Murder and Revolution

by Evelyn Weiss

  The next day, I was taken for my trial. Some men put me in a cart. It looked like one of the tumbrils used for people about to guillotined in the French Revolution. The cart was driving along the Nevsky Prospect, and some kind of scuffle broke out ahead of us. There were lots of people fighting, I have no idea what was happening. The men who were supposed to be guarding me were shouting and jeering. Then they jumped down from the cart and joined the fight. So I got out of the cart and slipped away.

  I knew I had to get out of St Petersburg. I was still wearing my suit, and in an inside pocket I had enough money for a train fare. The only trains running were to Moscow, so I caught the first one. When I got here, I went to the bank and asked if I could withdraw some money from my account. The bank clerk went away to check, then he came back and said my account didn’t exist any more.

  It was March; there was lots of snow around. I was out on the streets; no hotel would accept me on credit, and I had no identity papers. The first night, I thought I would freeze to death, but then I found a blanket in an alley. Then a man came along and said it was his blanket. He called me a ‘stuck up toff’ and then he started hitting me. It was just the same as the previous beating; after a while I passed out. All I remember was waking, lying in the snow.

  Since then, I’ve been begging, just going from street to street. There are countless beggars in Moscow – drifters from all over Russia, but also thousands of former policemen and civil servants, and wounded soldiers who are given no pensions. I saw one man who I used to know: Viktor Andropov. Before last February, he had been a senior official in the Tsar’s finance ministry. He said to me ‘This is the so-called brave new world of revolutionary Russia. Everyone who worked for the Tsar’s government is cast out, like rubbish.’ I never saw Andropov again, but a few weeks later I heard that he’d been beaten to death by a mob of other beggars, because he had a one-ruble note.”

  Emily frowns. “You talk about revolutionary Russia. I understand your problems, Mr Bukin – but the Provisional Government was committed to trying to tackle homelessness.”

  Mr Bukin laughs, like a deathly cough. “On the streets of Moscow, the Provisional Government didn’t exist! From the very start, the Red Guards were the ones who were really in charge, because they had the guns. They used to threaten me, calling me a looter and a thief. I’ve heard rumors that they shoot beggars now and then, just to keep all the rest of us scared. I try to keep out of trouble. I’m glad if I can beg a few kopeks a day from passers-by. But so far, it has been summertime. I dread the coming winter: I know that I will freeze, if I don’t starve to death first.

  But then today, Captain Sirko, I saw you going into St Basil’s Cathedral. I went in and looked for you, but it was so busy in there, I couldn’t find you.

  And then I saw you in the cathedral, Miss Frocester. I touched your hand, to try to get your attention.” He looks around at us, his eyes bleak and desperate. “I hope you can help me.”

  “We will.” Yuri is clear and decisive. “I have rather a lot of money, which the Bolsheviks have given me for no apparent reason. I’ll use it to get some accommodation for you. I have enough to pay for a room for you until next summer, at least. So you won’t freeze this winter.”

  “I’m so grateful. Truly, you have saved my life, Captain Sirko.”

  Bukin shakes Yuri’s hand: intense relief is visible in his face. Then he looks at me. “There is also one thing you might do for me, Miss Frocester, because you are an impartial foreigner. You see, begging letters are common in Russia; every person of importance receives them and ignores them. But if you, an American, were to write to General Aristarkhov, who I understand is now quite a senior person in the new government?...”

  I look at his anxious, eager face. “I don’t want to give you false hope, Mr Bukin. It was General Aristarkhov who decided to send Miss Neale, Captain Sirko and me away from St Petersburg. I don’t know why, but he seems suspicious about all three of us. I don’t think he would pay any attention to a letter from me.”

  “I’m not asking for money from the general, Miss Frocester. All I am asking is that he remember a loyal servant of the imperial family – from a time when he too was such a loyal servant. You see, I am a reasonably wealthy man, if only I can get access to my money. If you could ask General Aristarkhov to drop a word to the right people, regarding my bank account, then I’d be eternally in your debt.”

