by Olga Wjotas
There was one final image. Me shoving Old Vatrushkin out of the door and locking it firmly behind him. He couldn’t have got back in, even if he had a spare key, because I’d left mine in the lock. The only person who could have attacked me was Sasha.
Perhaps the fall from the first floor had left me light-headed, but I suddenly felt I had to sit down. It seemed I had been wrong. I had been wrong about Old Vatrushkin being bad, and I had been wrong about Sasha being good. I felt queasy, nonplussed, perplexed. Was this how other people felt when they were wrong? It was a new experience for me, and I didn’t like it.
But how I felt was irrelevant. I wasn’t here to feel, but to act. Miss Blaine had entrusted me with a mission, and I was virtually out of time.
I turned to Nanny. “Sasha’s kidnapped Saint Volosiya, hasn’t he?”
The old woman’s face went rigid with terror. “Don’t!” she whispered. “You don’t know what he’s capable of!”
I looked up at the flames licking the windows. “Actually, I think I do,” I said. “And he’s forbidden you to say anything.”
Nanny’s mouth clamped shut.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll ask you questions and all you have to do is nod or shake your head.”
A ray of hope came into her eyes and she gave a tentative nod.
“You know something you can’t tell anybody?”
She nodded more vigorously.
“And he threatened to hurt Saint Volosiya if you talked?”
She raised her hand and made a stabbing motion.
“He had a knife?”
A nod.
“Do you know where he took her?”
A shake of the head.
“Did you ever hold her?”
A nod.
“In your lap?”
Another nod.
I signalled to the animated floormop, who bounded over to me. “Tresorka, we’re going to help the nice lady who saved you.” I gathered Tresorka up in Nanny’s capacious apron again. “That’s right. Have a good sniff. Get the scent that isn’t you and isn’t Nanny and isn’t knitting. Now seek.”
Tresorka, released back to the ground, scampered off and we followed.
“What were you doing here anyway?” I asked.
“I was out for a walk when I noticed the smoke and flames,” said Nanny.
“Out for a walk without Lidia? Is she disrupting everything with her woodwork again?”
“She gave me the afternoon off,” said Nanny. “I’ve never had an afternoon off.”
“You’ve never had an afternoon off?” I repeated, outraged by this exploitation of a worker in the caring industry, but she mistook my reaction.
“Yes, it is odd, isn’t it?” she said. “She gave all the staff the afternoon off.”
A bell went off in my head, very like the school bell that rang at 3.30pm every day, except alarming rather than liberating.
“I’m sure everything’s fine,” I said with a reassurance I didn’t feel. “You’ll get home and find she’s put up a lovely set of bookshelves, or maybe she’s building a conservatory.”
Tresorka was scampering faster now, wheezing with excitement. He came to a halt outside a three-storey building guarded by a uniformed doorman.
“These are the luxury apartments where the general stays,” said Nanny. “The countess must have installed . . . the person you mentioned . . . here.”
“Well done, Tresorka,” I said, scratching him behind his little ears.
“We can’t go in,” said Nanny. “We will have to tell the doorman who we are and who we’re going to see. If the doorman tells – the person–” She broke down in tears. “I can’t risk her coming to harm.”
“We can still check. Sasha might not be in,” I said.
“And in that case, the doorman will not let us in.”
She looked utterly woebegone. We needed a plan. I pondered.
“Got it,” I said. “Wrap Tresorka in your apron and carry him as though he’s on a tray.”
We approached the doorman, who gave us a supercilious stare.
“Now then, my good man,” I said. “I am the Princess Tamsonova.” I hated myself for pulling rank when I believed so passionately in equality, but it was in pursuit of a greater good. “I am here representing the imperial repository for the relief of comparatively indigent gentlemen.”
I indicated Nanny, who was tottering behind me with every indication of carrying a laden tray under her apron. “Caviar to the general,” I announced.
