‘The world of reality has its limits; the world of imagination is boundless.’
JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU
‘Madame Amélie, this is Nicholas, our new tutor.’
A short, heavily built middle-aged woman stepped forward, wiping her hands on her apron. She shook hands with me, staring intently with tiny black eyes set in a broad red face. There was something incredibly porcine about this Amélie, and she could only ever have been a cook, in this life.
Behind her, eyes downcast, was a young girl with frizzy blonde hair, wearing a black uniform over a high-collared white blouse.
‘This is Agnès, our parlourmaid.’
Anya pulled her forward and she shyly shook hands without looking up.
Lastly, it was the turn of the tall, gaunt man who had admitted me earlier.
‘This is Monsieur Serge, or Sergei Alexandrovitch.’
She smiled at him. He leaned forward and extended a hand towards me, and again I caught that whiff of saddle soap and tobacco.
‘Serge is our chauffeur and handyman.’
‘Groom and steward!’ he corrected in a gruff voice, looking at Anya angrily. His handshake was stiff and strong, conveying, as he no doubt intended, the idea that he was the man of the house.
After all this excitement, each went back to his or her duties. Serge flopped in the old leather chair nearest the fire and began to roll a cigarette using Balkan Sobranie and liquorice paper. Agnès busied herself with the dishes. Only Amélie and Anya remained with me.
‘He looks half-starved,’ Amélie said to Anya as though I weren’t present. ‘He needs some decent Russian grub,’ she added in her coarse French. ‘Don’t worry, Monsieur Nicholas, I’ll look after you, fatten you up. You’ll see.’
Anya smiled and guided me out. ‘They’re nice people once you get to know them. Now, Nicholas, go and fetch your belongings and come back as soon as you can. You won’t change your mind, now, will you?’
She looked up and I felt that she was almost imploring me. I reassured her and told my first lie: I said that I was staying locally and would be only a short while.
Once I’d retrieved my suitcase from the café, I sat down on a bench and listened to the roar of the Paris rush-hour traffic on the nearby boulevard for about an hour and then returned to the House, suitcase in hand. There was a look of relief in Anya’s eyes as she led me upstairs and left me in my room, with instructions to wear the new suit that I would find in the wardrobe and meet her for dinner downstairs in the library.
Never before had I possessed such a beautiful suit: dark grey, double-breasted, hand-made worsted. It fitted me absolutely perfectly, as did the white silk shirt, which felt wonderful against my skin. Even black leather brogues had been provided, and a selection of dark, tasteful silk ties. I had almost forgotten how to knot a tie.
I sat on the bed – my bed – and waited impatiently for the time to pass until dinner. Anya had made a positive impression on me. It was almost like meeting a sister I hadn’t known existed. Less than eight hours earlier, I’d been sitting in a squalid café, penniless, without papers or a job and nowhere to sleep, talking about revolution; little better than a tramp. Now I was Monsieur Nicholas, tutor to a princess, staying in my own suite of rooms and wearing a hand-cut suit, new shoes and a silk shirt and tie! The total unpredictability of my life took my breath away.
To pass more time, I tinkered with the oil lamps so that I would know how to use them when it got dark. A few minutes before 8 p.m. I left my rooms by the passage door and, feeling rather self-conscious in my new clothes, made my way towards the huge horseshoe of the double stairways. From the landing of the double-height first floor, the main hall and entrance lay below in front of me, the black and white floor tiles sweeping up to the heavy crimson curtains now concealing the huge stained glass windows. The soft glow of the numerous oil lamps and the smell of the lamp oil pervaded the House.
As I descended slowly, taking in the splendour, the front doors opened and a woman swept hurriedly into the hall. As she turned to close the doors, I saw that she was wearing a long, dark, Edwardian-style dress with matching elbow-length gloves and an old-fashioned wide-brimmed hat of the sort that I always associate with the aristocracy at weddings. She turned and began to climb the stairway opposite to mine. We reached a point where I, descending, and she, ascending, were parallel, and she looked across at me. It was only then that I noticed that her face was completely hidden by a dark veil. I expected her to speak but, when she did not, I muttered a hesitant, ‘Bonsoir, madame,’ not thinking until afterwards that I should perhaps have used a more elevated form of address. She did not reply and, reaching the central landing, walked off down the passage leading to the right wing of the House.
The library was bright and welcoming, at least the area near the fire where Anya was sitting, formally dressed, at a table for two.
‘Good evening, Nicholas,’ she greeted me in French. So far she had not asked me about my knowledge of Russian, and I certainly did not want to encourage any enquiry.
I sat down opposite her, feeling strangely shy in the rather intimate setting. She was too busy with the samovar to notice and soon broke the tension by swearing softly as she accidentally touched a finger to the hot metal. Eventually, she succeeded in providing me with a glass of hot, sweet, milkless tea which tasted better than it looked.
Agnès served dinner and we ate well. In fact, compared to my recent poverty-imposed diet, we ate better than I had eaten for months. There was wine and coffee and, of course, glass after glass of tea. I was ravenous but tried not to show it, as Anya was eating slowly and wanting to use the time to give me more information about the House and my rôle in its workings. Finally, during a pause, I remembered to ask her about the strange veiled lady I’d seen on the stairs.
