The Summer Day is Done Page 23

  He had been mistaken about Princess Aleka. She was not a spoiled, capricious dilettante who took up causes to escape boredom. She was to be treated with the finest care and caution. Nothing mattered more to him than his relationship with the children of the Tsar. He would fight to preserve that above everything else. He would fight even harder to preserve Olga’s friendship: in a few years she would make a suitable marriage, and after that he might never see her again, but he could not make do with less than memories unspoiled by exposure of his trade.

  ‘In our work,’ he said, ‘we place little value on anything but expediency, as you would know, Princess. How will you want to use me?’

  ‘You will be told – from time to time,’ she said. ‘Is it necessary for me to tell you not to be stupid?’

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘You will not hear from me,’ she said, ‘but a man called Peter Prolofski. Goodbye, Ivan Ivanovich.’

  ‘I am sorry, Aleka,’ he said.

  She looked at him. She saw the savage mark at his temple, a dark, ugly blue. She saw regret on his face and something of sadness. She compressed her lips, fighting to discipline emotions she had always indulged. But her lips broke apart and she said huskily, ‘Ivan, is there anything more foolish than people?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said, ‘but you’ve always been generous and lovely.’

  ‘Oh, you damned stupid idiot,’ she said, ‘you could have had Aleka Petrovna but you threw her away.’ She stooped, she pressed her mouth to his, fiercely, tempestuously for long seconds. ‘That is the last of my generosity,’ she said and swept out like a rushing cloud of black.

  He put his hand to his forehead. It was damp. Outside, floating up from a green lawn, he heard the laugh of a girl. He got up and went to the open windows. They overlooked tranquillity. He saw woods, the mountain peaks. To the left he saw the sea. Far in the distance it merged with the pale blue sky. The vistas were infinitely beautiful, infinitely peaceful.

  ‘No, darling,’ said the Empress to her eldest daughter later that day.

  ‘But, Mama,’ said Olga, ‘it’s only that it must be so boring for him, and it would not inconvenience me in the slightest to read to him.’

  ‘Is it to be supposed he can’t read to himself?’

  ‘It’s a dreadful strain, Mama, if one has a bad head,’ said Olga. ‘Dearest Mama, it wouldn’t have happened if Papa and I had not allowed so many soldiers to crowd us so. It’s simply impossible for Papa to spare time to sit with him, but I shouldn’t mind at all. And positively no one has been to see him all day, he’ll think us dreadfully uncaring.’

  ‘He’ll think nothing of the kind, my love,’ said Alexandra, in restful relaxation but soft determination. ‘Dr Botkin has been to see him and so has Papa. And so has Aleka Petrovna.’ She hesitated a little at this. Olga had bent her head low over the book she held. ‘Darling, there’s nothing you can do for him that Karita can’t do more properly. Olga?’ Olga had put her book aside and risen. ‘Oh, my precious, no more of this or I shan’t be able to let him stay.’

  ‘You would not send him away?’ Olga was quick with distress. ‘Mama, you couldn’t, he is quite dangerously ill.’

  ‘Olga, you know he isn’t. He might have been, but he isn’t. Dr Botkin is finally quite happy about him. He suffered severe concussion, nothing more, except for his broken arm.’

  Olga moved slowly to the window, her back to her mother.

  ‘Mama,’ she said quietly, ‘you know I would never disobey you or Papa, never. Nor would I ever do anything to distress you. But please let him stay. Alexis would be so disappointed if you didn’t. He’s so looking forward to seeing him when he’s up. It wouldn’t be for long, in any case, because as soon as he’s well enough he’ll rejoin Aleka Petrovna at Karinshka.’

  Alexandra sighed. Physically she was more fragile, but her will to endure was tenacious. Morally she was scrupulous. She would not, could not, lie to any of her family, or deceive any of them.

  ‘No, darling, he won’t do that,’ she said. ‘They have broken their engagement, they won’t be married, after all. I know no one more headstrong or foolish than Aleka Petrovna.’

  ‘Mama?’ Olga had a hand to her throat and spoke faintly.

