“Your saviour,” Priscilla said, a trifle tartly. Joseph had never told her exactly what had happened at Yelets, but she knew that he had been impressed, and not merely at being rescued.
“I do not think it can do any harm to receive this fellow,” Joseph said. “I must admit I am intrigued.”
He had never supposed he would hear from Sonia again. Their meeting had been unforgettably bizarre, for a few minutes their minds as well as their bodies had been brought into violent contact. But after that they had moved into different orbits. He would never forget the look and sound of her, and above all the feel of her. He could appreciate all of these things while lying naked in bed beside the woman he loved. He was the most fortunate of men to have known two such women.
What could Sonia want of him? Obviously, she wished to escape Russia. She must have fallen out with Trotsky. He did not think he could actually help her escape, but if she could he certainly intended to help her in every possible way once she reached the West. He did not suppose Priscilla would object. He owed Sonia his life.
“Your Dad’s ship docks the day after tomorrow,” he reminded Priscilla at breakfast. “Will you come to meet them?”
“I suppose I must. Where have you put them?”
“I’ve booked them in at the Ritz. You didn’t want them here, did you?”
“God forbid. Joe…” she reached across the table to take his hand. They were alone. Anna and Alexei had gone for a walk, and Jennie had not yet emerged from her room. “We are going to have to tell them the truth.”
“Shouldn’t it wait until after we’re married?”
“Darling, we can only wait if we can be married today or tomorrow, and that is not possible. Quite apart from the impropriety. Now, Father and Jimmy were pretty upset because I refused to go home, three years ago, but I am a grown woman and at least they could find nothing more to criticise me of than lack of consideration. From the point of view of propriety, I was keeping house for my uncle and looking after Jennie as well as my own children. Now I am lodging with a man to whom I am only distantly related. Quite apart from Father and Jimmy, if I don’t move out tongues are going to start wagging. That doesn’t bother me in the least, but Father and Jimmy are going to go right through the roof.”
“You don’t think they’ll go through the roof when we tell them we’re living in sin?”
“Probably. But at least in the same breath we can tell them that we do intend to legalise the business.”
“I’m not sure that’ll make them any the happier. We’re second-cousins. They are certain to take the same point of view as Father.”
“That’s up to them. Even in this country there is nothing to stop second-cousins marrying.”
He put on his jacket, bent over to kiss her forehead. “I love you. You’re sure you want to go through with this?” After three years, he had to be sure that this volte-face was not a mood.
“Very sure,” Priscilla said.
She hoped she was telling the truth. Because the truth required a lot of ambivalent reasoning. Perhaps she had known from the moment of their first meeting that she would take Joseph Cromb as a lover. She had never had a lover, but at the same time she had not been a chaste wife. A woman who has been raped is entitled to all the sympathy and forgiveness possible. Alexei had given her those things with the splendid nobility which had dominated his character. But offering your wife sympathy and forgiveness for the catastrophe that has overtaken her does not mean that the relationship has not changed.
She had realised that the first night Alexei had returned to her bed, after an absence of nearly four years, in the little hut in Bolugayen village. He had loved her with an intensity he had never revealed before, the intensity of desperation. Opportunities for making love had been lacking as they had fled south, and then, as soon as he had set her up in the Sevastopol apartment, he had been away again to fight for the White cause. After that, he had managed precisely five nights in Sevastopol, and on three of those he had been too exhausted to do more than sleep in her arms. Her problem was that Alexei no longer had any desire to have sex with her, where his own valet had gone before. Thus she had been left without even the near presence of a husband; she had remained loyal entirely because of her marriage vows and her awareness of who she was.
Thus she had gone to Joseph willingly, the moment those vows and that position no longer seemed to matter. Besides, he had come back to save her life and those of her children, for she counted Anna her own no matter how withdrawn and unresponsive the girl might be. Escaping Sevastopol had been a wildly romantic episode. Even arriving in London, for the first time since the summer of 1912, had been wildly exciting. She had been apprehensive of Uncle Duncan’s reaction to her appearance, but he had welcomed her like a daughter rather than a niece, had supported her through the quarrel with her father and brother. That act of defiance too had been in keeping with her mood.
