Miss Blaine's Prefect and the Golden Samovar, page 25
“You’ll do what you’re supposed to do,” I snapped. “You’ll obey me without question. Now get on with it while I wash up.”
There was no cleaning to be done since the house was pristine. So I concentrated on making a batch of rye scones and a celebration cake with a cream cheese filling and “Congratulations on Your Engagement” in cream cheese on the top.
Mid-morning, my new dress was delivered, sprigged muslin with Brussels lace at the neck and wrists. It was good to change out of the soot-stained one, which still reeked of smoke. I nipped out to give it to the nearest female beggar I could find, but she was less than enthusiastic.
“I suppose I could turn it into dusters,” she sniffed.
“Sorry, I thought you were totally destitute. I didn’t realise you had anything to dust,” I said.
She pointed at the ground where she was sitting and I saw it was indeed very dusty. I felt glad to have been of help.
Then, just as I got back to the house, a delivery cart arrived with two sofas. Once the delivery men had installed them in the salon, the foreman hesitantly produced a bill and seemed surprised that I was happy to pay it immediately.
“And of course it is minus nine kopecks, since your excellency’s serf paid that as a deposit.”
The first guests to arrive were Lidia, Nanny and Tresorka. I took them into the bedroom, where I explained about the log cabin look and the wooden bed like a sleigh. Lidia, eyes sparkling, wrote down notes and started measuring up.
There was a knock at the front door. Old Vatrushkin was still out, working through the list I had given him, so I let the general in, and took them all up to the salon for champagne and scones. I got the general to open the bottle, a Jeroboam of Veuve Clicquot.
“I’m not sure that my little chicken should have any, after all the strong drink she had yesterday,” said Nanny.
“Darling Nanny!” said Lidia. “It was not strong at all—in fact, I could hardly taste the tea.”
“I’m afraid I can’t actually offer you any tea,” I said. “There was a bit of a catastrophe with the samovar up here, and I need Old Vatrushkin to help me carry up the big one from the pantry. But I thought since this was a celebration, champagne would be more suitable. Nanny, I’m sure one wee drink won’t hurt her.”
Grumbling, Nanny poured Lidia a glass.
“I went to see Kirill Kirillovich, the best lawyer in town, yesterday,” I said. “It turns out that Lidia, as Sasha’s sole remaining blood relative, inherits his entire fortune. And it’s a very considerable fortune, since it includes the fortunes of the count and countess, Madame Potapova, and the field-marshal and admiral’s widows.”
“Weren’t those wills forgeries?” asked Nanny.
“Strictly speaking, yes. But the money would otherwise go to the tsar, and nobody wants that. Nanny, you’re going to have several thousand more serfs to manage.”
“Mercy on us!” said Nanny, looking delighted.
Lidia blinked. “But I am already one of the wealthiest heiresses in the land,” she said.
“Well, now you’re even wealthier,” I said. “Obviously, it’s entirely up to you what you do with the money, but if I could make a suggestion, you could maybe reinstate the monthly payments to Sasha’s adoptive parents. It would be a nice way to commemorate him, and it would let them keep buying sugar.”
“Of course!” said Lidia. “Where do they live?”
“In the village of N—, where you now have an estate. If you’re ever there, you should call in on them. His mum likes having visitors. You can tell her that he died in a tragic accident, but it’s probably best not to mention the pure evil bit. Look out for the priest, though. He’s a bit of a radge.”
Lidia nodded. “As always, I shall obey your wise words even when I do not entirely understand them.”
My super-acute hearing caught the sound of the door opening.
“Back in a second,” I said. “Help yourselves to scones.”
I ran downstairs and thought for a second that a complete stranger was on the doorstep. Then I realised.
“Goodness,” I said. “You scrub up well.”
“Thank you, your excellency,” said Old Vatrushkin. “I scrubbed the soot off the floors and walls as well as I possibly could. It’s good of you to suggest that my efforts have been adequate.”
“No, it’s just an expression,” I said. “I mean you look—different.”
