The Ice Swan полностью

Not receiving the groveling response she desired, Mama stood and fluffed a pair of silk drawers she had drying over a crate.

“It was one tiny ruby. That flawed absurdity your father’s grandmother gave me as a wedding gift. She knew it was flawed when she gifted it to me.” She took a deep breath in preparation for her next act. “Ivan has contacts in Paris.”

“No. No mysterious contacts. If the Reds find out where we are, they’ll come for us and kill us. Or drag us back to Russia and kill us there as an example of what’s to be done with aristocrats. Do you not remember Prince Boris Baranov? Beat to death at a train station while his wife barely escaped disguised as a maid.”

Mama flung her arms wide and stared accusingly. “At least they’re not hiding in a basement. Reduced to sharing quarters and eating from a pot with these people. It’s undignified.”

“So is being shot in the head.”

“Do not say such vulgar things to me. You are a lady of high breeding. These contacts could place us back into the lifestyle we are accustomed to—a divine apartment, food, and clothes—while we wait for this turmoil to blow over. We have lived in the same clothing for months. It is not to be endured.”

Svetlana’s leg cramped. Standing, she gripped the back of the chair and eased into a demi plie before pushing to her toes in relevé. The cramp slowly knotted from her calf. She focused on the precise movements and not the flood of irritation at her mother’s complete lack of understanding their precarious situation. It had always been Mama’s way, and Svetlana learned long ago that it would never change.

“Even if the Reds surrendered tomorrow, there is still another war raging right where we are. Do you not remember how difficult it was to travel here? Sleeping in cattle cars, hiding in the woods, begging for a crust at village doors, and you want to turn around and do it all over again.”

“Our circumstances have yet to improve. Must you do that here?” Mama frowned as Svetlana added a tendu. “We must wait for Sergey to find us as he promised, but he will never look for us in a place like this.” The frown eased from her brow, and a rare glimpse of genuine concern softened her expression. “Perhaps he will bring us triumphant news of your father and Nikolai, for they’ll be too busy securing the country to come themselves.”

God willing. Svetlana could not rest easy until their family was reunited. Strong, valiant Papa had always carried the familial responsibilities with soldierly dignity. A lesson she had taken to heart, drawing upon his absent strength as they carried on without him.

“I will continue to make discreet inquiries for new accommodations and news from Russia. We do not need outside help.”

“Always with the fear and isolation. We are not the only émigrés here. On our journey I met a dozen duchesses and four princes. We do not need to live in this terror you insist on, not here when the country is crawling in confusion.”

The knot in Svetlana’s leg crawled up her spine and rooted itself into a headache. “Even so, we must take precautions, and that includes not pawning off our gems at every vacant promise that comes along. We need those to secure shelter and food. From now on, talk to me first.”

“How do you propose to do a better job than Petro’s contact at locating something for us? You know nothing of Paris.”

Svetlana’s eyes laned on the lily, and she touched one of the flower’s creamy petals. The softness curled to a yellow center dusted with pollen. “Leave it to me.”

Chapter 4

The warm drizzle soaked through the top of Svetlana’s shawl and puddled in her hair before dribbling down her back. Rain should have been a relief to tamp down the summer dust, but the droplets struck the hot ground in sizzles, turning the congested city into a swamp.

Standing on the steps of a tenant building four streets over from the church and a world away in culture, Svetlana batted away an errant drop careening into her eye and met the reluctant Frenchwoman’s stare.

“We will pay whatever you ask. We will not cause you any trouble.”

“As I explained, chere, we only have room for a single occupant to rent.”

“My mother, sister, and I do not mind sharing a small space. Look.” Svetlana stepped onto the small stoop and pulled a bulky handkerchief from the pocket in her skirt. Inside nestled Mama’s favorite citrine diamond earrings. “A gift from Empress Dowager Maria herself.”

The woman’s eyes widened as she ogled the precious gems. Slowly, she shook her head. “They are très belle, but I am sorry. There is no room. You are better to stay where you are.” Stepping back into her darkened hall, she closed the door. A lock quickly echoed.