“What is keeping you?” Patricia asked.
“We need money.”
Patricia raised her eyebrows. “Why did you not ask my aunt for some?”
“Would she have given it to us?”
“I think she would. I will ask her for you.”
“That is most kind of you. And to come here...will you come in?” He gestured to the parlour, and Patricia inclined her head as she went in, to stop, as from an inner doorway there came two women. They were clearly mother and daughter, dark-haired and handsome. The mother was heavy, with pronounced features. The daughter was slender, and altogether more petite, although she was tall and her features were also strong. “This is Madame Cohen,” Joseph introduced. “And Sonia. Mademoiselle...” He hesitated.
“Trishka Luvenka,” Patricia said.
“Mademoiselle Luvenka is a friend,” Joseph explained.
The two Jewesses regarded her with some suspicion, the mother frowning. “You were in Siberia?” Madame Cohen inquired.
“Ah...well, yes,” Patricia said, truthfully enough she supposed: Port Arthur was at the far end of Siberia. “This is Monsieur Rurik Bondarevski.”
Madame Cohen looked at Rurik and then back at Patricia. “You are the Countess Bolugayevska,” she announced. “My husband’s brother lived on Bolugayen,” she explained.
“Oh,” Patricia said.
“And the butler then was named Bondarevski,” Madame Cohen added.
“Well,” Patricia said. “Yes. This is his son. But I…”
“You are obviously an aristocrat, Your Excellency.”
“Am I? Oh.”
“So, what do you wish with us?”
“I...well...” To her great relief she heard the front door open, and turned to watch three men and a woman come in. One was David Fine. The others were strangers, but while one of them was clearly a Jew, alike from his features and his dress, the other two, a roughly dressed man who wore a peaked cap and a taller, angular woman, also roughly dressed, were more difficult to place; the man’s features were strong and craggy, and his hair was red and unruly; the woman was clearly very young, but her sharp features wore a wealth of experience — her hair was dark and straggling.
“Papa,” Joseph said. “The Countess Bolugayevska has come to call.”
David Fine looked flabbergasted. His companions merely looked alarmed. Madame Cohen decided to take over. “This is my husband, Your Excellency, Jonathan Cohen. And this is Monsieur Ulianov, and Mademoiselle Krups-kaya. Monsieur Ulianov and Mademoiselle Krupskaya are betrothed.” She was anxious to keep the conversation on mundane matters.
“I am pleased to meet you.” Patricia held out her hand, and after a moment’s hesitation Jonathan Cohen bowed over it. The man Ulianov ignored it, as did his fiancée, although the woman stared at Patricia most intently. “Your wife was telling me that your brother used to live on Bolugayen.”
“A long time ago, Your Excellency,” Cohen said.
“I...my groom and I were just walking, and I thought we would stop by and visit...”
“How did you know where we are living, Your Excellency?” David Fine asked.
“Well...I found out.”
“You are not welcome here,” Ulianov growled.
Patricia addressed herself to the girl, Sonia, and Joseph. “I came here to help you. I would like to help you.”
“Help us?” Ulianov sneered.
“She says the Countess Bolugayevska may give us the money to travel down to Bolugayen, Papa,” Joseph said eagerly.
“You would accept charity, from them?” Mademoiselle Krupskaya asked. “Besides, it is your business to stay here.”
“But yesterday...” Patricia began.
David Fine looked embarrassed. “Your offer is very kind, Your Excellency. But...”
“I want to help you,” Patricia said vehemently. “I am not talking about getting back to Bolugayen, although I will help you there as well, if you wish. I am talking about...well,” she made a vague gesture, “all this.”
“All what?” Sonia asked.
“Listen,” Patricia said. “My brother is the Prince Bolugayevski. He is one of the premier princes in Russia. He is a personal friend of the Tsar. If I speak to him…” She paused, because even Sonia and Joseph were now looking hostile.”
“If you tell your brother that you have come here,” Ulianov said, “he will doubtless tan your ass.”
Patricia tossed her head. “I think you are incredibly rude, sir!”
“Maybe we should leave, Your Excellency,” Rurik suggested.
