With another hasty curtsy, I fled from his library and found my brother standing at attention outside. “Take me home, Petya,” I said, sweeping past him toward the palace entrance. I did not want to see George Alexandrovich. Not yet. Had he known his father was going to ask such a thing of me?
My brother pestered me with questions the entire ride home. “It had nothing to do with the lich tsar, Petya,” I said, leaning my head back and closing my eyes. “And it wasn’t about the Order. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow. I’m just tired.”
It had been an exhausting interview. I begged him to tell our parents something, anything, so I could just go straight to bed when we got home. With a worried frown, he finally nodded. As the carriage drew closer to Betskoi House, Petya leaned forward and put his hand on top of mine. “I just wish I knew what it was so I could make it better.”
I glanced up at him. Sometimes my brother’s overprotectiveness made me want to cry. “I wish you could too.”
6
I spoke with my brother early the next morning. Maman was a late riser, and Papa had gone for a brisk early-morning walk. Petya was already dressed in his regimentals, ready to leave for his palace duties. “And now are you going to tell me what last night was all about?” he asked, taking a hot cup of tea from the footman’s tray.
I pulled him into Papa’s study. “George asked his father for permission for us to marry. The tsar agreed, but—”
“Katiya, that is wonderful news! I think George Alexandrovich is an excellent fellow!”
I shook my head. “But the tsar will only give us permission if I agree to give up my dreams of becoming a doctor.”
“And you can’t decide which you want more?” Petya asked. He was not condescending but concerned.
I could not hold it in any longer. The tears I’d refused to shed the previous night came bursting out as my brother pulled me into his arms. “There, there,” he said, feebly patting my shoulder. “Surely you love your grand duke above all else?”
“Do I?” I asked, looking up at Petya. “What if I grow to resent my sacrifice? What if I grow to hate him?”
“Is that what you’re afraid of?” he asked.
I nodded, careful not to wipe my tears on his regimentals. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and gave it to me.
“Katiya, perhaps the tsar will agree to some sort of compromise. If you cannot attend medical school, perhaps he will let you open a hospital in your own name. You can spend all your free time there.”
I gave my brother a slight push as I turned away. “That is exactly what Danilo proposed. But I want to make a hands-on difference. I don’t want to be a silly grand duchess who simply spends money.”
“But you can make a difference with money, Katiya. Never doubt that.”
My back still turned to him, I blew my nose.
He sighed, exasperated with me. “I must leave now or I will be late. Are you going to tell Maman and Papa?”
I shook my head. “Not until I’ve made my decision. What good would it do?”
“All right,” he said, squeezing my shoulder gently. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
I waited until he left before dissolving into tears again. I had to speak with Dr. Badmaev. I wasn’t expected until this afternoon for my studies, but I decided I’d rather face a table of cut-open corpses than my parents right now. I quietly slipped back to my room and grabbed my cloak. I left word with the servants that I’d gone to Dariya’s for the day, hoping my cousin would not choose today to pay me a visit.
I had not seen much of Dariya since she’d traveled with Miechen’s Dark Court to Biarritz over the summer. She had become more and more like her stepmother, Countess Zenaida: her head was filled with Dark Court intrigues and affairs. Dariya was intent on capturing a wealthy, titled husband. I knew what she would tell me to do if I confided in her.
I walked briskly to the nearest tram location and paid my passage to Betosky Prospekt. I was getting used to riding the rickety, cramped carriage with strangers and seeing a side of St. Petersburg I’d never seen before. Would I be able to help these people better as a wealthy grand duchess or as a research doctor? Could I ever forgive myself if I gave George up? I was so lost in my own miserable thoughts I almost missed my stop near Dr. Badmaev’s clinic and herb shop. Why should the tsar force me to make such a choice? It wasn’t as if George were the heir to the throne. I would never be tsarina or empress.
Brooding, I entered the doctor’s shop. There were already a few patients sitting in his waiting area. I smiled at them as I hung my wrap on the coat stand. I passed through to the back of the building, where I found the Tibetan doctor drinking a cup of tea.
“Duchess! You are early! Are you so eager to dive back into the lung tissue? Did you discover the secrets of your pink growths?”
“Yes, they were tuberculin tumors,” I said with a little pride. “But I came early because I am in a terrible quandary.” I took the cup of tea Masha handed me. Thanking her, I sat down next to Dr. Badmaev.
“Nothing that tea can’t make better, I hope?” he said, smiling.
“I’m afraid it’s too terrible for tea to fix.” I took a sip and told him about the tsar’s ultimatum.
“The tsar is very old-fashioned. More so than his father ever was,” the Tibetan said. “And this has kept you up all night, worrying?”
I laughed grimly. “Does it show?”
He smiled. “Come to the lab and we will take your mind off your problems for now. Perhaps you will be able to think clearly after concentrating on something else for a while.”
I smiled back. Tumors and germs were just what I needed.
I spent the morning examining lung tissues under the microscope while Dr. Badmaev treated the patients out front. As I drew illustrations of the various cells, I listened to him examine his patients, asking them about their symptoms and explaining to them how to take the medicine he was prescribing.
Most of the patients were poor and ignorant and needed simple, brief directions. Their illnesses could have been prevented if they had nutritious food and practiced better hygiene. One woman had put pig manure on her child’s cut foot because a neighbor had suggested it. Dr. Badmaev fussed at her for listening to such foolish advice. “Keep the foot clean,” I heard him tell her. “Put fresh, clean dressings on it every day. And make sure the child takes this medicine every day too.”
He must have seen at least twenty patients before joining me in the lab. He did not look tired at all. “And how are the lungs today?”
I could not help smiling. “I’ve sketched five different kinds of cells that I found within the lung tissues.”
“Very good. And what herbs would one use to benefit lung ailments?” I enjoyed the Tibetan doctor’s peculiar blending of Eastern and Western medicine. I had been surprised to discover he’d received his medical diploma from the St. Petersburg Military Academy of Medicine upon arriving in Russia with his elder brother several years ago. He’d been a young boy then, leaving the monastery in the Himalayas, where he’d grown up studying Tibetan medicine, and journeying thousands of miles alone to St. Petersburg to live with his brother. The elder brother died several years ago but had been a well-known doctor respected by Tsar Alexander the Second.
“Lungwort, sea wrack, and ephedra,” I said, listing the herbs I had studied the night before.
“Very good!” Dr. Badmaev beamed. “My nephew is joining me soon from the monastery. He will be studying medicine along with you.”
“And he will be allowed to attend the medical academy,” I said, trying to keep the sudden bitterness from my voice. Men had so many more opportunities than women. Why did the tsar have to be so stubborn?