“I read of it,” Patricia said. “How you broke up the Menshevik Party and founded your own Bolsheviks.”
“It is a rump,” Olga said. “But at least it is a determined rump. Those people who would compromise on every issue...”
“But what are you doing here? Are you going to found a Bolshevik Party in England?”
Olga and Vladimir exchanged glances. Then Vladimir sighed. “There was no money. And so many creditors...”
Patricia frowned at them. They certainly looked extremely poor, their faces pinched and their clothes threadbare. “But you...your brother helped you,” Olga said.
“Yes, he did,” Patricia said. “Harold, some wine.”
“Do you not have vodka?” Vladimir asked. “I would so love a drink of vodka.”
Patricia looked at Morgan. “I am afraid we do not have any...ah, vodka, at this moment, madam. But if the gentlemen will accept a glass of wine to go on with, I shall go out and buy some.”
“That will be capital,” Patricia said. “Leave the decanter. You’ll like this wine, Vladimir; it is best claret.”
Vladimir accepted the glass somewhat cautiously, while Olga wandered about the room. “Your brother must have given you a lot of money,” she remarked.
“Well, he did. But this was all paid for by my husband.” “Mr Cromb? Then he is very wealthy.”
“Well, he is, or his family is.”
Olga sat down and took a glass of wine herself. “How did you meet this man?” Vladimir asked.
“Oh, well, actually...” Patricia considered. But she had shared so much with these people, it seemed pointless, and hypocritical, to start prevaricating now. “We were lovers long before I was sent to Siberia.”
“But he knows of Siberia,” Vladimir suggested.
“Of course,” Patricia said.
“If he knows about Siberia,” Vladimir said, “is he for us, or against us?”
Patricia looked at him for some seconds. Perhaps to be found by Vladimir and Olga would be worse than being found by the Okhrana. “How did you find me?” she asked.
“We have friends, in London, who know things,” Olga said.
“I am trying to live a normal life, now,” Patricia explained. “I have turned my back upon Russia, upon being a countess, and...” she bit her lip, “upon being an anarchist.”
Vladimir nodded his head, sadly. “I know it is hard. The cause is in a shambles. Almost everyone has been hanged or is in Siberia. The Tsar is as powerful as ever. It is a sad business.”
“Then you will abandon the movement?” Patricia asked.
“Russia is in a fervent of discontent,” Olga said. “Everywhere there are strikes and riots. The proletariat are on the march. All they lack is leaders.”
“Well,” Patricia said. “They surely cannot expect us to lead them.”
“But we must,” Vladimir said. “We are the only people who have positive aims. What are they striking for, rioting for? Simply out of despair, or in search of their next loaf of bread. They cannot see that the ultimate solution, the only solution, to the problem lies in the overthrow of autocracy, and the establishment of democracy.”
“And you intend to return to Russia, and put yourself at their head?” Patricia asked.
Vladimir’s shoulders hunched. “I realise the time is not right to return. We need a catalyst, to increase the people’s discontent, their anger.”
“And what do you expect will bring that about?”
“I don’t know. I had supposed Russia would have gone to war with Japan by now. Or Japan with Russia, since they have managed to ally themselves with Great Britain. Either would have answered all of our problems. But this railway is taking so long. Do you remember, six years ago, how we cheered its arrival in Baikal? Six years, and it has not yet reached the Pacific Coast.”
“That was always a dream,” Patricia said contemptuously. “Why on earth should Russia wish to go to war with Japan. Does a lion fight a rat? He merely kicks it out of the way when necessary. As we did over Port Arthur.”
“But the day will still come,” Olga insisted. “It must come. The weight of history is on our side.”
“The weight of history,” Patricia said, more contemptuously yet. “You obviously don’t know much about history, Olga. In another dozen years the Romanovs will have sat on the throne for three hundred years. There is the weight of history, if you like. No discontent amongst the peasantry is going to push them off.”
“Nevertheless,” Olga insisted. “The people must be encouraged to believe in the truth. We are publishing a newspaper...” She paused at the expression on Patricia’s face.
“It is called Pravda, The Truth,” Vladimir said, regaining some of his spirits. “We are smuggling it into Russia. But...”
“Do you know,” Patricia said, “I have never heard of anyone who started a revolution by publishing a newspaper.”
Vladimir hunched his shoulders again. “It keeps our names before the proletariat.”
“Would you subscribe?” Olga asked.
“Well...oh, all right. How much do you want?”
“How much can you give?”
Patricia gazed at her for several seconds. “I wish to make a once and for all subscription,” she said. “I do not wish you to come here again.”
“All of our friends say that,” Vladimir said, more sadly than ever. “No one wants to know us any more.”
