The Amber Keeper (15 page)

He looked up at me then, a growing boy almost as tall as me. ‘I hope so too.’

‘Then I think we all understand each other,’ I said, smiling at them both. ‘Shall we play a game of Snap before bedtime?’

‘Ooh, yes please,’ Irina cried and Serge quickly brought the cards.

Thankfully, nothing more was said about my leaving and, despite my rather inauspicious start, visiting the country came to be a
genuine
pleasure, a regular event over the coming months. I did, however, continue to keep a watchful eye on Serge in case he tried any more of his little tricks, taking careful heed of
Babushka’s
advice, but his behaviour seemed much improved. Perhaps our truce since the incident on the ice was truly working. Each day I would take the children down to the village, little more than a huddle of
miserable
little huts, but they did so love to visit the tiny shop to buy
themselves
some sweets or biscuits. Not that it had much of interest on sale ‒ mainly black bread, strings of sausages and a few essential household items and cleaning products.

Stefan would drive us in the cart and, despite my reservations, I couldn’t help but begin to share his concern for the very evident signs of poverty I saw all around. ‘The peasants are having a hard time of it, yet the Tsar doesn’t even seem to notice, let alone care,’ he grumbled.

‘Perhaps he does, but is having difficulties putting things right. Poverty is not an easy problem to resolve.’

‘I can’t believe that.’

‘Why are you so anti-aristocracy? I’ve always enjoyed working for the gentry, and but for them, you and I would both be without a job. Isn’t it good that they at least provide employment?’

‘It depends upon what terms, and how much they try to lord it over us.’

I laughed. ‘I freely admit I have to bite my tongue on occasion over remarks the Countess makes. She did rather um and ah over whether I should be allowed an afternoon off when I first arrived. But I stood my ground and won in the end.’

He looked at me with new admiration in his eyes. ‘Good for you. So when you dine with the Count and Countess each evening, do you ever hear anything of interest that might give the working classes hope?’

I frowned, as I still recalled the argument we’d had when first we’d met. ‘I’m not a spy, so stop asking me such questions. In any case, what is there to hear? By all accounts the Tsar and Tsarina live a quiet life in the country with very little formality. Even the servants are apparently instructed to call their daughters by their first name, and not use their titles, which seems quite democratic to me, or so
Babushka
tells me.’

Stefan snorted his disdain. ‘Merely putting on a show, in my opinion, safe in their cloistered world. His Imperial Highness has little idea of how real people live, that many are attempting to become better educated and demanding more from life. He has ignored their valiant efforts to improve their lot for years.’

‘So what was it that happened back in 1905?’ I quietly asked, feeling the need to better understand Stefan’s point of view.

He was silent for a long time, hunched over the reins, his face and expression hidden by his collar and slouch cap. Only the
clip-clop
of the horse’s hooves, and the innocent chatter of the children behind us, could be heard in the silence that followed. Stefan didn’t speak until they were inside the village shop, happily choosing their sweets while we stood waiting for them at the door.

‘A party of workers gathered in the streets of St Petersburg, asking with all due respect for their working conditions to be improved. It would include an eight-hour day and a decent level of pay. Many of the demonstrators were women and children, their numbers quickly growing into the thousands, but all very calm and well organised. Then it went horribly wrong.’

‘Why? Didn’t the Tsar agree to listen to their concerns?’

‘The Tsar and Tsarina were absent. As so often happens, they were at Tsarskoe Selo, where it is considered safer for them to be kept hidden behind wire fences and an army of protectors. Back in St Petersburg, someone panicked at the size of the demonstration and ordered the guards to open fire to dispense the crowds. They did so, not over the heads of the crowd as they have done in the past but into their midst. Over two hundred people were killed that day, including my father.’

He paused, overcome by emotion, and I gazed upon him in horror. ‘Oh, Stefan, how terrible! I am so sorry.’

After a moment he continued more slowly with his tale, keeping his voice low so that passers-by could not overhear. ‘Those who fled from the massacre were hunted down and killed by the
Cossacks
and mounted guards. Bloody Sunday indeed,’ he said,
bitterness
harsh in his tone. ‘My father was found some streets away, so must have run for his life. But even he, fit as he was, could not outrun a galloping horse. If only the Tsar had been present at the
Winter
Palace
and agreed to meet with the deputation, then everything would have been different. Now he faces an almost impossible task regaining the loyalty of the working classes.’

‘I should think so,’ I conceded. ‘Even though he clearly did not give the order, as he was not in St Petersburg at the time. Do you know who did?’

