haze, and was so tired that she had almost drifted into sleep before a sudden realisation struck her into wakefulness and she sat up in bed with a jerk.

“Oh, heavens!" she thought. "He was trying to ask me what I mean to do about his son! How stupid of me not to realise!”

She had not really had time to consider Ilya Nikolaevich as a factor in her own life, for she had not in the end received his father's letter until Monday afternoon, because Count Alexei's friend at Gatchina had not only obtained the tickets of admission to Paul's palace, but had also arranged a small concert for Saturday evening. It was not done to travel on a Sunday, so their return to Petersburg was delayed until Monday. In any case, there had been so much else to assimilate in the letter.

Tanya had never had any close association with a young child apart from Irina, and she found it difficult to make up her mind how best to approach the problem of Ilya. It did not enter her head that Prince Nikolai might really think that she would object to him seeing as much of his son as he wished, and she assumed, quite wrongly, that he had really been trying to find out if it would now be possible to bring the boy to Petersburg, to live as one of the family, or if she would prefer to continue the present arrangement whereby Ilya lived in Novgorod with his tutor, but visit him with Prince Nikolai and gradually get to know him.

It was natural that her warm heart should go out to the child and wish to give him the motherly affection he had never known, but it was clearly not going to be as simple as that. Prince Nikolai had kept the boy's existence a secret for six years, and might wish to continue doing so. However much a man might love his bastard, he was not necessarily going to wish to bring him up among his legitimate children, or even make his existence generally known, for even in the less civilised provincial areas, the possession of a bastard was not regarded as something to be flaunted in society! Besides, however willing she might be to accept Ilya, he was not necessarily going to accept her, for she had a vague idea that children sometimes proved difficult towards a stepmother.

Obviously the matter was going to require careful thought and discussion with Nikolai, and she would be very unwise to rush into any unconsidered decisions. Besides, she was so tired that it was becoming difficult to think coherently.

She snuggled down into the warm bed, and her last conscious thought was a faint memory of something she had once read about illegitimate children, which might prove well worth looking into .

*

The Kirovs slept late the next morning, and when they gathered in the dining-room for a combined breakfast and luncheon they found it full of flowers, which had overflowed on to the gallery and into the salon.

“What on earth?" demanded Count Alexei.

“Prince Volkhov sent them," Nikita explained, looking distinctly put out. "I've already used most of our vases for the Emperor's bouquet, and I'm afraid we've had to employ whatever came to hand for them.”

Tanya was too overwhelmed to do more than look at the flowers, but Irina, Marisha and Fedor spent some time giggling over the strange assortment of containers Nikita had pressed into service, including two or three old coffee-pots, some large bread-crocks, some mixing-bowls from the kitchen, and even a chamber-pot without a handle, which Fedor pushed behind a curtain before his mother could catch sight of it.

After luncheon, as it was snowing quite heavily, they all repaired to the salon, where Marisha practised her piece on the pianoforte while Count Alexei drowsed behind a newspaper, Fedor pored over a stud-book which someone had lent him, Irina played with her dolls, and Countess Maria and Tanya worked at their embroidery, but Tanya glanced frequently at the clock on the mantel, the hands of which appeared to be moving with inordinate slowness, and wondered when Nikolai would come.

At three o'clock, Nikita made a stately entry and informed Countess Maria that Prince Volkhov was below-stairs and requested a few minutes' private conversation with her. As Maria went out of the room she looked questioningly at Tanya, who coloured. Everyone else then looked at Tanya, who started to embroider a rose with bright blue silk, stitching away very quickly and unevenly.

Presently Countess Maria returned, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. She kissed Tanya and said, you go down, dear? He's in Alexei's study.”

Tanya dropped her embroidery and started up, her hands going to her hair for fear it might be untidy. A quick, half-frightened glance in a mirror showed her a very calm-looking young lady in a dark red woollen dress trimmed with black braid, with shining brown curls and rather pink cheeks.

At the top of the stairs, she suddenly stopped dead as she was struck by a practical consideration which had not occurred to her before. Surely it was customary for the bride's family to pay the expenses of the wedding and provide the trousseau? She sat down abruptly on the top step and contemplated the stark thought with numb horror. There was no means whatever by which she could solve that problem. Even if Count Alexei offered to pay, it would be completely out of the question for her to accept the offer.

