The visit to the Remizov home by Mrs. Remington, while unexpected, was not altogether surprising.
“I would not think to trouble you at such a time, Princess Katrina,” said the faithful Fedorcenko housekeeper, “if I did not think it to be extremely important.”
“Please, Mrs. Remington,” said Katrina, “think nothing of it. It is good to see you, here in my home. Won’t you come into the parlor and sit down.”
“Oh, Princess, I should not bother you for so long as—”
“Nonsense, come in and visit,” persisted Katrina, heedless of the other’s hesitation. “I will order us tea.”
Although Mrs. Remington had known Katrina from infancy, now that she was married and mistress of a home of her own, the difference between their stations had exerted itself, causing her to defer to the daughter of her master. The little girl had become a nobleman’s wife and an aristocrat in her own right. And she would be a mother herself—almost any day now.
The Englishwoman followed Katrina into the parlor without further argument, and received tea from the hand of one of Katrina’s servants. As Mrs. Remington spoke, the awful realization had dawned on Katrina that she might well soon be the only viable head of the House of Fedorcenko. Unaccustomed feelings of mingled pain and unsought maturity flooded through Katrina’s heart as she listened. Even as new life beat strongly within her, Katrina ached the way only a sensitive child can for an aging parent, wondering if her new son or daughter would ever know as grandfather the man she had loved as father.
“I have come concerning your father, Princess—”
Mrs. Remington hesitated and looked away for a moment. “May I speak frankly?”
Katrina nodded her assent, “Please go on, Mrs. Remington.”
“You know, I am certain, how much difficulty he has had accepting your mother’s death?”
“Of course,” answered Katrina slowly.
“But I had hoped that after the funeral, reality would settle upon him.”
“Yes. It has taken us all some time to adjust,” replied Katrina.
Mrs. Remington grimly shook her head. “It is now some time since the funeral, and I fear the situation is growing worse.”
“How so?” said Katrina.
Mrs. Remington paused again, hesitant to intrude into areas too familial and too personal, yet compelled for the sake of love not to keep silent.
Katrina read her ambivalence. “Please, Mrs. Remington,” she said with almost a hint of impatience, “you said you wanted to speak frankly.”
“Forgive me, Princess. It is difficult to speak so about the prince. I am very fond of my master. He and your mother have been more kind to me than I deserve all these years. I—”
She turned away and hastily brushed a tear from her eye. Katrina pressed no further, and waited for her to continue.
“Often in the night,” Mrs. Remington went on after a moment, “your father is heard roaming the corridors of the house. I hear the sounds of doors opening and closing. And then comes his voice, low and soft, calling for your mother. Oh, Princess, I am so sorry to tell you such things, but his voice sounds so pathetic when he calls, ‘Natalia . . . Natalia, where are you?’ It makes my heart break for him! Over and over he calls her name. More than once I have had to send for the menservants to try to coax him back to his room and bed, but sometimes he becomes violent if they try to come near him.”
The housekeeper stopped, wringing her hands together in obvious distress over the man she had always respected and admired.
“Why have you come only now to tell me of this?” asked Katrina straightforwardly.
“I did not want to trouble you. And I hoped it would subside. But an incident only yesterday finally has driven me to come to you.”
“What was it that happened?”
“You know that poor Nina has taken the loss of her mistress as hard as anyone. She devoted her entire life in service to your mother, and loved her deeply.”
“I do know. I truly believe Mother considered Nina her closest friend,” said Katrina, her thoughts flitting momentarily to Anna.
“Yesterday, Princess, your father, the prince, happened upon Nina cleaning Princess Natalia’s rooms. He approached her roughly and yelled at her as if addressing a stranger, ‘What have you done with my wife, you Lithuanian hag?’”
“Poor Nina!” said Katrina.
“Fortunately, one of the men was nearby and heard the uproar. His approach calmed the prince down. I honestly do not know what would have happened otherwise.”
