Laces of Love, page 32
The position of the tutor seemed to Mr. Travers a childish game comparing to his former duties. But on the very first day of his service at the Countess's house, the Englishman understood how dramatically wrong he had been.
Young count Remizov, a teenager of thirteen years old, was a real tyrant. Before Mr. Travers became his tutor, the youngster had driven three of his predecessors of French origin mad.
Upon learning of this very regrettable circumstance, Mr. Travers decided that the Englishman would never fear the difficulties. He served Lord Bassett, a man of a terrible character, for ten years, and therefore he would find a way to cope up with the Russian tomboy.
In accordance with an English tradition, Mr. Travers called his former master “Your Lordship,” as well as his son, the young Duke Basset, even when the young man could not get out of bed after another revel.
He always came into the bedroom of a young heir and said,
“Good morning, Your Lordship. How did you sleep, Your Lordship? What would you like for breakfast, Your Lordship?” and so on and so forth.
And even when Lord Bassett wanted to deprive the inheritance of his only son, in favor of his nephew, even then Mr. Travers maintained an unruffled calm.
Thus, using his rich life experience, he, to the delight of Countess Remizova and the shame of the French tutors, quickly found common ground with the spoiled young Count.
To start with, Mr. Travers began to refer to his ward as “Your Excellency”: these were the next words after the “Russian baba” that he had learned in the language of his new employer. The rest of the servants involuntarily had to call the malicious tomboy in the same way, and after a little while, it became a tradition.
And now the pride of the Englishman was hurt. Moreover, in such a humiliating way!!! By some landowner, who didn't even have a noble rank!
In the morning, Mr. Travers donned a brown hunting jacket and kepi, as his hat had been hit by the major's bullet and had been lost in the forest. He headed towards Mitrofanovo, not knowing what he would do next and without having any particular revenge plan on his mind.
***
After settling in a house of a local townswoman, Polina got into a broken carriage and headed to Mitrofanovo. She did not have a clear plan of action. It seemed to her that Sergey had left her because of a certain young beauty, living at the Mitrofanovo estate. On the way, she decided that first of all she needed to quietly observe and find out who was she and what would Serge behave like.
Arriving at a relatively close distance to the manor, Polina stopped the carriage at a small forest on the outskirts of the road, tied the horse to a tree and went by foot to spy on Serge.
At the same time, Mr. Travers, an ill-fated Englishman, and an impudent poacher crossed the border between the lands of his neighbors and headed for the manor too.
Both Polina and Mr. Travers were approaching Alexander Serafimovich’s estate from different sides.
***
The weather was wonderful. It was warm, the sky was clear blue and the light breeze was pleasant.
Anna Petrovna ordered to set breakfast on the veranda, where Sergey Lvovich and Alexander Serafimovich joined her shortly after. The nanny fed the children in the nursery.
Polina approached the estate and hid behind the trees, fearing to come closer be seen.
“There he is, a deceiver and a seducer!” she whispered in righteous anger, looking out from behind a tree. "And who is that lady?" she focused on Anna Petrovna.
On the other side, some distance away from the observation post of Polina, Mr. Travers was hiding in the bushes.
“Oh, there you are, pig! Scoundrel! Not only he spoiled my hat, but made me apologize to him!” he was indignant.
Polina watched Anna Petrovna courting Serzh at the table. The poor thing, overwhelmed by jealousy, barely restrained and regretted that she could not hear anything from their conversation.
Mr. Travers did not hear anything also, however, he could see his offenders perfectly, making up a plan of action. Suddenly it dawned on him,
“I know one Russian proverb: he laughs best who laughs last. Let's see who wins!” he whispered in Russian and retreated away, back to the Miloshenkovo estate.
Polina stood in her secluded place until the end of breakfast and when the men began to read the newspapers, she felt an attack of hunger, remembering that she had not eaten since early morning.
“No, this is clearly not that woman... Rather, she is the owner's wife... It’s all right, tomorrow I will figure out because of whom he left me,” she decided.
