Water was so precious in Segundo Mexia that a fountain as yard decoration was the most extravagant thing I could imagine.
The Savarov house was three stories tall, white-painted wood with dark red shutters. There was a brick driveway running under the double gate, and it widened into a parking area at the front door. A narrower extension went straight behind the house, where I caught a glimpse of a garage in the corner of the backyard. I bet there was a back entrance in the fence there, too.
But all this study was just to dodge the moment. I couldn’t do that anymore.
My boots sounded loud on the brick driveway. Of course there were steps, and of course there was a roofed porch. Big urns full of plants surrounded the door. San Diego was sure a flowery place.
I’d gone past a big car parked in the driveway. Looked like the Savarovs already had company. I rang the doorbell before I could talk myself out of it.
A woman answered. She was wearing a black dress under a white apron, and her graying brown hair was all gathered up in a thing that looked like a little fishing net. “Can I help you?” she asked. She had a heavy Russian accent. Eli’s was not nearly so strong.
A chandelier hung over the center of the entrance hall, which was tiled in black and white. I could see a big stairway to the left side of the hall.
“I’m Lizbeth Rose. I’d like to speak to Eli’s mother, please.”
I’d shocked her. I could tell by the way she stared at me.
“You are a friend of Prince Savarov’s?” she said, as if she could scarcely believe my words.
“I am.” When she didn’t move, I looked at her real steady.
After a long pause, the woman said, “She has other guests at the moment. If you will wait here.” She stood aside to let me in, and she pointed to a chair against the wall. “Here,” she said, and it was more of an order. And she vanished, but not far enough. She was standing by the doorway on the other side of the hall, and she was listening to the conversation taking place in the room.
I was real surprised. This was bad behavior, for sure. I found I could hear the voices, too. One was a mature woman’s. I figured she had to be Eli’s mom … since the other two voices were men’s, also sounded adult, and also sounded unhappy.
“We have made you a cordial offer,” one of the men said. “Magda and I would be happy to have you in our home.”
“What do you propose we do with this house?” the woman said. I could tell she was hanging on to her manners by a thread.
“We could sell it. Or we could all live in it,” said the original voice.
So he was trying to tell her that she could be a roomer in her own home. What a tempting offer.
“No, thank you,” said the woman. “I think we would be too crowded. Peter and the girls and I are quite happy here.”
“It’s a large, expensive house.”
“Luckily, your father left me enough money to make that possible.”
Good for her, I thought, and liked her already.
“We could provide protection for you,” said another man.
“Dagmar, the only protection I need is from your treason,” Eli’s mom said.
“If you cling to Alexei, you will go under,” said Dagmar.
“If you think our father, your husband, was wrong in his allegiance to Alexander …” said the other man. This was clearly meant to be a threat.
“I think I have made it clear I do think he was wrong, and he may have cost my children their livelihood and their reputations,” Eli’s mom said.
I have to admit, this was more than I expected from a first visit to Eli’s home. I had only hoped to make it into the house.
While Eli’s half brothers argued with his mother, I looked around me. I could see a piano through the double doorway, though the people talking were out of my sight. There was a dark red rug with a golden pattern. A bookcase. The end of a sofa. To the left of my chair was the doorway to a smaller room, which seemed to be an office or a library, judging by the shiny desk and the bookcases.
I heard voices upstairs, though I couldn’t make out the words. I turned my hat in my hands and studied my feet, wishing I were anywhere else in the world.
I heard some shifting-around sounds. The voices got louder. The three in the parlor had gotten up, and the visitors were heading to the front door. The maid vanished in the blink of an eye, leaving me sitting in the entrance hall all by myself.
The men were clearly brothers; they were both in their late thirties, with dark hair and stocky builds. One was taller than the other, his eyes were colder, and his jaw was more aggressive. I was willing to bet this was Bogdan, who had appeased the tsar with a valuable gift upon the death of Vladimir. Bogdan had also written the tsar a letter renouncing all his father’s doings.
So Bogdan was a big liar, as was his younger brother Dagmar. They were both looking at me with great displeasure. They were not impressed with what they saw.
Eli’s mother stood in the doorway of the parlor, looking a bit younger than her stepsons. Veronika had light brown hair like Eli. And greenish eyes. She was slim as a reed, and had a very straight back. At the moment, she was surprised to see anyone in her home, and she was as little pleased as her stepsons.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know I had another guest,” she told me. And she said it politely enough. “Bogdan, Dagmar, good-bye. Say hello to your wives from me.”
The two made grunty noises, and left.
The maid appeared again. “This is Miss Rose, Mrs. Savarov. She is an acquaintance of Mr. Eli. She says.”
“You know my son, Miss Rose?”
I stood to face her. “I do.”
“Then you know he is not here.”
“I know.”
“Are you going to tell me you are with child? Ask for money?”
“No, ma’am. I’ll excuse you for saying that because I know you must be worried about Eli.”
She blinked, took a deep breath. “I’ll start over. My name is Veronika Savarov.”
“I’m Lizbeth Rose. I’m from Texoma, a little town called Segundo Mexia.”
“And you’ve come on the long journey here … why?”
“Because I want to find out what’s happened to Eli and see if I can get him out of trouble. Or at least out of jail.”
Veronika Savarov kind of gasped. “You know where he is?”
She was horrified that an outsider knew the family secret, at least that was the way I read it. “I got a letter from my sister. She’s at the Rasputin School. She knows Peter and Eli,” I explained.
“And you came all this way from Texoma?”
“Fast as I could.”
Veronika Savarov seemed to stand a little straighter. “Then I expect we need to sit down and have something to drink.”
So that was what we did.
Eli’s mom gestured me into the parlor, and she rang a bell. The maid returned, casting dark little looks at me every other second, and Veronika sent her to get Eli’s sisters and me some tea. The sisters crept into the room like they were haunting their own home.
The sisters didn’t look as much like him as I’d expected. One looked to be about seventeen and told me her name was Lada (“but here I am called Lucy”). The other girl, Alyona, was maybe fifteen and told me she was called Alice. They seemed young for their ages—or maybe I was old for mine.