  I remember long ago, standing in Mr Bukin’s office, and the nasty word he used about me. But I smile at him.

  “Of course I will do that. I will write to General Aristarkhov. But please don’t raise your hopes too much. And, there is something you can do for me, in return.”

  “I’m not in a position to help anyone, I’m afraid. But once I have access to my money –”

  I but in gently. “It’s not money or favors I need, Mr Bukin. It’s information. You were there, weren’t you? You were at Tri Tsarevny, on the day Svea Håkansson was murdered. Can you tell us your own account of that day?”

  Yuri grins at me. “‘Your own account of that day’ – that’s the sort of thing real detectives ask, Agnes. Now you are being a proper Sherlock.”

  Mr Bukin begins, slowly. “Yes, you are correct, Miss Frocester. I was at Tri Tsarevny on the day of the murder. When we first met, I didn’t mention that fact to you and Professor Axelson.”

  “Because General Aristarkhov told you not to?”

  “No – in fact, at first the general wasn’t even aware of your presence in Russia. You and Professor Axelson only came to his attention while you were actually at Tri Tsarevny. You were spotted by an Okhrana informer when you arrived at Ivangorod. The informer saw that two strangers were being taken by boat to Tri Tsarevny, and he passed that information and your descriptions to the general. You will recall that General Aristarkhov was not pleased to find out about your visit.”

  “I remember it very well. But why, Mr Bukin, did you avoid telling us that you were there, on the day of the murder?”

  “Discretion, Miss Frocester. In my work – my former work – it is always best to tell everyone as little as possible. It becomes a habit, a way of life. But now, of course, I can tell you all about what happened to me on the day of the murder. It is quite a simple story.

  It started as a normal, uneventful day. I remember it was beautifully sunny, and I even had half an hour to myself, for a walk, early in the morning. Everything was very peaceful: the lake was like a mirror, and there was a kind of stillness in the air. Almost like a magic spell was cast on the place. I walked along the causeway, and in the gardens, and I thought to myself about the old story of the princesses and Ivan the Fool, and the bottomless lake. Then I had some paperwork to do, which occupied me for the rest of the morning.

  Just after lunch, the Tsarina sent me a message, asking to speak to me in private, in the main Dacha library. I was surprised, as my orders normally came through General Aristarkhov. I lived down at the First Princess house, and hardly ever went up to the main Dacha. Even my meals were brought to the First Princess, by servants.”

  Yuri nods. “I remember the system well. It was as if we were unworthy to be allowed into the main Dacha. Even Aristarkhov spent almost all his time in the First Princess. Only occasionally would he go up to the main Dacha to receive the Tsarina’s instructions. Then he would come back, with orders for us.”

  Bukin nods. “Yes – that’s exactly how it was.” Yuri smiles; he can’t help adding some details.

  “The instructions Aristarkhov gave us, following his chats with the Tsarina, were often absurd. For example, there were many guards patrolling the woods around the lake. One day the general ordered me to go and find every one of them, and inspect all their kit, even though they had a perfectly capable sergeant in charge of them. I was also told to go and inspect those two guards down at the stone quay. Hardly anyone came to Tri Tsarevny: those two men were bored out of their minds. They passed their time making tea for each other, and telling stories.”
<
br />   I look at Bukin, who himself seems to have drifted off into a trance while Yuri was speaking. Gently, I say to him “So, Mr Bukin, that’s what you did on the morning of that day. But what happened in the afternoon?”

  Bukin smiles slowly at me, as if waking from a dream, and resumes. “As I say, the Tsarina summoned me up to the main Dacha. So at two o’clock, the Tsarina and I were in the library of the Dacha – alone.

  She said that she did not want to spread alarm among the servants, but she was worried. Rasputin had seen prowlers, at night. She asked me to order additional guards, for increased security. I told her I would do so, but that it was unlikely that any new guards would be able to arrive until the next day. She seemed worried by that and she told me to ask you, Captain Sirko, to patrol the grounds yourself that night. Of course, I never got round to asking you, because by that evening, the damage was done.

