He sat in his study, took the letter from his drawer, read it again, as he had read it a dozen times.
‘Feeling is very strong, Witte had written. I am afraid this is a natural reaction to Stolypin’s death. I have even heard the opinion expressed that it would be best for Russia if the Jews were entirely expelled. Or destroyed. Of course we could never let matters go so far, but on a more personal note, there are those who are now recalling that the Princess Bolugayevska is not only Jewish but was once convicted of terrorism, was fortunate to escape hanging, through the generosity, or, as some would have it, the weakness of the Tsar, and that, again through that weakness, as some would have it, was pardoned and allowed to marry you. I am not for a moment suggesting that His Majesty would ever renege on his word. But I am bound to advise you that there can be no hope for the appointment you seek, either military or political, while the Princess Sonia is your wife. Believe me, my old friend, it grieves me to write like this...’
Alexei laid down the letter. There was damnation, the price of falling in love with exquisite beauty without pausing to count the possible cost. When one is young, he reflected, one never does count the possible cost. But would it not be even more damnation to allow a letter like this to influence his life? And hers. And that of their children? On the other hand, if from Sonia’s point of view their marriage was already over...what had Jesus said in the garden? Get thee behind me, Satan. But Satan would always be there, in his case.
“When do you expect your sister?” Alexei asked Duncan at lunch.
“She should be here in another couple of weeks. I know she left Boston a fortnight ago.”
“Your mother is recovering very well, wouldn’t you say?”
“She’s the toughest old bird I have ever known.”
“That must be a great joy to you,” Alexei said. “I was wondering if we should not join the girls in Petersburg, as quickly as possible.”
Duncan raised his eyebrows. “Is something the matter?”
“No, no, nothing is the matter. It is just that I find myself missing Sonia and the children.”
“Well, of course I miss Trish and the kids as well,” Duncan said. “But I really wouldn’t like to leave Mom alone. Surely another couple of weeks can’t be that important? Our being there isn’t going to stop them buying up the city.”
“I suppose not.” Alexei looked up as Gleb bowed beside his chair.
“Post, Your Highness.”
“I thought I heard the horn.” Alexei sifted through the letters. “One for you, from London.”
Duncan made a face. “Telling me what’s gone wrong with the business since I left. Nothing from Trisha?”
“No. Nor from Sonia. But there is one for me from Petersburg. I do not recognise the writing.” He picked up the silver paperknife and slit the envelope. Duncan saw that there was a single sheet of paper, folded in two, which Alexei now studied, a deep frown slowly gathering. When he was finished he remained staring at the paper for several seconds. Then he abruptly stood up, before the footman behind him had the time to hold his chair. “Mr Cromb and I will be leaving for St Petersburg first thing in the morning, Gleb,” Alexei said. “have the automobile prepared to drive us into Poltava, and inform Rotislav.” Rotislav was his valet.
“Now say...” Duncan began.
“I think we should go into the office,” Alexei said, and led the way past the waiting footmen. “Close the door,” he said when Duncan joined him.
Duncan obeyed. “What’s happened?”
Alexei held out the sheet of paper for Duncan to read. Duncan did this slowly, for although he had learned to speak fluent Russian, he was not so accustomed to the written word. “This is scurrilous nonsense,” he remarked, when he was finished.
“You think so?” Alexei went to the sideboard and himself poured two glasses of brandy.
“Well, it’s just an insinuation. Anyway, supposing Patricia and Sonia did visit this character, why should that cause us to...” he glanced at the paper again. “Look to our marriages? Sounds to me like someone stirring shit.”
“You have heard of this man?”
“Well, yes. In a manner of speaking. He claims to be able to cure all sorts of illnesses. In the States, we’d call him a quack.”
“Yes,” Alexei said grimly. “But in the United States you do not have the sense of mysticism that affects the Russians, of all classes.”
“We have our revivalist preachers, from time to time.”