“How much will you give?” Olga asked again.
“I will give you...one hundred pounds,” Patricia said.
“One hundred pounds!” Vladimir cried. “But that is most generous of you, my dear Trishka.”
Olga gave him a contemptuous glance. “Is that all you can spare?” she asked.
“That is all I am going to give you,” Patricia said. “Do you wish it, or not?”
“Of course we wish it,” Vladimir said. “It is most generous of you. Why, with a hundred pounds...”
Before she had finished, Morgan was back, carrying a bottle wrapped in brown paper.
“The vodka, madam,” he explained, somewhat disparagingly.
“Mr and Mrs Lenin are just leaving.”
“I should love a glass of vodka,” Vladimir said.
“Then you may have one. Three small glasses, Harold.” Morgan presented a silver tray. Vladimir raised his glass reverently. “Here is to the future,” he said.
“The future!” Olga said. Patricia said nothing, but she drained her glass when they did.
“Now,” Vladimir said, folding Patricia’s cheque and handing it to his wife to put in her handbag. “We shall leave you.”
“And I shall wish you good fortune,” Patricia said.
“Tell us one thing,” Olga said, as she went to the door. “If events were to develop in such a way as to indicate that our return to Russia would be advantageous, would you come with us?”
“Certainly not,” Patricia said.
*
Lights blazed from the palace of the Governor of Port Arthur: General Stoessel was holding a ball in honour of the Viceroy, Admiral Evgeni Alexeev. The huge room was packed, the ladies in plunging decolletages despite the February chill. In view of the news, the Viceroy was even more the centre of attraction than normal. He was a bluff, hearty man, who wore his beard in the fashion of the Tsar, and exuded confidence and good humour. “I do assure you, ladies,” he told his circle of fluttering admirers, “it was only a demonstration, nothing more. Those little yellow men in their little ships came too close to Port Arthur, and so I sent our big white men out in our big ships to chase them away. Of course, having begun their chase, our gallant sailors decided to make a day of it. I am told they chased the Japs all the way back to Tokyo before returning to base. Ha ha ha!”
“Ha ha ha,” the women gushed obediently.
Alexeev disengaged himself, and made his way through the throng to where the Countess Bolugayevska had pointedly not joined his circle of admirers. “My dear Countess,” he said. “May I r
emark that you are, as always, the most beautiful woman in the room?”
“Of course you may remark that, Your Excellency, as often as you wish,” Anna agreed. With her hair swept up into a huge pompadour, leaving an expanse of glowing whiteness from her forehead to her bare shoulders and the exposed tops of her breasts, she knew she was the most beautiful woman in the room. “But let me ask you this,” she said. “Are you not concerned that the Japanese may resent your ‘demonstration’?”
He smiled. “They may resent anything they wish, Anna. They have missed the boat. Now that the trans-Siberian railway has all but been completed, it is we who will call the tune.”
“Has it been all but completed, Your Excellency? I know that it has nearly reached Vladivostock. But what about Baikal?”
“Ah, well, Baikal will have to be bridged, eventually. The important fact, my dear Anna, is that we can transfer forty thousand men a month from Moscow to Mukden. In a year’s time we will have an overwhelming force in Manchuria. Now, what do you think of that?”
“I am wondering how many men the Japanese can transfer from Japan to Korea in a month,” Anna riposted. “I have seen them doing it.”
“Ha ha! But when you saw them there was nothing to stop them. Now there is our Pacific squadron, as we have just demonstrated. Now tell me, I am informed that you are leaving Port Arthur in June.”
“That is correct, Your Excellency. The term of Prince Peter’s duty ends then, and we shall be returning to Bolugayen.”
“It will not seem the same here without you,” the Viceroy said, and glanced left and right. “I wonder if I will ever see you again,” he murmured.
“You can, if you visit Bolugayen. Now you really must excuse me, or people will talk.”
*
“Officious bastard,” she growled, as she and Peter rode out to the house in their trap, driven by one of the grooms. Nathalie had decided to stay on at the reception a while longer. “I cannot tell you how happy I will be to leave this place,” Anna said. “Do you know the first thing we are going to do? Go home to Boston for a visit.”
“You mean, you will go home to Boston for a visit.”
“I would like you to come with me.”
“Will that not scandalise your children?”
“Not if we are discreet.”
“And what of Nathalie?”
“She can stay in Bolugayen.” Anna giggled; she had drunk a great deal of champagne.
Peter drew several long breaths to clear his head. “In many ways I will be sorry to leave.”
“You amaze me.”
