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Authors: Rosalind Laker

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As usual on these visits Marguerite was shown into a pink and gold boudoir. Normally she was greeted with a nod and an austere little smile, but today she found the Comtesse d'Oinville, an elegant, small-waisted woman with porcelain features, sitting grim-faced on a sofa, the fashionable side panniers of her gown extending her olive-green skirt over the width of it. Her beringed fingers were sparkling restlessly in her lap.

‘You may sit down,' she said with unusual sharpness.

Uneasily Marguerite took a chair facing her. ‘Is something wrong, Madame la Comtesse?' she inquired anxiously.

‘Not with your work, but I have a matter of importance that I'm reluctant to put to you. You will remember the ivory-silk gown that you embroidered with the Persian motif in all those beautiful colours for my visit to Russia?' As Marguerite nodded, the woman continued. ‘I wore it to my first ball there, but the Empress Elisabeth showed such hostility towards me that I was bewildered to know why! Earlier that day she had been most gracious and welcoming to both the Comte and myself on his appointment to the Russian Court. Then our ambassador explained to me afterwards that the Empress's colossal vanity makes it impossible for her to tolerate the presence of any woman gowned more magnificently than herself!'

‘Oh, Madame!' Marguerite breathed in dismay. It was a compliment that the powerful Tsarina of Russia should have admired her work, however unpleasant the consequences, but did it mean that the Comtesse had decided now at the last minute to abandon the equally embellished gowns made for her second visit to Russia? She knew that no payment had been received yet, for the nobility resented any request for money as if it were a privilege to work for them and a year usually elapsed before anything was forthcoming.

‘The wretched woman was even worse towards me on another occasion when I wore the azure silk worked in silver thread! At the best of times we French are not exactly in favour at the Russian Court and after that second dreadful display of her vile temper our ambassador asked me to wear simpler gowns! He said that the Empress was so unpredictable that she could create an international incident out of an imagined slight.'

‘How difficult it must have been for you, Madame!'

‘It was indeed. I had to keep my best gowns for events when I knew she would not be there.' She sighed with exasperation. ‘Just as I shall have to do this time.'

Marguerite breathed a silent sigh of relief. At least Madame Fromont was not going to find those garments back on her hands.

‘I deeply resented the rule that had been imposed upon me,' the Comtesse continued. ‘Then on the eve of my coming home at a Kremlin Palace ball in Moscow I decided to do as I wished and look my very best for my husband and everybody else. So I wore the lilac gown with the lappets that look like floating blossoms. I ignored the Empress's glowering expression, but when she stalked up to me in the middle of the dancing she was shaking with fury from head to toe. She even raised a fist as if she would strike me before she turned on her heel and stamped out of the ballroom!' Impatiently the Comtesse snatched up a letter from a side table. ‘I would never have spoken of the matter if this letter had not come today by special messenger from our ambassador!'

Marguerite listened incredulously as it was read out to her. The Empress had demanded that the Comtesse d'Oinville's embroiderer should travel to Russia immediately. There she would be in charge of a spacious atelier and create exclusively for the Empress and, on a more moderate scale, for the Grand Duchess Catherine, wife of the heir to the throne. She was to bring with her four or five equally gifted embroiderers and they were to travel at the Tsarina's expense with the Comtesse's entourage. Comfortable living quarters would be provided, the head embroiderer's salary would be generous and her assistants well paid, and local seamstresses of her choosing would make up her work force.

‘But there must be many skilled embroiderers all over Russia!' Marguerite exclaimed in bewilderment.