“Rasputin is not a revivalist preacher, Duncan. He is a vicious animal.”
“Oh, come now. Is he not a personal friend of the Tsaritsa?”
“Yes.” Alexei opened the drawer of his desk and took out the postcard Stolypin had given him on the night of the opera; he had pocketed it when his conversation with Stolypin had been interrupted, and had only found it later.
Duncan looked at it in consternation. “Of all the obscene lampoons...”
“Oh, it is obscene all right. But is it a lampoon? I was to discuss the situation with his majesty that very night. But of course, the murder, by a Jew, put the lid on that. I have not seen the Tsar since. Stolypin certainly felt that it was too close to the truth for comfort. Besides, Her Majesty apart, he had some information on this fellow’s habits, when in the company of his acolytes, who seem to include every titled lady in Petersburg. One of his principal pleasures, it seems, is being bathed by these same titled ladies.”
Duncan sat up. “You’re not suggesting Trisha and Sonia...”
“This letter indicates that they have visited the staretz.”
“An anonymous scrawl...”
“Does that mean it cannot be true?”
Duncan stared at him, then drank his brandy, got up, and refilled his glass from the decanter.
“Why don’t your famed secret police do something about such a man?”
“Simply because he has the ear of the Tsaritsa. And through her, of the Tsar.”
“And the Tsar permits such carryings-on?”
“He simply refuses to believe they can possibly be true. I am afraid this Tsar of ours is very much of a simpleton. There, I have spoken treason.”
“Not to me. I happen to agree with you.”
“Certain it is that he is entirely under the thumb of his wife. And of course, there is no one with the guts openly to denounce this thug. Well, that is going to change. I am not afraid to denounce him.”
“On the basis of this letter?”
“On the basis of what I find in Petersburg. What we find, Duncan. It is your wife who is accused as well. Who also happens to be my sister.”
“Yeah,” Duncan said. “That’s what bothers me. If we go stomping up there and call Rasputin out, or whatever it is you Russians do in matters of honour, we are going to plaster our wives’ names all over the newspapers, and create one hell of a scandal.”
“If they have really allowed themselves to be sucked into this monster’s orbit, does that concern us?”
“Well, if you don’t mind, old son, I would rather find out, from them, just what the truth of the matter is, before I go jumping off the deep end. Anyway...” he frowned. “Suppose it’s true. What would you do?”
“What will you do?”
“You think it is true, don’t you? Well, shit, Trisha had had a few adventures before we got married. As did Sonia.”
“But they are both now married.”
“Yeah. I guess the best thing I could do would be to get her out of Russia, fast. This place is no good for her. Never has been.”
“You mean, you would forgive her, and carry on your life as if nothing had happened?”
“Well...what else could I do?”
“I’m afraid such a...what shall I say?...passive course of action is not open to the Prince of Bolugayen. Certainly not where the Princess is involved. I cannot merely take her out of Russia. We belong here. Therefore the matter must be settled here, once and for all.”
“You mean you’d end the m
arriage? You can’t be serious! I thought you loved her.”
Alexei sighed. “I do. But I have my duty to the Tsar, to the country, to my family, to consider.”
“Sounds to me like you have a slide rule of standards, old son,” Duncan said. Alexei glared at him, and Duncan grinned. “So we’re on opposite sides. We have been before, remember? But you came down on our side with a thump when you shot that Okhrana agent, Rurik Bondarevski, to save Trisha’s life.”
“That was instinct,” Alexei said. “It is not something I am proud of. And it is only known to Trisha, you, and that man of yours, Morgan. You swore it would remain a secret.”
“As it will,” Duncan assured him. “I was just pointing out that there are occasions when blood must be thicker than politics or social standing.”
“Blood,” Alexei said. “One forgives things in a sister one could not accept in a wife.”
“I’m afraid I must disagree with you.”
“That is because you do not know the whole of the matter. I took a grave risk in marrying Sonia.”