‘Rumours were rife but it’s not certain. Certainly a grand duke was assassinated by the revolutionaries some weeks later by way of retaliation, so maybe it was him. There’s little doubt that it was one of the Tsar’s autocratic relatives. I had other things to worry about at the time. Losing my father destroyed my mother, while I could only watch helplessly as she faded away and died of grief. I’d just turned seventeen and went a bit off the rails for a while. It’s an impressionable age. Even now the anger created in me that day still churns within.’

‘I’m sure it does.’ My heart went out to him in sympathy. I longed to put my arms about him, but didn’t dare risk it, not in this public place.

At length he asked, ‘I don’t suppose the Count has ever said if the Tsar is yet willing to improve the lot of the workers?’

Sighing, I shook my head. ‘No more questions, Stefan, please. What would
I
know? I’m a simple country girl from Westmorland who never understood politics in England, so attempting to get to grips with it here is a lost cause.’

‘As is Russia in many respects,’ Stefan murmured.

‘I don’t believe that for a moment.’ Reaching for his hand as it gripped the horse whip he was flicking against his thigh, I gave it a little squeeze, the nearest I dared offer by way of comfort. ‘Don’t upset yourself by talking about this any more. Let it go.’

He looked into my eyes and, taking a deep breath in an effort to regain control over his emotions, gave me a little smile. ‘You’re right. There must be more interesting things you and I could talk about, not least the way you stand up to the Countess. I rather admire that brave spirit in you.’

I gave a little grimace. ‘I do have a very bad habit of speaking my mind. My father says I should try to engage my brain before I open my mouth.’

He laughed out loud, and the atmosphere between us lightened considerably. ‘You’ve also risen to the challenge of dealing with those spoiled children without losing your temper,’ he said in a soft whisper as he lifted Irina back into the cart, applauding as Serge jumped in without asking for assistance. Clicking the reins to urge the old horse to walk on, he said in a low voice. ‘I think even young Master Serge is falling under your spell.’

I thought about this for a moment and smiled. ‘You may be right. Certainly our relationship has improved of late.’

‘That’s because you have an undeniable charm, Millie. May I call you Millie? And you are looking particularly fine today in that pretty blue gown. I like the way your hair is tied into a braid on top of your head, as tidy and well-organised as you are yourself, although I’d love to see it flow loose and free on occasion. You too, for that matter.’

My cheeks were flushing bright pink at these compliments, remembering that Liam had once said something of the sort about my hair. But I wasn’t interested in Liam now. I loved the way Stefan was looking at me in that teasing way he had. I could scent the
delicious
maleness of him, feel the pressure of his hard thigh against mine. ‘Perhaps it would be safer to stick to politics after all,’ I said, and we both laughed.

How could I have imagined for one moment that he was involved with the revolutionaries? It pleased me that he meandered home at a slow pace, as I was greatly enjoying his company.

FIFTEEN

A
flicker of spring sunshine broke through the clouds as Abbie drove down the leafy lanes towards town, her mind still turning over her grandmother’s story, filled with admiration at her courage in handling such a tricky situation with a young, clearly disturbed young boy. How brave she was, but also vulnerable when it came to Stefan’s charm. She smiled. So now it was her turn to step into her grandmother’s shoes and prove she, too, was up to a challenge.

Abbie looked about her with a sigh of pleasure, enchanted as always by the wildness of Scafell and Hardknot where once whole troops of Roman soldiers would march from nearby Ambleside to the port of Ravenglass on their route to Ireland. Now these fells were the haunt of enthusiasts who walked for pleasure and who, with Easter now over, were already filling the streets of
Carreckwater
with the clatter of their boots and bulging rucksacks.

Parking the old Ford by St Margaret’s church, Abbie delivered Aimée to school with lots of encouraging hugs and assurances that she’d be there to pick her up at three o’clock.

‘Why didn’t Jonathon come with us?’ the little girl asked, as she lingered uncertainly at the school gate, holding rather tightly to Abbie’s hand.

‘Aunty Fay wanted to bring him herself, since, like you, this is his first day. In future she and I will probably take turns. Will that be all right with you?’

Aimée nodded. ‘I like Cousin Jonathon. I wish he was here now. I don’t know anyone, and they don’t speak French.’

‘You’ll soon make new friends, darling, and it’s not a bad thing to be able to speak two languages.’

The child looked up at her mother, wide-eyed. ‘Will Daddy be coming soon? I miss him.’