For quite two or three very slow minutes, she stared at the opposite wall without any gleam of a solution entering her head, and then she remembered poor Nikolai waiting downstairs, perhaps wondering if she had changed her mind, or broken her neck on the way down. A little smile touched her mouth as she recalled how impassive she had once thought him – an Ice King sealed against the world behind an impenetrable barrier – and how vulnerable she had found him to be in reality! Dear Nikolai! He would know what to do! With that thought, she sprang to her feet and ran lightly down the stairs.

The entrance hall was empty, except for the square figure of Pyotr, who was standing stolidly midway between the foot of the stairs and the door of Alexei's study. He looked firmly at Tanya as she reached the bottom step, and said "Good afternoon, Tanya Ivanovna," in Russian.

“Good afternoon, Pyotr Efremovich," Tanya replied in the same language, noticing that he was already addressing her as if she were a member of the family which he served.

He took a couple of steps towards her and said very rapidly, in a low voice, "You ought to know that he was in a very bad state when it happened, sick in mind as well as body. He didn't know what he was doing most of the time, and we feared his reason would give way. She brought him to it – you wouldn't believe anyone could have treated him so badly! We – all the people on the estate, that is – we didn't know she was going to die so soon, we thought he'd be tied to her all his life, and she didn't want him, except to hurt. He had to have something, someone to love, so we thought a child – It did the trick, you see. Having the boy to look after made him pull himself together. He's a good child, clever and biddable.”

Tanya nodded, for he was confirming much of what she had already guessed. "And the mother?" she asked softly.

“She was glad to do it for him," Pyotr assured her. "She was very fond of him. It was a pity she died, but perhaps all for the best – she's happy where she is now." He gave a slight upward jerk of his head, signifying that he meant Heaven.

“He doesn't know who she was. He was too ill and confused to recognise her, and we didn't tell him. Better he doesn't know."

“Yes," Tanya agreed, "I wouldn't tell him.”

Pyotr looked her hard and straight in the eyes for a moment. His own eyes were a very clear grey, and looked remarkably shrewd and intelligent. "She was my sister," he whispered.

“Oh, Pyotr Efremovich!" Tanya exclaimed, her hand going out to him in a spontaneous gesture of sympathy and gratitude, her face a picture of concern. Pyotr took her hand and kissed it, and then kissed her shoulder in the traditional Russian gesture of respect from servant to master.

Nikita bustled into the hall from the back regions, clicked his tongue in a sharp "Tut!" of disapproval at the sight of Pyotr, and stared meaningly at the damp patches that the man's felt boots had made on the parquet floor.

As Tanya went on towards the study door, she heard Pyotr say in a slow, rather stupid voice, "I'll tell you what, Nikita Stepanovich, you ought to get our steward to give you his recipe for lavender polish. It brings up the wooden floors a fair treat, and really makes them shine. You must be using some very poor stuff on yours. Look at all these patches down here!”

As she reached the door of Alexei's study, Tanya stifled a giggle at the thought of Nikita's fury and then suddenly sobered, realising fully for the first time why she had come down here. The next few minutes were going to be so vitally important, not only for her own life, but for Prince Nikolai's as well.

She had no doubts about her feelings for him, but what if she failed him in some way? After the disaster of his first marriage, he must surely have some fears about the possibility of finding any real happiness, however much he loved her. There would be so many ways in which she might inadvertently hurt him, and she feared that it would not take many blunders on her part to drive him back into his frozen isolation.

She closed her eyes and prayed very hard for a few moments, and then, with a fatalistic acceptance that she could only do her best, but with God's_' help it would be enough, she blinked once or twice, took a deep breath, straightened her back and lifted her head, and then opened the door and went in.

The study was a warm, homely room, with a dull brown carpet, snuff-coloured curtains, and bookcases against the walls full of leather-bound volumes. A large, shabby desk stood in the middle of it, with a worn leather chair, and a cheerful fire crackled in the open hearth, behind a cut-steel fender from Tula. Nikolai was standing in the window, watching the snowflakes falling. He turned as Tanya entered and closed the door behind her, and stood looking at her.

“I didn't dream it, did I?" he asked. "You really did come to the Palace?"

“Yes," she replied, smiling. "And you really did present me to the Emperor.”

He advanced halfway across the room, then stopped and said "And you did say I might call today?”

She nodded. He skirted the desk and came close to her, taking her hands in his, and then, after a careful, searching look into her face, dropped on one knee. She tried to prevent him, but he persisted, and as she looked down at his bent head, seeing those grey threads amid his brown hair, he said in a raw, nervous voice, "Will you marry me, Tanya Ivanovna?”

