Kitabı oku: «The Secret Wife», sayfa 5
Chapter Eleven
Eastern Front, Lithuania, 5th March 1916
Time weighed heavy for Dmitri during the winter of 1915 to 1916 and made him yearn for Tatiana more than ever. Both the Russian and German armies had dug into the earth, trying to find shelter from the brutal blizzards that obscured their vision two feet ahead and made it impossible to venture out of the trench for fear of accidentally wandering into no man’s land. Dmitri still rode out on reconnaissance missions but it was clear that cavalry would play little part in the next stage of the war so he also took lessons on how to position the big guns that were just beginning to arrive from Russian armaments factories, guessing that this would be the only way to drive the Germans back from the territories they had captured in Poland, Lithuania and Belarus.
He got through the days by dreaming of the life he and Tatiana would lead together once the war was over. Would they stay in St Petersburg in a wing of one of the palaces? He would prefer to be in the country; he was more at home in wide open spaces. Still it didn’t feel real; he couldn’t allow himself to believe they would be married until her parents had given consent. In truth they had not known each other long. They’d had less than three months together before he came back to the front, and he could sense Tatiana had changed while he was away. Before she had been light-hearted and almost carefree; now she had grown up. She said as much in her letters:
Malama sweetheart,
Can you believe it is fifteen months since that December day when I waved farewell to you outside the Catherine Palace? I was a mere child in those innocent weeks at the start of the war, with no idea of what I would have to confront. Now I often assist as surgeons amputate men’s limbs; I dress stinking gangrenous wounds; I give injections and distribute medicines; I comfort those who are dying; and yesterday I was even able to calm a man who had some kind of fit of terror. He was staring straight ahead, rocking backwards and forwards and uttering a moaning sound that disturbed the other patients. At first I just talked in a low voice but he didn’t seem to hear or see me. Finally I began to sing, upon which he stopped moaning to listen, and at last he fell asleep for the first time since he arrived on our ward. I think my singing must be particularly soporific!
The patients give me a little insight into the life you are leading at the front and I am terrified on your behalf. I know that you are holding the line somewhere in Lithuania and are not currently in battle, but that shells pound the earth and snipers watch for any careless movement. Malama, I beg you to be extra-cautious and avoid any heroics. Souvenez vous que vous tenez mon coeur entre vos mains.
Tatiana’s endearments still amazed Dmitri after all this time. He was loved by his mother and sisters – perhaps his father even loved him in his own strict, old-fashioned way – but they were family and were supposed to love him; Tatiana had chosen to love him and he couldn’t understand why. What was special about him? He could list a thousand reasons why he loved her but they only made him feel even more unworthy: her gentle nature, her quiet dignity … he loved the way her eyes sometimes seemed to be gazing from a place deep inside her and focusing somewhere far in the distance, hinting at the intelligence of her inner world.
He glowed with pride when she sent him a newspaper clipping describing Olga and her as ‘The White Sisters of the War’. As well as nursing, Tatiana told him she headed a committee that helped to provide aid for the refugees who had poured into Russia from German-occupied territories, and she travelled the country inspecting facilities. Dmitri knew she was being modest in her letters when she wrote that she felt shy at committee meetings and wanted to dive under the table. He heard from other soldiers that Tatiana’s was by far the most popular of the picture postcards of the grand duchesses being sold to help fund the war, and surely that spoke volumes about her achievements as well as her beauty.
Her mother, on the other hand, was increasingly criticised in the press. ‘Rumours Spread that Rasputin urges Alexandra to Broker Peace with Germany’, ran one headline that reached them at the front, followed by: ‘A Third Government Minister Sacked by the Tsarina for Daring to Criticise her “Close Friend”’; ‘Tsarina will not Believe Stories of Rasputin’s Corruption’. Perhaps it was inevitable that the populace would be suspicious of Alexandra, as she had been born in Germany and still had family there; certainly it had been short-sighted of Nicholas to leave her in charge when he went to take command of the troops, allowing the disreputable Siberian to stay by her side.
One day Dmitri overheard a group of soldiers speculating that Alexandra was having an affair with Rasputin. This was treacherous talk and he could have disciplined them for it but he knew such sentiments were widespread and decided to pretend he hadn’t heard. He couldn’t discipline every soldier who thought that way, although he didn’t believe the rumour for one second. Alexandra was too proper, too insistent on recognition of her exalted position to entertain such a scruffy fellow in her bed. She seemed to him rather a cold mother, although Tatiana always sang her praises.