It was odd seeing Old Vatrushkin without his long hair, wild beard and moustache, his shabby coat and lamb’s wool cap. But he suited the blue dress-coat and silk cravat, the high boots and the batiste shirt, the close-fitting trousers and the gold watch chain. He had a fine firm jaw and a handsome mouth.
“How does it feel to be emancipated?” I asked.
He gave a tentative smile. “Not as bad as I expected, your excellency.”
I gave him a slap on the shoulder. “Stop that right now. You’re a free man. You don’t call anybody ‘your excellency’. And if you try to call me ‘your excellency’ again, I’ll set Tresorka on you.”
I escorted him upstairs.
“Everybody,” I said, “let me introduce my good friend Gregori Gregorievich Vatrushkin who’s very kindly been letting me stay here. He’s the actual owner of this house.”
“Yes, I have the legal documents to prove it,” Old Vatrushkin said nervously, pulling some papers out of his inside pocket.
“Gregori Gregorievich is known as a great wit,” I explained and everybody laughed.
Lidia laughed so much that some champagne went down the wrong way and the general had to reach up and pat her on the back.
“That was very funny, Gregori Gregorievich,” she said, “when you pretended to produce your title deeds.”
“Thank you, your—” Old Vatrushkin began.
“You’re very kind,” I supplied smoothly, giving Old Vatrushkin a warning glare. “He’ll be organising the woodwork side of the renovations, Lidia. I thought you could have a chat with him about that later. But first, let me welcome you all here for this engagement party. This is a happy day, after yesterday, which was a bit fraught. Old Va—old friend, could you see that all our glasses are filled?”
Old Vatrushkin went round everyone with the Jeroboam.
“Raise your glasses, please, and let’s drink to the future happiness of the engaged couple. I give you the general and Nanny!”
“The general and Nanny!” repeated Old Vatrushkin.
“The general and Nanny!” repeated Lidia, sounding relieved.
“Me and Nanny?” said the general, sounding surprised.
“The general and me?” said Nanny, sounding thrilled.
“Obviously,” I said, looking down at the two tiny figures. “You’re made for one another.”
It was so sweet the way they could look directly into one another’s eyes without one of them having to crane backwards.
“Just one thing, Nanny,” I said. “I know you’re very devout. The general is a divorcé.”
“My wife ran away with a miller,” explained the general. “Well, she didn’t so much run away as float away.”
“She was a very silly woman then, leaving a lovely man like you,” said Nanny. “Bless your heart, don’t worry about having broken one of the most sacred sacraments. I’m sure we’ve all done worse.”
“Word of warning,” I said. “I wouldn’t mention the divorce to the priest in the village of N—. But if you ever have any trouble with him, just mention my name.”
But Nanny wasn’t listening to me. She was gazing straight ahead at the tiny general.
“I can manage your serfs,” she said. “And knit you curtains.”
“And I,” said the general, his voice husky, “can give you all the mud you want.”
“And when you’re in the village of K—you can manage Lidia’s serfs just as easily from there as you can from here,” I said.
“And the serfs near the village of N—as well,” said Nanny. “Three lots of serfs, imagine! I can knit them all fichus.”
“When you’re not knitting me curtains,” said the general affectionately. Then his face fell. “My verandah!”
“I’m sure Lidia will be happy to come for a holiday and sort out your verandah while she’s there,” I said. “Speaking of woodwork, Lidia, isn’t it time you and Gregori Gregorievich had a chat?”
They withdrew to a corner of the room and were soon deep in conversation, Lidia’s eyes shining as she gazed up at him, Old Vatrushkin’s handsome mouth curved in a smile.
I sat down on a sofa and let the two couples get to know one another undisturbed. Tresorka hobbled over to me and sat at my feet, tongue hanging out, tail quivering.
“Oh, all right,” I said. “Just this once.” I picked him up and let him lie on the sofa. It was an atmosphere of bliss and harmony, and I allowed myself to feel a touch of pride that my mission was going so well.
Lidia and Old Vatrushkin drifted back to join us, and I cut a slice of the celebration cake for everyone. Nanny and the general sniffed at it suspiciously.
