Ilil Arbel: Madame Koska and the Imperial Brooch

“You had excellent training.”

“Yes, dear Fräulein Strauss. She could do better Russian pearl embroidery than some of our own people. She taught me how to embroider long before my mother thought I was old enough to hold a needle, since I wanted so much to do it… Fräulein Strauss and I had our little secrets.” She suddenly laughed. “She also taught me how to walk with a book on my head… I did not appreciate it, nor the corsets she had me wear, or the idea that bonbons were so bad for your complexion… But I did love her.”

“But you should not have spent the money on a frame, Miss Saltykov. You must tell me how much it cost so I can reimburse you.”

“I did not spend anything… I still have a few frames the Tsarina gave me. She liked my work very much, and every so often she would ask me to do a little project for her. I always felt so honored when she did that. She gave me many frames so I would always have the right ones on hand. And now that she is gone… I would love it if they will be hanging in your atelier, Madame Koska. You make me feel at home, like my dear Tsarina used to… this is the first workplace I feel happy coming to every morning.” She touched her eyes with a handkerchief, which as always was beautifully embroidered.

“Thank you, my dear,” said Madame Koska, touched. “I am not a noble creature like the Tsarina, may she rest in peace, but no one can appreciate your vork and loyalty more than I do.”

Natalya smiled happily. “Next week I will bring the second sampler. The first one was easy, the arabesque is such a clear design, since you just start with a center and build the rest around it. But the next one, with the combination beads, will be a little more complicated. May I choose a few beads and take them home?”

“Of course,” said Madame Koska. “Take as many as you need, and don’t forget to take plenty of those new, perfectly rounded pearls… the ladies might as vell get used to vorking vith the good ones since I vill never go back to the imperfect type. You plan to show them how to arrange the smaller beads and the pearls around the big combination, jewel-like beads, correct?”

“Yes, exactly,” said Natalya. “On the first step, you will see the big bead by itself, then on the second step, the bead surrounded with the first row of small beads, then a third with a few rows… and of course the gold thread, couched around the beads and unifying them.” She smiled again and went into the sewing room, and Madame Koska returned to the sketches of the Mistral collection she was preparing. Suddenly she heard Natalya give a little scream. She raised her head. “Miss Saltykov? Anything wrong?”

There was a moment of silence and then Natalya said, “No, nothing, I just stabbed my finger on a pin… everything is fine. I must wash my hand, though, there is a tiny bit of blood on my finger, I don’t want to stain any fabric.” Madame Koska heard her going into the wash room and went back to the Mistral sketches. The other seamstresses started to come in, and the work day began in earnest.

A few dayslater, Mr. Korolenko rang the bell and walked in. Finding Gretchen at the front desk, he explained that he came to give a lesson to the owner of the atelier. Gretchen took his name and went to call Madame Koska.

“Please come in, Mr. Korolenko. Miss Van der Hoven, if at all possible, don’t let anyone disturb me for the hour of the lesson, it’s too distracting.” Mr. Korolenko started and looked at Gretchen, his expression showing amazement. “Did you say Miss Van der Hoven? My goodness, are you Gretchen?”

“Yes, sir, I am Gretchen Van der Hoven,” said the girl, surprised. “Have we met before?”

“I knew your family when you were very small,” said Mr. Korolenko, “you would not remember me. But I can easily recognize you from the shape of your eyes and your coloration. It is very nice to see you again, Miss Van der Hoven.” Madame Koska took him to her office and closed the door.

“I wonder if she heard anything from her father,” said Mr. Korolenko. “I did not want to distress her by asking bluntly in your presence. Do you have any news of him?”

“Whatever do you mean, Mr. Korolenko? Her father died about two years ago, in an accident,” said Madame Koska.

“Died? No, no. Meneer Van der Hoven is not dead, Madame Koska. What makes you think so?”

“My friend, Madame Golitsyn told me so when I hired Gretchen on her recommendation.”

“She must have made a mistake. It’s a very unusual situation, granted, but I would be very much surprised if Madame Golitsyn does not know the truth… since she knows Gretchen well enough to recommend her to you.”

“But perhaps that is what Gretchen told her,” said Madame Koska.

“Perhaps…”

“So what happened to her father?”

“No one knows precisely, but he was involved with a crime ring in the tropics,” said Mr. Korolenko. “They are a very dangerous crime ring. Bootleg whisky to America, opium wherever it is wanted, jewel thefts, bank robberies… they have connections all over the world. The police thought he was one of the leaders.”

“Where do you think he is? From what you say, I imagine he was not caught by the authorities.”

“I am not even sure if the police are right and he is a criminal himself,” said Mr. Korolenko. “He would not be the first man to be hounded by this group, perhaps kidnapped by them. But either way, he would not be dead. He would be more useful alive.”

“Are you sure Gretchen knows all that?”

“No, I am not really sure, despite the notoriety of the case. Her relatives might have wished to keep it from her, and thought it best to tell her he died. But since it was in all the newspapers for months, how could she not see it?”

“I don’t believe Gretchen has ever opened a newspaper in her life, Mr. Korolenko. She is very sweet and friendly, but the most childish, scatterbrained little creature.”

“Then she certainly changed quite a lot from the precocious, intelligent child she used to be. I remember her very well, always with a book in her hands, or engaged in her homework.”

“You would never see her do so these days. Her only interests revolve around fashion, society, dancing and such like things. I suppose she might have changed as she grew up and realized that she was so stunningly beautiful.”

“I think it’s best if you don’t say a word about what I told you to anyone, Madame Koska,” said Mr. Korolenko.

“Of course I will say nothing.”

“Good. Shall we start your English lesson? Perhaps you could go out for a second, bring something to this room, and leave the door half open so everyone can hear us?”

“Indeed, I shall do so right away,” said Madame Koska, laughing. “The things we must do to earn a living… Here is a woman born and bred in London, hiring a Russian gentleman to teach her to speak English without an accent. I must be careful not to be too successful about it in one lesson, Mr. Korolenko.”

“Annushka, I have to tell you a strange story,” said Madame Koska as soon as she entered her friend’s apartment, before even taking off her coat.

“You look worried, Vera. Something is wrong? Do sit down and tell me.”

The ladies went into Madame Golitsyn’s drawing room. It was not a luxury apartment, of course, but nevertheless it had a style, an air, which Madame Koska always enjoyed. Madame Golitsyn furnished it in the old Tsarist style which had so much French influence. A golden silk scarf graced the cherished piano that Madame Golitsyn would never give up, its long fringe almost sweeping the floor. An enormous black shawl, made of warm wool and embroidered with intricate and colorful flowers, served as a throw over the big sofa, a creamy-white lace tablecloth covered the table supporting the whispering, singing samovar, and a few softly tinted watercolors on the walls made the place elegant and comfortable. The rose potpourri that Madame Golitsyn kept in an old alabaster bowl delicately scented the warm air. Madame Koska sighed, took off her coat and sat at the table. She stared at the samovar as if she had never seen it before, and drummed her fingernails on the tablecloth. The samovar sang and its shiny brass exterior gleamed softly.