Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [482]
He smiled. ‘Of course.’
Dimitri and Karpenko watched, equally amazed. It was one of Fabergé’s smallest pieces, of course, but still an astonishing present for a boy at school to give, and hardly appropriate. Nor were they alone in thinking so for the little scene had caught the eagle eye of Mrs Suvorin. She swooped.
‘What a charming present.’ She gathered both the boy and his egg and somehow whisked both across the room before Alexander knew what had happened. ‘But my dear Alexander,’ she said, gently but firmly, ‘I can’t allow you to give such a thing to Nadezhda at her age. She’s really too young, you know.’
Alexander blushed scarlet.
‘If you do not wish …’
‘I am very touched that you should have thought of it. But she is not used to such presents, Alexander. If you wish you can give it to me and I will give it to her when she is older,’ she said kindly. And feeling now that there was nothing else in politeness he could do, Alexander sadly gave it to her.
But the message was clear. He had tried to make a declaration and Mrs Suvorin, for whatever reason, had not let him do so. He felt embarrassed and humiliated. And even when Vladimir put his arm affectionately round him and led him off for a stroll in the gallery, he was hardly comforted.
As for Dimitri and Karpenko, they were beside themselves. ‘Poor young Bobrov,’ Karpenko mocked. ‘Fabergé sold him a rotten egg.’
And Nadezhda, deprived of her egg, could hardly decide what she felt about it all.
1908, June
In the summer of 1908 it seemed that Russia, after all, might be at peace. The wave of terrorism was passing. Stolypin’s harsh measures against the revolutionaries had greatly damaged them; and the recent discovery that the leading Socialist Revolutionary terrorist had long been a police agent had weakened that party in the eyes of the people. There were signs of progress too. The new Duma was not, as some had feared, the Tsar’s lapdog. Liberals like Nicolai Bobrov spoke up boldly for democracy; and even the conservative majority backed the minister Stolypin in his plans for careful reform. Finally, that year, the excellent weather gave every promise of a bumper harvest. The countryside was quiet.
And it was in the country that the blow which was to decide Dimitri’s destiny fell, quite unexpectedly, out of the blue sky.
It was Vladimir’s idea that they should go to Russka. All spring, Rosa had looked unwell and both Vladimir and Peter had urged her: ‘Escape the city in the summer heat.’ In the end it was agreed that Dimitri and his friends should come; Karpenko would stay for the month of June before returning to the Ukraine for the rest of the holidays, and Rosa would try to come with Peter in July.
Dimitri found the place delightful. His uncle’s remarkable vision was already at work. Thirty yards from the old Bobrov house there now stood a long, low wooden building which housed the museum and, at the far end, some workshops. In these Vladimir had already installed an expert woodcarver and a potter, whom Dimitri and Nadezhda loved to watch. The museum, though only just begun, was already a little treasure house. There were the traditional distaffs, elaborately carved painted wooden spoons, presses for making patterns or bread and cakes, and wonderful embroidered cloths, featuring the curious oriental bird design that was customary at Russka. Vladimir had also begun a collection of icons of the local school from the time when the monastery had been a centre of production.
In the house itself, Vladimir had provided a varied library and a grand piano. Mrs Suvorin, evidently rather bored by the country, usually sat reading on the verandah; but the house was efficiently run by Arina, whose young son Ivan was constantly hovering, hoping for a chance to play. He and Nadezhda were almost the same age, and it was amusing to see the sophisticated ten-year-old girl go whooping down the slope after the peasant boy or play hide and seek with him in the woods above the house.
In the afternoons, Vladimir would often take