But Duncan’s objection to her marrying had made her think, he had had no objection to her sleeping with Joseph. Quite apart from his own laissez-faire attitude to life, he was Grandma Anna’s son, and Grandma Anna had been the greatest female roué in Russian history. Equally had he been Patricia’s husband, and Aunt Patricia had been another who had never let conventional morality get in the way of what she wanted to do. Therefore it was difficult to accept that the real reason he had been against their marrying was that they were second-cousins. For all his American liberality, Uncle Duncan had been against the Princess of Bolugayen marrying a Jew. Perhaps he had in mind the tragedy that had resulted from Alexei marrying a Jewess. That was at least a charitable explanation, rather than sheer innate prejudice.
But she had nothing against the Jews. In fact, she loved Joseph more deeply than she had ever loved Alexei, even in the early days of their marriage. But it was those early days, and the constant reminders of her position and her responsibilities that still made her hesitate. She could not believe that the Revolution was a final, irrevocable stroke of history. One day, surely, the Russian people would rise up against the Red terror as they had been encouraged to rise up against the Tsar. If that happened soon enough, then the world of 1912 might be restored. She would again be the Princess Dowager, Mistress of Bolugayen. Anna would again be a countess in fact as well as name. And her Alexei would again be a count. But there was even more to be looked for from the future. Colin had vanished, no one knew where. It was extremely probable that he was dead. In which case, Little Alexei was Prince of Bolugayen. Her son! If it were ever possible to regain Bolugayen, he would be one of the most powerful men in Russia, with her to guide him, and bask in his glory. Could she do that if she were married to a Jew? The Jews had had a miserable time in Tsarist Russia, blamed for every outbreak of terrorism or anarchy. But when this revolution was overturned, the winners would be able to prove that it had indeed been instigated by the Jews, and point to men like Trotsky as their obvious example. There would be a terrible upsurge of revenge — which would encompass those married to them, and their children, whether or not they would be gentiles.
“There is a gentleman to see you, Your Highness.” Grishka awoke her from her reverie.
“At four o’clock in the afternoon? Is he a gentleman?”
“I am sure, Your Highness. I think he is Russian.”
Priscilla stood up. “The man from the note?”
“It is possible, Your Highness.”
“Well...you had better put the kettle on for tea. Tell him I will be out in a moment. Is Miss Jennifer about?”
“She is in the study, Your Highness.”
“She had better stay there. I will be out in a moment.”
An emissary from Russia! Priscilla’s heart pounded pleasantly.
*
Jennie attempted to read a book. Her father’s study, large, book-lined, had become her principal refuge since his death. They reckoned she needed all the summer holidays to get over Duncan’s death.
Jennie Cromb had very early become aware th
at her life was likely to be one long identity crisis. Grandmama had been hurt in the riot that had followed the assassination of the Russian Prime Minister, Peter Stolypin, and it had been feared that she would die. Father and Mother had rushed to be at her side and it had been decided to take the children. Joseph had been already a teenager. To that moment, Jennie had never considered Joseph as anything else than her brother; it had been in Russia that she had discovered he was actually her half-brother, born of her mother’s affair with a fellow exile, now long dead. She had found that tremendously exciting and romantic.
Equally, to that moment, while she had always been vaguely aware that Mummy had the right to call herself a countess, and that her brother, an uncle Jennie had never seen, was a prince, and that the Russian half of the family was fabulously rich, these things had never seemed very important. Duncan Cromb, as the youngest son in a family of shipping magnates, had never had the slightest worry about money, and thus neither had any member of his family. The visit to Russia had made even five-year-old Jennie realise that, by some standards, her father could be considered rather poverty-stricken! But the biggest revelation of all had been a sudden doubt as to her own nationality. Jennie knew she was an American citizen, because her father was an American. In fact, she had always thought of herself as English, because she had been born in England, and even after the return from Russia she had gone to an English school and learned English ways of life.
