“Yes,” Alexei said.
“Then kindly close the door. Madam, you may dress in the inner room.” Jutta Svenkarska scooped the last of her clothes into her arms, then scuttled for the inner room, buttocks gleaming. Alexei pushed the gaping women back into the antechamber and closed the door. “How did you get in here?” Rasputin enquired. “Did not Anton stop you?”
“He tried,” Alexei said, and uncoiled the whip.
“I see.” Rasputin went to the table and poured himself a glass of wine. “You?”
“I did not come here to drink with you,” Alexei said.
“You came here to avenge the so-called honour of your wife. Or your mistress.” Rasputin filled a second glass. “That is no reason why we should not have a drink, first.” He held out the glass.
“You are an obscene swine,” Alexei said.
“What is your name?” Rasputin asked.
“I am Prince Bolugayevski.”
“Ah! The husband of the very beautiful Sonia.”
“You admit that she came here?”
“Who am I to deny it?” Rasputin himself drank the second glass of Madeira.
“Then you admit you debauched her.”
Rasputin considered, while refilling his glass. “I endeavoured to entertain her.”
“You bastard!” Alexei snapped the whip.
“If you touch me, you are disgraced forever,” Rasputin warned.
“As are those you touch. But you assume too much power to yourself, priest. Not that I intend to touch you. This will do.” He snapped the whip again, and sent it curling through the air. Rasputin jerked straight, but the leather had already slashed across his shoulders. He gave a roar of anger and hurled the full glass of wine at his assailant, but Alexei comfortably side-stepped the flying glass and struck again with the whip.
This time Rasputin caught the thong, giving a little grimace as it wrapped itself round his hand, but pulling as hard as he could. As Alexei did not let go, the two men were dragged towards each other. Rasputin hissed, and bared his teeth, and brought up his left hand; they were roughly the same size. But Alexei, although the older, was also the fitter, and he was the first to swing his fist, catching Rasputin on the side of the face and sending him staggering across the room, releasing the whip as he did so. Alexei stepped back to swing the whip again, but as he did so, the roof seemed to fall on his head.
Chapter Four - The Scandal
“This will not do,” the Tsar said. “This simply will not do, Prince Bolugayevski. I can tell you that Her Majesty is extremely displeased.” Listening to the polite words, Alexei could not help but wonder what this man’s father, Alexander III, a mountain of a man who had dominated Russia at once by his size and his ruthless aggression to all who dared oppose him, would have said. Yet Nicholas, however short, with his handsome features and neatly clipped beard, his splendid uniforms and his compelling eyes, looked capable of ruling as forcefully as his father had done. Only those who knew him as well as Alexei, or Sergei Witte, the Minister of the Interior who stood beside the Tsar’s desk, were aware that he entirely lacked strength of character, would make a decision and then change it at the slightest hint of opposition — save where that decision had been made by the Tsaritsa, the real ruler of Russia. But, no doubt fortunately for the country as a whole, the Empress Alexandra confined her interests to domestic matters and the continuing worry over the health of the Tsarevich. Unfortunately, that involved the continuing prosperity of Rasputin. “It is the talk of Petersburg,” Nicholas grumbled, flicking the various newspapers on the desk. “That a staretz should be attacked in his own chambers, horsewhipped...that a prince of Russia should be thrown out into the gutter...” He looked up. “How is your head, by the way?”
Alexei touched the bandage. “I am told there is no permanent damage, sire. But I cannot accept that I am in any way in the wrong. My wife...”
“And how many other wives, do you suppose? Oh, do not remind me, this lout is an uncouth sex maniac...” Suddenly the Tsar smiled. “Did you really horsewhip him?”
“Unfortunately I was prevented from doing so properly, sire. But I did hit him.” Alexei raised his right hand to show the cut knuckles.
“Capital. Capital, eh, Witte? But the Tsaritsa is furious. And the scandal.” He frowned at Alexei. “You have dragged your wife’s name into the gutter. Not to mention that of your sister and your sister-in-law. What’s to be done about that, eh?”