***
Returning to the Miloshenkovo estate, Mr. Travers, taking advantage of His Excellency's the young Count Remizov late breakfast, went to his room under the excuse of writing an urgent letter.
During his service in England, the tutor got to know that a correctly written letter or a competently composed official document was a half to the success of the planned campaign.
“To Her Excellency Olga Viktorovna Remizova
From Mr. Adam Travers, the tutor:
“Your Grace, Olga Viktorovna!
I hasten to inform you that during the trip by train, when I had the honor of transporting His Excellency from the estate of Remizovo to Miloshenkovo, to your kind cousin sister, a misfortune has happened.
Or rather, violent acts were committed against His Excellency. A certain major, judging by the uniform, angrily clasped the ear of His Excellency, which made him call for help. When I burst into the compartment of His Excellency, the major had already entered a wild ardor and tried punching the young Count. I, in turn, as a man of honor and a tutor of His Excellency, was forced to fight back the insolent dastard.
I regret very much, Your Grace Olga Viktorovna, that I did not inform the police about the misbehavior of the major.
But I found out that that major was staying with Alexander Serafimovich Sobolev. The Sobolev's estate is located next to the estate of Mrs. Miloshenkova, where I have a pleasure to stay currently.
I hope that you will act as required by the law and your maternal heart.”
Mr. Travers knew that the last sentence hit the target: what was the law in comparison with the mother's heart?
He already pictured Olga Viktorovna would read the letter, cursing Zavyalov. How durst he raise a hand against her adored son!? Even the tutor does not allow such frivolity! And this man was just some major!!
***
Chapter 7
Olga Viktorovna was sitting in front of the dressing table and brushing her hair. The maid entered.
“Your Grace, a messenger from your cousin Mrs. Miloshenkova just arrived.”
“Something happened, Dasha?”
“Nothing, Your Grace. He handed a letter from Mr. Travers. Perhaps he wrote a report on the pastime of the young Count.”
“Alright, I'll read it. Open the envelope.”
Dasha took a special knife, carefully opened the envelope and handed it to the lady. Olga Viktorovna scanned the message.
“Oh my God! It is a monstrous deed to harm a defenseless child! Dasha, order to prepare the carriage, I am going to Vladimir. I am not taking a train! In Vladimir, I will immediately go to Mr. Bogolyubsky and demand the rightfulness for this insolent person. Who is he to beat up my son!” the Countess was indignant. “Thank God that the Count did not live to such a shame. Oh, he would have managed to rein in this major!”
After breakfast, Olga Viktorovna ordered Dasha to pack things and load the carriage.
The Countess arrived in Vladimir late night, completely exhausted by the road and in a bad mood. She ordered the coachman to drive the carriage to the best hotel in the city - the "Renaissance".
As soon as the carriage stopped in front of the entrance to the "Renaissance", a helpful doorman ran up to it and helped the Countess and her maid out.
“Luxury rooms are at your service, madam. Only the best!”
Olga Viktorovna was silently waiting at the lobby. Meanwhile, the receptionist registered her in a guests' book, and the bellhop transferred her belongings to the room and prepared it for an honored guest.
“You must be tired and want to have dinner?” asked the receptionist.
“Yes, with pleasure, although it is already late for dinner.”
“Shall you order to be served in the room or shall you come to the restaurant?”
“In the room, of course. I'm tired, I want to take a bath and go to bed.”
The receptionist bowed.
The next morning, Olga Viktorovna put on a strict dark green dress, which beautifully highlighted her eyes, and went to Mr. Bogolyubsky, who had the rank of collegiate assessor and had been serving in the Vladimir court.
The Countess was the earliest visitor.
“Oh my God! Your Excellency, is it you? What an honor!” the judge murmured.
“Yes, Mr. Bogolyubsky, I need your help.”
