Days passed, then a week . . . then two. Viktor was too busy with pressing governmental matters to give attention either to his wife and daughter’s trip to the south, or to his daughter’s steadily deepening involvement with Basil Anickin. Tension over the situation mounted, though it remained hidden, building toward an explosive release.
One evening in late June the doctor’s son paid a visit, as he now did most evenings. The day had been a difficult one for the prince, and coming home to find Basil once more on the premises irritated him. He remained rudely silent all evening, debating within himself how to get rid of the fellow for good without making Katrina so mad she would do something foolish. After a tense dinner, he excused himself and made his exit without a word to their guest. Basil was offended, but said nothing. Princess Natalia remained dutifully with the young people for the rest of the evening.
The two were alone only when Katrina walked Basil out to his coach. That brief interlude, however, and the words of love they exchanged proved sufficient to light the fuse for a volatile confrontation. When Katrina came up to her room for the night, she told Anna that she had consented to become Basil’s wife, and planned to tell her parents in the morning.
If Katrina slept well in the contentment of her romantic bliss, Anna did not.
She had never believed her mistress would go so far with this infatuation; she had always thought Katrina strong and level-minded enough to bounce back from the disappointment of Dmitri’s engagement. That Katrina truly might love Basil did not occur to Anna. She knew the princess better in some ways than Katrina knew herself. Anna did not understand Katrina’s attraction to Basil any more than she understood her interest in Dmitri. But she had sensed from the beginning that the obsession with Count Remizov was deeper and more real than this sudden new fancy with Basil Anickin.
Anna’s sleeplessness, however, came mostly from not knowing how to speak her mind to Katrina. They were friends, although the word was rarely used to describe the nature of their relationship. Stimulated at first by their studies, they had come to be able to freely explore their feelings and opinions on many subjects with each other. Katrina did most of the talking, simply by virtue of her nature, telling Anna things she had never revealed to another soul.
Anna returned this trust her mistress placed in her with sharing of her own, although her expressions were more guarded. She was still, first and foremost, a servant. And Katrina could as easily slip back into the role of mistress.
“It is a dangerous fence you walk, Anna,” Nina Chomsky, Princess Natalia’s maid, had commented to her more than once, “trying to be both friend and servant to someone so high-strung and flighty as Princess Katrina. It can only bring you grief in the end.”
Anna puzzled all night over what to do, and whether she should say anything to her mistress. She recalled her father saying to her, “My dear Anna, do not forget that a friend who is not willing to risk his very friendship for a friend is perhaps not such a good friend as he thinks he is.” Anna turned old Yevno’s words over in her mind, and as the first rays of the bright June sun began to penetrate her bedroom window, she finally came to a resolution.
Her friendship and love for Katrina must take precedence over her position as a servant. If she was a true friend, as she was sure her father would have said, she must take the risk of sacrificing even the friendship itself for the sake of honesty, and the higher good of Katrina’s future. Perhaps she had learned enough of the art of tact and subtlety to attempt speaking the truth without risk. But even if she could not, she must speak openly.
Anna dressed and completed several of her duties before Katrina awoke. She was in the sitting room mending petticoats when she heard a sleepy yawn from the princess’s bedroom. Her heart immediately began to pound with anxiety. No matter what, she had to talk with Katrina before she approached her parents with the news of the engagement. The princess might not pay any attention to her words. But just in case she did, it would be better for her to change her mind before upsetting her parents.
Anna laid down the mending and went to the bedroom door and knocked softly. A sleepy “Come in” followed. Anna obeyed.
“Good morning, Anna,” said Katrina, stretching lazily.
“Good morning, Princess. I hope you slept well.”
“Like a baby!”
Anna could not help noting the redness of Katrina’s eyes and a lethargy to her movements that belied her affirmation.
Anna walked from window to window pulling back the drapes. She wondered if Katrina’s sleepless night had the same cause as her own. It gave her some hope as she mustered the courage to speak.
Katrina spoke first, however. “Isn’t it a glorious morning! I think I shall wear a light, bright summer dress. It will be very warm by lunch time.”
“As you wish, Princess.”