“I do not think anything needs to be done about the Princess Dowager, sire,” Alexei said. “She glories in her association with the staretz. My sister is already on her way back to Bolugayen, from whence she will be departing, with her husband and children, for England or America. She will not be returning.”
“I should not have let her come back in the first place,” Nicholas grumbled. “You asked me to do that, Prince Bolugayevski.”
“I know that, sire.”
“And your wife?”
Alexei gazed straight in front of him. “I have instituted proceedings for a divorce, sire.”
“My God! Have you considered the scandal? A prince, divorcing his wife?”
“I have also considered the scandal of the Princess Bolugayevska allowing herself to be debauched by the staretz, sire.”
“She has admitted this?”
“No, sire. She denies it. But then, does she not have to deny it? And the facts are there. There are also...other matters to be considered.”
“Hm,” Nicholas said. “I have heard of these other matters.” He pointed. “But I will have no duelling. It would he beneath your dignity, anyway, to challenge such a fellow. And, Alexei Colinovich, I am very afraid he might kill you. Captain Korsakov is one of the best shots in the army.”
Colour flared into Alexei’s cheeks, caused partly by surprise at how much the Tsar knew about his affairs. “The world will think me a coward, sire.”
“Then the world will be wrong. And I will make it known that it was I who forbade a duel. Now we must look to the future. You have elected to divorce your wife, and we must be prepared to ride the scandal. I may disapprove of the necessity, but I cannot disapprove of the cause. May I say that I regretted your marriage in the first place, Alexei Colinovich. It is possible that this whole ghastly mess may turn out for the best in the long run. As I say, my wife is very angry. Therefore you will return to your estate and remain there. She is speaking of five years.” Alexei’s head came up. “However,” the Tsar went on. “It may be possible to review the situation much sooner than that. When this scandal has died down, when your divorce is completed...and perhaps when you have married again.” He gazed at Alexei, who swallowed. “Had you not considered this?”
“Frankly, no, sire.”
“Well, I would if I were you, Alexei Colinovich. We live in troubled times, which are only going to grow more troubled. Consider this business in the Balkans. We could find ourselves at war with Austria at any moment.” He cleared his throat and glanced at Witte; all three men were well aware that Russia, still not recovered from her shattering defeat at the hands of the Japanese, was in no condition to go to war with anyone, even decrepit Turkey, much less the Austro-Hungarian Empire, which also had deep interests in the Balkan Peninsular and was most definitely prepared to fight to protect those interests. “The point is, Alexei Colinovich, that Russia is going to need the total support of all good men over the coming years. I count you one of those men.”
“I thank you, sire.”
“But no man can give of his best while his domestic situation is in disorder. I will be frank with you. I think you are doing the right thing in getting rid of your Jewess. There is, however, the remaining point that your children, and most especially your present heir, are half-Jewish. I cannot help but feel that it would be best for everyone should this be different.”
“You would have me disinherit Count Colin?” Alexei was aghast.
“I think it might be best if your next son were to be the future Prince Boluga
yevski, Alexei Colinovich. I am sure you are in a position to make ample provision for Count Colin Alexeivich.” Alexei bit his lip. “Well, I shall not detain you any longer,” the Tsar said. “You will return to Bolugayen, and remain there until summoned by me. However, when I say remain there, I mean that you will not return to St Petersburg, until summoned by me. I will raise no objection to you leaving your estate, for, shall I say, matrimonial purposes. Good-day to you, Prince Bolugayevski.”
Maitre Polonowski adjusted his spectacles and bent over his desk. Although she knew it could not be true, Sonia thought that he looked dusty. That was because the entire office was redolent of dust, to which could be added coal dust from the roaring open fire; the snow had at last arrived and St Petersburg was shivering under a white blanket. It was warm enough in the lawyer’s office, but not warm enough to thaw her out; Sonia did not suppose she would ever be warm again.