Abbie hunkered down to her height, feeling that familiar tightening sensation in her throat. ‘Me too, and I’m sure he’ll come to see you as soon as he can,’ she said, secretly hoping he would do no such thing. Not yet anyway, not until she felt more settled and in control of her emotions. After that, they would surely be able to come to some satisfactory arrangement whereby Aimée could visit him for holidays. ‘We must both be very brave as we start our new life. I’ll be here at the gate for you, sweetheart, on the dot of three.’ As she gave her daughter another hug her new teacher, Mrs
Sanderson
, suddenly appeared.

‘Hello Aimée, everyone is so looking forward to meeting you. Few of our pupils have met anyone who can speak French before, and are really excited. I suspect they’ll make quite a fuss of you. Shall we go and meet them?’

With a quick glance at Abbie, who smiled her encouragement, Aimée took the teacher’s hand and went off quite happily.

Giving a sigh of relief, Abbie didn’t move until Aimée had turned and waved before entering her new classroom. It was going to be all right, she told herself firmly. We’ll survive.

But instead of hurrying along Carndale Road straight to the shop, she found herself taking a detour through Fairfield Park on to the Parade. As she strolled along past the band stand and up the incline by the tall Victorian villas, Abbie recalled how the teacher had said Kate would often visit old ladies who lived here. How astonishing that she was such a stalwart of the community. Abbie’s own memory of her mother was entirely different, of a woman with a closed past who believed she alone knew what was right for her daughter.

Following the row in which Kate had told her of the secretarial course she’d booked without her permission, and Abbie had even more bluntly announced her pregnancy, there had been the expected recriminations later. It was the kind of argument no family should ever have, one she preferred not to think about now, realising how her parents had probably been right all along. She had been impetuous and naïve, far too trusting.

Not that she had thought so at the time. Abbie had run to Eduard the very next afternoon meeting him at their special place in the woods as they did every day, and she’d poured out to him all the terrible things that had been said. ‘They aren’t in the least interested in my happiness, or yours,’ she’d sobbed, falling into his arms in despair. ‘Not even when I told them about the child.’

Eduard had gone very still. ‘Child! What are you saying Abbie?’

She’d beamed cheerfully up at him, loving the startled expression of surprise in his dear sweet face. ‘I’m pregnant, didn’t I tell you?’ she teased, knowing she’d deliberately put off telling him,
nervous
of his reaction.

‘How far gone are you?’ he’d quietly asked.

‘About three months, I think, though I really should see a
doctor
to be sure. Mum and Dad are definitely
not
happy people. Sooo old-fashioned. Oh, but
I
am,
darling
Eduard. I couldn’t be more thrilled,’ she’d cried, flinging her arms about his neck and hugging him tight.

It was true that she’d felt a certain guilt at the hurt and disappointment she’d seen in her parents’ reaction. Even worse when they’d learned that Eduard was actually married, and entirely without sympathy for his plight of being saddled with a woman he no longer loved.

‘It won’t take long for your divorce to come through, will it?’ she’d asked. Back then she’d believed implicitly in her lover. ‘It’s nearly my birthday, they’ll surely give permission once I turn
eighteen
, but what if they don’t?’

‘I can wait, no matter how long it takes,’ Eduard had blithely assured her, putting a comforting arm about her shoulders, although his expression still revealed his shock at the news.

‘You may grow tired of waiting if it takes till I’m twenty-one,’ Abbie had pouted. ‘Or find someone else.’

‘Never!’ As if to prove his devotion he’d given her a long lingering kiss, if not quite as passionate as usual it had still made her tremble with longing. ‘I’m sure your parents will come round, given time.’

‘But we don’t
have
time.’ Abbie had found it impossible to imagine a life without Eduard. She’d seen him as her soul-mate, and as his kisses had deepened and grown more demanding, filling her with a need she’d never experienced quite so strongly before, she knew in her heart that he must love her.

The day they’d left for Paris her father had done his utmost to make Abbie change her mind, insisting that Eduard never would marry her.

How tragic that he’d been proved right.

Now she gazed up at the bay windows, arched doorways and wrought iron balconies of this fine row of houses, built by the rich cotton magnates of the last century. She heard a door bang as an elderly man came out of one, nodding politely as he passed her. Presumably they were now divided into flats but the old folk who occupied them must become quite lonely stuck up here at the edge of town. Perhaps she should make enquiries about taking over her mother’s charitable task?

But then Abbie remembered she’d have more than enough to occupy her getting the business back on its feet. Spinning on her heel she hurried back down the Parade and along Carndale Road, realising she was going to be late, which wouldn’t do at all on her first morning.

Abbie sat in the newly cleaned workshop wondering where to begin. All the plans she’d secretly made over the last few weeks seemed to have vanished, leaving her mind blank and panic creeping over her again.

