I was surprised when a few days later my father, his fiancée, and I received an invitation to the Rostov manor, Falcon’s Aerie, for the next weekend. Papa was on good terms with both Barons, but two social occasions in two weeks was quite a contrast to none in the preceding two months.
The messenger delivered the invitation just before lunchtime. Allura read it and shrieked, “What is a ‘peasant picnic’? What should I wear? No one will ever suppose that I am a peasant! What should I wear!”
My father laughed at her. “All it means, my dear, is that you should wear simple, comfortable clothes, something you can walk in. Especially shoes that you can walk across country in. And perhaps play a game of battledore and shuttlecock in, as the invitation mentions. Probably not much jewelry—right, Dragana? None of us, not even the servants, will look like peasants. Especially when we play shuttlecock!”
Allura glared at him; what he said brought her no comfort.
When we set out on Saturday, she dressed as always in high fashion with an elaborate hairstyle, more elaborate makeup, and plenty of jewelry. It was a fairly warm autumn that year, so I wore a serviceable gown with my favorite walking boots and a short jacket that I could easily shed for the games.
Allura called it a Spencer, and told me that it was named after an English nobleman who stood too close to a fire, singed the tails of his coat, and had them trimmed off, thus starting a gentleman’s fashion that women soon after adopted.
I wondered whether to believe her.
The party consisted of about twenty people, including the old Baron Patrik and his wife; their very young daughter, Shillara, was apparently left in the care of her nurses.
My father’s assistance was not quite enough to let Allura walk the necessary quarter mile in the shoes she had chosen, so two or three of the younger men took turns at her other elbow. From her smiles and tinkling laughter, I suspected that the pleasure of their close company more than repaid Allura for the discomfort of her shoes. Then for my father’s sake I tried to smother that unworthy thought under the weight of Christian charity. I fear that I failed.
Several played at shuttlecock, the Baron and I included (though not of course against each other), and more watched and gossiped while sipping tea. Some servants played pleasant music, and Grigor Jankov pranced and sang and generally behaved like a court fool out of a medieval story. He came up to me where I was sitting with my father and to my astonishment said, “So, you’re back, Dragana. It’s good to see you again.”
“I’m afraid I don’t remember you, sir,” I responded, quite coldly.
“Grigor Jankov is a harmless young idiot,” said my father, “who’s not bad in a fight. He was one of our force when we took the valley back from the Turks. You know his father, who’s been a friend of mine for years, Dragana, and I suppose he must have seen you when he was a boy and Jagor brought him along on visits. I doubt he’s spoken two score of words to you over the years.
“Until now,” he added, trying to glare at Grigor like a properly protective father. But his expression was undercut by the smile playing around his lips.
“As Josif suggests,” Grigor told me, “I am a presumptuous jackass who ignored you while we were growing up. I hope to remedy that now.” And to my father, “Toward that end, will you introduce us, sir?”
When my father had done so, with a few more comments about Grigor’s family, that young man remarked, “I hear from Josif that you’re quite interested in natural science.”
“I am. I was just up in the hills last week, studying swallowtail butterflies. They were magnificent.”
“Have you paid attention to the geology around here? There are some places where there are shells, and even dragon bones, in the rocks!” Grigor said.
“Really? That sounds fascinating.” Our valley fossils truly were fascinating, especially the first several that I saw.
“I’ll show you them some time,” he said. And after a pause, “Josif says that you wrote him about some interesting discoveries you made while at school in Venice.”
“I’ll show you my notebooks some time,” I said, smiling, for I found I liked his tone and his merry face.
Suddenly, Grigor looked past me strangely and put a hand to my father’s ear.
When he pulled it back, there was a silver coin in it! With a flourish, he presented it to me. I laughed. He gave it to me, murmuring, “Keep it. It was an excuse to touch your hand.”
And before I could even blush, he sauntered off to talk with other guests.