“Yes,” Patricia said. She looked at Joseph. “If you call at the Bolugayevski Palace, Mr Fine, I will see what can be done about providing you with some money.” She marched out.
*
Colonel Michaelin looked up from his desk as the agent was shown in. “Reddich! Have you something for me?”
Anton Reddich stood to attention. He was a small man, who looked like a ferret. He was a frightened ferret, at least every time he entered the Okhrana Building, and even more when he came face to face with Colonel Michaelin. Alexis Michaelin was the most feared of all the commanders of the secret police, and Reddich knew he was feared with good reason. Behind the large, bland face, invariably distorted by his monocle, there lay the brain of a depraved monster of sadism. “I have a report, Your Excellency,” Reddich said, carefully.
“Well, that is very promising,” Michaelin remarked. “Yes, Your Excellency.- Reddich took out his notebook. “It concerns the Countess Bolugayevska.”
Michaelin leaned forward. “The Countess Anna?”
“No, Your Excellency. This is the Countess Patricia. The younger of the two sisters.”
“Ah!” Michaelin leaned back. He would have preferred it to have been the legendary Anna. “Continue.”
“As instructed by Your Excellency, my colleagues and I have been keeping a watch on the Bolugayevski Palace,” Reddich said. “And we are also in constant communication with our agent inside the palace, Madame Popov. I was on duty yesterday afternoon at half past three, when, in the side street behind the palace, I observed the young Countess emerge, accompanied by her groom, the man Bondarevski.”
Michaelin frowned. “The lover of the Countess Anna?”
“This is what is reported by our agent within the palace, the woman Popov, Your Excellency. However, it was definitely Bondarevski accompanying the Countess Patricia.”
“Go on.”
“In these circumstances, Your Excellency, I considered it my duty to abandon my watch on the Bolugayevski Palace and follow the Countess.” Reddich paused, anxiously.
“I think you did the right thing, Reddich.”
Reddich bowed. “Thank you, Your Excellency. I followed them to the ghetto, where they visited the house of the Cohen family, where the man Fine and his son are currently staying. You may recall, Your Excellency, that as was reported, Fine and his son visited the Bolugayevski Palace yesterday.” Michaelin nodded. “The Countess Patricia and the groom Bondarevski were admitted to the house,” Reddich continued. “While they were in the house, they were joined by David Fine, Jonathan Cohen, Vladimir Ulianov and the woman Olga Krupskaya.”
Michaelin stroked his chin. “Ulianov? The name is familiar.”
“We know of him, Your Excellency. Only a few years ago his brother was hanged for conspiracy against the late Tsar. Thus far we have no evidence of sedition against the man, but we are naturally keeping a close watch on his activities; the woman is his fiancée. And now we have observed them in the company of two known seditionists, Cohen and Fine...” He paused.
“And the Countess Patricia Bolugayevska,” Michaelin said. “A generation ago this girl’s aunt was arrested for sedition. She was fortunate to escape execution. And now, this one...”
“It may have been a social call, Your Excellency.”
“I can tell you that countesses do not pay social calls upon itinerant Jews who have just returned from exile in Siberia,” Michaeli
n pointed out. “If I had my way everyone convicted of sedition or terrorism would be executed, and that would save a great deal of trouble.
“As for these Bolugayevskis, we will bring them to their knees in very short order. Tell me, do you not have advance information of when these Jews hold private meetings?”
“I do, Your Excellency.”
“Then here is what I wish you to do.”
*
“It is useless trying to make friends with those people, Your Excellency,” Rurik said, as they walked home. “They hate us, and that is the end of the matter.”
“You promised to call me Trishka,” she reminded him. “At least until we are back within the palace. Why should they hate us? Is it simply because we have more money than they?”
“That is true...Trishka. But they also know that the Okhrana is our instrument, and they have no counter to that, except bombs.”
“The Okhrana,” Patricia said thoughtfully. “Why does the Tsar need a secret police?”
“To protect the state from people like the Fines and their friends.”
“So how do they do that? You never see them.”
“But they are there. Everywhere. No one knows who is an Okhrana agent and who is not. Their powers are virtually unlimited, as they are answerable only to the Tsar himself, or the Minister of the Interior, who acts for the Tsar.”