It was all very well to boast about her experience in the
Parisian
fashion industry to her father, and insist she could turn the
jewellery
business around, but quite another matter to actually do it. Marisa had been most conciliatory and supportive when she’d rung to say she
wouldn’t be returning to Paris. Abbie had also made a point for thanking her ex-employer for the excellent
training
she’d received while working
in the boutique. Since then she’d spent hours
studying
the accounts, which showed that profits were well down, and either expenses were up or her mother was over-indulging
herself
as far more money was drawn out than came in. Kate obviously did lose interest as she’d never seemed to replace the stock she sold, merely spent the money.

The overdraft as a consequence was worryingly large, which meant that one of Abbie’s first tasks was to talk to the bank manager. She’d made an appointment for later in the week, not a prospect she looked forward to. As Abbie had no money of her own to invest in the business she’d need to request a further loan. She was beginning to wonder if she was right to even attempt to save the shop. It could already be too late.

Linda placed a mug of black coffee beside her, together with a sheath of papers. ‘I’ve completed a stock check, which I thought might be useful. Didn’t take long, I’m afraid, as we don’t have anywhere near the quantity or variety of jewellery we once had.’

Abbie took the list from her. ‘Thanks, that’s great. I shall have a good nose around, if that’s okay.’

‘Feel free, it’s your shop.’

Actually, it wasn’t, but Abbie decided against mentioning the family dispute which showed no signs of ending. Robert had
followed
her out that morning, arguing furiously as she’d helped Aimée into the car and started the engine, coldly reminding her that the business had to be sold.

‘Not if I can help it.’

‘Saving this house is more important than a stupid jewellery shop.’

‘Says who?’ And she’d driven off leaving him shouting to
himself
.

Abbie spent the next hour going through drawers and
cabinets
. As Linda had warned there were not so many precious gems as she remembered, but still some lovely pieces. In addition to the
jewellery
, she came across a set of drawers containing lengths of silk and velvet, lining fabric, quilted cotton and even some gold leaf.

‘Now what could I do with these?’ she wondered. Fingering the fabric, and remembering the huge variety of beads and Swarovski crystals she’d seen tucked away in boxes, the answer came to her. She would make a selection of evening purses. Later, she might even try a design studded with cabochons, or patterned with gold leaf.

Abbie’s excitement mounted as she set about finding the right tools for the task: round nose pliers, a pot of special glue and
sewing
materials. She might also need rings to attach a handle or strap, zips or press studs, but she could buy those later from the craft shop in Ambleside. The future was suddenly looking brighter as her
optimism
reasserted itself.

Time flew by as she drew out patterns, chose a selection of flat smooth beads that wouldn’t catch on a person’s clothing and began to play about with a design. She nursed a memory of her mother working at this very table, setting stones, making earrings, perhaps even creating bags like this. What had happened to turn her into a depressive and cause her to lose interest in what had once been her own precious dream? Tears pricked the backs of her eyes as she smoothed out a piece of fabric together with a layer of silk
lining
beneath, then carefully cut it into the correct shape using the
pattern
she’d made.

Abbie enjoyed arranging various swirls and loops with the beads, matching colours and shapes. Once she was satisfied with the design she began to stitch each bead on to the silk.

While nibbling a sandwich and sipping her third cup of coffee of the day she began to pick out some of the Swarovski crystals. She chose topaz and clear crystal, creating a design with a butterfly in pale jonquil yellow as the centre piece. Attaching the flat crystals upon the tiny dabs of craft glue she made with the aid of a toothpick was not easy, but seemed to work. Abbie became so engrossed that she was startled when Linda popped her head round the door to remind her it was almost time to pick up Aimée.

‘Oh, my goodness, so it is. Must dash. I’ll finish these
tomorrow
.’

‘They’re looking good,’ Linda said, admiring the shine of
sapphire
and turquoise beads against the black silk, and I love the crystal butterfly. I think we have some pink mini shells too somewhere. You might be able to do something with those. I’ll see if I can find them. You’re really very clever.’

Abbie was pulling on her coat and grabbing her bag, fearful of letting her daughter down on her first day. ‘Not really, and these still have to be made up into evening purses yet. There’s a lot to learn but it’s fun.’

Her first day at Precious Dreams had proved to be both exciting and nerve-wracking. Aimée too was excited about her new school, and the pair of them sang
Puff the Magic Dragon
all the way home in the car. This was to be their future. Didn’t she owe it to her daughter to make a success of the business, if only for disrupting her life by walking out on her father whom Aimée adored? And the last thing she wanted was another lecture from her brother.