“I must talk with Nina as soon as possible,” replied Katrina. “Hopefully I will be able to set her mind at ease.”
“I am afraid it is too late,” Mrs. Remington went on. “She resigned her position immediately after the incident. Not in anger, mind you, but because she felt that her presence as one so closely associated with the princess would be too painful for the prince.”
“I suppose there is truth to that.”
“I think, as well, that she was having difficulty coping with her own grief. In the midst of a lifetime of memories, she could not help feeling an emptiness deep inside her soul. She packed her things and was gone by evening.”
“Did . . . did you say anything to her?” asked Katrina, moved by the sad turn of circumstances.
“I took the liberty of sending a favorable recommendation along with her, and I believe she will have no difficulty finding a new position.” Mrs. Remington punctuated her words with a heavy sigh. Her natural British reserve was holding her in good stead, but her control was strained with every word, and the tears which had thus far come only in ones and twos threatened to break into a flood.
Katrina, however, who did not have the benefit of English stoicism, found herself weeping freely. Her tears fell not only for dear Nina having come to such a sad end but also for her father.
“There is more, Princess,” Mrs. Remington went on reluctantly after a pause.
No words would come, but Katrina nodded for her to continue. It was best to get it all out in one painful revelation.
“Later in the day, I went to your father’s study, hoping to perhaps divert his grief by interesting him once more in a few matters concerning the household’s affairs. He bade me enter when I knocked. But what I saw when I walked into the room shocked me so terribly, Princess, that I knew I must come to you at my earliest convenience.”
The fear apparent in the housekeeper’s voice dried Katrina’s tears instantly. “Go on,” she said soberly.
“He sat at his desk staring blankly ahead as if I did not exist. And lying before him on the desk was a pistol, which he was absently stroking with one hand. I am sorry, Princess Katrina, if I have overstepped my bounds in making my own conjectures—”
“Mrs. Remington, you cannot think—”
Katrina could not even verbalize the horrifying thought. It could not be possible. Not her father!
“Princess, I believe he has lost all will to live.”
A stunned silence settled over the room the moment the words left her lips. “I—I cannot imagine he could actually consider such a thing,” said Katrina at length.
“It is difficult for me to believe it also. In God’s name, Princess, I pray I am wrong. But nevertheless I took the precaution of assigning some of the more faithful men to take turns in keeping a watch on him. I hope I did not err too badly in taking such a great liberty.”
“No, Mrs. Remington, it was very wise of you. Whatever my father may think, I at least thank you for your concern.” The practicality of the housekeeper’s action struck a responsive chord in Katrina’s brain.
“I fear your father did not react well. This morning, when it dawned on him what they were doing, he flew into a rage. He attacked the poor servant whose watch it was. ‘Imperial spies!’ he screamed. ‘I knew they were out to get me!’”
Again Katrina’s tentative reserve crumbled. She sent a hand up to cover her trembling lips.
“Oh, Papa!”
The loss of the inexplicable security that Natalia had provided her family was difficult enough. But the impregnability of her father’s unmovable presence had long dominated even that. He had always been the weighty foundation stone, the family’s rock, the rudder giving direction and purpose to the ship called Fedorcenko. Sergei may have chafed under it. Katrina may have wished for deeper fatherly intimacy from him. But the stability and force of his bearing could never have been assailed. He had ruled the home—occasionally with an iron fist, often with a hand of gentleness. But whatever the circumstances, whatever the method by which he displayed it, Viktor’s authority had been unquestioned.
Now suddenly that rock seemed crumbling to powder. Katrina wondered with despair how she could manage life without him.
The same afternoon, after relating these things to Anna, and a good share of cleansing tears, Katrina arrived at the decision to return to her father’s home. Whether her father’s life was truly in danger or not, it was certain that his self-command was nearly at an end, and she desperately hoped that her presence might encourage him out of his despondency. She quickly made arrangements for a message to be sent to Dmitri’s regimental commander.
Then she and Anna packed a few belongings, had the droshky brought around, and departed.