Thanks for the kind words & the new follows! Happy holidays, everyone!
Ella received a note from Anya the next morning, hastily scrawled on the back of a calling card:
"Meet me at the Admiralty on the English Embankment at 3 o'clock – Maman has agreed to walk along the promenade. We have sent a carriage for you. "
A quick glance through the window revealed one of the Prince's carriages and drivers, waiting patiently in the snow.
The carriage glided eastward through the icy slush of the streets towards the Neva river. To Ella's surprise, the snow began to clear as they neared their destination, transitioning into wet mud before revealing bare ground and a dry, granite walkway studded with the liveried carriages of the Russian court. On dismounting, she saw that the street was lined with members of the aristocracy - mingling in their finest coats up and down the length of the shore, here and there pooling in small clusters of conversation. The imposing facades of the foreign embassies and palatial townhouses dotted the street, seeming to glow golden in the sunlight reflected off the river.
Ella found Anya, her mother and sisters deep in conversation with their cousins. Anya broke away immediately as she approached, linking arms and lingering until they had fallen several feet behind the others. Ella saw the Princess Fedorovna frown slightly at Anya, but she said nothing as they continued along the pathway uninterrupted.
"What is the event?" Ella whispered curiously, nodding towards the crowded streets around them.
"Here? There is no event," Anya replied, then caught herself. "I forgot – you came so late in the year, you wouldn't know… The entire court comes here to see and be seen every year, from now until after Easter when it moves to the Summer Garden. The snow melts at the English Embankment weeks before the Nevsky Prospekt promenades are clear."
"Why do they call it the English Embankment?"
"Didn't Mary ever mention it? This is where the English Embassy is, and the street was named for the merchants who lived here over the past century. Of course, it is more refined now, but you will still find a few shops here and there… " Anya trailed off distractedly, glancing ahead at her sisters as she slowed her steps even further.
"Peter and I are leaving St. Petersburg," she whispered. "Another month or so, and no more. I wanted to tell you, in case there is not time to say goodbye when we leave."
Ella had expected the news, but still felt her stomach turn queasily on hearing the plan. Mikhail does not seem like the type to forgive and forget – and this elopement would be the talk of the town. "Where will you go?"
"East, as far as we can. Last night was the last straw – Peter is convinced."
"What happened? All was well when I saw you – and I thought you were leaving right after the fireworks."
"Peter and I – after the dance, we snuck away for a few moments to one of the observatories."
"Alone? Anya, someone could have seen you. You will be ruined if you are not more careful!"
"I don't care!" Anya retorted fiercely. "And it doesn't matter now - someone did see us, and told Mikhail. When Mikhail found me I was back at the ices. He started yelling, saying I was making a fool of him. When Peter heard, he confronted Mikhail."
Ella closed her eyes briefly, seeing the scene as it unfolded in the crowded ballroom. Mikhail had been in no condition to be discreet – and Peter would have come quickly when he heard the commotion. He had been over-confident and furious by turns that night, watching the woman he had won paraded around by the fiancé she hated.
"They almost came to blows," Anya whispered, "and if Mama had not arrived when she did there would have been a dual. I am forbidden to see Peter, now – and we are to leave tomorrow to visit our great-aunt in Moscow as punishment. I don't know how long we will have to stay. We are only here today because Mama said that it would look like a scandal to leave immediately. Thank goodness you had already left, or I would not be able to see you, either. " Ella felt a small piece of folded paper pressed into her hand. "Please give this to Peter."
"But this is madness– you would do so much better to try to convince your parents to let you give up Mikhail, first, rather than running away with Peter like a thief in the night."
"Ella, please – one last time. I must give this to him."
"What will they do to him if they catch you? Have you thought of this?"
"Don't scold me. I already have thought of it - of everything! Please – say you will give it to him."
Ella reluctantly tucked the paper into her pocket. "I will try, but I cannot promise it."
"You will, though – I know. " Anya smiled happily, then gave her a sideways look of concern. Ella knew the subject had changed as she heard the note of sympathy creep into Anya's voice. "How are you? You did not seem well last night."
"I am fine – just not feeling well."
"Have you told him yet?"
Ella shook her head slowly. If Erik had noticed her sudden malaise, he had not mentioned it. Anya and Mary, in contrast, had enthusiastically interrogated her after she turned down the first cup of tea. "No."
"Why not?"
"I want to be sure." She felt the familiar, fluttering pain in her abdomen, and with it the familiar battle of fear and excitement.
Anya gave her a skeptical look. "How much more sure can you be? You should tell him – men are always pleased enough with the news."
"I will tell him in a few more weeks – when I know more."
The Princess finally approached, effectively cutting off any future conversation. A few polite exchanges and farewells, and Ella found herself alone on the promenade, waving as the Federovnas' departed in their carriage.
Glancing at the boulevard, Ella was not surprised to see Peter materialize from a tobacco shop across the street. After a long look, he entered a small bookshop which optimistically advertised English and Russian periodicals. She lingered, browsing through the window of a jewelry shop before following him into the store.
Inside the door, she looked quickly over the wares and picked up a small book of poetry.