That her mother was Russian had not seemed important, until the visit to Bolugayen. Patricia had never forced her background upon any of her children. Being the woman she was, with her history of rebelling against the omnipotence of the Russian aristocracy and subsequent delving into the anarchist movement, with all of its horrendous consequences, she wanted her children to be brought up as democratic citizens of either England or the United States. But the visit to Bolugayen had changed Jennie’s perspective. She had gazed at her cousins, Count Colin and Countess Anna, with total envy. Each seemed to have all the toys and ponies they desired, servants to do their every bidding, and all the certainty that Colin would one day own all of this immense wealth, and that Anna would one day marry some other prince and move on to the same exalted plane.
Jennie had been quite unable to understand why her mother had turned her back on all that. She had certainly cultivated only one ambition: to be able to join, and perhaps emulate, her cousins as soon as it could be possible. Even the coming of the war had not altered that ambition. But the consequences had been horrendous. In the beginning that too had been deliciously romantic. She and Joseph had counted the days until he could join up, and they had gloried in the thought of Uncle Alexei and Cousin Colin galloping into battle at the head of their troops. Then had come the Revolution. Jennie could remember as if it were yesterday saying goodbye to Mummy, when Patricia Cromb had set off to bring whichever members of the family she could, out of Russia to the safety of either Boston or London. Father had been deeply concerned at the prospect, but to Mummy it had been a glorious adventure, even more than when she had been imprisoned and tortured by the Okhrana.
Thus Mummy had galloped to her death, and the family had been destroyed, certainly as the rulers of Bolugayen. And now the three survivors were here in London, her tenants. How the wheel does turn, she thought. They were a sorry lot. Anna was sullen and resentful, a far cry from the arrogant little girl she dimly remembered. Alexei she had never met before, but he was obviously totally confused by the overturn in his fortunes. She had actually met Priscilla in 1912, when she had been on her way to Russia, fame and fortune. Jennie had not remembered much about her. Now she too, for all her beauty and her projection of confidence, was adrift and helpless, content to enjoy the security of being Joseph’s mistress.
She heard the ring and the door of the flat being opened by Grishka. Although all the family spoke English as they were, basically, either English or American, she had also been taught fluent Russian, but the caller spoke excellent English; she gathered it was the man of the note. She had been as intrigued as anyone by the suggestion that there could be an emissary of Soviet Russia seeking them out. She closed her book and opened the study door, which led directly into the drawing room.
Grishka had already gone in search of Priscilla, and the visitor was alone in the drawing room, inspecting the various objets d’art. “You speak very good English,” Jennie remarked.
He turned, and Jennie caught her breath. Andrei Gosykin was a relatively young man—she put him in his late twenties—and was startlingly handsome, with strong features, softened by the neat moustache, and an obviously well-cared-for body beneath his conventional suit. When he smiled he was entrancing, and he was smiling now. “You will be Miss Jennifer,” he said.
“Mr Gosykin? How did you know who I was?”
“The Princess Sonia has told me all about your family.”
“Oh.” She felt embarrassed. “Are you from her?”
“I have a letter from her.”
“Oh,” Jennie said again and looked, with some relief, at Priscilla, emerging from the inner doorway. “This is Mr Gosykin, Priscilla. He has a letter from Aunt Sonia.”
Priscilla swept into the room, clearly upset at being upstaged by her cousin. “Your Highness.” Gosykin clicked his heels and bowed to kiss her hand.
That entirely restored her humour; no one had kissed her hand since she had left Russia. But she remained cool. “Did you say Mr Gosykin? Or is it Comrade Gosykin.”