Polonowski cleared his throat. “I would say this is all in order. I would also say that Prince Bolugayevski has been most generous. Quite absurdly so, if you will pardon me, Your Highness.” He peered at her over the tops of his glasses.
“And it does me no good to swear that I am entirely innocent of the charges brought against me,” Sonia said.
Polonowski frowned. “You do not mean to contest the suit?”
“Should I not? He is taking away my children. I am not even to have access.”
“Your Highness, I must advise most strongly against it. In the first place, it would mean washing a lot of dirty linen in a most public fashion, and would involve your total ostracism. In the second, it would cost you this most generous settlement offered you by the Prince. In the third, you would still lose. And in the fourth, well, Your Highness, you must realise that there are certain irregularities in your past, which have been entirely overlooked, because of your status as the Princess Bolugayevska. Your husband guarantees that they will never he raised again, even when you cease to be the Princess Bolugayevska. If you were to anger him...Take the money, Your Highness. Five million roubles. It is a fortune. You can live wherever you choose, ah...do whatever you choose. You could, ah, return to your own people, and, ah…” He flushed as Sonia gazed at him. “Will you not sign, Your Highness?” He pushed the paper across his desk.
At one stroke, she thought, I cease to be a mother. That was the hardest to bear. Beside that, her implicit condemnation of the fact that she appeared to be accepting of everything of which she was accused, was quite irrelevant. But then, that was the story of her life, as the lawyer had just reminded her. Seventeen years ago she had been forced to accept the charges made by the Okhrana, of which, then too, she had been entirely innocent. That had cost her four years in Siberia and a lifetime as a fugitive. She was at least being offered an escape from that. She picked up the pen and signed at the indicated place.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” Polonowski made sure everything was in order. And then flushed some more. “You understand that you must be out of the Bolugayevski Palace by tonight. I assume you will be going to an hotel?”
“I have not really thought about it.”
“Yes. Well...” His expression indicated that it was time she did think about it. “His Highness has agreed that all your clothes and effects will be packed up and forwarded to you as soon as you inform me of your new address. I am speaking of your effects on Bolugayen, of course. I assume you will be taking your effects from the palace here in Petersburg with you.”
“I am all packed,” Sonia said absently.
“Well, then, that is most satisfactory. You will be pleased to know that I have been instructed to open an account for you, the moment you signed the paper, and that the money will be paid into this account immediately. So you really have no financial worries whatsoever. I hope you appreciate that, Your Highness.” He was clearly anxious to see the back of her as well as debating whether he should continue to address her as Your Highness, in view of the fact that she had just signed away her right to be known as the Princess Bolugayevska.
What am I to be known as, then? she wondered, as she took her leave and went down the stairs. Plain Sonia Bolugayevska? Or do I not even have that right? Then do I call myself Sonia Cohen? After all these years? The chauffeur opened the door for her and she got in. “I should like to drive through the ghetto,” she said.
“The ghetto, Your Highness?” He was alarmed. And he did not yet know that she was no longer Your Highness. She had perhaps another six hours of enjoying the omnipotence of being the Princess of Bolugayen, before disappearing into total anonymity.
“Just take me there,” she commanded. He drove, slowly, through the streets she remembered so well. Until they arrived at the street she remembered more than any other. “Stop a moment,” she said, and the car drew up outside the house in which she had been born. And where she had been arrested by the Okhrana, raped and beaten and humiliated. That was seventeen years ago, and she had never been back. She had never dared go back, as the Princess Bolugayevska, because, as the Princess, she had had to turn her back entirely on her past. Now she had been told, go back to that past. As if she dared do that, now. She leaned out of the window to look at the house, and the man standing outside it. “Good-morning,” she said.
The man looked at the car, and her clothes, and touched his cap. “Good-morning, Your Nobility.”
“Can you tell me who lives here now?”
“Rabbi Djerkin owns this house, Your Nobility.”
“Ah! I was here a long time ago, once, and I seem to remember a family named Cohen...”
“Oh, yes, Your Nobility. There were people named Cohen living here once. Terrible people, Your Honour. Terrorists!” He lowered his voice. “Communists.”