  ‘Don’t ask me why, my love.’ Alexandra’s regret was undisguised. ‘It seems an awful pity to me, I thought him so much the right man for her. She had such prospects, homes in both Russia and England. Who could wish for more than that? Papa wasn’t just pleased with the match, he was relieved. Aleka is so wild in her ways, so bewildering in her choice of friends. She so needs a strong, guiding hand. Colonel Kirby would have been so suitable, and now it is all off. Oh, it’s very foolish and just when I’d thought— Olga, lamb, this is why you mustn’t be foolish yourself but very discreet and proper in every way.’

  ‘Mama,’ said Olga breathlessly, ‘I think Aleka Petrovna— oh, how very very silly she is.’

  ‘Yes, very silly. Darling, if Dr Botkin says he may, then our Ivan Ivanovich can come down into the gardens tomorrow, and then you can all cheer him up. Although,’ Alexandra added a little ruefully, ‘I don’t know why Livadia seems to have become so much to do with him, do you?’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Olga, ‘he has rather grown on us here.’

  Nicholas came in then to take tea with Alexandra. He was forty-five. Some of the strain of his responsibilities had begun to show, but already Livadia had cast its peaceful glow over him and he looked as if he was enjoying a sunny convalescence from the cares of the throne. Alexandra had not yet told him of the broken engagement. She did so now. Nicholas was obviously disappointed but did not take long to discover a consoling factor.

  ‘Ah, well,’ he said happily, ‘at least our good friend Ivan Kirby now has no need to hurry away. I fancy he’s the kind of man who in another week will try a one-armed game of tennis. What do you say to that, Olga?’

  Olga went to her father, took his hand and put it to her cheek.

  ‘I say, Papa, that you are the loveliest man,’ she said.

  Chapter Ten

  Kirby was up the next day. All his belongings had arrived from Karinshka and because one could always be so informal at Livadia and the day was so warm, he was comfortably attired in a cream cotton shirt and brown trousers. His arm was in a sling. He went down and out on to the terrace, Karita with him and fussing just a little.

  ‘You’re like an old hen,’ he said.

  ‘An old hen looking after an old goose,’ she said.

  They were coming to understand each other, these two. Each was necessary to the other. To Kirby her services were indispensable, her companionship a pleasure. To Karita his protective ownership of her gave her a satisfying sense of belonging. In the palace of Princess Karinshka she had only been one of many servants. With Ivan Ivanovich there was no one to argue her rights or her standing, she alone commanded his welfare. But she was neither possessive nor jealous. Instinctively she felt Ivan Ivanovich would be as loyal to her as she was to him.

  She accompanied him into the gardens. There were a few people about, strolling with heads together and in weighty converse. The Imperial family kept guests to a minimum at Livadia, but there were always some notabilities around, some persons of ministerial or diplomatic consequence.

  Kirby found a table and chairs on the quietest of the velvet lawns. Karita saw him settled into one of the chairs before leaving him.

  ‘Now you can enjoy the sun and your book,’ she said. ‘I’ll know when the Grand Duchesses have found you because then there’ll be so much noise.’

  ‘If you can’t sleep, put a pillow over your head,’ he said.

  Karita flirted the skirt of her dress at him, then whisked away.

  It was quiet. He relaxed. He supposed the children were with Pierre Gilliard. The tranquillity, so much a part of Livadia, gave it an Arcadian remoteness from the economic and political storms of the Empire. It nurtured unreality in a world where existence for so many was an unending struggl
e against suffering and poverty. It was an oasis of plenty in a desert of fruitless, arid autocracy. Always there were promises of reforms, always bitter political quarrels about how to achieve them. There were the people looking to their Father Tsar for inspiration, and there was Nicholas loving his people but dedicated to the perpetuation of divine rights.

  And there was Alexandra, assuring Nicholas that he alone was ordained by God to lead and guide Russia. More than ever, because of Rasputin’s allusion to the security of the Empire going hand in hand with the preservation of Tsarism, she confirmed Nicholas’s belief that concessions to radicals would undermine his God-given absolutism. Concessions, said Alexandra, were wanted only by self-seeking politicians, not by the people. The people were devoted and loyal.

  But concessions must come. Kirby thought they might happen when the children were older, when Alexis was a man and he and his sisters, in their adult compassion, would see what their parents would not. They would exercise an influence which Alexandra and Nicholas, because of their love for their children, would be unable to dismiss.