He wondered if Alexandra ever read the newspapers? Certainly Tatiana could not, because she seemed oblivious to the criticisms of Rasputin’s relationship with her mother. Since their argument she was cautious when she mentioned him in letters and there was no more ‘Uncle Grigory’. Still she maintained that Rasputin increased her understanding of God and Dmitri felt sure that her rather eccentric views on spirits almost certainly came from him. One day she wrote of a woman who came to the hospital to read soldiers’ palms:
She was a hearty type, like any farmer’s wife, but there was a mysterious look in her eyes when she communed with the spirits. Every soldier she spoke with seemed convinced of her powers, so I asked her to read my palm. She wondered if I had a question to which I sought the answer, so I asked if she could see when I would marry. She held my right hand and pored over it for some time, tracing the lines with the tip of her finger, then she said that my love line is strong and I will marry someone I love truly. She hesitated before adding that the line of fate is interrupted, making a sharp turn off to the right, and that this means I will pull off something extraordinary in the future. She would tell me no more, but I am greatly cheered that we will marry, Dmitri, because it must mean you will survive this war.
Dmitri rolled his eyes. So did it mean he could walk unguarded onto the plain separating them from the German front line without being shot? He found it amusing that someone as clever as Tatiana should be taken in by this spiritualist nonsense. He would tease her about it when next they met.
‘Oh God, I can’t wait,’ he breathed.
On the 7th of March 1916, new orders arrived for Dmitri. He ripped open the envelope and couldn’t believe his eyes: Tsar Nicholas ordered him back to St Petersburg to serve as an equerry at Tsarskoe Selo. Dmitri was stunned. It was completely unexpected, and he wasn’t immediately sure how he felt. Of course it would be wonderful to be reunited with Tatiana but he would feel as though he were abandoning his comrades. Instead of firing shells at the Germans, he would be supervising the care of the Tsar’s horses. It was a great honour, certainly, but it felt like a soft option.
His orders were to leave the day after next, so he just had time to write a quick note to Tatiana and tell her the news. As he scribbled, he wondered how she would feel about his return. She had been a girl when he left and now she was a woman. Despite her affectionate letters, perhaps their romance had been a childish whim for her. Perhaps, when they met again, she would wonder what she had seen in him. His own feelings had not wavered for a second, but she might look at him critically with her newly mature eyes.
He caught a train to St Petersburg and continued the journey to Tsarskoe Selo in a military truck he had spotted pulling out of the station. It was early evening and he wondered if Tatiana would be in the hospital with her patients, or at home with her family, or possibly off touring medical facilities in another city. His truck pulled up at the gates of the Alexander Palace and he presented his credentials to the guards and swung his knapsack over his shoulder to head towards the stables.
Suddenly a slender figure appeared from a palace doorway, all in white like a ghost. She seemed to fly across the distance between them and straight into his arms. Dmitri encircled her and squeezed tight, breathing in her scent before he looked down. Her face was thinner and her cheekbones more pronounced but otherwise she was the same Tatiana.
‘How did you know when I would arrive?’ No one knew. He himself hadn’t been sure whether he would get a lift that evening or would have to wait till the following morning.
‘I’ve been watching from the window all day.’ She seemed short of breath and he wasn’t sure whether it was from the run or because her emotions overwhelmed her. ‘Oh, Malama, promise you won’t ever leave me again.’
Chapter Twelve
Tsarskoe Selo, Russia, 17th March 1916
Far from the long separation lessening Tatiana’s feelings for Dmitri, if anything it seemed the reverse was true. When they were together it felt as if a bewitching aura surrounded them. Colours were more intense, the sun shone brighter, the grey days of winter’s final weeks seemed to flash past. Once again Dmitri’s head swirled with the words of the great love poets as he gazed into Tatiana’s eyes and listened to the soft tones of her voice – but now he knew more of her personality from the hundreds of letters she had written, their love felt stronger and more unshakeable.
He hadn’t been back a week before she came running into the stables on her way to the hospital and announced, ‘Mama would like to invite you for luncheon tomorrow at noon. Do say you’ll come.’
He was astonished. ‘Your Mama has invited me? Whatever for?’
‘Because I asked her to!’ Tatiana grinned impishly. ‘Don’t worry. She likes you. And you’ll get to meet my siblings as well.’
Dmitri had been in the company of members of the imperial family on numerous occasions but only as a member of the guard, never as a guest, and he was nervous about the protocols. He wished he could consult his mother, who was an expert in such matters, but his parents had not yet had a telephone installed at their home. Instead he had a chat with Anna Vyrubova, the Tsarina’s lady-in-waiting, who assured him that luncheon in these days of wartime was very informal and that he should just be his amiable self.
The following afternoon Dmitri presented himself at the Alexander Palace, his boots and buckles shiny, his chin clean-shaven and his hair carefully oiled and combed flat. A butler showed him to the Formal Reception Room and as the double doors opened, the brightness from the ceiling-high windows reflecting off the mirrors and the lavish gilt décor momentarily blinded him. He blinked and saw Alexandra sitting at a writing desk and her five children on sofas round the fire. Tatiana leapt to her feet to welcome him then led him around, making the introductions. It seemed they spoke English to each other and Dmitri had to concentrate to keep up because he did not often use the language.
