All the way home Fedorcenko stared at the back of Leo Moskalev’s head, saying not a word, contemplating the problem and running all the options through his mind.
Was it possible the Alexander he had known so long would turn on him this quickly? The idea was preposterous—unless the reactionaries among the tsar’s counselors had finally poisoned his mind. They were always looking for ways to undermine the influence of the more moderate element. And Alexander, in his typically complex manner, kept a foot so firmly planted in each camp that one might speculate eternally and never discover for certain where the tsar’s present favor lay—if indeed on either side of the fence. Orlov and Valuyev, as conservative as they came, were highly influential with the tsar, and not above court intrigue if it would further their particular causes. But why, if they were behind it, were they trying to discredit Fedorcenko now?
The question nagged at the prince later that day as he tried to work at home in his study. He attempted to shove the morning’s aborted interview from his mind, but without success. The silence as he sat there waiting, then Totiev’s saurian approach, the half-grin quivering about his lips, and the fateful words of polite rebuke . . . all the images from the morning kept lurking around the edges of his consciousness, finding their way into his thoughts at odd intervals.
Schemes, plots, and counter-plots were all too common in the Imperial Court, but Fedorcenko despised them. Slowly he shook his head, realizing that he now had a headache himself.
“I am probably creating a Siberian blizzard out of a single flake of snow!” he said to himself. “The tsar has a headache, and suddenly I am on the brink of being stripped of my rank and bundled off to Srednekolymsk!”
With relief he welcomed the interruption when, five minutes later, the housekeeper arrived with a trivial household crisis to report.
“I wouldn’t bother you with this, sir,” she said, “except that the princess was feeling indisposed and referred the matter to you.”
Fedorcenko wondered what was ailing his wife this time. Probably only that the party after the opera last night had lasted too late into the night.
“Well, what is the problem?” asked the prince.
“We’ve had another loss in the kitchen, sir. That makes three this month, and we were already short of help, as you well know.”
“Whatever is going on in that kitchen?” Viktor sighed distractedly. In actuality the minor annoyances of maintaining his household staff were almost pleasant compared to the alternatives facing him on this day.
“I don’t know, sir. The woman left because of a sick relative.”
“Let us hope that is all it is. I am wasting my time finding new people if they remain with us less than a few weeks.”
“I fully agree, sir,” replied the housekeeper. “I will most certainly look into the matter thoroughly. In the meantime, we still have the problem of the shortage. Your Christmas Eve party is approaching, and I do not see how we will manage with our present staff.”
Fedorcenko had nearly forgotten about Christmas, not to mention the annual Fedorcenko soiree. The tsar had been invited and had agreed to make a brief appearance. Viktor wondered how that commitment stood now . . .
He shook the thought from his mind. Snowflakes and blizzards—that’s all it was!
“You know of course that there are some new people coming,” said the prince.
“Yes, sir, from the country.”
“Better workers,” added the prince, “and far more honest than the rabble in the city.”
“What shall we do if they do not arrive in time?”
“I know for a fact that one girl in particular should be here within a day or two. A friend of mine arranged it for us; I checked on it myself only a few days ago. When she comes, put her directly into the kitchen. Three or four others are scheduled to arrive a bit later. If they don’t get here in time, you have my authority to hire temporary help locally.”
The housekeeper nodded.
“But I emphasize temporary—be certain you make that quite clear. It will only be through Christmas. They should be grateful for that much. But watch them like a hawk.”
The housekeeper turned and exited the study. The prince leaned back in his chair and smiled. He was glad he had come home this afternoon. It certainly did help to put everything into perspective. What were threats of war, Imperial rebuff, and palace intrigues compared to a short-handed kitchen!