Her hands trembled in his clasp and she said breathlessly, "Oh, I want_. to very much, Nikolai, but there's a dreadful problem, and I don't know what to do.”

He stiffened, and without looking up said quietly, "What is it?"

“I haven't any money," she replied. "Only eighty-six roubles in the whole world. I can't buy a trousseau, or pay for the wedding, and I can't possibly let Alexei Fedorovich pay for anything, because he's already spent more than he should on me. . .”

She broke off as a shudder seemed to pass through Prince Nikolai's body, and he said in a voice shaking with laughter, "Why, my dear little goose! I'm one of the richest men in Russia! I'll buy you a dozen trousseaux, and I expect I can scrape enough together to pay for the wedding!"

“Oh," said Tanya naively. "I hadn't realised that you were rich!”

Prince Nikolai controlled his laughter with an effort and said soberly, "Well, if that problem is removed, is there anything else?"

“N — no," Tanya said thoughtfully. "I don't believe there is."

“Then will you marry me?"

“Yes, please.”

Prince Nikolai stood up and looked down at her, shaking his head and smiling ruefully. "Oh, Tanya! That was monstrous! I really thought there was some dreadful obstacle . . ." and then he realised that her anxiety about her lack of money had been genuine. "My dearest girl! I'd marry you if you came to me in rags, without a possession in the world!"

“It's nearly as bad as that," she told him. "Most of my clothes are borrowed, and I've only my mother's little string of pearls."

“And eighty-six roubles," he reminded her. "Maria said you had a hundred. What have you done with the rest?"

“I spent three on the linen and silks for the embroidery I'm working for Maria, and five on . . ." she hesitated, not liking to say "silk stockings", "feminine fripperies, and fifty kopecks for a book for Irina, and the rest I put in the poor box at church — not all at once," she added hastily.

“I love you very much, Tanya," he said softly. "I'm not really marrying you for your money."

“That's just as well," she said cheerfully, "for I mean to spend all the rest of it on a ring for you!”

The Prince laughed, putting his hands on her shoulders and studying her face. Tanya looked up at him, her eyes reflecting her amusement, and then saw it gradually change to a serious expression of such deep affection that she felt that her heart was melting with a strange mixture of longing and happiness, spiced with a thrill of nervous excitement. Unconsciously she moved closer to him as his hands slid caressingly across her back and his arms tightened about her.

“Moya dushka!" he whispered. "My little soul!"

“Dear Nikolushka!" she replied, and raised her parted lips as he bent his head to kiss her.

Once more her whole body thrilled in response to him, and she embraced him, pressing more closely against him, but even now managing, in some little corner of her mind, to remember his damaged side and avoid hurting him. She was learning quickly how to receive and return his kisses, and when he paused from time to time to lift his head enough to look at her, she could see quite clearly how delighted he was, and a great tide of happiness bubbled up inside her.

After a time they became aware of a persistent tapping at the door, and Nikolai reluctantly released Tanya, with a last light kiss on the tip of her nose, and went to see who it was.

Marisha stood outside, looking decidedly apprehensive, her lower lip caught nervously between her teeth. "I'm sorry," she said, "but there is quite a number of visitors come, and Mamma says they won't go away until they know if . . . I mean, if . . ."

“If, indeed," Prince Nikolai said, "decidedly if. In fact, perfectly if. We haven't yet decided when, but I suppose that can wait a little longer.”

Marisha looked at him doubtfully, confused by his serious expression, and then craned her neck to see past him and caught sight of Tanya's radiant face. "Is it all right, then?" she asked.

Prince Nikolai relented. "Yes, my dear. Tanya will marry me, and, God willing, we'll all live happily ever after. Give me a kiss, and go tell your mother that we're coming.”

Marisha beamed with delight and kissed them both, then sped back up the stairs, schooling her features to a proper and non-committal gravity on the way, saying quietly to her mother, "They are just coming," when she arrived in the salon, and carefully not giving anything away to anyone.

Presently, Tanya and Prince Nikolai entered the salon and stood together just inside the door. Every one of the two dozen or more heads in the room turned towards them and there was a brief, questioning silence, then Prince Nikolai took Tanya's hand and said, "Countess Kirova has done me the honour to consent to become my wife.”

A babel of congratulations broke over them, and when it eventually subsided and most of the visitors had sped away to spread the news, leaving only the family, Vladimir, Boris and Olga, Prince Nikolai let out a long sigh and said, "That's the worst of it over, I think!”

Behind him, Nikita flung open the doors and announced, "Princess Dolgorova!”