The doorman bowed low. “Princess. The general is in apartment three.”
I was about to tell him that it was just an expression from the playwright William Shakespeare when I realised we had achieved our aim and got access to the building.
“The general!” said Nanny excitedly as we went into the vestibule. “We should take him with us! He would be useful to have around if it comes to a fight.”
I felt two women were more than adequate if it came to a fight, particularly if one of them was me. But Nanny insisted on knocking at the door.
A cleaning serf passed us. “He’s gone out,” he said.
“We’re actually looking for Sasha,” I said.
“Flat five. But he’s gone out as well.”
We waited until the cleaning serf was out of sight. “We need to break in,” I said. “But I don’t have a hairpin.”
“Neither do I,” she said. “Nasty scratchy things. But I could give you a knitting needle.”
It was perfect. A quick jiggle and a sudden twist and the door opened. Nanny let Tresorka out of her apron and he shot down the hallway to scrabble at a door. This too was locked, but the knitting needle performed its magic again. There were sheaves of paper everywhere, piles of bank notes, stashes of jewels. I stood looking round in astonishment, but Nanny was scuttling after Tresorka, who was scraping at a bureau and whining. Another lock, another flourish of the knitting needle, and it was open.
Nanny gave a cry. “My beloved! Are you all right?” She examined the icon from every angle, ascertained that it was unscathed, and planted a reverential kiss on Saint Volosiya’s homely face.
“Right, Nanny,” I said. “She’s out of danger. You’re free to talk.”
“When Lidia was five,” she said, “her saintly mother was to be blessed with another child. I say ‘was to be blessed’ but it was not a blessing–” She paused, reluctant to continue.
“Don’t worry, I know all about it,” I said. “The baby wasn’t her husband’s.”
The look Nanny gave me could have fried a Mars bar at a hundred versts. “How dare you say such an outrageous thing, Shona Fergusovna!”
“Everybody knows,” I said. “I believe it was ginger?”
“A complete lie!” she burst out. “He was the most beautiful baby in the world, after my little chicken!”
I could understand people getting aerated about the ginger thing, however true it was. “All right,” I said. “Let’s say auburn or Titian. Anyway, the point is that he was the result of an extra-marital affair.”
The next thing I knew, she’d used her outstanding pitching skills to lob another ball of wool in my mouth.
“Do not dare to speak of Lidia’s saintly mother in that way!” she shouted.
I spat the wool out. “Nanny,” I said, “have you forgotten you told me yourself that she was no better than she should be?”
“Exactly. We should all be as good as we possibly can. How could she have been any better? It is impossible to be any better than your best.”
It was another of these occasions when a foreigner misunderstood something that was clear.
“So if he was a perfectly legitimate baby who wasn’t ginger, what on earth was the problem?” I asked.
“Pure evil!” said Nanny, shuddering. “We discovered
when the priest came to discuss the christening.”
“Do you know, I heard a very similar story the other day,” I said. “It’s one of these priestly urban myths.”
“It was no myth,” said Nanny. “I witnessed it all. The infant’s eyes glowed red, its head span round and round and it vomited green bile. And the language it used! Fortunately, Lidia’s saintly mother had never heard such words before and thought it was speaking ancient Aramaic. The priest demanded that we destroy the child immediately, but Lidia’s saintly mother and revered father could not bring themselves to do such a thing.”
“Quite right,” I said. “Infanticide is a crime. So I presume they put him in a basket and left him in the bulrushes?”
Nanny shook her head. “They knew of a tutor employed nearby who had not been blessed with issue. They gave the baby to him and his wife on condition that they went to live in the country, and every month, Lidia’s revered father sent them money for the child’s upkeep.”
“That’s an amazing coincidence,” I said. “Sasha’s adoptive parents were involved in quite a similar arrangement.”
Nanny stared at me. “I am speaking of Sasha.”
“No,” I corrected her gently. “I am speaking of Sasha. You are speaking of Lidia’s wee brother.”