“Which you now regret, is that it?”
“I do not wish to regret it. But the facts are there. In addition to being an escaped criminal, Sonia is a Jewess. These facts are all well known in Petersburg, and to the Tsar. They may well be raked up again when the time comes for Colin to succeed me. If at that time his detractors can also rake up a scandal about his mother...”
“So if you were to get rid of her, you could then marry a true-blue Russian aristocrat and resume your proper place in society, is that it? Do you know, I used to be proud to call you my brother-in-law?”
Alexei did not take immediate offence. “You can adopt such attitudes, because, as I say, you do not know the whole of the matter.”
“I thought you had just told me that?”
“I told you some of it. Suppose I also told you that Sonia is having an affair?”
“Now that I would refuse to believe. Who is she supposed to be having an affair with?”
“You saw him. That fellow Korsakov.”
Duncan frowned. “I can’t accept that.”
“Why do you think he came here? It was to see her. Aunt Anna spotted that right away.”
“Mom always did have an overwrought imagination. It doesn’t make sense, Alexei. If Korsakov came here to see Sonia, then she must have known he was coming. So instead of waiting for him, she runs off to St Petersburg, several hundred miles away? That is hardly the act of a mistress.”
Alexei drank some brandy. “I have thought about that. There are two possible answers to that question. One is that it is part of a great subterfuge. Sonia goes off to Petersburg a couple of weeks before Korsakov arrives here. How do we know they did not meet during that fortnight, following which he arrives here and says, oh, what a pity, I missed the Princess. Or again, having come here, and been apparently surprised and disappointed at missing her, he has now gone off again. How do we know he is not now on his way to Petersburg?”
“You really are quite paranoid about your wife, Alexei. Which I suppose is a form of love. But that theory won’t work, because Sonia has Patricia with her. I’m not saying Trisha hasn’t got a streak of wildness in her, but I do not think that she’d ever let Sonia compromise her marriage, if only for the sake of the family.”
“Which brings us to the second possible answer,” Alexei said. “That Sonia invited Korsakov here, then confided in Trisha — after all, they are the oldest and most intimate of friends — with the result that Trisha forbade her to go ahead with the liaison, and to prevent it, carried her off to Petersburg.”
“To the arms of Rasputin, you say. Or at least the bathtub.”
“I do not think this is a matter for joking, Duncan.”
“I can see that it is not. However, we have a belief, both in England and in the States, that a man is innocent until he is proven guilty. Or a woman. I think you’re adopting quite the opposite point of view.”
“I am leaving for Petersburg tomorrow morning,” Alexei said. “To find out. Are you coming with me?”
*
“Here is a note from Madame Xenia,” Sonia said, sitting at the breakfast table with Patricia. As it was a fine November day, the children were already outside. “She says that Captain Korsakov visited Bolugayen for one night, and then left again.”
Patricia ate toast. “That must have put Aunt Anna’s nose out of joint.” Then she frowned. “You haven’t confided in Xenia?”
“Of course not. I merely told her to expect Korsakov, and to let me know when he had been and gone. So, I think it is now perfectly safe to return home. We shall leave tomorrow.”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” Patricia protested. “Why should we do that? The boys clearly haven’t missed us yet; there has not been a single letter from Duncan. Have you had anything from Alexei?”
“No. That bothers me too. I think we should go home.”
“Well, I don’t. Anyway, not tomorrow, Sonia. Don’t be a spoil sport.”
“What is so special about tomorrow?”
Patricia flushed. “I have promised Nathalie...”
“You mean you are going back to Rasputin’s.” Patricia, she knew, had been to see the holy man three times since that first occasion. She always went with Nathalie and Dagmar, and Sonia, who always refused to accompany them, had never asked what they did there, but she had no doubt at all it was something revolting.
