Read Online The Jewel of St Petersburg by Kate Furnivall - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kate Furnivall
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long brown apron and hung it on another hook. “Doing? I was protecting them.”
“Letting them run loose? Is that your idea of protecting them?”
“They’re not children, Popkov. They’re young women. They make their own decisions, right or wrong.”
“This city is dangerous.”
“Dangerous for them? Or for the workers who die in the factories every day?”
“You’re a fool,” Popkov snorted.
“No,” Arkin said patiently. “I’m just doing my job.”
I T WAS THE FIRST TIME ARKIN HAD SET FOOT IN THE HOUSE beyond the servants’ kitchen, and it was hard not to stare. Why would anyone want so many things? Pictures taller than himself hanging on the walls. Rubies festooned like drops of blood around a mirror and strips of gold around the plinth of each statue. A footman ushered him into a small sitting room. It struck Arkin as the most feminine room he had ever stood in, all lilacs and creams. Flowers scented the air with exotic fragrances that were new to him.
Elizaveta Ivanova was sitting very upright on an elegant chair, a glass of hot water in one hand. Her lavender gown made her look like one of the flowers herself. He bowed, with his hands at his sides, and waited for her to speak. She took her time. A full minute ticked past.
“Arkin,” she said at last, “explain yourself.”
“Certainly, madam. I drove the two young ladies to take tea at Gordino’s, but we were prevented from approaching it by a crowd of strikers marching up Morskaya.”
“Go on.”
“We were caught in a line of blocked traffic, but I managed to maneuver out of it and take the young ladies to a different establishment of their choice.”
“You should have brought them straight home. The streets were dangerous.”
“I did suggest it, madam. But both young ladies were against the idea; they declined to return home.”
“Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” The words escaped from her, startling them both. “What I don’t understand is where were you when they left the tearoom? You have a responsibility, Arkin, when you chauffeur for this family. I thought that was explained to you when...” She stopped, holding the glass of water near her mouth but not actually touching it. “They are headstrong,” she murmured.
He gave her a faint smile. “You know your daughters, madam.”
“Well enough.”
“I deeply regret that the marchers forced me to park the Turicum in a side street and when I returned on foot to the tearoom, the place was in a state of panic. Miss Valentina and Miss Katya had gone.”
“Did you search for them?”
“Of course, madam.”
Did he search? Did he shout their names? Did he race like a fool from street to street and shop to shop? Did he seize people by their lapels and demand whether they had seen a wheelchair? Yes, he ran until his lungs hurt and cursed those young girls till his tongue burned, but still he didn’t find them.
Elizaveta Ivanova nodded. “Of course you did. I can see you are a reliable young man.”
“I’m sorry, madam. I apologize for giving you cause for concern.”
“How did you find them in the end?”
“I came back here and gathered a team of men to search more thoroughly.”
She remained silent, forcing him to voice more than he wanted.
“Liev Popkov found them,” he admitted with reluctance. “He traced the tracks of the wheelchair in the snow.”
Like a bloodhound, the Cossack had been. Scouring the pavement, his face inches from the ground, finding the faintest of treads from a tire even when the surface had been trampled on.
She let the conversation cease. Sipped her water, her throat contracting above the creamy pearl necklace. “Katya is unwell,” she said after a silence.
“I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
The fairness of her comment astounded him. Most employers liked to blame servants for everything. He waited, but no more words followed.
“Would you like to speak to Popkov himself about it?” he asked.
She
“Letting them run loose? Is that your idea of protecting them?”
“They’re not children, Popkov. They’re young women. They make their own decisions, right or wrong.”
“This city is dangerous.”
“Dangerous for them? Or for the workers who die in the factories every day?”
“You’re a fool,” Popkov snorted.
“No,” Arkin said patiently. “I’m just doing my job.”
I T WAS THE FIRST TIME ARKIN HAD SET FOOT IN THE HOUSE beyond the servants’ kitchen, and it was hard not to stare. Why would anyone want so many things? Pictures taller than himself hanging on the walls. Rubies festooned like drops of blood around a mirror and strips of gold around the plinth of each statue. A footman ushered him into a small sitting room. It struck Arkin as the most feminine room he had ever stood in, all lilacs and creams. Flowers scented the air with exotic fragrances that were new to him.
Elizaveta Ivanova was sitting very upright on an elegant chair, a glass of hot water in one hand. Her lavender gown made her look like one of the flowers herself. He bowed, with his hands at his sides, and waited for her to speak. She took her time. A full minute ticked past.
“Arkin,” she said at last, “explain yourself.”
“Certainly, madam. I drove the two young ladies to take tea at Gordino’s, but we were prevented from approaching it by a crowd of strikers marching up Morskaya.”
“Go on.”
“We were caught in a line of blocked traffic, but I managed to maneuver out of it and take the young ladies to a different establishment of their choice.”
“You should have brought them straight home. The streets were dangerous.”
“I did suggest it, madam. But both young ladies were against the idea; they declined to return home.”
“Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” The words escaped from her, startling them both. “What I don’t understand is where were you when they left the tearoom? You have a responsibility, Arkin, when you chauffeur for this family. I thought that was explained to you when...” She stopped, holding the glass of water near her mouth but not actually touching it. “They are headstrong,” she murmured.
He gave her a faint smile. “You know your daughters, madam.”
“Well enough.”
“I deeply regret that the marchers forced me to park the Turicum in a side street and when I returned on foot to the tearoom, the place was in a state of panic. Miss Valentina and Miss Katya had gone.”
“Did you search for them?”
“Of course, madam.”
Did he search? Did he shout their names? Did he race like a fool from street to street and shop to shop? Did he seize people by their lapels and demand whether they had seen a wheelchair? Yes, he ran until his lungs hurt and cursed those young girls till his tongue burned, but still he didn’t find them.
Elizaveta Ivanova nodded. “Of course you did. I can see you are a reliable young man.”
“I’m sorry, madam. I apologize for giving you cause for concern.”
“How did you find them in the end?”
“I came back here and gathered a team of men to search more thoroughly.”
She remained silent, forcing him to voice more than he wanted.
“Liev Popkov found them,” he admitted with reluctance. “He traced the tracks of the wheelchair in the snow.”
Like a bloodhound, the Cossack had been. Scouring the pavement, his face inches from the ground, finding the faintest of treads from a tire even when the surface had been trampled on.
She let the conversation cease. Sipped her water, her throat contracting above the creamy pearl necklace. “Katya is unwell,” she said after a silence.
“I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
The fairness of her comment astounded him. Most employers liked to blame servants for everything. He waited, but no more words followed.
“Would you like to speak to Popkov himself about it?” he asked.
She
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