The Comtesse had lowered the letter to her lap. ‘Of course there are, but the Empress thinks nothing of summoning foreigners to her court from all over Europe if they can be of some particular highly skilled service to her. She has an English head gardener, a Danish doctor and an Italian hairdresser to name but a few. But with Frenchwomen such as Madame de Pompadour and myself leading the world in fashion,' she added smugly, linking herself with the most fashionable woman at Versailles, ‘it is no wonder that the Empress has turned her greedy eyes towards Paris, no matter how much she dislikes us as a nation!' The woman's lips whitened beneath their paint as she compressed them, making a beauty spot by her upper lip quiver angrily. ‘She is also making sure that I do not eclipse her again! I had to let you know the contents of this letter, but you need not concern yourself about it. I leave for Russia at the end of the week and it will give me great satisfaction upon arrival to let the Ambassador inform her that you declined her offer.'

Marguerite had turned pale. She was being given the opportunity to begin life again. In new surroundings the still raw anguish within her could give way to a healing. She would be able to remember all the happy times with Jacques without the horror of seeing him trapped at the upper window of that flame-engulfed building, which presently blocked out all else for her. Promotion with her own atelier and needlewomen of her choice, once her most cherished dream, was more than secondary now. All she could contemplate was this gateway to finding again in joyous memories the man she had loved so deeply.

‘But I will accept the appointment, Madame la Comtesse!' she exclaimed swiftly.

The Comtesse was staring at her in disbelief. ‘You would seriously consider obeying this demand for your presence?'

‘Yes, Madame.'

‘Are you aware just how far away Russia is?'

‘Yes, indeed! I know that journeys there take many weeks.'

‘But you still do not seem to realize what you would be accepting. The Empress is insatiable when it comes to clothes. Your hours would be long. On a whim of the Empress you might have to work twenty-four hours a day to finish something for her.'

Marguerite thought to herself that this aristocrat and others born to riches like her had no idea how often
grisettes
like herself slaved through many midnight hours until dawn to finish some garments ordered imperiously at short notice before continuing the normal day's tasks.

‘I'm used to working hard,' she said quietly. ‘When there are no immediate orders for embroidery at Madame Fromont's establishment I take my place with the other seamstresses and often have the dullest of dressmaking tasks instead of the creative work that I love.' She leaned forward eagerly, putting forward the only argument that the Comtesse would understand. ‘In the Tsarina's employ I would have my own atelier and always have wonderful work to do. I'd take pride and pleasure in it. And I'm sure I should soon learn to speak Russian.'

‘I'm sure you would. The Grand Duchess Catherine, who is only a few years older than you, mastered it early in her marriage and she is German by birth. Fortunately she is also fluent in French, which is the language of the Russian Court. But it is a barbaric court with a glittering veneer of great ceremonies and magnificent palaces and fine clothes that hides an abysmal lack of culture.' She shook her head disdainfully. ‘It is as different from the Court of Versailles in that respect as chalk is from cheese. Several of the Russian aristocracy are common people to whom on a mere whim the Empress – just like Peter the Great before her – has given a title with property, land and probably as many as a thousand serfs. Naturally the old noble families dislike all the upstarts and yet few of the ladies, whether noble or otherwise, are literate! How the Grand Duchess, who comes from a cultured family, has adapted to such barren ground I do not know.'

Marguerite answered carefully. ‘But I shall not be involved in the Court itself. My world will be on a different level with only the Empress and the Grand Duchess to please and I'm sure that I could do that.' She had had plenty of experience in dealing with difficult women to be confident on that score. Even the Comtesse had never been easy!

Although normally the Comtesse had no interest in working people beyond their capacity to wait on her, she felt it would be a great loss if this young woman's exceptional talent should be damaged in any way.

‘Think carefully,' she urged, leaning forward. ‘Let me emphasize again the Empress's terrible temper. As for the excesses of her immoral way of life, I cannot bring myself to mention them.' She passed a hand delicately across her lips in emphasis. ‘She plays vicious and humiliating tricks on both her male and female courtiers. Her ministers all go in fear of displeasing her in case she should banish them to some distant place! She could send you back to France for the slightest error.'

‘What kind of man is the Tsar? Why does he indulge her whims?'