She spoke very slowly and distinctly, as though to a complete moron. “Sasha is Lidia’s brother. I recognised him immediately when I saw him with my little chicken.”
Again, that unaccustomed feeling of being wrong, except it was slightly less unaccustomed this time. The villain who had kidnapped Saint Volosiya and tried to incinerate me, Lidia’s brother? I was pondering how different siblings can be when Tresorka trotted up to me with some documents in his teeth.
“Clever doggy,” I said absently, scratching him behind his ears, taking the papers from him and laying them on the table. He trotted off and returned seconds later with more papers.
“Well done,” I said, patting his head, and he rushed away and came back with even more.
“That’s enough now,” I said. “Go and lie down.”
Nanny squinted at the papers. “These are all wills,” she said.
I looked more closely at the papers I still had in my hand. It was the will of Madame Potapova, leaving everything she had to Sasha. It was entirely in order: she had signed it and had it witnessed. Nanny was leafing through the wills of the field-marshal’s widow and the admiral’s widow, Pillar Box Lady and Eye Patch Lady, which also left everything they had to Sasha.
Tresorka bounded up and dropped two bits of paper in my lap. The top one was the countess’s will, leaving everything she had to Sasha.
“The demon!” cried Nanny.
“Now then, Nanny,” I said.” She was a difficult woman, but de mortuis nihil nisi bonum, remember.”
“I’m not speaking ill of the dead. Don’t you see? That demon Sasha murdered the count, who left everything to the countess. Then he murdered the countess and forged her will.”
“Forged?” I said. “If all these other ladies left Sasha their fortunes, why shouldn’t the countess do the same? She seemed quite fond of him.”
“All the wills are forged,” said Nanny. “These ladies would never have dreamed of leaving him their fortunes. He must somehow have got their signatures and copied them.”
“Nanny, we know he’s done some wrong things, stealing your icon, and leaving me to burn to death, but you can’t just accuse him of anything you like,” I said. “This is a case of give a dog a bad name and hang it.”
Tresorka whined.
“You’re not a bad dog,” I said. “You’re a very good dog. What’s this you’re bringing me now? A book?”
Tresorka, the front cover between his teeth, pawed at my knee.
“You want me to throw it for you? We don’t throw books. And we don’t chew them. We treat them with respect. Apart from That Book.”
I retrieved it from Tresorka to check. It was the copy of The Bride of Lammermoor I had given Sasha. I opened it. The title page, on which I had inscribed my good wishes, was missing.
Nanny pointed to the remaining document on my lap. It was a will, leaving everything to Sasha, and signed by Shona Fergusovna McMonagle, duly witnessed and bearing the date of the girls’ afternoon tea.
“The scheming wee toe-rag!” I said. “That’s just an expression, Nanny, it means–”
“I understand your meaning perfectly,” she said. “I think we’d better see what else he’s got in here.” She started searching inside the bureau and gave a horrified gasp. “Oh, Chicken!”
I looked over her shoulder to find her holding a letter.
“Dear Aleksandr Dmitrievich,” it began. Aleksandr Dmitrievich – that was what the schoolmaster’s wife had called Sasha. “Thank you for your message. Not a day goes by without my thinking of my poor deceased brother. It is something of which we never speak, so it is a great joy to hear that you have knowledge of him that you wish to share with me. I quite understand that it would entirely ruin my reputation if you, a young unmarried man, were to be seen to visit me, a young unmarried woman. So I shall do as you suggest for the sake of discretion. I shall give everyone, including Nanny, the afternoon off tomorrow, and leave the back door open so that we can have complete privacy. Your proposed arrival time of 3pm is completely acceptable.
Yours sincerely,
Lidia Ivanovna Chrezvychainodlinnoslovskaya.”
“Oh, Nanny,” I said. There was growing evidence that Sasha hadn’t just made a couple of errors of judgment.