“You are also afraid of them,” Patricia accused.
“Everyone is afraid of the Okhrana, Trishka.” He glanced at her. “Unless perhaps her name is Bolugayevska.”
Patricia smiled. “But as my name is Bolugayevska, Rurik, and I extend to you my protection, there is nothing for you to be afraid of, either.” They had reached the side gate, and he opened it for her. In the yard behind the stables they were as private as anywhere in the world. “I wish to thank you for what you did today,” she said. He gave a little bow. “Come here, you great oaf,” she said.
He hesitated, and she put her arms round his neck, standing on tiptoe to kiss him on the mouth. His hands closed on her sides, and then moved behind, but then he was holding her away from him. “Your Excellency...”
“I know. You belong to Aunt Anna. But suppose I invited you to take me, now? Or indeed, commanded you? I can do that, you know.” He bowed again, but made no move towards her. “Oh, you wretched man. Can you really desire her more than me?”
“I can fear her, Your Excellency. For both of us.”
“Well,” she said. “She will not be here forever, you know. That is something you should remember. Come here. Hold me.” He hesitated, then held her in his arms again, and this time his hands went down to squeeze her bottom before sliding up to caress her breasts. “Be patient,” she whispered. “Your time will come.” She kissed Rurik again, and went inside.
*
Captain Lewitski turned out to be a slight man who wore a big moustache, which did not entirely conceal his anxious expression. He was clearly totally in awe of the Bolugayevskis, male or female, especially as both Peter and Alexei were home for supper, as well as Pobrebski. Pobrebski was attempting to be as proprietorial as possible as regards Anna, which clearly annoyed Peter, but Anna seemed more amused than disturbed by the Count’s attitude. Sophie, however, remained morose and did not even grant her prospective suitor a smile. Patricia was at her vivacious best and by the end of the meal it was clear that Lewitski felt he was being offered the wrong sister. “What did you think of him?” Patricia asked Sophie in the privacy of her bedroom. Sophie shuddered. “I think he seems very nice,” Patricia said. “And not really very sexy. You should have an easy time.”
“I am not going to marry him,” Sophie declared.
“I think you’re an idiot,” Patricia told her. “You are going to have to marry someone, and you could do a lot worse.”
“I am going to appeal to the Tsaritsa. I have already written her, asking for an audience.” Sophie said. “You must not tell Aunt Anna this.”
“I shall not,” Patricia promised. “But have you had a reply as yet?”
“Well, no. I only wrote yesterday.”
“I will wish you luck,” Patricia said. “I wonder who they are going to dig up for me?”
*
Patricia was awakened, as usual, by Grishka, bringing in her steaming mug of tea. She yawned, and stretched, and discovered that Grishka was still standing there. “What is the matter?” she asked.
“There is a letter, Your Excellency.”
Patricia sat up, and saw the envelope, waiting beside the mug. “It is very early for post.”
“This is not post, Your Excellency. It was delivered by hand, late last night.”
Patricia picked up the envelope. It was addressed simply to the Countess Patricia Bolugayevska. She did not recognise the writing. Her heart begun to pound. “Thank you, Grishka.”
Grishka hesitated, clearly hoping to discover the identity of the mysterious letter writer. “A small boy delivered it, Your Excellency.”
“How interesting. That will be all.”
Grishka curtsied, and backed to the door. Patricia waited until it was closed before she slit the envelope with her thumb. She had no idea who it might be from - although she know who she wanted it to be from. And there it was:
Your excellency! What can I say other than apologise most humbly for the attitude of my friends. Now they too would welcome you, if you would be so kind as to visit us again. Ulianov especially wishes to offer you his felicitations. There is a meeting at the Cohen house tomorrow night, at eight o’clock. If you should join us, we would all be most grateful. Your obedient servant, Joseph Fine.
Oh, the darling, she thought, and read the letter again. He had not mentioned his father. But perhaps he was ashamed to do that. As for that thug Ulianov, she didn’t care whether he wanted to apologise or not. And a meeting! Did she really want to be involved in a meeting of Jews and terrorists? But he had said nothing about politics. Maybe it was some kind of religious gathering. In any event, she wanted to go, and accept his apology, certainly - and see what happened afterwards.