Prince Nikolai's face was a study as he realised that he had spoken too soon, but he managed to turn towards his aunt with a welcoming smile as she sailed into the room, gave him one piercing look, and then went on to greet Countess Maria and the rest of the company, in exactly the correct order of precedence required by etiquette.

“Well, nephew?" she enquired briskly when she had leisure to turn to Prince Nikolai.

“Very well, I thank you," he replied.

“Don't be impertinent," she said mildly. "I take it you mean that Tanya has accepted you?"

“I am happy to say that she has.”

The Princess inclined her head graciously, turned to Tanya and held out her hands. "Come and kiss me, my dear!”

Tanya obeyed, and Princess Dolgorova looked at her with a suspicion of moisture in her eyes, and murmured, "I'm very glad for both of you!”

Nikita chose that moment to bring in tea, and by the time tables had been moved, the samovar set up, cups and dishes set out, lemon and cream and sugar arranged, little cakes handed, tea brewed and poured and delivered by the gentlemen to the ladies, and everyone was seated and served, the sentimental moment had passed.

Princess Dolgorova, bolt upright on a small gilt chair with cup and dish gracefully poised, enquired, "Have you yet set the date?"

“Not yet," Prince Nikolai replied. "It will have to be after Easter, of course, for Lent is almost upon us. A further complication arises in that Alex — the Emperor said he wished to attend.”

This caused quite a stir of excitement, and Prince Nikolai intercepted an anxious look between Countess Maria and her husband. "I shall bear the expense, of course," he said quickly.

“In fact the Emperor will pay," Boris announced a trifle smugly. "He asked me to tell you so this morning. He wants it to be in the Winter Palace.”

After a moment of reverent silence, Princess Dolgorova said briskly, "And I shall give Tanya her trousseau, as my wedding-gift."

“Thank you so much," Tanya said, going over to kiss her again. "Everyone is so kind!" and she had to search in her reticule for a handkerchief to dab at her eyes.

“I hope the Emperor isn't planning anything elaborate," Nikolai said thoughtfully. "However much I might wish it otherwise, the fact remains that it will be my second marriage, so we can't have the full service, I'm afraid."

“Alexander Pavlovich — er — the Emperor, I mean," Boris hastily amended with a sidelong glance at Princess Dolgorova, "says he means to do something about that as well." There was a distinct note of anxiety in his voice, and it found reflection in the expressions on several faces, for the fearful results of the Emperor's well-meaning meddling were only too well-known.

“Oh, dear!" said Prince Nikolai. "Perhaps we had better elope, Tanya!"

“You will do no such thing, nephew!" Princess Dolgorova said incisively. "The very idea! You will accept whatever His Imperial Majesty is pleased to do for you with suitable gratitude!"

“Yes, Aunt," the Prince replied meekly. "I was joking, of course.”

Princess Dolgorova inclined her head in acknowledgement of his implied apology, and added reflectively, "It may not be a total disaster, after all!" at which most of her audience looked quite startled.

“If you can't have a full service, will Tanya not be able to have any attendants?" Marisha asked wistfully.

Everyone looked at Princess Dolgorova, who was the most likely to know.

“I don't see why not," she said. "Three or four, perhaps, but not more. Had you considered the matter, Tanya?"

“I did think I would ask Marisha and Olga," Tanya replied, "if they would like, that is." It was quite obvious that they would like, very much, from the beaming smiles on their faces.

“Will you carry flowers, Tanya?" Fedor asked, trying to show a proper interest in the matter. "I read somewhere the other day that in some country or other — I forget where —they have a funny little custom — when the wedding is over, the bride throws her flowers to her attendants, and the one who catches them will be the next to be married.”

Olga and Marisha modestly lowered their eyes and blushed in unison. Boris ran a finger round his shirt-collar, as if it had suddenly become too tight, and looked across at the window to see if it was still snowing. Vladimir's left hand made a spasmodic clutch at the hilt of his sword, but failed to find it as he had, of course, left it downstairs in the hall, so he folded his arms across his chest and stared severely at Fedor's boots, which were not as clean as they might have been.

Tanya, Prince Nikolai, Maria, Alexei and Princess Dolgorova all exchanged amused and significant glances, and Fedor, quite oblivious of the effect of his anecdote, went on, "And somewhere else — Germany, I think — they invite a sweep to the wedding, for luck."

“A what?" asked his father.

“A chimney sweep."

“Oh," said Count Alexei. "What for?"