‘There is no tsar. The Empress has never married. She was a young woman when she lost the love of her life after he contracted smallpox and died. Then she seized the Throne of all the Russias through a conspiracy. The more rightful heir, a mere boy, Ivan VI, is shut away in a fortress somewhere.' The Comtesse paused dramatically. ‘Surely you would not wish to be employed by such a cruel and wicked woman?'

‘I will take my chance,' Marguerite answered firmly, ‘and make sure she never has any cause to turn against my fellow workers or against me.'

The Comtesse sighed, seeing there was no changing the young woman's mind. ‘Then you will need some instruction as how to address the Empress when you take designs to her and you must also be told about the customs that have to be observed by everybody. Before you leave here today talk to my personal maid. She will give you all the information and also tell you what will be needed in the matter of warm clothes and various necessities when travelling. It will be very cold in Russia by the time we arrive.'

The maid proved to be friendly and helpful, adding a few warnings of her own. Marguerite made a list of everything she needed to remember.

She kept up a quick pace as she retraced her steps back to work. The sooner she broke the news of her departure to Madame Fromont the better. Fortunately she had finished the major work on the gold-satin skirt and so she would not be leaving her employer with that task unfinished. Already new designs for the future were dancing in her head. She saw embroidering for the Empress as a challenge. It would be a French triumph to please her as well as a personal one. She welcomed the prospect wholeheartedly. Most important of all would be a new peace of mind in which she could find her beloved Jacques again.

Two

I
n her office Madame Fromont listened attentively as Marguerite recounted all that had taken place on her visit. Finally the woman gave a slow nod of her head and smiled at her reassuringly.

‘I have no intention of putting any barriers in your way and I wish you well in this new venture, Marguerite. You need to get away from Paris for a while. You have never recovered from the shock of that day we all remember with great sadness. This opportunity could not have come at a better time for you or for me.'

‘For you, madame?' Marguerite was puzzled.

‘I'm not well and my doctor has advised retirement. I have been postponing the moment, but now you have helped me come to a decision. If any of my workers are prepared to go with you, they are all free to make a choice, except the young ones apprenticed to me. They must remain. I have had several offers for the business and the would-be purchaser I favour most has needlewomen of her own, but has guaranteed that she will take on those wanting to stay. So why not speak to your fellow embroiderers after work today and see what happens?'

Marguerite was astonished by the woman's magnanimity, even though – unlike the majority of others in her position – she had always been a considerate employer. ‘You are helping me a great deal. Time is short as the Comtesse will be leaving in a matter of days. I had intended to try for volunteers among those I know in other sewing establishments.'

‘There's no need.'

It was late evening when the day's work ended and everybody was impatient to get home when Madame Fromont gathered her embroiderers together in the largest workroom. She spoke first, explaining that she had decided to sell the business. Immediately there were cries of dismay, but quickly she changed their anxious and, in some cases, frightened expressions by reassuring them that they would be able to stay on under the new owner.

‘But,' she concluded, ‘Marguerite has a proposal to announce with my goodwill and some of you may wish to take advantage of it.' Then with a final glance at them all she left the room and returned to her office.

Marguerite knew that most of the women would have no idea where Russia was located or anything about it and she began by explaining how great the distance was from France. Then she put the facts forward as bluntly as the Comtesse had done to her, hearing gasps of astonishment and incredulity from those gaping at what they were hearing. She warned of inevitable homesickness and emphasized that she could not take anyone with family ties and responsibilities, for the obvious reason that travelling to and fro would be impossible and there was no way of knowing how long they would be expected to stay in Russia.

‘Anyone interested must think it over carefully. I have to ask for a decision by the day after tomorrow at the latest,' she concluded, ‘because the entourage will be leaving next week and travelling papers must be obtained.'

At first there was a stunned silence. Then came an outburst of refusal and derision, only a few remaining silent.

‘No! You must be mad to think of it, Marguerite! That Tsarina sounds a monster! She could have our throats cut for a misplaced stitch! Leave home for that? Never!'

BOOK: To Dream of Snow
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