“Oh, madam, I am at your service! I will certainly do everything that is in my power. I highly respected your deceased husband. May his soul rest peace,” the judge made the sign of the cross. “He was a wonderful person.”
“Yes, he was...” the countess let out a tear.
“Ah, Your Grace, I did not mean to upset you in any way!”
“It’s all right, my dear. Let’s talk about the case that brought me to you,” the countess took a letter from her purse and handed it to Mr. Bogolyubsky.
While he was reading the letter, his face was getting more and more strained.
“It is unheard cruelty! A scandal! And not just any child but your son!!!”
“Imagine my feelings, sir.”
“Yes, of course, I can imagine. As I understand, you want to make a move on this matter?” carefully asked the judge.
“Yes, definitely!”
“Then we will go to the police station together... or even better, I will come to you with the investigator, and you will write a statement in an appropriate form. And you may not worry after that! The villain’s place of residence is known, tomorrow the bailiff will go there and will officially hand him the subpoena. We shall shake the life out of him, Your Grace!”
“I hope so. I’m staying at the “Renaissance” hotel. And, my dear, here, this is for your troubles,” the countess handed several banknotes of a very good denomination to Mr. Bogolyubsky.
“Ah, Your Grace!” the judge pretended to be embarrassed by the money, but ... took them.
***
Mr. Travers knew well what all the next steps of the Countess would be like. He was delighted to imagine how the Countess would read the letter, rushing around the living room in a righteous rage. How she, cursing the cruel major, would travel to Vladimir in order to revenge on him.
According to his calculations, the bailiff should appear in Mitrofanovo three days after the letter was sent. And most likely, it would be in the afternoon, as the way from Vladimir is not close, even with state-owned horses.
Mr. Travers waited until the day of the inevitable retribution to come and went to the Mitrofanovo estate in order to stealthily enjoy his victory.
The day was overcast but warm, and Mr. Travers donned a raincoat, just in case the rain would start. And indeed, as soon as the tutor stepped over the ill-fated boundary between the estates, it started drizzling. He pulled on the cap and lifted the collar and resolutely moved Mr. Sobolev's estate direction. The Englishman simply could not miss such a spectacle. He pictured how the bailiff would convey the letter to the major, who would be at a loss. But, alas, the law is the law.
When the tutor saw the estate, the rain had already gained its strength and his raincoat started getting wet. There was a barn on the outskirts and it obviously had not been used. Mr. Travers quickly analyzed the location of the abandoned building: its narrow windows, located just below the ceiling, had been looking out onto the house, opening the view for the entire courtyard. He immediately hurried to the barn and, having entered it, took an observant position at the window. Luckily, his height allowed him to do so.
The Englishman spent almost an hour that way, but the bailiff did not appear. Then he took off his raincoat and laid it on the old hay, so that it would dry out a little, and continued his surveillance. Another two hours passed and Mr. Travers began to curse, saying that these Russians are never in a hurry and have no discipline. Would be nice to send this bailiff to Lord Bassett, he would have taught him a lesson!
Suddenly the door opened, the Englishman crouched and hid behind a small haystack. A woman in a commoner outfit entered the barn; she untied a colorful shawl, shook off the raindrops of it and put it on her shoulders.
The stranger looked around and... saw Mr. Traver’s checkered coat. She realized that the owner of the coat clearly had not been the owner of the estate, otherwise why would he lurk in the barn?
“Who is there? Answer me! I can see your raincoat! It’s better to go out in a good way, otherwise I’ll scream,” the woman threatened. But in fact, she was not actually going to scream.
Mr. Travers had no choice but to leave his refuge. Before the eyes of the villager appeared a tall, slender middle-aged man. His face was beautified with stunningly beautiful ginger whiskers.
“Who are you, sir?” the woman asked in a tone, which had been absolutely not peculiar to commoners.
“And you, my dear?” the Englishman asked a contrary question, not wanting to introduce himself.
“I... well, I decided to take a shelter from the rain,” the stranger answered.