Anya’s smile disappeared for a moment and she looked at me straight in the eyes, her face very serious. ‘That, Nicholas, was Madame Lili.’
‘Madame Lili,’ I repeated mechanically, pleased that at least my unanswered greeting had been correct.
Anya seemed to think that the mere utterance of the name explained everything, and fell silent.
‘So?’ I asked. ‘Who is Madame Lili and what does she do here?’
Anya remained serious. ‘She is the Grand Duchess’s companion and her spiritual guide.’
‘“Spiritual guide?” Aren’t they supposed to be Red Indians…?’ I repeated, unable to keep the hint of amusement out of my voice.
Anya didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smile, and I knew that I’d made my first gaffe. While I searched about for some way of redeeming myself, she remained silent and thoughtful. Suddenly she put her hand on my arm.
‘Nicholas, we are the same age and we are both, in a way, strangers in this House. I hope that we can be friends and support each other so I feel I must warn you. Do not do anything to upset Madame Lili. Not only does she have the ear of the Grand Duchess, but she is a very, very dangerous woman.’
‘Dangerous? How?’
‘She has powers – don’t ask me to explain, I can’t – but she is capable of much harm. Please believe me.’
Her absolute seriousness impressed me and I mumbled some sort of reassuring remark.
Things went a bit quiet for a time but, after Agnès had cleared away, Anya suggested that we go to the kitchen. There, it was even more cheerful than the cosy library. Sergei sat next to the huge open fire, smoking some foul-smelling Russian tobacco, and Amélie sat opposite, still wearing her cook’s apron, her huge face flushed even redder by the fire. Anya and I sat down on the benches and listened as Sergei recalled tales of his time as a Cossack with the White Army. His French was slow and heavily accented, adding to the atmosphere created by his words. It wasn’t until much later, when I found out his age, that I realised that he could have been no more than a child during the Russian Civil War.
As the evening progressed, more tea was served and I had trouble keeping my eyes open. Eventually, Anya noticed this and told me gently that perhaps I needed to try out my new bedroom, an idea that I accepted gratefully.
I felt a strange light-headedness as I mounted the back stairs, almost as though I had had a lot to drink. Putting this down to the fumes from Sergei’s cigarettes and pipe, I collapsed into bed and slept soundly for the first time in weeks, waking only when Agnès tapped on the door the next day with yet more tea and a pitcher of hot water for the washbasin. I felt slightly hungover, but the curiosity of meeting my seventeen-year-old royal student livened me up. And so, much greater was my disappointment when I was told that she was unwell.
With nothing to do all day, I turned to my own studies, broken by periods of exploration of the great old House.
The tall window of the schoolroom overlooked the front drive and was furnished only with a blackboard, bookshelves, a few armchairs and a couple of tables. The best room of my suite was certainly the little sitting room between the schoolroom and my bedroom. Although it was May, Agnès still lit fires and, sitting in a leather armchair reading Bergson, I felt as at home as anywhere I’d ever lived.
It took only a few minutes to lay out my possessions on the bed, and as I put my alarm clock on the bedside table I was amused to find a candlestick and matches, in addition to the main oil lamp hanging from the ceiling on a weighted pulley.
Having nothing further to do to complete my moving in, I set to exploring my new domain. My first discovery was a real surprise: one of the large cupboards in the schoolroom was actually the entrance to a narrow spiral stairway, and when I followed it down, groping in the dark, I came out via a wooden panelled door in the library, on to a sort of mezzanine floor where the top shelves of books could be reached from a narrow landing. Forward from here, another spiral stairway, this time wrought iron, continued to the floor. The entrance to the first stairway from the schoolroom was concealed on the library side by a hinged bookcase so, in effect, I had my own ‘secret passage’ to the library! I could tell from the copious cobwebs that no one had passed that way in a very long time. Anya had certainly not mentioned it, and I wondered whether she actually knew about it.
After that, things seemed a bit disappointing. The hallways of the House were rather grand, wide, carpeted and hung with a dark red embossed paper and, here and there, a pool of light cast by oil lamps on wall brackets, their soft yellow glow adding warmth and a distinctive smell to the heavy Victorian atmosphere.
The House seemed very quiet, with few comings and goings. Noises from other parts of the building seemed lost and muffled by the thick carpets and heavy drapes and, anyway, I soon realised that I was virtually alone on this side of the House, all the main living and sleeping quarters being in the right wing, separated from me by the cross-landing and another long passageway similar to mine and running parallel to it.
I decided that I should at least look busy, and went down to the library to sort through the books. After a while, Anya came in, smiling as usual, and seemed to be as pleased to see me there as I was to see her. She guided me round to the sitting area by the fire and lit the spirit burner under the samovar. My heart sank when I realised that the endless rounds of tea-drinking were about to recommence. While we were waiting, Anya presented me with several large books, old and musty, that contained, for the most part, black and white photographs taken during the Russian Civil War, 1917 to 1923. Bearded generals in Cossack hats leapt from the pages but I was relieved to see that the printed texts were in French or English and not in Cyrillic script.