  There was a sigh in the air, a soft rustle, and his reverie was broken. Suddenly they were there. They had seen him, stolen silently up on him, and now they were around him, laughing and clapping their hands: Anastasia, Marie and Tatiana, young and lovely in pinafore dresses swirling in the sunshine. Marie salaamed and Anastasia indulged in a curtsey so extravagant that a slight nudge from Tatiana sent her sprawling on to the grass.

  ‘Well,’ gasped Anastasia, her blue eyes as wide as Olga’s, ‘did you see that, Ivan Ivanovich?’

  ‘Yes, and I thought you did it beautifully,’ said Kirby.

  ‘We’ve decided, you see,’ said Tatiana, ‘that Stasha must be your slave while you’re here, and it’s only proper for any slave to be prostrate in the presence of her master. Oh, Ivan, how good to see you. We’re all shockingly unbridled about it.’

  ‘I am not,’ said Marie, ‘I am quite excited. Tatiana, what is shockingly unbridled?’

  ‘Oh, just abandonedly blissful,’ said Tatiana. She was nearly sixteen. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘who is to kiss him first? Mama won’t approve if we all do it together.’

  ‘Here’s Alexis,’ said Marie, ‘he should be the first and then we can all talk about how we’re going to look after Ivan’s sad misfortunes. Oh, I hope your arm doesn’t still hurt you.’ She bent to peer solicitously at Kirby’s arm as Alexis arrived, carried by Nagorny, a sailor deputed with his comrade Derevenko to watch constantly over the Tsarevich.

  Alexis was a little drawn. His left leg seemed crippled. He was taking a long time to recover from that fall, when he had been so critically ill that his parents thought there was little they could do except watch him die. Rasputin had interceded from afar, had sent a message saying Alexis would live. Alexis had lived. How, therefore, could anyone convince Alexandra that Rasputin was not a living saint?

  Nagorny set the boy gently down in a chair. Alexis smiled at Kirby. He was not a youngster to feel eternally sorry for himself.

  ‘Isn’t it a nuisance, Ivan Ivanovich,’ he said, ‘you with a crooked arm and me with a crooked leg? But it’s awfully nice to see you, how d’you do?’

  Kirby got up to shake Alexis by the hand. ‘Well, what’s an arm and a leg? We can manage, I’ll wager.’ The boy pulled at his hand, Kirby stooped and Alexis kissed him. Kirby sat down again and the Grand Duchesses simply insisted on taking their turn.

  ‘Oh, Lord,’ said Alexis, ‘you’re in for it now. Those girls, they’re always kissing someone or something. They’re always kissing me and I can tell you, it makes a fellow feel quite knocked out.’

  ‘We’re only going to let Ivan Ivanovich see how nice it is to have him here again,’ said Marie.

  ‘What do you think, now he has no beard?’ asked Anastasia of Marie in an audible aside.

  ‘Well, it’s not like kissing Papa,’ said Marie.

  A dress whispered behind Kirby. He knew they were all there then, the enchantment of Livadia indivisible from their completeness as a group.

  ‘Children,’ said Olga, ‘what did Mama say?’

  ‘Mama said I’m so perfect I make up for all her disappointments,’ said Anastasia, seating herself on the grass with Marie.

  ‘Mama said to take care with Colonel Kirby,’ said Olga, ‘which meant you weren’t to climb all over him.’ She came round from behind his chair. She was in a dress of pale blue, her long hair plaited and tied by ribbons of matching blue. ‘Good morning, Colonel Kirby,’ she smiled, ‘I trust you continue to improve?’

  ‘Oh, help,’ murmured Anastasia.

  ‘Your Highness,’ said Kirby, rising to bow low to Olga, ‘I’m remarkably vigorous today.’

  ‘Oh, your Magnificence,’ said Olga, dipping in gracefully exaggerated curtsey, ‘how exalted we are to hear it.’

  The younger Grand Duchesses groaned. Anastasia and Marie stood up to join with Tatiana in similar exaggerations, much to the delight of Alexis.

  ‘Oh, your Eminence,’ sighed Tatiana to Marie.

  ‘Oh, your Graciousness,’ murmured Marie to Tatiana.

  ‘Oh, your Good Heavens Above,’ said Anastasia to no one in particular.

  ‘I trust you are getting over your spots?’ said Tatiana to Anastasia.