“Well, I don't know. Because they think it's lucky, I suppose." Fedor shrugged and subsided into silence.

“Just two attendants?" Countess Maria asked Tanya after a suitable pause.

“I — er— I wondered if perhaps Irina . . .?" Tanya said very quietly.

Everyone looked at Irina, who was changing the dress of one of her dolls over by the window, and apparently was too absorbed to hear anything of the conversation. She did up the last button, put the doll down, and said, "Yes, please, Cousin Tanya!”

Tanya looked at Countess Maria, who nodded and smiled, and Irina gave a little wriggle of pleasure and quietly moved nearer to the circle of adults around the fire, listening with great interest as Tanya went on, "I thought she might manage to carry my train, if I have one, that is."

“By herself?" Countess Maria asked doubtfully.

“No," replied Tanya, and then hesitated and looked at Prince Nikolai. She was extremely apprehensive that she might be about to do entirely the wrong thing, and her stomach gave a sickening lurch, remembering last night's wise decision that she should not act precipitately. Nikolai was watching and listening, and seemed to realise that her pause and look in his direction had some significance, for there was the beginning of a perplexed frown between his brows. She realised that, now he had lost his remote, melancholy expression, it was becoming possible for her to read his face to some extent. He had a very sensitive mouth. She proceeded cautiously, choosing her words with great care.

“I thought maybe a page-boy . . ." She paused again, prepared to go on, if necessary, to say that she did not know anyone of suitable age, but Nikolai's eyes suddenly opened wide, staring at her with a blaze of incredulity which turned to relief and pleasure before her pause became too obvious.

“Ilya?" he asked quietly, and she nodded, unable to speak for the great wave of relief that her impulse seemed to have been right. "I think he would like that very much!" Prince Nikolai said, a tender smile curving his lips.

The varying reactions of the other people in the room showed quite clearly who knew what they were talking about. Olga, Marisha and Fedor looked puzzled; Boris startled; Vladimir had no expression, but his moustache twitched quite hard; Maria and Alexei beamed and nodded approval. Princess Dolgorova closed her eyes momentarily, murmured "Blagodario Christos!" and crossed herself.

“Who is Ilya?" Irina's clear little voice enquired.

Everyone looked at her, some in consternation, but Tanya smiled at her quite naturally and calmly replied, "He is Cousin Nikolai's little boy."

“I didn't know Cousin Nikolai had a little boy!" Irina exclaimed. "Where is he? How old is he?"

“He lives with his tutor in Novgorod," Tanya replied, still sounding as if it was all perfectly simple and ordinary. "He is six years old."

“I'm seven," Irina informed her, not as inconsequentially as it appeared, as her year's superiority of age would obviously cancel out her inferiority of sex over the matter of seniority in the supervision of a bridal train. "Where is his mamma, then?"

“She died when he was born," Tanya said, "so he hasn't really ever had a mother, you see.”

Irina looked very concerned and sad for a moment, while she considered the unhappy idea of a little boy with no mother, and then her face cleared and she said brightly, "Oh, but when you marry Cousin Nikolai you will be his mamma, won't you, Cousin Tanya?"

“Yes," said Tanya, "that's right. We'll ask the Emperor to arrange it.”

Satisfied, Irina nodded and trotted back to her dolls, to tell them all about it.

Prince Nikolai's eyes shone as he gazed at Tanya, the last of his worries resolved, and he managed to look adoring without also looking fatuous, which, in Vladimir's opinion at least was quite an achievement.

“He's a bright little lad," the Colonel volunteered helpfully. "Should be able to manage a train all right, with young Irina to give him a hand."

“He's a handsome child, and they'll make a charming pair," Princess Dolgorova pronounced, to the consternation of Prince Nikolai, who had not been aware until then that his aunt knew of the boy's existence, let alone that she had seen him.

“Do you remember at the Tutaevs' wedding?" Count Alexei said with a grin. "They had two pages, and the little de – imps started jostling one another as they walked into church, and nearly pulled the poor bride's train off her shoulders!"

“I went to a wedding last year," Olga volunteered, flushing to find herself actually saying something to such a large audience, "and they had six pages, and at the reception afterwards they had some wine in mistake for lemonade, and were all dreadfully tipsy!”

Of course, someone else had to cap that with an even worse tale of the iniquities of small boys at weddings. Prince Nikolai caught Tanya's eye under cover of the chatter, and jerked his head slightly towards the door. Tanya rose unobtrusively from her chair, and he followed her. Everyone else pretended not to notice as they wandered casually towards the door, slipped out, and closed it behind them.

