26
When the last guest carriage had departed the Vlasenko estate for Christmas Eve Mass, Stephan had been given his leave with orders to be back at the stables when the carriages returned from church.
He had to run most of the way to Mariana’s house in order to catch her family before they left for church. He got to them in time only because Anna and Sergei had stayed behind the others in order to wait for a tardy Mariana. He told them the bad news and intended to turn right around to return to the estate. But Anna insisted he rest a few minutes, dry his feet before the fire, and have some tea to warm his frozen bones.
Stephen relented. The prospect of another trek in the snow was not inviting. He felt bad that Anna and Sergei would have to miss most of Mass, but that didn’t bother them as much as the fact that this was the first Christmas Eve that Mariana had not been with them.
They left the cottage shortly after midnight. Anna and Sergei headed toward Akulin to join up with the family, and Stephan struck out toward the estate. He took his time going back; fresh snow had begun to fall, making the going a bit slower.
He arrived back at the estate only a few minutes before the guests began to return. He worked for a while taking care of the horses and vehicles, but they did not need as much help in the stables. Only about half the evening’s guests—those who lived too far away to go home—had returned to the estate to spend the night. Several of the men were sent home, Stephan among them. Normally he would have asked to stay on, but he thought that Mariana might be done with her work, and they could walk home together.
He went around to the kitchen to ask after her. The cook didn’t know what had become of her.
“The master came for her himself, that’s all I know,” said the cook.
“When was that?”
“Just after he returned from Mass. Half an hour, perhaps.”
One of the other peasant girls was getting her coat from a rack in the pantry and overheard the conversation. “Are you looking for Mariana, Stephan?”
“I saw her with the count a while ago. They went off together. They were talking with a footman—Igor, I think it was.”
Stephan spent some time searching for Igor, who was just finishing tending the last of the needs of the overnight guests.
“Is Mariana helping you?” Stephan asked. When Igor replied with a blank expression, Stephan added, “She is a peasant girl. She was with the count and they spoke to you—”
“Oh, that one!” said Igor, and he shook his head with disapproval.
“What’s the matter?”
“I didn’t like the look of the whole situation, but . . .”
“What are you talking about? What situation?” Stephan’s voice frayed with concern.
“The count told me to take her to the study, that he’d return later to tell her duties.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“It was the look in his eye, that’s what. I saw that same look the night he had another peasant girl come. But I am only a footman. What can I do?”
Stephan grabbed the footman’s arm, panic seizing him. “Where are they? Where’s the study?”
“Listen here, you can’t be tearing through the house stirring everyone up.”
Stephan grabbed the footman’s shirt front and shoved him against the wall. “I’ll stir both heaven and hell if I have to. Now, where?”
“You misunderstand me, young man,” said Igor, affronted. “You’ll only end up getting yourself in trouble and not helping your friend. You must get to the study from the outside. Go around the rear of the house. There is a door there . . .”
Mariana could hardly breathe. She pushed against the count, but he proved more formidable than his pale countenance hinted at. She could tell he was desperate. He might have found forcing himself on a woman disgusting, but the thought of facing his father and admitting his failure was even worse. He tried to kiss her, but she jerked her head away. He seemed genuinely hurt by her rejection, and part of her almost felt sorry for him. But this in no way weakened her own will and ability to fight.
“Stop!” she cried. “You must!” She struggled and felt his hold on her loosen.
At that very moment she heard a loud crash, accompanied by the noise of shattering glass. At first Mariana thought there had been some explosion at the garden door. The crash came again and again until the doors themselves flew open, the wood framing splintering from the force of impact.
On a gust of freezing air, Stephan stormed into the study. He had heard her cries and was primed and ready for combat; he cared not if it was with the count, or an army of Cossacks, or a mammoth bear.
When he saw it was the young count, and not his father, Stephan hesitated only for an instant, his face registering his surprise. But that did not prevent him from coming on like a wild bear or an army of Cossacks himself. He charged with all the fury of panic and fear and hatred.
Karl Vlasenko did not have a prayer of success from the start. No sooner had he turned upon hearing the first impact of the shattered door, than Stephan’s thick, powerful fist collided with Karl’s face. Blood spurted immediately from his nose. He stumbled back against the door, where only moments before he had pinned Mariana in his grasp. Karl raised his hands to make some defense against his attacker; but Stephan, no stranger to a good fight as one of seven brothers, quickly followed up his initial blow with a sharp right, then a left. Karl ducked in time to avoid the left, and managed to get in a rather negligible uppercut to Stephan’s ribs. It was not enough to cause much pain, but it did force Stephan to back off slightly in his attack.
“Wh-what is the meaning—?” stammered Karl.
Stephan replied to the half-formed question with another blow square to Karl’s jaw. And that was all it took. Karl gasped, his eyes rolling up into his head as he staggered back and crumpled to the floor.
Then Stephan heard a pounding on the study door. Several servants were arriving on the scene, responding to the noise of the break-in.
Only then, with victory secured, did reality begin to descend upon Stephan. He had worked around the estate long enough to know who the young count was, and he also knew what kind of mercy he’d receive from the hand of the elder count—that is to say, absolutely none. He had saved Mariana, and that was what really mattered. Yet there might still be a chance of escaping reprisals.
He took Mariana’s hand and raced through the splintered door, toward the garden wall. He boosted her over the icy wall, then scrambled after her. They said not a word to each other, but ran in silence until they were half a mile from the estate.