  ‘Goodness, yes,’ said Anastasia, ‘what a dreadful shame that yours still show.’

  Alexis shook with laughter, then said to Olga, ‘You needn’t worry about Ivan, he and I can manage but we shan’t do any drill yet.’

  ‘No, of course not, darling,’ said Olga. The others were gay, she was happy. Colonel Kirby wasn’t going to marry Aleka Petrovna, he didn’t have to go back to Karinshka, he could stay.

  ‘Yes, Ivan, you’re excused all parades,’ said Tatiana, ‘and you don’t have to do a single thing for yourself. Anastasia will run about and fetch and carry for you.’

  ‘I’m his slave, you see,’ Anastasia explained to Olga, ‘and I’ll probably be thrown to the lions unless I’m a proper minion.’

  ‘Improper minions will certainly be thrown to the lions,’ said Kirby.

  ‘I should be sorry for the lions,’ said Olga, at which Anastasia began an impersonation of a Christian being devoured in a Roman arena. Marie said it sounded awful and begged her to desist.

  ‘Oh, I’d be happy to,’ said Anastasia, ‘but I only take orders from Ivan Ivanovich.’

  ‘Throw her to the lions,’ said Kirby.

  The uproar was compounded of shrieks and yells as Tatiana and Marie laid hands on Anastasia, pushing her towards Alexis who leaned forward and in simulation of a hungry lion aimed bites at her. Anna Vyrubova appeared, fulsome white garments accentuating her plumpness.

  ‘Children, such a commotion,’ she said, ‘whatever is going on?’

  ‘Oh, only some shocking pandemonium,’ said Tatiana, ‘you know how it is when Ivan Ivanovich is here, he always provokes the most riotous behaviour.’

  It was a magical morning. They sat around him, they talked, they listened, they laughed. He had never known children so addicted to laughter. They told him how they had spent their winter, he told them how he had spent his. They were awfully upset that he had had this accident and said his bruised head must be dreadfully painful. Alexis said he often had bruises like that himself and if they hurt Ivan as much as they hurt him, it was quite rotten.

  Olga winced at this, knowing how often Alexis had been in agony, sometimes because of the most trifling knocks. But Alexis looked happy now, absorbed in all his good-humoured Ivan Ivanovich had to say.

  Colonel Kirby had such a way with all of them, she thought. He reached out to them, delighted them, laughed with them. He did not seek the company of other men, compete for the attentions of some of the court ladies, he seemed more than happy whenever he was at Livadia to be with them.

  Olga had thought Easter at Livadia might not be as lovely this year.

  But now it promised to be the loveliest.

  Kirby wondered, as he listened
to Anastasia describing the things she kept in her room at Tsarskoe Selo, if Anstruther had received his message. If he had it would have arrived like a bolt from the blue. Very likely he would return the compliment. He would have Kirby out of Livadia quicker than a shell from a gun.

  It had not taken Kirby long to find out what Aleka had meant. He had checked the only possible source of information. It was all neatly fitted into his hairbrush. The wafer-thin cards had been moved, their angle of lodgement different from that which he always used. And the cards contained in code brief but telling intelligence on agents and contacts in Russia. He did not doubt that the cards had been removed long enough for the data to be collated and the code broken. Not only had he, in complacent overconfidence, placed himself in jeopardy but so many other people too.

  His only hope was that if Aleka’s revolutionary friends wanted to use him they would hold their information over his head. They had little practical interest in espionage agents, it would be a matter of indifference to them whether the Okhrana knew or not. Information on such agents was for using, not divulging.

  Nevertheless, Easter for Kirby promised only days of uneasiness and anxiety.

  The complicated creed of Russian Orthodoxy was something that Kirby, only a conventionally religious man, had never been enquiring about. He had always been far more interested in the schisms of Russian politics than in those of religion. There were innumerable political parties and every party suffered its secessionists like an inevitable disease. It was left to the church to bring the people together at Easter, to unite dissident Russia in celebration of Christ’s resurrection.

  For the Tsar and his family it was the holiest and most joyful of occasions, Alexandra immersing herself body and soul in the rites. In her devotion to God and her ecstatic adoption of her husband’s faith, Alexandra found celestial happiness in the way Russian Orthodoxy celebrated the meaning of Easter.