Outside in the gallery, Nikolai took Tanya's hand and they went together down the stairs and back to Count Alexei's study, without encountering anyone on the way; not that they would have noticed particularly if they had passed half the population of St. Petersburg.

After an interval filled with kisses and caresses, Prince Nikolai sat down in the big, comfortable old leather chair and pulled Tanya on to his lap. She wreathed her arms round his shoulders and rubbed her face against his hair, and they sat quietly in the firelight for a time.

“That was a very generous thought," he said presently. "I thought you to be kind-hearted enough not to mind me visiting my son, but I did not dream that you might be willing to meet him yourself, let alone inviting him to our wedding. Did you suggest having him for your page on impulse, or had you thought about it before?"

“I had thought about him, but the actual suggestion was an impulse," Tanya admitted.

“I feel you should think about it rather carefully," he said soberly. "He's very like me. There'll probably be a large number of people at the wedding, if Alexander Pavlovich is to have a hand in the arrangements. When they see Ilya they'll know at once that he must be my son."

“Shall you mind that?" Tanya asked hesitantly, feeling her way carefully. "You've kept him a secret for so long . . . I wondered if you wished to go on doing so."

“No. I didn't have any deliberate intention of concealing his existence. I just couldn't bring myself to say anything about him to anyone, apart from the Emperor, because I was too ashamed and guilty about his begetting and birth. I'm not ashamed of Ilya himself. He's a fine boy, and I've grown very fond of him. You've shown me that I'd mistaken a great deal about . . . about his conception. I'm beginning to understand better now, and it's no longer such a bitter burden."

“You'd like to give him proper recognition?" Tanya prompted gently as he hesitated.

“Yes," he admitted, "but could you bear that?"

“Nikolai, if your first marriage had been different – better – and you'd had a son, you'd not have questioned my willingness to accept him, would you?"

“No, I suppose not."

“Ilya was given to you by someone who loved you, and died giving him life. How could I turn away from him, or do other than accept him gladly?" This discussion seemed to be progressing far more easily than Tanya had expected, and having once started Nikolai talking about the matter without any apparent distress, and despite her uncertainty about the facts behind what she wanted to suggest, she decided to go on, because this opportunity might never come so readily again.

“I read somewhere, I think," she said, "that there have been occasions when an emperor has legitimised a child born out of wedlock at the father's request. I'm not sure, though. Do you know if it's true?"

“Why, yes! I know of two or three cases, quite recently! You know one yourself, for that matter, for you sat opposite him at Count Tutaev's name-day dinner; Pyotr Kyrillovich Bezuhov.”

Tanya recalled the stout gentleman who had eaten his way stolidly through the meal without saying a word, and smiled.

Prince Nikolai was studying her face closely. "Are you suggesting that I ask the Emperor to_, legitimise Ilya?" he asked.

Tanya returned his gaze steadily, alert for any clue to his feelings. "You would like to, wouldn't you?" She made it a statement rather than a question.

“Very much," he admitted, "but he would then become my eldest son, my heir, taking precedence over any children born to us."

“Our eldest son," she corrected gently.

“You would do that?" he whispered. "I hardly dared to hope you would even accept him as my – my bastard, but this . . . ! Are you sure?"

“Quite sure," Tanya replied decisively, and despite having no opportunity to think the matter through, she was convinced that it was the right decision. She was to stand by it to her dying day, and never had any cause to regret it.

Prince Nikolai half-turned his face away from her and said unsteadily, "You'll think me run mad – I've not wept since I was a child . . ." and he began to cry, his body shaking with awkward, racking sobs at first. Tanya drew his head close against her and he pressed his face against her breast as she held him, stroking his hair. Presently the tears began to flow more easily, washing away the bitterness and misery of years, until at last he was still and quiet. The Ice King had thawed, Tanya thought.

Eventually he raised his head and smiled a trifle wanly at her. She dried his eyes and cheeks tenderly with a corner of her silk shawl, and said, "Better now?"

“Everything's better!" he replied. "The whole world is full of flowers and rainbows, and the sky is raining butterflies and rose-petals!”

Tanya glanced at the window, where the dark night was still full of falling snowflakes, and laughed joyfully as she snuggled against him, and after a while they began to talk quietly and happily about the future, oblivious of passing time; and, as no one had the heart to disturb them, there they remained until long after everyone else in Petersburg had dined and gone about their pleasures at ball, theatre or soirée in the busy flurry of these last few days of the winter Season.