Gosykin gave a slight shrug. “It is sometimes necessary to move with the times, Your Highness.”
“Will you give me the letter?”
Gosykin hesitated. “It is addressed to Mr Duncan Cromb.”
“My uncle has recently died,” Priscilla said.
“Oh...” Gosykin glanced at Jennie. If he knew everything about the family, he would have to know that she was Duncan Cromb’s daughter.
“You can give the letter to me,” Jennie suggested. Another brief hesitation, then Gosykin took the letter from his inside pocket and handed it to her. Jennie in turn gave it to Priscilla, who sat down to scan it. “Please be seated,” Jennie invited.
“Thank you.” Gosykin sat down.
Jennie sat down also, on the far side of the room.
Priscilla raised her head. “According to this, you work for the Reds.”
“I work for the Government of Russia, Your Highness. So does the Princess Sonia.”
Priscilla gazed at him for several seconds. Then she said, “The Princess says you are to be trusted, absolutely.”
“The Princess is very kind, Your Highness.”
“And also that you bring certain suggestions from her.”
“That is my privilege, Your Highness.”
“I think,” Priscilla said. “That whatever you have to say should be said in the presence of Mr Joseph Cromb, who since the death of his father is the male head of the family. He will be home shortly. Until he comes, would you care for a cup of tea?”
“That would be most gracious of you,” Gosykin acknowledged.
Priscilla reached for the bell, but Jennie was on her feet. “I’ll see to it,” she volunteered, and hurried into the kitchen, where Grishka was waiting. “Isn’t he handsome?” she asked.
“One should never trust a handsome man,” Grishka recommended.
Chapter 6 - The Lovers
“What you must understand, Your Highness, Captain Cromb...” the entire family was assembled in the drawing room, Joseph and Priscilla on the settee, Alexei on his mother’s knee, and Anna and Jennie on straight chairs, facing the Russian envoy rather, Joseph felt, as if they were suspected of some crime and were being interrogated by a police officer. Andrei Gosykin, seated opposite, took them all in with his smile. “...is that the Revolution is now an accomplished fact. I know this is difficult to comprehend, but it is true. The Soviet Government is now in complete control of the entire country. So much so that it is becoming possible to relax some of the measures which were necessa
ry over the past few years. As for example, the requisitioning of grain and other foodstuffs is to be stopped, and the farmers are to be allowed to sell their produce on the open market.”
“Do you seriously expect us to believe that?” Joseph asked.
“It is against all the principles which Lenin and his friends have been preaching all of their lives,” Priscilla added.
“Agreed,” Gosykin said. “And I can tell you, Your Highness, that it has not been an easy matter to sell the idea to the Politburo. There are those who would continue the Revolution forever, because revolution is to them a way of life. But Comrade Lenin is far superior to any of his commissars in mental and intellectual stature, in his ability to understand what needs to be done, and do it without hesitation. So it is with the emigres. Comrade Lenin well understands that the business of their emigres was the biggest problem facing revolutionary France.”
Again he looked from face to face. Priscilla and Joseph continued to look sceptical; the two younger children were clearly bewildered. But Jennie was hanging on his every word, lips slightly parted. “Are you saying that Comrade Lenin is willing to restore the Bolugayevski lands and titles?” Joseph asked.
Gosykin said, “I do not doubt that is his ultimate intention, at least to those boyars prepared loyally to support the new state. The present government came to power on a platform of dividing the boyars’ immense land-holdings among the muzhiks. To a large extent this reform has been carried out. Where Russia has been so tragically affected by Civil War, it is still being carried out. Now, any government only exists by the will of the people...” Priscilla’s lip curled. “...and Comrade Lenin is reliant upon that will for his continuance in office,” Gosykin continued, unabashed.
“We are under the impression that anyone who opposes the will of Comrade Lenin is shot or imprisoned,” Joseph said.
“That is Western propaganda,” Gosykin said.
The Red Gods Page 12
