necks curved away from the centre. It looked much more difficult than even a four-in-hand.
Before going about his business, Kolya seconded a subaltern to show John the splendours of the Tsar’s principal residence. Though he occupied a couple of hours agreeably enough admiring the superb classical architecture and magnificent furnishings and artworks, including French spoils of war, he was glad of his friend’s return.
On their return to the Volkov mansion, John was introduced to what seemed like hordes of brothers and sisters and aunts and cousins and hangers-on. The prince and princess greeted him graciously, but he was not unhappy to find that there were more important guests who occupied their attention. The younger members of the family were as lively as Kolya. Unabashed by the presence of their elders, they made John feel at home, involving him in their games and music. He thoroughly enjoyed the evening.
While he was waiting for a convenient moment to take his leave of his host, he overheard a fragment of conversation. It was in French, the preferred language of the aristocracy. One of the distinguished guests said something about the possible future emancipation of the serfs. The minister responded with a vigorous exposition on why the Russian peasant would never be capable of using his freedom to his or anyone else’s advantage.
John was reminded of his Grace’s obstinate opposition to reform of Parliament. Having made his farewells, he mentioned this, laughing, to Kolya.
“Is no joke,” said his friend fiercely, escorting him out into the hall. “Condition of serfs is disgrace. When I inherit,”—he crossed himself as if to ward off that day despite his disagreement with his father—”I free every one on our estates.”
“Does the Minister know this?”
“Da. We have often disputes. I am in trouble with Tsar for my views, too, but still my father protects me, or I will—would—be in exile like you, to Moscow at least. Tsar Aleksandr Pavlovich was once progressive; now he listens only to Arakcheyev. Bah!”
On the way home in the Volkov carriage, John was thoughtful. He was surprised to find a serious side to his companion of many a lark. He had been tempted to tell Kolya of his own ambitions. However, besides a certain unwillingness to expose himself to raillery, it suited his purpose better to be considered an unthinking scapegrace. Little as he relished deceiving Kolya, particularly after his family’s enthusiastic welcome, his duty to his country must come first.
He found a game of faro in progress in the staff residence. Nothing loath he joined in, drowning his misgivings in vodka. It was a positive pleasure to be surrounded by Englishmen.
John had every intention of calling on his cousin and Rebecca. In fact, he rose early one morning with that intention, only to find them out. He stayed half an hour to play with Esperanza and talk to Annie. Otherwise, his time was fully occupied by the outings and entertainments proposed by his new acquaintances. Before he realized it, the evening of the ambassador’s ball arrived.
In London he had generally avoided such tame events, unless coerced by his mother into escorting her. Now he found himself looking forward to it, particularly when he learned that Kolya was to attend.
As a member of His Excellency’s staff, however superfluous, he was kept busy for some time looking after the earliest arrivals. Even the censorious Colonel Wharton had nothing to complain of in his behaviour. Lord John Danville was, after all, a gentleman of the highest ton, and bred up to such occasions. Outwardly nothing was visible of his rising sense of anticipation except, perhaps, a tendency to glance rather often at the entrance to the ballroom, where Lord Cathcart was greeting his guests.
John saw Andrew move towards the door and he gracefully extricated himself from his present companions.
Two ladies were curtsying to the ambassador as he approached. Teresa,
Before going about his business, Kolya seconded a subaltern to show John the splendours of the Tsar’s principal residence. Though he occupied a couple of hours agreeably enough admiring the superb classical architecture and magnificent furnishings and artworks, including French spoils of war, he was glad of his friend’s return.
On their return to the Volkov mansion, John was introduced to what seemed like hordes of brothers and sisters and aunts and cousins and hangers-on. The prince and princess greeted him graciously, but he was not unhappy to find that there were more important guests who occupied their attention. The younger members of the family were as lively as Kolya. Unabashed by the presence of their elders, they made John feel at home, involving him in their games and music. He thoroughly enjoyed the evening.
While he was waiting for a convenient moment to take his leave of his host, he overheard a fragment of conversation. It was in French, the preferred language of the aristocracy. One of the distinguished guests said something about the possible future emancipation of the serfs. The minister responded with a vigorous exposition on why the Russian peasant would never be capable of using his freedom to his or anyone else’s advantage.
John was reminded of his Grace’s obstinate opposition to reform of Parliament. Having made his farewells, he mentioned this, laughing, to Kolya.
“Is no joke,” said his friend fiercely, escorting him out into the hall. “Condition of serfs is disgrace. When I inherit,”—he crossed himself as if to ward off that day despite his disagreement with his father—”I free every one on our estates.”
“Does the Minister know this?”
“Da. We have often disputes. I am in trouble with Tsar for my views, too, but still my father protects me, or I will—would—be in exile like you, to Moscow at least. Tsar Aleksandr Pavlovich was once progressive; now he listens only to Arakcheyev. Bah!”
On the way home in the Volkov carriage, John was thoughtful. He was surprised to find a serious side to his companion of many a lark. He had been tempted to tell Kolya of his own ambitions. However, besides a certain unwillingness to expose himself to raillery, it suited his purpose better to be considered an unthinking scapegrace. Little as he relished deceiving Kolya, particularly after his family’s enthusiastic welcome, his duty to his country must come first.
He found a game of faro in progress in the staff residence. Nothing loath he joined in, drowning his misgivings in vodka. It was a positive pleasure to be surrounded by Englishmen.
John had every intention of calling on his cousin and Rebecca. In fact, he rose early one morning with that intention, only to find them out. He stayed half an hour to play with Esperanza and talk to Annie. Otherwise, his time was fully occupied by the outings and entertainments proposed by his new acquaintances. Before he realized it, the evening of the ambassador’s ball arrived.
In London he had generally avoided such tame events, unless coerced by his mother into escorting her. Now he found himself looking forward to it, particularly when he learned that Kolya was to attend.
As a member of His Excellency’s staff, however superfluous, he was kept busy for some time looking after the earliest arrivals. Even the censorious Colonel Wharton had nothing to complain of in his behaviour. Lord John Danville was, after all, a gentleman of the highest ton, and bred up to such occasions. Outwardly nothing was visible of his rising sense of anticipation except, perhaps, a tendency to glance rather often at the entrance to the ballroom, where Lord Cathcart was greeting his guests.
John saw Andrew move towards the door and he gracefully extricated himself from his present companions.
Two ladies were curtsying to the ambassador as he approached. Teresa,
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