“Gregori Gregorievich and I have had such a lovely chat,” said Lidia shyly. “We have an announcement to make.”
She looked round at him, seeking reassurance, and he nodded. It was touching to see the deep understanding that had already developed between them.
“Gregori Gregorievich and I—” Her voice faltered.
Old Vatrushkin stepped forward and grasped her hand. “We are going into partnership together,” he said.
He was a man, and men are rubbish at romance, but I was still a bit disappointed. “That sounds very business-like,” I said.
“Oh, it is!” Lidia assured me. “We shall go to Kirill Kirillovich, the best lawyer in town, to ensure that everything is done properly.”
“You’re getting a pre-nup?” I asked. She was as unromantic as he was. Maybe that was how it worked when you were one of the wealthiest heiresses in the country.
“We do not have your vast legal expertise,” said Old Vatrushkin, “and I do not know what a pre-nup is, but if we require one to go into business together, then we will most certainly get one. We are determined that our academy will succeed.”
“Academy?” I said.
“Yes, we are setting up the world’s first Academy of Fine Art and Woodwork,” said Lidia. “We will charge rich students extortionate fees. And we will use those fees and my vast wealth to fund scholarships for serfs.” She looked up with pride at Old Vatrushkin. “That was Gregori Gregorievich’s idea.”
“I thought you were getting married,” I said. “I thought if you didn’t get married, you weren’t allowed out in society.”
“I shall not be out in society, I shall be inside an academy, which I shall much prefer,” said Lidia. “But we have discussed marriage also. If we find ourselves falling in love, we will certainly get married. Gregori Gregorievich has kindly agreed that in that case, he will take the name of Chrezvychainodlinnoslovsky and so my family line will continue.”
I turned to Old Vatrushkin. “And you’re happy to give up your name?”
He gazed doe-eyed at Lidia. “Whatever makes Lidia Ivanovna happy makes me happy,” he said. “But I shall not be giving up my name. I believe I once told you, your—”
I glared at him and gave a warning nod towards Tresorka.
“You’re forgetting my family tradition,” he continued quickly. “If, God willing, I marry and have a son, he will be Old Vatrushkin like me, my father and his father before him. Old Vatrushkin Chrezvychainodlinnoslovsky.”
“And if it’s a girl?”
“Old Vatrushkina Chrezvychainodlinnoslovskaya.”
Boy or girl, the kid was going to have a rough time at school.
For a moment, I thought Old Vatrushkin had just outed himself as my ex-serf, until I realised that since he wasn’t their serf, they had paid no attention to what his name was.
“What a charming family tradition,” said Nanny. And then I felt a twinge in my abdomen, not excruciating, but noticeable. My mission was accomplished. I hoped Marcia Blaine was impressed, and that this would be the first of many.
“Are you all right, Shona Fergusovna?” asked Lidia anxiously.
“That’s what comes of too much champagne,” said Nanny.
“Perhaps it’s the cake,” said the general.
“There’s nothing wrong with—” I began and then had to stop to catch my breath as the twinges came again, more strongly. “I’m going to have to leave you,” I said.
“I told you the cream cheese was off,” the general whispered to Nanny.
“I understand!” gasped Lidia, clasping her hands to her bosom. “I know you said I mustn’t tell, but all of us here owe you such a debt of gratitude. Nanny, General, Gregori Gregorievich—Shona Fergusovna is an angel!”
They all nodded sagely.
“And the best mistress any man could hope to have,” said Old Vatrushkin in a low voice.
“It’s all right,” I reassured Lidia. “His reference is to serfs.”
Lidia reached for his hand and held it tight. “I have never known anyone with such a concern for serfs,” she said. “It is an inspiration. I can’t wait to teach them woodwork.”
I was practically bent double now. “I really must go,” I said.
In an undertone, the general exhorted Nanny not to eat any more cake but just to throw it in a plant pot.
Old Vatrushkin was looking at me with tear-filled eyes. “Are you really leaving us?” he whispered.
