Anne liked her enormously and was glad that Shoora seemed equally disposed to approve of her. They had a long talk one morning in the linen cupboard, where they had gone to find some particular embroidered sheets which Vera Borisovna remembered having used on her bed on some previous visit.
‘Of course, Mama is very down on poor Irusha,’ Shoora said, leaning an elbow on a convenient shelf. ‘She didn’t think Nikolasha ought to have married again, and then when they had another child – well, that was the end of it! Nikolasha’s estate has to be divided up between his children, you see – when he dies, I mean of course – and the more children he has, the less there will be for Seryosha. Lolya has money in trust from her mother, so Mama isn’t worried about her. And Irusha’s young, and there’s no knowing how many more children they’ll have, so of course Mama takes it out on her.’
‘That’s very unfortunate,’ Anne said.
‘Very unfair, you mean,’ Shoora said with an impish grin. ‘It’s all right, you needn’t mind saying it to me. Well, Mama did read Nikolasha a terrible sermon when he married, saying he was selfish and irresponsible and all that sort of thing; so she blamed him as well as Irusha, but he doesn’t mind, while it really upsets her. If only she’d stand up to Mama, it wouldn’t be so bad. The worst thing you can do with Mama is to let her see you’re afraid of her.’
Anne could hardly say that was just what she had thought, so she just nodded.
‘And Nikolasha made it as bad as he could by telling Mama he was in love. Mama chose his first wife for him, and as far as she was concerned Yelena Vassilovna was absolutely perfect. To her mind, Nikolasha should have buried his heart along with his wife, especially as he already had a son to follow him. She thought it was in bad taste to marry again, and then to marry for love, and to a woman of no family, and with no dowry. And then, Irusha’s from the Caucasus, which Mama regards as practically Turkey.’
‘I see. She hadn’t much hope of winning approval, then,’ Anne said.
‘She might have been all right, if she’d been richer, or much plainer than Yelena Vassilovna, or if she’d even managed to be a Frenchwoman,’ Shoora sighed. ‘But as it is, she’s done everything wrong, poor creature. Ah, wait, are those the ones? Oh no, they’re the lace-edged sheets Vsevka and I gave for the wedding. Well, I don’t know where these embroidered ones are. I think Mama must have dreamt them.’ She looked at Anne with a frank smile. ‘I like you, Anna. I think you will be very good for Irina. And good for Nikolasha, too.’
‘What do you mean?’ Anne asked with difficulty.
Shoora’s round blue eyes were fixed on her face. ‘Oh, give him someone to talk to, I mean. You’re of his kind, a real intellectual. I’m not, and poor Vsevka knows about nothing but bang-bangs, and Irusha, poor child, is as cloudy as pond-water. But you can really talk to him. He needs that. His poor mind gets like a hunter shut up in a stable and fed too much corn. We should all count it a great service, Anna dear, if you’d give him a little exercise from time to time. What a pity,’ she added with a sigh, ‘that he couldn’t have married someone like you. I’m sure you could have made him happy, and made Mama like you.’
Anne fought to keep her countenance and hoped that the colour of her cheeks might be attributed to the warmth in the closet. ‘I think we ought to give up the search for those sheets,’ she said ‘I don’t think we’re going to find them.’
‘I’m sure we won’t,’ Shoora said equably. ‘I’d have taken Nyanka’s word for it – she ought to know, after all – but Mama never trusts servants, and especially not Georgians. She thinks they all live in caves and eat little children.’
All meals were now formal occasions, taken in the great dining room, and with the best crystal, silver, and china. The breakfast- set was Meissen, patterned with brightly coloured insects, butterflies and dragonflies; the dinner service was newer, Sèvres famille vert with a deep gold border. All the children sat down with the adults, and Anne was impressed with the way they handled the priceless articles – the exquisite porcelain, the delicate crystal, the heavy silver cutlery – and never spilled or dropped anything. There was a liveried footman to each chair – Vera Borisovna’s own footman waited on her, his scarlet livery clashing horribly with the Kirov strawberry red – and Vasky attended to the wines, while Yakob, quivering with nervousness, presided over the side board and dressed the joints. There were two full courses every evening, and dinner often went on until half past eight or nine o’clock.
The neighbouring families all made formal calls to pay their respects to the Dowager, and on most days there were guests to dinner, or to cards and supper. Vera Borisovna was a great card-player, and in the style of her youth, played for high stakes and was usually a winner. These occasions were a refined torture for the Countess, who, though understanding the rules of play, had no more grasp of strategy than a bullfinch. She lost every hand, and though the Count paid her losses cheerfully, even jokingly, she could not but be aware of her mother-in-law’s contempt. Even worse was when the draw partnered them: either they lost, and the Dowager abused her stupidity, or they won, and she was placed in the Dowager’s moral debt.
The Countess’s only moments of happiness were when she rode out, usually now in the company of Shoora and the children, and sometimes the young people from the neighbouring families. Vera Borisovna did not ride and so for a few hours the Countess could legitimately avoid her company. The weeks passed, and though there had been informal dinners and various evening entertainments, nothing had yet been said about a formal dinner or ball. Anne was aware that the Countess was evading the issue; and was aware, too, from covert glances and pointed remarks, that a subtle pressure was being exerted by the Dowager for a date to be set. It was plain that for the Countess, to give a formal reception would be worse torture than not to. Anne was only surprised that she managed, with that stubbornness weak people sometimes display, to continue to resist.
One morning while they were at breakfast, Vasky brought in a pile of stiff white cards together with a letter for the Countess.
‘Invitations!’ Shoora exclaimed at once. ‘Don’t tell me – nothing else looks like an invitation card. How exciting! Who is it, Irusha? Dinner or ball?’
‘It’s from Princess Kovanina,’ Irina said, reading her letter. ‘They have just arrived from Petersburg, and ask us to a formal dinner and ball at Grubetskaya next week, especially in your honour, Belle-mire.’
Anne saw Vera Borisovna cast a sharp glance at the Countess. This might well be used as an excuse for Irina not to give a ball of her own, especially as the summer was now well advanced. Yet from her expression, she might as well have been invited for a short spell of imprisonment followed by execution by guillotine, and Anne felt a faint irritation with her mistress that she seemed so incapable of enjoying life.
She was thrilled, however, to find that there was an invitation for her in the pile of thick, gold-edged cards, and after breakfast Shoora hastened to tell her how much she would enjoy it.
‘Grubetskaya’s a beautiful house, not like this dreadful old pile – just like Versailles, only not so big, of course, but with a beautiful ballroom, all mirrors, and a terrace overlooking the river. The Kovanins are wonderful hosts, quite young, and not a bit stuffy. Nikolasha says the Poliakovs probably told them about you. Have you something to wear, by the way?’ she added.