‘Really, I must take my poor Iskra out today. She has had so little exercise recently.’
That’s right, Anne thought approvingly: the best remedy is to seek the comfort of the great outdoors, and the unfailing love of a favourite animal.
The Countess went on, ‘But I do not like to ride alone. Will you ride with me, Anna Petrovna? Fräulein Hoffnung can take Yelena’s lessons this morning, can’t you, dear Fräulein?’
‘Of course, madame–’ the Fräulein began, and the Count, without looking up, said, ‘I think it will rain. You had better not go far.’
Anne, who was still looking at her mistress, saw her amber eyes shine and her lips tremble, and knew, quite certainly, that the unspoken words hovering there were ‘I shall go as far as I please!’ For a moment she felt a sympathy with her, liking her better for that flash of temper, repressed though it was.
‘I want to come too,’ Yelena said, inevitably. ‘I want to ride with you. I don’t want to do lessons.’
‘Not today, Lolya,’ the Countess said with unexpected firmness. ‘Today I want to ride very fast.’ Her husband shot her a brief look at those words, but said nothing, and she stood up and said to Anne, ‘Shall we go and get ready?’
Anne got up to follow her mistress, and the Count rose courteously to his feet, watching them both with a quizzical expression. The Countess inclined her head towards him, and Anne, embarrassed at being obliged to stand between them, followed her out without meeting his eyes, hearing behind her Lolya’s renewed complaint.
‘I want to go too! Why can’t I go? It isn’t fair!’
In the stable-yard, Anne looked at the sky while they waited for the horses to be brought out, and wondered if the Count were right about the rain, or if he had simply been trying to spoil his wife’s pleasure. It was clear overhead, though there were clouds on the horizon, and there was a small, cool breeze, which served to make the heat more tolerable. She didn’t yet know enough about the region to know if rain were likely, but there seemed to her to be no immediate sign of it. And anyway, she thought, if the worst came to the worst, a little wetting wouldn’t hurt two healthy young females.
There was a measured clopping of shod hooves on brick, and two grooms led Iskra and Grafina out into the yard, already saddled, their coats gleaming and their eyes bright with pleasure at the prospect of going out. The horses were led to the mounting blocks, and two more grooms came running to check that the girths were tight, and to help the ladies up. Anne freed her habit from under her leg and hooked her knee round the pommel, found her stirrup, arranged her skirts, and gathered up the reins. The Countess turned to her with bright eyes.
‘Are you ready? Very well. Stand aside, Yurka!’
Iskra flung her head up and down and jogged even as they walked them out of the yard, and Anne felt a moment’s apprehension – she seemed so fresh. But from her own past observation, the Countess really could ride ‘like a cyclops’ and the present fidgetings did not seem to be troubling her. Anne trotted the sensible Grafina a few steps to catch up, and once they were outside the gates, the Countess said, ‘Let’s gallop to settle them down.’
Iskra was off before the last word was out; Grafina threw her head up and snorted, Anne lost a rein, and the bay took off in pursuit. The Countess, Anne saw, was urging her mare on: she could see her booted foot digging away at the chestnut’s side. She ought to have waited until I was ready, she thought angrily, and having regained her reins and balance, urged Grafina to catch up. Iskra was much too fast, however, and the flying figure drew further and further ahead.
After a while, the distant golden speck slowed and stopped, and Grafina, blowing a little, began to catch up. The Countess turned Iskra and stood waiting as Anne rode up to her. Her cheeks were bright and her eyes moist – though that was nothing, Anne’s were too, from the wind – but her expression was almost normal, and she spoke in her usual, unemphatic voice.
‘I’m sorry I left you behind. I needed to let go and fly, just a little. We’ll go more steadily now, I promise. Are you all right?’
‘Yes,’ Anne said. ‘Poor Grafina is not as fast as your mare. She didn’t like being deserted.’
‘No, they don’t,’ the Countess said, turning and walking on as Anne fell in beside her. ‘Horses hate to be alone. But then horses are never unkind to each other.’
Surprised, and a little apprehensive, Anne waited for the confidence she thought was to come. But the Countess said nothing more, and they rode in silence for some time. When she did speak again, it was to comment on the scenery and the route they were to take.
They rode in a wide half-circle, coming up through the woods from a different direction to the outcrop where the waterfall was, and halted there to breathe the horses and look at the view.
‘It’s so flat here,’ the Countess said. ‘I was brought up in the mountains, you know.’ Her eyes moved sideways to glance at Anne. She seemed to want to confide, but not to know how. She couldn’t have had much practice at it, Anne thought with some compassion.
‘Yes, Fräulein Hoffnung told me so,’ she said encouragingly. It seemed to have been the wrong thing to say.
‘Ah, the good Fräulein,’ the Countess remarked – ironically? ‘She was governess to Nikolai’s sisters, did you know that?’
‘Yes – yes, she told me about that. She often speaks of those days.’ The Countess looked straight ahead, her mouth uncompromising. Anne tried again. ‘She speaks highly of all the family.’
‘She would,’ she Countess said shortly. ‘The Kirovs make a great impression on everyone.’
Ah, was that it? Anne wondered suddenly. Were there family jealousies, family tensions? Had she quarrelled with the Count’s sisters? But she could not imagine this strange, introspective woman quarrelling with anybody. She could think of nothing useful to say, and continued to look out over the plain towards the house. The breeze whipped up a little more sharply, turning a lock of Grafina’s thin mane, and Anne noticed that the clouds which had been on the horizon were coming up more rapidly than she had expected. The sky above them was still blue, but there was an unpleasant, steely quality to the blueness that troubled her a little.
She was about to mention it, when the Countess said abruptly, ‘Let’s get on,’ and turned Iskra to the left, picking a way down the slope towards the woods.
‘I think it may rain,’ Anne ventured, following her.
‘We’ll be under the trees if it does,’ the Countess said indifferently. She seemed to know where she was going, so Anne followed her patiently, wondering if anything more revealing would eventually be said. They entered the trees, and rode deeper into the wood, so that Anne soon lost her sense of direction. It seemed to be growing very dark, and she didn’t know if that were because of gathering clouds, or simply because they were under the trees. It was very still and silent in the forest: there was no birdsong, no insects buzzing, and the horses’ hooves made little sound on the thick carpet of dead needles. But high above them, the upper branches of the pines were lashing back and forth with a sound like the sea, and once or twice a pine-cone, dislodged, fell with a thud and a bounce on the path before them.
The Countess seemed to be riding automatically, paying no attention to anything around her. Her blank golden eyes stared straight ahead, and her mouth was set more grimly than usual. Anne began to grow both bored and apprehensive. It was definitely darker, and growing quite chilly, and while she did not mind getting a little wet, she did not relish a’soaking.
Then suddenly there was a tremendous clap of thunder, like a short, sharp explosion, which startled Iskra almost out of her skin, and made even Grafina flinch. Both horses flicked their ears back and forth nervously, and a moment later a vivid flash of lightning penetrated the gloom of the forest, followed by a long grumble of renewed thunder.