“Hmm... I'm hiding from the dampness too...”
“You have a strange accent, sir. Are you a foreigner?” stubborn stranger wouldn’t let go.
“Maybe,” Mr. Travers replied evasively.
“Oh yes! But you are not French! Judging by your pronunciation, you rather an Englishman!”
No muscle flinched on the face of the true son of Albion[31], although he got embarrassed.
“I think you are too clever for a peasant,” the tutor said.
“Maybe,” the woman replied in a same tone of the Englishman. “So, we are not that simple...”
“What do you men?” Mr. Travers got surprised.
“Nothing. It's just we are on the private property of the landowner Sobolev...”
“So what?” the Englishman interrupted.
“You have tremendous composure,” the stranger stated. “Admit it to me: who are you following here?”
Mr. Travers realized that this woman was not a peasant all. What did she want? He resolutely headed for his already dried-out cloak and tried to lift it. But, alas, did not have time.
The mysterious stranger jumped at him like a tigress and pressed him directly into the hay with her forms.
“M-m-a... madam... what is wrong with you? Get off me...”
But the stranger was not going to get up.
“Oh! I love Englishmen! You are so strong and resilient! Take me, my Lancelot!” she begged.
Mr. Travers was confused, but the woman so passionately clung into his lips that he completely forgot why he had got into the barn in the first place.
***
Dunyasha, the servant of Anna Petrovna's, walked along the courtyard. She was in a hurry to bring a small barrel of mushrooms, kept in a separate cellar, to the house. The rain almost stopped, but the ground, trampled by horses and households, was still damp. The girl has just put on a new cotton dress and now has upset: the hem was undoubtedly stained - what a shame!
Suddenly, she heard strange sounds, coming from the barn. She came closer to hear well.
“Oh Lord, have mercy! An innocent victim is being murdered! She is screaming so loud!”
She rushed into the house, almost dropping the barrel of mushrooms. “Vasily Ivanovich!” she called the butler.
He heard her,
“What do you want, girl? Why are you making a fuss? Your are disturbing the Master’s rest!”
“Quickly, someone is getting killed in the barn! We all are going to be in trouble when the policemen come with a constable!”
“What are you talking about, fool?”
“I cross my heart!” Dunyasha made the sign of the cross. “Someone is either throttling or stabbing a woman!”
Such words made the butler's heart sank into his boots. He called the men to arm themselves with axes and pitchforks, while he himself took a pistol.
They surrounded the barn and tried to listen, strange sounds came from inside:
“Oh! Ah! I can't wait anymore! Tear me apart,” a female voice exclaimed. “Hurt me, I like it!”
The butler's eyes widened, the woman's voice had been obviously not familiar to him.
“Oh! My Guinevere!” the man exclaimed.
“Oh! My Lancelot!” the woman echoed.
The butler could not stand it any longer and gave a signal to the peasants; they opened the barn door and rushed inside. An erotic picture, worth a French painter's brush, opened to their view: a nude man and a woman were rolling on hay.
The men got embarrassed and lowered axes and pitchforks. The butler was furious,
“Ugh, you! Debauchees! Found a secluded place? Who are you?" he asked the uninvited guests.
Lovers were confused, not even trying to cover their nakedness.
“I am calling the Master! Let him decide! The invasion of another’s lands is punishable by law! And doing such things! Shame on you!”
The Englishman regained consciousness, grabbed his raincoat and covered himself. The woman was still sitting in the pose of Danae[32].
“I am an English citizen! And I got here accidentally...” he tried to explain.
“What if you intrude in the Master's bedroom, sir? You got everyone alarmed!” said the butler.
“I will be very grateful to you if your master does not get to know anything...”
The butler got offended.
“Do you want to buy a Russian conscience? You skunk!” he exclaimed and rushed away from the barn.
By the time Alexander Serafimovich and Sergey Lvovich came to the scene of the “incident”, guarded by the peasants, the two libertines had already put themselves in order.