She got out of bed, dressed herself, ran into the corridor. Grishka was there, scandalised that her mistress should have dressed herself. “Thank you, Grishka,” she said. “That will be all.” Grishka hesitated again, then curtsied and went down the stairs. Patricia went in search of Rurik.
*
Patricia attended dinner that night, but retired immediately afterwards with a headache. In her room she changed into a dark gown and cloak — there was no longer any necessity to try to appear as something she was not. She crept downstairs by the servants’ staircase, and met Rurik in the stable. She kissed him, and allowed him a quick fumble. “This is a very dangerous thing we are doing,” he whispered into her hair.
“Listen,” she said. “When we come back, I will lie with you, if you wish.” His reply was to clutch her almost convulsively. Whether she would actually do that she had not yet decided, hut she knew she might very well feel like it by the time they returned.
This was the first occasion on which Patricia had been out at night at all, save in a carriage. She clung to Rurik’s arm as they made their way through the surprisingly busy streets. They reached the Cohen house and found, as usual, two young men waiting outside; but these were different young men. Patricia had instructed Rurik to do the speaking, “We have come to attend the meeting,” he said.
The men peered at them. “What have you to do with the meeting?” one asked.
“We have been invited, by Mr Fine,” Patricia said, taking over as Rurik hesitated.
“You expect us to believe that? You are Gentiles.”
“And are there only Jews at your meeting? Listen, tell Mr Fine that we are here.”
One of the men went inside and returned almost immediately with Joseph — but his time he looked at Patricia in consternation. “Your Excellency? What are you doing here?”
“You invited me, sir. I have your letter, here.” Patricia gave it to him, but h
e could not read it in the gloom.
“You had better come inside,” he decided. The door was opened, and Patricia led Rurik into the hall. Here there were several people, looking at the new arrivals in some surprise. The drawing-room beyond was crowded, and Patricia spotted Olga Krupskaya immediately. Olga Krupskaya saw her as well, and promptly disappeared, no doubt in search of Ulianov. Joseph scanned the letter. “I did not write this,” he muttered.
“Joseph? What is the trouble?” David Fine appeared, and blinked at Patricia and the huge groom.
“We have come to attend the meeting,” Patricia explained. “Joseph invited us.” Joseph opened his mouth and then closed it again; he had never expected to have to argue with a member of the aristocracy, and was not at all sure how to go about it.
“Indeed?” David Fine did not look very pleased. “I imagine you will find it very boring, Countess. But please come in.” He ushered Patricia and Rurik into the drawing-room, and there was an immense rustle and she was found a seat. She smiled and tried to avoid looking for any familiar faces, but could not escape Ulianov’s gaze: the red-haired man was at the far end of the room, where a table had been arranged against a wall, leaving space behind it for four chairs. Ulianov was seated on one of these, beside Jonathan Fine and two other men Patricia had never seen before. Olga Krupskaya had moved to be close to the table, and Madame Cohen and Sonia were also present. To Patricia’s enormous relief Sonia returned her smile — she was the only one who did — but she looked as surprised as anyone else to see her.
Jonathan Cohen stood up. “Comrades,” he said. “I apologise for the interruption, but it appears that we are honoured by the presence of the Countess Bolugayevska.” Now heads did turn, and there was a rash of whispering. They think I am Aunt Anna, Patricia realised. “The Countess,” Cohen went on, “wishes to help us. In this regard, we welcome you, Your Excellency, and look forward to accepting your assistance. Now, let us continue. The matter presently before us concerns the obtaining, from our various employers, the right not to work on our holy day. This right, we are told, is unacceptable, not only because our employers will thereby lose a day’s labour, but because it will tacitly recognise our right to have a holy day distinct from the Christian Sunday. I suspect the second is the more important reason, as we have offered not to be paid for the Saturday we wish to take off. Now...” He looked up as a man stood up, not far from where Patricia was sitting. “Do you wish to address the chair, Ivan Leshkevish?”
The Masters Page 16