My father then led me over to join Allura, who was sitting among Mr. Fridrik Vrhov, his son’s wife Vesna, and her brother Petar. We talked of the pleasant weather, which Allura compared to autumn in Venice. Young Mrs. Vrhov remarked how graceful Baron Iglacias and her husband, Vinko, looked playing at shuttlecock, and Allura rhapsodized upon the graceful strength of Venetian gondoliers. The old man looked quite scandalized at his son and his liege being compared to men of the lower classes, and at Allura’s having noticed such men, but merely remarked upon how amusing young Grigor had been. Allura told us about a clown who had diverted all of Venetian high society and eventually became a member of Prince Eugène’s viceregal court.
Despite her unpleasant treatment of me, I began to sympathize with how much Allura must miss her home city, and wonder how well she would fit in the rustic Kalzov Valley. But maybe she wasn’t planning on fitting in; could she expect my father to live with her in Venice?
About that time, Vinko Vrhov managed to win against the Baron, and they turned the battledore and racquets over to a pair of young ladies. The two men joined our little group and the Baron soon proposed a walk. The elder Mr. Vrhov pleaded his age, Allura her feet, and my father of course stayed with his fiancée. Mrs. Vrhov’s brother expected his turn at shuttlecock next, so only Vinko, Vesna, and I accompanied the Baron.
As we strode through the countryside, the Baron and I had a wonderful time talking about the flora, the fauna, and the geology we came upon. Twice we even spoke of other prominent families in the valley. The Vrhovs seemed to be having an equally wonderful time holding hands and glancing frequently at each other while trailing well behind us, despite the Baron stopping to collect a few specimens for me.
The Baron proved himself agile, alert, and intelligent, qualities that I admire, and surprisingly humble. He spoke of how much he was learning from his father about governing our valley, as well as how much we humans did not know about the world we lived in, as shown by what we were learning every day. I was becoming very easy in his company.
So when the Baron asked me how I felt about my father getting married, I felt that he had the right not only as our ruler but also as my friend, and I spoke frankly. “I’m happy that my father has found a woman. But I cannot like her well.”
“I respect your judgment, Miss Stipanov,” he said. “Tell me why not.”
I told him honestly, except that I suppressed how she had ordered Giacomini to restrain me, since this would have entailed explaining how I had escaped from my room; I was not quite ready to confess that escapade to him. As you will see, I eventually had good cause to regret my reticence.
When I had done, the Baron’s brow furrowed in thought. “Thank you for your forthrightness. It allows me to be forthright with you. I want the best for your father. I was delighted when Josif told me of his engagement to Allura. But then I met her, four times now over the last two months, and every time … I won’t repeat what she said about you, her future stepdaughter, and various other people at the masquerade, but she has little propriety and a well-practiced acid tongue. I wonder if she will be good for our valley.”
Then he started and looked at me. “Pardon me! Under such circumstances, my grandfather might simply have forbidden a vassal to marry, but this is the nineteenth century and all I can do is counsel Josif. And on this point he has not accepted my advice.
“Whatever you and I share with each other, we cannot say in public. Since Allura is becoming your stepmother and a member of my court, we must all do our best to make her welcome here.”
“Of course,” I said. “Neither she nor my father will know what you have said to me.”
We both lapsed into silence for several hundred meters. Then the Baron turned us back toward the party. Our attempts at including the Vrhov couple in our conversation again failing, we were soon walking in silence again. But our spirits lifted when I pointed out a flock of butterflies and we began conversing again.
At one point the Baron suddenly asked, “Your father met Allura in Venice, right?”
“Yes, when he came to escort me home from my ladies’ seminary. One of my teachers introduced them.”
“Who was your teacher? And who was in charge of the school?”
“Signor Ricardo Picardi taught us drama. Signora Amoletta Campari and her daughter, la Signorina Bibiana, run the place.” I could see him making mental note of the names.
“Did you ever meet or hear of Allura before your father met her?”
“No, Your Excellency.”
The Baron fell silent again, and we shortly rejoined the picnic.