‘You’ve met Mama, of course, when she awarded your St George medal.’ He bowed to Alexandra, who gave him a cordial nod then returned to the letter she was writing, but not before Dmitri noticed a strong smell of garlic about her. He wondered what she could have eaten for breakfast.
Next Tatiana led him to her brother, who lay with his feet up on a sofa. ‘This is Alexei, who is recently returned from the front line.’ It was some years since Dmitri had seen the boy. He was now thirteen years old but looked much younger, and Dmitri was shocked to note the deep purple shadows under his eyes and his general air of frailty.
‘Did Your Imperial Highness see any action?’ Dmitri asked
The boy replied with a dejected tone: ‘Sadly, I was not allowed anywhere within range of the German guns.’
His sisters laughed, and Tatiana remarked, ‘I should hope not.’
Next he greeted her older sister, Olga, and Tatiana introduced him to Maria, a slightly plump sixteen-year-old with merry eyes, and fourteen-year-old Anastasia, whose waist-length hair still hung loose in the childish fashion rather than being arranged on top of her head.
‘Don’t ever play a board game with Anastasia,’ Maria warned him, gesturing at a chequerboard and some scattered ivory pieces. It looked as though they had been playing halma. ‘She is an appalling cheat.’
‘There speaks a poor loser,’ Anastasia replied, sticking her tongue out at her sister.
Tatiana quickly interrupted to tell Dmitri that the younger girls had begun visiting the hospitals to entertain the soldiers, and that they were already very popular.
‘I am sure they are.’ He smiled as Tatiana beckoned him to sit in an armchair close to her. ‘Their spirit and beauty would cheer any man.’
Maria asked him about the retired imperial horses who now lived in stables behind the Alexander Palace, where they were able to enjoy their old age. Alexei wanted to know which of the imperial racehorses Dmitri considered would be the fastest when the Stoverstnöm resumed after the war. They all seemed very keen on horses and Dmitri gave his opinions, conscious that while the girls were competent horsewomen, Alexei had never been allowed on horseback because of his frail joints.
A butler announced luncheon and they seated themselves around a table near the window. There was a bunch of peach-coloured roses in the centre, and Dmitri assumed they must have been cultivated in the palace greenhouse; how else could they have roses in April? The cutlery was heavy silver, although Alexandra apologised that they were not using the best plate and that the meal was very plain. Dmitri thought it not at all plain, with a cream soup, followed by fish fillets in a light-as-air sauce, mutton in gravy, and then a dainty dish of apple compôte. The girls led the conversation, alternately teasing each other, asking Dmitri whether he had seen any wild bison or bears at the front (he had, but only from a distance), and discussing patients in the hospital. Tatiana seemed reserved in their company, often stepping in to broker peace between her two younger sisters, and Alexandra seemed distracted, scarcely talking at all.
After the meal, Dmitri was surprised when Alexandra asked if he would join her for tea in the adjoining Portrait Hall. He immediately rose to his feet and followed her, with just a glance of farewell to Tatiana. What did she want to talk about? How much did she know about his relationship with her second-oldest daughter? Might she be about to ask him his intentions towards her, and if so what would he reply?
The Portrait Hall was vast and airy, with burnished gold pillars, a slippery parquet floor and the most exquisite chandelier Dmitri had ever seen, with cascades of what looked like millions of tiny crystals. Alexandra sat on a settee under a huge portrait of Catherine the Great and he took a chair nearby as a waiter poured steaming cups of tea from a heavy silver samovar and set a little bowl of chocolates between them. Dmitri was tempted to take a sweet, because they looked scrumptious, but Alexandra didn’t so he felt it might not be correct etiquette. On a side table, there was a display of the elaborate Fabergé eggs the family gave one another for Easter, each worth thousands of roubles.
Tatiana had told him the family had stopped buying new clothes with the outbreak of war and were having to patch and mend old garments, but the Tsarina looked very grand in a chocolate-brown gown with embroidery of bronze foliage. She wore four strings of pearls around her neck, a diamond-encrusted Star of the Order of St Alexander Nevsky on her breast and a huge aquamarine ring on her finger.
‘Tell me, when you left the front line, had any of the mobile field guns arrived?’ Alexandra began. Her manner was austere but not unfriendly.
‘Yes, they had, but the men have not had much practice in firing them,’ he replied.
‘Is it difficult to fire them?’
‘The machines are heavy. One man in my company was seriously injured by the backwards thrust of a …’ He hesitated, struggling to think of the English word for a shell casing. Alexandra nodded to indicate she understood.