“Get out my yellow cotton dress—the one with the white eyelet lace. My white linen shawl will go nicely with it, if by some chance the wind comes up and it becomes chilly.”
“Yes, Princess.”
Anna found the dress in the wardrobe, gathered up a petticoat and Katrina’s other things and laid them neatly on the bench at the foot of the bed. She worked slowly, methodically, realizing she was stalling, and realizing also that it was no use. Finally she took a breath and turned toward Katrina, who had crawled out of bed and was bending over the basin splashing water on her face.
“Princess Katrina,” said Anna, “may I speak to you about something?”
“Of course.”
“Something personal?”
“Yes, Anna . . . what is it?”
But before Anna could answer Katrina added, “Oh, would you first fetch me a towel?”
Anna did so, then began again. Every word left her mouth hesitantly and she halted and stumbled along.
“I have given this a great deal of thought, Princess,” she said, “so I hope you will not think me speaking just idle chatter.”
“You never chatter, Anna. Now do go on with it. I’m rather in a hurry this morning because I want to speak with my parents as soon as possible.”
“It is just that I want to talk to you about . . . ,” Anna went on. “You see, I have been wondering—it may not be my place to say this, but I feel I must—I wonder if perhaps you ought to give these marriage plans more consideration.”
“That is a rather presumptuous thing for you to say, is it not, Anna?” Katrina’s tone was suddenly slightly cooler than before.
“It is only that I find myself remembering how not so very long ago you told me that you loved Count Remizov, and that your feelings went deeper than mere infatuation.”
“You of all people should be glad I have given up on Dmitri,” said Katrina. “I always had the idea you thought me something of a fool for my silly fixation on him.”
Anna winced inwardly, but did not reply immediately.
“Well, Dmitri is a lost cause, and it is a sign of my real maturity that I can finally admit it,” Katrina went on.
“Is it possible that you can fall in love with another so quickly after drawing such a conclusion?” Any other servant would have had her ears boxed for such a remark. Even Anna trembled a bit as she uttered the words. However, such was her valued and trusted place in Katrina’s life that the princess only recoiled slightly at the pointed question.
“It only shows how shallow my feelings for Dmitri were in the first place. And from that experience, perhaps now I know something about love that I did not know before.”
“Then you truly love Basil Anickin?” asked Anna.
“That is the silliest question I have ever heard! I’m going to marry him, aren’t I?”
Anna did not miss the fact that Katrina did not give a direct answer to her question.
“I would have hoped, Anna,” Katrina went on, the previous coolness in her tone heating up considerably, “that at least you would be happy for me instead of subjecting me to this inquisition.”
The words stung Anna’s heart. She wanted more than anything for Katrina to be happy. But she could not shake the nagging conviction that the princess would never be happy if she married Basil.
“I am sorry, Princess,” said Anna in true distress. “I want this to be a happy time for you, but . . .” She began to lose her resolve.
“But what?” demanded Katrina caustically. “Go on, you may as well say it all out.”
“I . . . I only—that is . . . it seems that Basil Anickin . . . that perhaps he is not perfectly suited to you.”
“Not suited to me!” exploded the princess. “I suppose you listen to all those ugly rumors too!” she yelled. “What do you know, anyway? You are only an ignorant peasant! All you people still exist in the Dark Ages. You wouldn’t know love . . . you wouldn’t know a fine noble person if you bumped straight into him. Just because you don’t have a man, you want to spoil my life for me. All I can say is . . . is . . .”
Katrina’s anger and frustration overcame her. She could find no more words, and stamped her foot like an ill-tempered child.
“Oh . . . get out of my sight!” she blustered. “I am sick of you!”
Anna obeyed, fighting back tears.
She knew she had already gone well beyond the limits of her natural courage, and even further, beyond the propriety of her position. She hurried from the room, crying.
The hurt was not primarily a result of Katrina’s harsh words. Her mistress had said angry words to her before. She knew Katrina did not mean half the things she said at such times.
What hurt Anna most of all was that she had failed. She had not been strong enough or convincing enough or even clever enough to persuade Katrina to listen, and thus shield her mistress from what was sure to be a disastrous path. She could not help but blame herself for her ineptitude.
And now she must stand by and watch Katrina make what she feared was a terrible mistake.