‘The Princess has to be knowledgeable on Russian history and it might be as well if you brushed up on it too.’
‘Brushed up?’ I repeated out loud, thinking that I knew virtually nothing about Russia or Russians, White or Red, except for a few émigrés I’d met here in Paris.
‘Nicholas,’ Anya said, looking very serious. ‘You must understand that this House exists totally in that era. The Grand Duchess will speak to you – when you eventually meet her – about Bolshevism, White Russians, the fighting in the Crimea and the evacuation of the aristocracy, just as if it’s happening now. You really have to understand that, or you will feel lost for the whole of your stay. You must open your mind to us and accept our rather odd way of living. That way, it will be so much more enjoyable for you.’
She leaned towards me, looking round as though she were part of a conspiracy, and lowered her voice to a whisper.
‘They are living a dream here, Nicholas, and we must go along with it. Accept what you are told even if it seems ludicrous to you. Just play along…it’s not so hard. It’s like a chance to go back in time. Just accept that life here is like a theatrical play and you are playing a part. You do understand, don’t you?’
She looked at me imploringly. Struck by her seriousness, I hastened to reassure her and had a sudden urge to put my cards on the table and tell her how my desperate situation had brought me here; but, although I felt a sort of bond with her, I couldn’t bring myself to open up to her so soon.
As we sat looking at each other in silence, the door opened suddenly, startling us both. In the doorway, poised dramatically, stood a tall, slim woman wearing a big hat with a dark veil – the woman I had seen on the stairs the night before.
‘Madame Lili! You startled us!’ Anya exclaimed.
Madame Lili removed her hat and veil and turned towards us. Even by the dim light of the fire, she took my breath away! The immediate impression was of an aristocratic face, with high cheekbones, delicate and well-shaped, and a fine, straight nose above full lips and mouth. Her dark brown hair was thick and shiny and piled on top of her head in a style I associated with the women in Victorian photographs.
Looking straight into my eyes, unblinking, she approached the table. I struggled to rise and meet her penetrating gaze. As she came closer, I was aware of a certain freshness emanating from her, newly arrived from the spring afternoon outside, but it was soon overpowered by the scent of violets, a heavy perfume that pervaded the air around me. She dazzled me. The cosy room was alive with her presence. I was drawn by her fixed, unwavering stare, and only vaguely aware that Anya was making an introduction.
‘Madame Lili – Nicholas…our new tutor.’
The beautiful creature in front of me bowed her head slightly and extended her gloved hand in such a way that I was uncertain whether to shake it or kiss it. Finally, I just grasped it gently. Madame Lili was smiling at me now, her face very close to mine, her full mouth revealing perfect white teeth.
A feeling of intimidation swept over me and I could feel myself blushing at the embarrassment of her closeness. She must have seen this and moved even closer. Clasping my other hand, she held me tightly, pulling me down as she sat beside me, her face even closer to mine and her eyes boring into my very soul. This deliberate violation of my personal space intimidated me, and her stare became almost a physical contact.
Unable to hold her gaze any longer, I looked down, aware that I was blushing uncontrollably. Her hands continued to grip mine tightly and I noticed that her gloves were damp, although it was not raining outside.
‘Thank you, Anya.’ Her voice was deep yet soft. ‘So, Monsieur Nicholas, tell me all about yourself, but first, what is your father’s name?’
The question seemed odd; I couldn’t see the relevance but answered mechanically, ‘Frederick.’
‘Ah ha! Feodor, in Russian. Good. I shall call you Nicolai Feodorovitch.’
Anya was later to explain the Russian fondness for patronymics.
‘We will be friends, won’t we, Nicolai Feodorovitch? And I will look after your spiritual guidance. I feel already that you are a lost soul, and that fate has brought you to this House, and to us. We will save you.’
Lacking any obvious verbal response, I managed a solemn nod of the head.
‘Let me look at you, Nicolai; there is so much to see in you…’
She moved back from me but retained both my hands in hers, squeezing them tightly in her damp gloves. Her eyes were closed now, as if in a trance, the silence lasting for several moments.
Suddenly, she opened her eyes very wide and startled me. The irises were almost violet. A sort of dizziness was creeping up on me and I felt light-headed and not quite in control of myself. The room shimmered slightly and colours seemed to be brighter and deeper than before. Madame Lili’s face seemed to fill my view – dark hair, dark red lips, white teeth and again that deep purple of her eyes. I began to feel uneasy, trapped and suffocated, and finally moved to pull my hands away.
Surprisingly, Madame Lili let go of my fingers immediately and withdrew to a normal distance. She stood up abruptly.
‘Good afternoon, Nicholas. We will meet again soon. You will understand how much I can help you.’
And, with those enigmatic words, she was gone.
Anya’s face now appeared in front of me. ‘Nicholas! Nicholas! Are you all right?’
She seemed anxious and was tapping my face lightly. I made an effort to pull myself together and accepted a glass of water from her in the hope that it would make me feel better, then a glass of tea. A few minutes later and I was fighting to keep awake. I vaguely remember Anya helping me climb the stairs to my room. I fell asleep immediately, but strange dreams intruded and disturbed my mind. I had no defences.