had not entirely removed her Yorkshire accent. No! She had never had that, exactly; more undertones of northness, perhaps. Yet she still had to pause, she admitted, before saying butter, government, and good luck. It was the way with northern vowels. They could give one away, no matter how very rich one might be. But the countess, being foreign, would have no ear for English dialects. It would be quite relaxing to sip tea from a samovar and not have to watch every word she said.
The door was opened by the same black-clad servant, who took the offered card, indicating with a graceful movement of her hand that the caller was to sit. Then she walked down the hall to announce the visitor. And she didn’t walk, Clementina pondered; rather she placed one foot before the other with the haughty, considered precision of a ballet dancer so that her long, full skirt swirled as she moved. Far more pleasing, Clementina thought nastily, than the pompous plodding of the flat feet of Pendenys’ butler.
‘Plis?’ Again the delicate movement of the hand, the indication she was to be followed.
A middle-aged woman, also dressed in black – even her beads and eardrops were of jet – rose to her feet, her hand extended.
‘Olga Maria Petrovska,’ she said softly, inclining her head.
‘Clementina Sutton of Pendenys,’ came the prompt reply. ‘It is kind of you to receive me.’
‘Please to sit down. Tea will be brought – or coffee?’
‘Tea is most satisfactory. You will realize that I live next door to you – when in London, of course.’ She spoke carefully, slowly, shaping her mouth like a mill girl in her eagerness to be understood.
‘Ah, yes. Karl – he is our coachman and houseman – keeps me informed of what happens in the world outside. I am little interested in it at the moment. I am in mourning. I rarely receive visitors.’
‘I am sorry. Might I ask for whom?’ The woman’s English was good – very good – for a foreigner. ‘That dreadful war – will we ever forget it?’
‘The war – yes. But for me my bête noire is the uprising, the Bolsheviks. My husband and elder son were killed by the rabble; Igor is still in Russia – though I would beg you not to speak of it outside this house. They have their spies everywhere. And I mourn for my country, also.’
‘But they will be defeated and punished, those terrible people. You will go home to Russia …’
‘No. Perhaps Igor and Anna, but not me.’
‘Your children?’ Clementina was enjoying herself immensely.
‘Igor is my younger boy; Anna my only daughter. Basil, our firstborn, died at his father’s side, defending our home. Igor tries to – to find things we left behind us,’ she hesitated, ‘but please not to talk of it until he is safely back?’
‘Not a word,’ Clementina breathed. ‘I have sons of my own. You have my sympathy and understanding …’
The door opened without sound and the servant in black placed a tray on the table at the countess’s side. Then, dropping a deep, graceful curtsey, she left on feet that seemed scarcely to touch the floor.
‘Please – something we have done wrongly?’ The countess challenged her caller’s inquisitive, roaming eyes.
‘N-no. Foolish of me, but I had expected a samovar. And your furniture …’ she faltered.
‘You expected us to be very Russian? You thought to see oriental carpets, silk hangings and rare paintings? And it surprises you that I use so English a teapot?’
‘I didn’t know what to expect,’ Clementina said with complete candour. ‘I had thought that –’
‘That you would have wealthy people living next to you? Then you are much to be disappointed. Our homes – the winter town house and the one in the country we used each summer, are gone. We could not bring them with us, nor our estates and possessions. To arrive here with our lives was itself a miracle, thanks be to Our Blessed Lady.’ She crossed herself and nodded to the – what was it? Clementina frowned. Some sort of religious picture?
‘A holy icon,’ supplied the countess. ‘Once, it hung over my bed. Always, in summer, we left Petersburg for the country – so much cooler. And when we heard of the trouble in the city, we stayed there, even though winter was near – Anna and I, that was …
‘My husband and our sons returned to Petersburg at once – the mobs were looting, we were told. They got out what valuables they could from the town house and left them with me in the country – until the revolutionaries were defeated and it was safe for us to go back. But they were not defeated. We dare not return to Petersburg.’ She passed a cup with hands that shook.
‘And then?’ Clementina breathed.
‘Igor stayed behind to take care of Anna and me. My husband and elder son returned to St Petersburg to do what they could. Basil and Igor were in the army during the war, at the Military Academy. They were too young to be sent to the Eastern Front – Basil might have lived, had he been there.’
‘And your younger son? Why did you not insist he left Russia with you?’
‘Because he is a man – or almost a man – and his Czar needed him. Besides, there were – things – still to be found; hidden things. Anna and I brought what items of value we could with us – and Our Blessed Lady. It was She got us to safety. I pray to Her each night for Igor’s life – that he may soon find us here. This house – he knows of it …’ She stopped, abruptly, breathing deeply, lifting her shoulders, ashamed she had let down her guard before a complete stranger. ‘Do you think it will rain today?’
‘That is very English of you,’ Clementina smiled. ‘And might I say how well you speak our language? I thought –’
‘That I would speak only Russian? I have French, also. Our children had an English governess and spoke only English in the schoolroom. But I am so angry with those Bolsheviks that I took a vow that only English should be spoken – except on saints’ days – until there is a Romanov on the throne once more.’
‘Dear lady – forgive me – but the Czar is dead; his heir, too.’
‘I fear so. But there are Romanovs still alive; the Grand Duke Michael – the Czar’s brother – what has happened to him we do not know. We only know that our Czar, God rest him, was murdered.’ She bowed her head and crossed herself piously. ‘But I speak too much which I ask will not be repeated by you. For the sake of my son, I ask it.’
Once, in the Imperial days, she doubted she would have received any woman without first checking her pedigree most thoroughly. Indeed, in St Petersburg, their circle of acceptable friends had been select and small. Now, even though she was as nothing in a strange country, she should not let her standards drop. It was just, she sighed inside her, that she was lonely and homesick for Russia and afraid, still, that those who had in even the smallest way served the Czar would be hunted down no matter where they might be.
‘Not a word shall pass my lips,’ Clementina breathed, eyes wide, heart bumping.
‘So, Mrs Clementina Sutton of Pendenys – now you shall tell me about your children …’
The countess had, Clementina