“How awful,” Sonia said. “Whatever happened to them?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t know, Your Nobility. There was talk some were executed, and some sent to Siberia...the daughter it was. Then there was a story about how she escaped and married a prince. Pure fairy-tale, Your Honour. There’s none here now.”
“I see,” Sonia said, and pulled back into the car. “Home, please, Tomislav.” Pure fairy-tale. How very true.
The house was quiet in the middle of the morning, although Sonia could hear the children playing in the garden. Dmitri greeted her as gravely as if nothing had happened, although he, and indeed all the servants, had to know just what had happened. He could not resist asking, however, “Will Your Highness be going out again?”
“Yes,” Sonia said. “I will be going out again.”
“Of course, Your Highness. The Countess Patricia left this letter for you.”
Sonia took the envelope, went up to her apartment, and sat down to open it.
My dearest Sonia, Patricia had written. What a terrible bore! Sonia raised her eyes to heaven. I feel so responsible! Alexei is behaving like a silly schoolboy! Or a Russian prince! Well, that is all he is, on both counts. These men and their absurd notions of honour! And princes are worse than anyone else. I am sure he will regret what he is doing, and come running behind you. However, until then, should you have any difficulty, please be sure that you have, always a home with Duncan and me, whether it be in London or Boston. I can assure you that Duncan joins me in this invitation. I just know we are going to meet again, and laugh again, and even, perhaps, adventure again, together. Until then, yours ever and ever and ever, Trishka from the Steppes.’
Sonia was amazed at her composure, the fact that her eyes were absolutely dry, while her mind was spinning half out of control. Dearest Trishka! As ebulliently confident as ever in the past. But then, why should she not be? Nothing that had ever happened to Patricia, and there had been a great deal, and nothing that could ever happen to her in the future, could alter the one simple fact that governed her life: she was the Countess Bolugayevska, born and bred. There was no stroke of the pen, her pen or anyone else’s pen, that could possibly alter that. That she also happened to be married to a totally loving and committed man, who seemed prepared to fo
rgive her anything, was just the icing on her cake. While she...but she was still the Princess Bolugayevska, at this moment. Although she had agreed to all the terms set out in Alexei’s letter, agreed not to contest the divorce or any of the accusations contained in the petition, agreed to surrender her children, the matter still had to go through the courts, and even more important, the church. Alexei might have the power immediately to exile her from his houses, separate her from her children, but for some months yet she would remain his legal wife.
She walked to the window and looked down at her son and daughter. How could any man be so heartless as to separate a mother from her children? But Alexei would not see things that way. To him they were not her children so much as Bolugayevskis; that she happened to have given birth to them was an accident of history. But to walk away from her darlings...she did not think she could do that. Nor did she have to. If she were to summon them up here now, and tell them all three of them were leaving that afternoon, to catch a ship for England, there was no one in this building with the authority to stop her. But she could not do that. She could not take away their birthrights as boyars, nobles of the Russian state, with all the power and prestige that implied. Colin would one day be Prince of Bolugayen. Anna would be married to one of the highest men in the land. Theirs was a future which not only glowed, but was filled with responsibility.
Her eyes filled with tears. Then she thought: Aunt Anna! So much had happened so quickly that it had not occurred to her to appeal to that greatest member of the Bolugayevski family. Anna had had so many peccadilloes in her own life surely she would condone Sonia’s curiosity? But Anna was a Bolugayevska to the toes on her feet. Whatever she had done had been undertaken with but a single aim — to control the future of Bolugayen. She had abandoned the comfortable life of a Boston matron to plunge back into the family politics when she felt they needed her, and she had stayed and suffered with them when at any time she could have opted out and returned to her American family. She was also fond of reminding everyone that however many lovers she had had, she had never committed adultery: as Charles Cromb’s wife she had been absolutely faithful. She would never condone the Princess Bolugayevska even contemplating committing such a sin. As for dragging the family name in the dirt by visiting Rasputin...!
The Red Tide Page 9