I realised I didn’t want to. I wanted to see the academy being founded, I wanted to go to Nanny’s wedding, I wanted to go to Lidia’s wedding, I wanted to take Tresorka for walks in the park.
There was a yelp behind me. Tresorka had managed to collapse off the sofa and was limping towards me. How could I leave him? But how could I take him? It wouldn’t be fair to leave him in the flat all day, and he wouldn’t be allowed in the library.
I picked him up gently and kissed him on the nose. He licked my nose in return. Then I handed him to Nanny. “Look after him. Don’t forget about the physiotherapy,” I said, my voice cracking. Then I doubled over as another twinge caught me.
“You must return to your heavenly abode,” said Lydia.
“It’s not a bad wee flat,” I agreed. “You know what would make it even more heavenly? Gregori Gregorievich, do you have any of that hyacinthine paint left?”
He swallowed. “Come with me to the orangery.”
“There will be plant pots in the orangery,” the general whispered to Nanny. “Bring your plate.”
I had never been to the orangery before. It was south-facing, with long windows and a glass roof, and a large number of orange and lime trees. One corner had been cleared for Old Vatrushkin’s art. I had assumed there would be dozens of canvases lying around, but I could see only one, an enormous thing propped on a huge easel and covered in a velvet cloth.
He fetched me a bucket of blue paint, which I could tell was going to transform my kitchen.
“And this,” he said, his voice wavering. “This is for you.”
He whipped the cloth off the canvas, and there it was. A full-length, larger than life-size portrait of me in what I had been wearing the night I arrived, the lilac evening gown and white kid gloves. Just peeping out from underneath the hem of the gown were the DMs.
“I couldn’t,” I demurred.
“Please.”
“No, really I couldn’t,” I said. It was far too big for the flat. And while there are no written rules, I’m pretty sure that in Morningside you’re not supposed to have larger than life-size portraits of yourself. It smacks of conceit.
Lidia put her arm round him. “Don’t press her,” she said. “She cannot take it. Angels have no possessions.”
“She’s taking a bucket of paint,” he objected.
“We’re allowed wee things,” I said.
“Gregori Gregorievich,” said Lidia softly. “The proper place for this portrait is your salon. Then every time we look at it, we will remember our beloved Shona Fergusovna and that will ease the bitter pain of parting.”
“That’s nice,” I said. “You’ve definitely got the wall space.”
But I sensed that Old Vatrushkin was still distressed. Just behind the easel, I caught sight of an A4 sheet of paper with a drawing on it. “I’d really like to have one of your pictures,” I said. “What’s that?”
He brought it over. It was a preparatory sketch for the portrait. It looked great.
“Would you be so good as to allow me to take this instead?” I asked.
He nodded, too emotional to speak.
I was determined to let him know how much it meant to me.
“This painting,” I said, “is the boys.”
He leaned over and kissed my shoulder. “Your excellency,” he said.
It was a beautiful moment.
Lidia collapsed with laughter. “He’s pretending to be a serf! You’re right, Shona Fergusovna! Gregori Gregorievich is so amusing!”
In the background, I could see Nanny scraping her bit of cake into a bucket of white emulsion.
“I’ll just go then,” I said. The scene around me began to shimmer and the temperature started to drop.
“Oh, one last thing—” I said, before I was forced to close my eyes. It was like being in the middle of a wind tunnel.
When I opened my eyes, I was in the kitchen of my flat, holding an A4 sketch and a bucket of blue paint that, now that I saw it against the kitchen units, was completely the wrong shade.
The remainder of my sentence echoed across the room, “—what year is it?”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My sincere gratitude to the following:
The Scottish Book Trust, in particular Lynsey Rogers, Caitrin Armstrong and Will Mackie, without whose New Writers Award this would not have been written;
Linda Cracknell, not only a generous and encouraging mentor, but also an ace companion when crossing the Moroccan desert by camel;
Sara Hunt and all at Saraband, especially editrix mirabilis Ali Moore;
matchmaker Al Guthrie;
Iain Matheson, Elaine Thomson, Margaret Ries and Michelle Wards who read drafts without complaint and with brilliant suggestions;