  While the Tsarina and I were talking, we heard a faint noise, like a single knock on the door of a distant room. The window of the library was closed, but the noise seemed to come from outside. So we opened the window, and we both looked out. We could see the garden, the lake and the islands. But we could see nothing out of place or suspicious.

  A few minutes later, General Aristarkhov came into the library. He looked alarmed. He had heard the noise, and thought it sounded like a gun firing. He said he was upstairs in the main Dacha when he heard the sound, so he had immediately checked Prince Alexei’s room, and the boy was safe and well. I recall the Tsarina’s anxious question.

  ‘General, did Alexei himself hear the shot? Was he frightened?’

  The general’s reply was reassuring, but despite that, the Tsarina sent me to check on Prince Alexei. So I went up to his bedroom. The prince seemed perfectly fine – but by that time, a commotion among the servants had made it clear to the Tsarina, the general and me that something serious had indeed happened out on the lake –”

  A waiter is standing over us, coughing politely to interrupt our conversation. We all look up at him.

  “Is one of you Captain Yuri Sirko?”

  “That’s me.”

  “You are requested to go to the hotel reception desk, sir. It’s important.”

  Yuri gets up and leaves us. In two minutes, he returns – and I recoil in shock as I see that he’s flanked by four policemen. They wear the uniforms of regular police, but they all have red arm bands on their sleeves. One of them links arms with Yuri’s plaster cast. Then my mouth drops open, as I see that another of the policemen is holding a gun to Yuri’s side.

  The police say nothing, but Yuri speaks quickly and firmly.

  “Mr Bukin. Pass me my coat – but before you hand it to me, take the wallet out of my pocket. The money the Bolshevik Party gave me is in there: take it all, please. Buy yourself some accommodation and food.”

  He pauses a moment, then looks significantly at me. “Agnes, and Emily – I have to go. But if you ever need friends in Russia, seek out the Astrakhan Cossack Host.”

  Despite the policemen, he manages to bow to us. With his free arm, he takes my hand, and kisses it. I stare at him.

  “What is happening, Yuri?”

  Another of the policeman now grips Yuri’s free arm. And another, who appears to be in charge, starts to speak in a monotone.

  “Captain Yuri Sirko. You are under arrest for the murder of Svea Håkansson. We will now take you to the Butyrka Prison for interrogation. We advise you for your own sake to co-operate fully with us, because we are authorised to use force at the prison, in order to obtain a full confession. You will be questioned until you give us the information we need.”

  17 On the Trans-Siberian Express

  Yuri’s face is calm, his breathing controlled. I stand up; so does Emily. Tears start in my eyes, but I shout out.

  “You can’t do this!”

  The policemen ignore me. Yuri looks steadily into my face.

  “Don’t fight it, Agnes. Either I go to prison alone, or we all end up in jail.”

  I can’t help stepping forward, and I stare at the policemen in horror. “But we have evidence! The testimonies – Rasputin, Prince Alexei! We found the murder weapon, for God’s sake!”

  Yuri speaks; his voice is commanding and brooks no argument.

  “Don’t argue with these police. If you do, it will end badly. Now Agnes, when you next see Professor Axelson, discuss with him all the evidence that you’ve found. Sweden wants the true killer of Miss Håkansson to be found. So the Swedish ambassador may make representations to the authorities at my trial. That is the best way you can use the evidence you have.”

  One of the policemen returns my stare with an emotionless gaze. “Are you Emily Neale and Agnes Frocester, American citizens?”

  “Yes.”

  “There is a message for both of you at the hotel reception, from a General Aristarkhov.”

  This time it’s Emily who steps forward. “So the general is behind this crazy arrest, is he?”

  The policeman’s reply is immediate and assured. “Not at all, Madam. Captain Sirko’s arrest is the result of an impartial police investigation. The message for you and Miss Frocester is unconnected to that, and relates purely to your status as foreign guests of the St Petersburg Soviet and the Bolshevik Party of Russia.”