That was another reason for her wanting to get Patricia out of the city as quickly as possible. If her sister-in-law was merely following Petersburg fashion, as it appeared, the situation was still fraught with danger. Quite apart from the moral angle. But remonstrating with Trishka was a waste of time. She quite obviously was of the opinion that after all she had suffered, including having to act the prostitute just to live, she was entitled to sample everything life had to offer. That was a difficult point of view to argue against, especially when Sonia had herself shared all of that suffering. But Trishka, having married her own cousin, had side-stepped morality in any event, as well as having side-stepped the responsibility of being a Bolugayevska. And now she seemed unable to appreciate any other point of view. “Why, yes, I am going back,” Patricia said. “On Friday.”
“I would have supposed, with your entrée, you could go whenever you please. Why do you not go this afternoon, if you must, and let us get out of here tomorrow?”
“I am going on Friday because that is when the staretz wishes to see me. He knows as well as anyone that he cannot let any one woman monopolise his time. That would cause discord amongst the others. He does not want any scandals. Do you know, there are always people sneaking up to the Tsar and muttering that Rasputin must be sent back to Siberia. Fortunately, the Empress remains his friend. She needs him. But he still doesn’t want any scandal about his private life.”
“My God! Don’t you suppose everyone in Petersburg knows about it anyway? As for you...you are married to a fine man who adores you, and yet you want another man to play with your breasts? That is absolutely obscene.”
“You really don’t understand,” Patricia said dreamily. “Don’t you ever want someone apart from your husband to play with your breasts? Or put his hand between your legs?”
Sonia stared at her in horror. “You haven’t let him do that?”
Patricia’s flush deepened. “I let him do whatever he wants. I have told you, he will never bed me, because he is a holy man.”
“Because he is a devil.”
“You haven’t answered my question. Didn’t you dream, perhaps you still do, of Korsakov putting his hand inside your blouse? Of course you did. Do. But you couldn’t risk the possible scandal, the possibility of a continuing affair with him making all manner of extravagant declarations of love and perhaps doing something stupid. Not to mention the fact that you would have been committing both a sin and a crime. So you ran away. But with Rasputin, don’t you see, there is no possibility of an affair, of repercussions. While as for sinning, one
goes to him, commits a sin, and is absolved. You can have the best of all possible worlds.”
“With a man who is grotesquely ugly, who stinks like a peasant, because he is a peasant, and who blasphemes every time he opens his mouth?”
“So he repels you. You are in a minority. And he is still very anxious to get to know you. Will you not come with me, at least to say goodbye?”
“Get to know me!” Sonia shuddered. “Under no circumstances will I come with you. And I wish you would not go either.”
“You are a prude and a spoilsport,” Patricia said angrily. “Well, you go on back to Bolugayen. I am staying here until next week.” She flounced from the room.
God, Sonia thought, what a mess one can make of things, through trying to do the right thing. She brooded on the situation for the next few days, taking her meals in her apartment with Colin and Anna, who understood that their mother had had a difference of opinion with their aunt but did not understand why. By Friday, however, she had made up her mind to leave, the more so as Patricia had refused another of her pleas to accompany her. She therefore told Grishka to pack for herself and the children. Perkins looked surprised; Patricia and Nathalie had already gone out.
“You are staying another week,” Sonia told her. Perkins pursed her lips. There could be no doubt at all that below stairs knew all about their mistresses’ visits to the staretz — or about what went on there.
Sonia went into the garden, where Joseph was endeavouring to teach Colin the intricacies of baseball, a game of which he had become fond during his last visit to Boston. The two little girls were being employed as fieldswomen, and seemed happy just to be allowed to play with their big brothers. Dagmar had, of course, gone to Rasputin’s with her mother and aunt. She was clearly being turned into a sexual monster. But then, knowing her mother, Sonia supposed that might have happened anyway. She sat on a bench to watch them, enjoying the sunshine, the last of the sunshine, she supposed — the snow was in any event late — and was disturbed by the appearance of Dmitri. “His Highness is here, Your Highness.”
The Red Tide Page 7
