People at the market bartered for their purchases as she passed. She swallowed the last of her bread and felt empty inside. Was she supposed to barter? Would the baker have given her a better deal if she’d only asked?
Servants had always bought the food. Nadia had purchased gloves and hats but had never been the one to exchange money. She would have to do better when it came time to sell her brooch.
A train whistle pierced the air. She needed a train ticket.
She wasn’t sure where she would go. Moscow or Petrograd were poor choices—the Bolsheviks were strongest there. The White Army was gathering in Novocherkassk near the Sea of Azov. Friends of her father would be there, men who could protect her or give her work as a nurse. Or she could leave Russia and find work as a governess elsewhere in Europe. Money would be a problem, but perhaps her fellow refugees would lend her something until she was settled. Surely someone would show her kindness. Unlike those foul Bolsheviks or the greedy baker.
Another option was Oleg Petrov, her unofficial intended. His family had risen not by service to the tsar but through profitable business ventures. That made them less of a target—they were rich, true, but they weren’t connected to the Romanov dynasty. A year had passed since his last letter, but his family’s connections had broad reach. They’d help, if she could find them.
She ducked into an alley to remove her brooch, then buttoned Dima’s jacket again. It wouldn’t do for anyone to see her ripped blouse or, worse, the torn chemise underneath. She kept the brooch inside her hand and kept her hand in the jacket pocket.
A man with a variety of watches and jewelry occupied a stall a block away. None of the items seemed new, nor of as high a quality as her piece.
“Excuse me, sir. Do you also buy secondhand items?”
“Sometimes.”
“How much would you give me for this?” Nadia showed him the brooch.
The man took it, examined it from multiple angles, and weighed it in his hands. “Sixty kopecks.”
Sixty kopecks? The brooch was worth rubles, not kopecks. She wasn’t going to be cheated out of her brooch the way she’d been cheated out of two cigarettes. She wanted—needed—its full value. She held out her hand. “I think I’ll look for a better offer.”
The man ran his thumb over the stone. “Eighty kopecks.”
Eighty still wasn’t enough, not for a gem of that size.
“This is real gold and a real aquamarine.”
“One ruble. That’s my final offer. Who would I find to buy something like this? It would never sell for its full value.”
Nadia reached for it. The man returned it with a hint of regret in his pursed lips. There had to be other merchants she could try. Or she could solicit a well-to-do woman directly. Would they think her a thief in her current clothing? That couldn’t be helped. She needed money, and she needed it soon, before the Bolsheviks found her.
“Excuse me, miss?”
Nadia turned.
A tall man in a wool frock coat and a fur ushanka stood nearby. “I couldn’t help overhearing. I’m in need of a gift for my wife, and nothing I’ve seen will do. Perhaps we could come to a mutually beneficial agreement about the brooch you’re hawking?”
Finally, something was working in her favor. “This would be a lovely gift for your wife.” Nadia held out the brooch and allowed the man to examine it.
“Would you accept twenty rubles for it?”
“Yes.” Her mother no doubt spent more than twenty rubles on it, but it wasn’t new, so the price seemed fair. Twenty rubles ought to get her to the Black Sea.
The man dug in his pocket with one hand.
Someone yanked on Nadia’s left sleeve. She turned to see a small boy with sandy blond hair peeping from his knitted cap.
“Yes?” she said.
“Do you have any change, miss? I’m lost, and I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
The poor boy. His clothing was worn, and she doubted it kept out the winter chill. She was hungry and cold herself, so she understood. “Here. You can trade these.” She handed him the rest of Dima’s cigarettes. It wasn’t much, but a wise trade could fill his belly. A boy like that was probably better at bargaining than she was and would undoubtedly get more than one small roll.
“Thank you, miss.” The boy smiled, revealing crooked teeth, and then rushed off.
Nadia turned back to the man needing a gift for his wife. But he wasn’t there. The man—and her brooch—were gone.
Chapter Five
Nadia searched for the man, rushing through the market and exploring every alley. She looked for the boy, too, as suspicion that he had been part of the theft grew. She’d wanted so badly for someone to step in and offer her a way forward, some type of escape. That desire had blinded her common sense, and she’d fallen for their con.
Now she had no brooch, no cigarettes, and no money.
She walked along a street lined with wooden homes, almost ready to give up the search. Even if she found the man, she was unlikely to get her brooch back unless someone of authority was with her, and she didn’t dare approach anyone like that for fear they worked with the Cheka.