  Five minutes later, Emily and I stand at the reception desk, still taking in what has happened. Yuri went away with the policemen, without a backward glance. We’ve left Mr Bukin at our table.

  The desk clerk hands Emily an envelope. She tears it open and reads it out to me.

  Dear Miss Emily Neale and Miss Agnes Frocester

  I am pleased to inform you that more secure and comfortable lodgings have now been arranged for you, and for your associate Professor Axelson, who will join you shortly.

  This final stay as guests of the Bolshevik Party of Russia will be of short duration, prior to your repatriation to Sweden and, should you wish, onwards to the United States. All your travel, accommodation and other expenses will be funded by the St Petersburg Soviet.

  Please co-operate with our endeavors to ensure your safety, while our investigations involving you are progressing. Your assistance will ensure the swiftest possible conclusion to our inquiry.

  Please await the visit of a Mr Sokolov to the Hotel Metropole. He will contact you, and accompany you to your new accommodation. He is empowered to do everything for your personal comfort.”

  Yours sincerely

  General Evgeny Aristarkhov”

  We return, shocked and silent, to our table. But Mr Bukin has gone.

  Emily looks at me and sighs. “I sometimes think that Russia consists entirely of endless train journeys.”

  Our new companion, Mr Sokolov, leans across our compartment and interrupts eagerly, speaking over the rattle of the train. “Now that the working men of the nation are in charge of our railway network, it will become a powerhouse! Our Russia is so huge, she contains every natural resource. Even if the rest of the world does not embrace communism, we have no need to import anything. Our railways can move everything for us, and we can be self-sufficient for ever. Look through the window – the land is becoming hilly. We are approaching the Ural Mountains – the richest mines in the world!”

  Emily snaps back at him irritably. “I know a whole bunch of Colorado miners who would dispute that claim, Mr Sokolov.”

  “Please, as I said, Miss Emily – do call me Andrei.”

  Emily is already tired of Mr Sokolov. We first met him two days ago, at the Hotel Metropole. He arrived exactly as the general’s letter said he would, and joined us for dinner at the hotel. At dawn the next day, we boarded the Trans-Siberian Express with him. As we did when we travelled from St Petersburg, we are travelling first class. Luckily for us, all the talk of abolishing first class travel has not yet happened. We’ve now been aboard this train nearly thirty hours, subjected to Mr Sokolov’s cheerful patter.

  “Not far now, ladies.”

  Emily’s face is tired and
a little sulky. “Mr Sokolov, I’ve found that Russia redefines the meaning of ‘not far’. It feels like a lifetime even since we left that last place – what was it – Vyatka?”

  “Indeed, our country is on a big scale. As I mentioned, there are eighteen major cities, each of them hundreds of miles apart, along this railway line which ends at Vladivostok on the Sea of Japan. We are only going as far as the fourth city, Perm, which is the regional centre for southern Siberia and the Ural Mountains. In Perm, we will change trains for a local journey to the Yermak Estate.”

  Emily mutters under her breath. “The English used get rid of troublemakers by sending them in ships to Australia. In Russia, all you have to do is put them on a train.”

  The endless succession of fields and forests goes on outside the window. But I hardly notice it. All I can think of is the exchange of telegrams that happened after Yuri was taken away.

  Of course, I wired Professor Axelson in Helsinki immediately to tell him what had happened to Yuri, and set out all the evidence I had gathered about the murder. The professor wired me back within minutes, to say he would do everything he could, and that he would contact King Gustaf directly.

  Both the professor and King Gustaf acted swiftly. I had only two anxious hours waiting at the Hotel Metropole, then I received another telegram, this time from the Swedish Foreign Office. I’m truly grateful to them. They need not have wired this to me – but they sent it to reassure me.

  “A telegram was wired with urgency from us in the Swedish Government to the new Russian Bolshevik Government Stop Our telegram stated that Sweden has received new evidence via our appointed investigator Professor Axelson about the murder of Miss Håkansson Stop The evidence we have in Sweden casts strong doubt on Yuri Sirko’s guilt Stop We have now received this reply from the Russian Government to our telegram Stop”