Nanny, with trembling fingers, picked up a piece of paper that had been lying underneath the letter. It was the draft of another letter, which had a few false starts until the writer got used to copying Lidia’s handwriting.
“My darling General,” it read. “I am so very fed up that we never get to spend any time alone together. That interfering old nanny of mine and that awful Scotchwoman are always getting in the way. So why don’t you come round tomorrow at 4pm? I’ll make sure we have the place to ourselves and we can find something interesting to do together. Come in the back door. (And don’t you dare get the wrong idea – I’m literally talking about a door!) Lots of love, Little Lidia.”
“My chicken would never write a letter like that!” raged Nanny.
“Of course she wouldn’t,” I said. “It’s appallingly badly written. She would never be insensitive enough to call herself little when she’s so much bigger than him. And Scotchwoman isn’t even a proper word.”
I looked again at the top of the letter. “It’s dated yesterday. So he’s expected today at 4pm. And the real letter she sent Sasha is also dated yesterday. So he’s expected today at 3pm.”
We both glanced at the clock. Quarter to four.
“Whatever Sasha has in mind, we have to stop it. Come on,” I said, but Nanny and Tresorka were already racing out the door.
Nanny might be tiny but she was nippy, and it took me all my time to keep up with her. As we ran, I tried to work out how I had managed to get it wrong. I approached it like a maths problem, going right back to the beginning to check the working-out. And that was it, right back at the beginning, the way my heart had thudded and my pulse quickened at the first sight of him. He had a bewitching smile and he had bewitched me. But I had to accept my share of the blame.
“I should have paid more attention to Tolstoy,” I said. “I thought Sasha was lovely because he looks so gorgeous. Tolstoy warned about that. He said, ‘It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness.’”
“Tolstoy?” said Nanny without slowing up. “That doesn’t sound the sort of thing that Nikolai Ilyich would say.”
“No, I mean his son, Lev Nikolayevich,” I said, and then realised the great writer hadn’t actually been born yet.
Fortunately Nanny didn’t notice my slip. She was pointing at a horseman ahead
of us. “Look! The general! Hurry up!”
She put on a burst of speed, Tresorka bounding behind her, and I suspected she might even be capable of breaking my record for the 1500 metres.
“He’ll have to get round to the back of the house,” she panted. “We’ll get ahead of him – I’ve got the front-door key.”
We sprinted the rest of the way, but we were too late. As we started climbing the stairs to the salon, we could hear Sasha’s light, attractive voice, tinged with a mixture of shock and embarrassment.
“My dear Lidushka! You didn’t warn me that you were expecting another gentleman caller this afternoon!”
“Lidia Ivanovna!” came the general’s voice. “I am surprised!”
“No, general,” said Sasha. “We are surprised. You are astonished.”
I was going to tell Nanny that this was a very old joke supposedly made by the lexicographer Samuel Johnson, and Sasha was guilty of plagiarism as well as everything else, but she was wailing, “My little chicken is ruined!”
Then we heard a sound I had never heard before. It was Lidia giggling. And there was a distinctiveness to the giggling. I was about to tell Nanny that Lidia was totally rat-arsed, when I remembered Old Vatrushkin’s unfamiliarity with the word.
“She’s bladdered,” I said.
“She sounds drunk to me,” said Nanny.
Lidia was speaking now, slurring her words and only just comprehensible. “Silly general! He’s my brother!”
“Merciful heaven!” cried the general. “What depravity is this?”
“We have to stop this,” said Nanny.
“I have to stop this,” I corrected. I was on a mission, and at last I knew what it was. My mission was to keep Sasha away from Lidia at all costs.
It would have been helpful if I’d had written instructions at the start. I must mention it to Miss Blaine. Assuming I succeeded. The clock was ticking and my time was running out. She had warned me that if I failed to complete my mission in the allotted time, there would be repercussions. She hadn’t specified, but I didn’t think they would be pleasant.