‘Do you think they will make a difference?’ she asked. ‘You may speak freely. I know there are some successes in Galicia but we seem to have reached a stalemate to the north of the line. What do you think it will take to push the invader back behind their own borders again?’
Dmitri noted the term she used: ‘the invader’. These were her own people by birth. What an awkward situation she found herself in. He told her his opinion, that there was no point in pushing forwards at one point in the line only. As they had discovered early in the war, the German troops were quick to cut off and encircle advance parties, with catastrophic consequence. ‘I believe we should not mount another attack until the whole line from north to south has the new weapons and the men are ready to use them in one concerted push.’
She nodded, as if he had confirmed her own views. ‘Tell me, are supplies reaching the men? Were they adequately fed in your part of the line?’
Dmitri hesitated. ‘There were supply problems during our retreat but now that we are static, the situation has improved.’ He could still smell the garlic scent, which seemed to emanate from her pores rather than her breath.
After ten minutes of war talk she announced abruptly that she must retire to rest before her afternoon’s duties and Dmitri leapt to his feet and bowed as she walked out. At the doorway she turned and regarded him with a friendly smile: ‘Please take those chocolates with you, Cornet Malama. They are too sweet for my tooth.’
‘Thank you, Your Imperial Highness.’ His face was scarlet as he bowed again. Had she noticed him eyeing them? All the same he decided to accept her offer, so he scooped up the contents of the bowl before the butler showed him to the door.
Walking back to the stables, rich chocolate melting on his tongue, he mused over what had passed. Had he been invited solely so that Alexandra could pick his brains about the war? What had she thought of him? Should he have been less frank, more obsequious?
He got his answer that evening when Tatiana rushed into the stables in her uniform, fresh from her evening lesson with Vera Gedroits. ‘My darling, you have charmed the entire family. I knew you would. Mama wrote to Papa this afternoon telling him she thought you would make an admirable son-in-law. Can you believe it? I’ve been so excited, I couldn’t wait to tell you.’ She was bouncing up and down like a gleeful child.
Dmitri blanched. ‘She wrote that? Does it mean …? Do you think she might let us marry soon?’
‘Oh, mon chéri.’ She cocked her head. ‘Not during wartime. We wouldn’t be able to make suitable arrangements, and our wedding must be a state occasion. Besides, my sister Olga should be allowed to marry first. I will urge her to hurry and choose her husband. She has too many favourites and must try to narrow it down to one!’
‘Can we at least announce our engagement?’ Dmitri asked. ‘Many have guessed we are close and I would not like to compromise your reputation.’
‘I will ask Mama, but I get the impression she wants it to be an unofficial engagement for now. It’s good for us to have this time in which our love is secret, so we can get to know each other better without the eyes of the world watching …’ She glanced at the door. ‘I can’t stay now as I must get back to sterilisation duties. I simply couldn’t wait to tell you the news.’
They embraced quickly and Dmitri inhaled the scent of her hair. It made him remember something from earlier: ‘What is that strange perfume your mother wears? I didn’t recognise it.’
Tatiana glanced round to check no one was listening, then wrinkled her nose. ‘She smells peculiar, doesn’t she? I give her daily arsenic injections for exhaustion and it appears to cause that odour. Olga has it too – didn’t you notice? I’ll see you tomorrow, dearest. By the side gate at two-thirty.’
They slipped into the habit of spending an hour together each afternoon. In fair weather, they took Ortipo for a walk round the park, trying in vain to teach her to fetch a ball, or rode out on horseback; on rainy days, they played card games, read poetry to each other or simply sat conversing. They never ran out of conversation, and Dmitri saved things to tell her: snippets of conversation he’d overheard, or amusing anecdotes about the horses, sometimes a joke. Usually there would be a ladies’ maid somewhere in the background, acting as chaperone, but she tactfully kept her distance and it was easy to feel as though they were alone.
One morning Dmitri turned a corner in the park and overheard some guards gossiping about the elder Romanov girls. He should have stopped them straight away but instead he paused to listen.
‘They’ve both got favourites amongst the men, I hear. Olga is completely smitten with that Mitya and Tatiana’s in love with Volodya.’
The pain in Dmitri’s heart was like a stab wound. Who was Volodya and what was he to Tatiana? He rushed to the guardroom and made enquiries, learning that he was a second lieutenant in the 3rd Guards Rifles Regiment, who had spent several weeks in hospital the previous autumn. He was a friend of Olga’s sweetheart Mitya and had a reputation as a ladykiller. It seemed the four of them had sometimes played croquet together, before Volodya had been cured and sent back to the front the previous Christmas.
Just as well for him, Dmitri thought grimly. He was consumed with such raging jealousy that had the man still been in town, he would have been tempted to seek him out and beat him to within an inch of his life.