"Good day, Madame," she heard Peter say off her shoulder. Dressed in his military uniform, he cut an unlikely figure in the cramped, bookish space. Ella slipped Anya's note into the book in her hand. "Good day, Captain. I was just admiring this book – have you read Shelley?"
"No, I have not. But I will, on your recommendation," Peter took the book from her with a polite bow, adding in a whisper, "Thank you."
Ella continued to browse as Peter bought the book and departed. The shopkeeper smiled as she leafed through another book of poems, wandering over to address her in accented Russian. "May I help you, Madame?"
Ella smiled at the familiar infliction to his words, the rolling sounds of a London accent. She answered in English. "No, thank you – I am browsing."
"Ah, you speak English, Madame?"
"I am from England," she said conversationally, flipping through the titles stacked on a table by the door. "When did you move –"
"Where else are you from?" the shopkeep demanded abruptly.
Ella had looked up with a smile before noticing the shopkeep's expression – a combination of anxiety and eagerness, he was staring at her intensely. As one would look at a bug pinned on a board...
"Nowhere else," she lied, a small shiver running across the back of her neck under the man's close look. She put down the book, and turned towards the door. "I don't see what I am looking for – thank you for your help."
The man followed her, smiling as she edged towards the door. He held out his hands, palms up, with a look of apology. "I beg your pardon, ma'am – I did not recognize your accent, was all. I have been out of the country too long. Can I interest you in one of our periodicals? We have all the latest from London."
"No, thank you," Ella replied, a hand on the doorknob. "Perhaps another time."
The shopkeep nodded, still smiling too carefully. "Have a good day, Madame."
Ella walked outside, try to shrug off the feeling of eyes upon her. As she walked towards the carriage she suddenly felt a cold feeling wash over her. Someone is following me. The footsteps sounded brusquely behind her, a metallic ricochet of steel boot taps bouncing up off the pavement, keeping pace. She walked faster, noting the carriage up ahead and the familiar footman, and scanned the crowd. No acquaintances, but a busy street – surely she was paranoid, and it was only a coincidence. A deep voice sounded over her left ear, and immediately chilled her to the bone on the mild walk.
"Bonjour, Madame," Mikhail said smoothly, the unexpectedly pleasant smile on his face bringing her to a momentary halt. "Fine day for an afternoon walk, isn't it?"
"Bonjour. Yes, it is – but I am going home now."
"So soon? But you should take time to enjoy the shops. I know my sisters always do this time of year – you can hardly drag them out of the milliner's. I am glad to have found you – I wonder if you could assist me? I thought I would bring Anya a present – smooth over a lover's spat. I'm sure you have heard about our little misunderstanding," his voice was hard beneath the light tone, and Ella felt a tremor run through her fingertips.
"I am sure you would be better talking to the Princess directly – I know nothing of a lover's spat," Ella answered. It is not quite a lie, she thought disgustedly. This is no lover's spat, however Mikhail may choose to paint it.
"No? Your discretion is appreciated, Madame," he said icily. "I'm sure this is why Anya finds you such a convenient friend."
"I think you mis-use the word discretion – it implies that I know something I do not share. Ah, here is my coach," Ella turned to face Mikhail with a painted smile. "I fear must bid you farewell."
"Are you sure I cannot escort you to the milliner's, Madame – there is a particularly fine one down the street."
"I have no need for a hat, and must reach home before the hour. My husband is expecting me," she added demurely, handing her bags to the footman and gathering her skirts to step into the carriage.
Mikhail took her arm firmly under the pretense of helping her into the carriage beneath the driver's disinterested gaze. "A good decision. Do take care, Madame. The roads can be treacherous this time of year for those unfamiliar with them."
A light touch of his hat and he moved away with a practiced smile, carefully solicitous for the benefit of the fashionable passer-by.
Ella savored the bite of the winter wind on her skin as she made her way home – it gave her time to think, calmed her stomach and cleared her head.
Another month until the spring thaw reaches the countryside…and then the распу́тица, the spring mud, and more waiting until the water subsides and the roads are fit to travel. With luck, we could leave early…with luck.
And then the months of travel through Europe…
Erik had hated traveling through Russia, always watching the crowd as if it were a wild animal, ready to turn on them without warning. Ella bit her lip, remembering the peasant's slur. Corpse, he had jeered, picking a fight in the middle of a crowded street, drawing attention with his shouts about shows. There would be towns everywhere through Europe – towns and trains and ships with everyone crowded in on top of the other. Ella wished suddenly for the windswept steppes of Tartary, and the uncertain freedom of the empty grasslands and the fast gray mare. At least there, the danger was not personal.
The little chapel close to their home was a familiar haunt, and Ella ducked in with a whispered greeting to the caretaker. Tall candles flickered by the icons, illuminating their painted saints in a serene glow as they gazed out of golden frames. A sharp twinge of pain twisted deep in her abdomen, then subsided as she began the old prayers, the comforting cadence. Our Father, who art in heaven…
Ella looked back at the candles, watching distantly as the patient golden flames flickered and glowed in the dark. Erik is right – we cannot stay. If Anya runs away…Mikhail already suspects her of having a lover. God only knows what he will tell the Prince, and we cannot risk another episode like Lukhov's. But how can we travel now –with so much at risk?
And what will I tell Erik?