“Stop here, Georgei,” he told the groom, who promptly dragged on the reins. “It can be very beautiful,” Peter said. “Look there.” He pointed out across the fern brakes and the pine trees at the sea, shimmering in the February moonlight.
“If looking at the sea pleases you, you can always spend more time in Sevastopol,” she pointed out.
“It is not just the sea. I have put a lot into Port Arthur, in terms of thought, and effort. I think I can take a lot of the credit for all of the improved defences, the better sewage system...”
She squeezed his arm. “My darling, I do congratulate you. But do you not think we should get home to bed before we freeze?”
“Of course. Georgei…wait!” He peered into the moonlight.
“What is it?” Anna asked.
“I am sure I see lights out there.”
“Fishermen.”
“These are a great number of lights.”
Anna also looked out to sea. “I see nothing,” she said.
“Are you sure it was not the moonlight reflecting from the waves?”
“Hm. Probably.”
*
They drove home, and retired to bed. They no longer made the slightest pretence of not being lovers, nor did Nathalie nowadays make any objection. There was crisis looming there, Anna knew; they might be returning to Bolugayen in the spring, but Pobrebski was staying here. Nathalie was not going to like that. But Nathalie’s likes and dislikes did not really matter, Anna thought dreamily, as she drifted off in Peter’s arms. And awoke, to vague noises and images. She had been having a nightmare! Of events past, of Port Arthur being attacked by the Japanese. She rolled over again, feeling Peter against her. Her days for nightmares were surely past.
Then she sat up with a start, as there was a louder explosion than any of the others. That was no nightmare! She leapt out of bed, ran to the window, and looked at the trees. But even through the trees she could hear the tremendous racket emanating from the port, where the explosions of the guns was accompanied by the screams of the people. It was 1894 all over again, save that all of the noise and the fire was coming from inside the harbour.
Peter was sitting up now, disturbed by the noise. “What the devil...?”
“Peter!” she shouted. “We are under attack!”
He left the bed and ran to her side. “Holy Jesus Christ!”
“They’re in the harbour,” she said incredulously. “Who?”
“Well...it must be the Japanese!”
They stared at each other. The idea that Japan, with a capacity to put maybe three-quarters of a million men into the field, should dare attack Russia, with a standing army numbered in millions, was utterly incomprehensible. “I must get down there,” Peter said. He seized the bell by the bed and jangled it to summon his valet.
“You could be killed!” Anna said.
“We could all be killed, if something is not done. This is quite unbelievable, if it is the Japanese. There has been no declaration of war! Anyway,” he added, “Nathalie is down there.” They gazed at each other. “She is my wife,” Peter said.
“I will come with you,” Anna decided. The valet appeared blinking, closely followed by Collins, all waving pigtails. “Help me dress,” Anna snapped. “Don’t just stand there!” Anna shouted. “My clothes!”
“Yes, ma’am.” Collins scurried to and fro. “What is happening, ma’am?”
“That is what we intend to find out,” Anna told her. “The servants are saying there is shooting in the port. Are we being attacked, ma’am?”
“I’m afraid that does seem so.”
“But ma’am, we’re not going to be trapped here again, are we?” Anna stared at the maid’s stricken face, and realised her own could not look much different.
CHAPTER 14 - THE SIEGE
There was total chaos in the port. The guns mounted above the Tiger’s Tail had been emplaced and trained to fire out to sea, and resist any attempt by an enemy squadron to force the narrow passage. But the Japanese torpedo boats had got through the entrance before anyone in the forts had realised what was happening. Then those warships nearest the entrance had had only one thought, to reach the sea and fight the enemy outside. But even as they had raised steam and their anchors, torpedoes had been slicing through their metal hulls. The forts on the hills above the town also had all their guns trained the wrong way, to repel a land invasion from the north, confident that the Tiger’s Tail could cope with any seaborne attack. Thus their defenders were helpless watchers of the catastrophe beneath them.
Riding into the town Anna and Peter found themselves in the midst of a milling crowd of people, screaming and shouting. But at least the town was now under the control of the Russians, and not the Chinese. Order was already being restored, aided by the fact that the firing had ceased, at least within the harbour. The Japanese ships had escaped, but the evidence of the success of the attack remained, in the burning ships, the pandemonium that spread across the water. Peter had Georgei drive them to the Governor’s Palace, where there was as much chaos as anywhere else. They had to force their way through a mass of shouting officers and screaming women to reach the office, where Stoessel and Alexeev were to be found, surrounded by aides and staff officers. “An outrage!” Aleexev was shouting. “Pure piracy. There has not been a declaration of war!”
“Presumably there will be one now, Your Excellency?” Anna asked. “By us?�
�
“We are making contact with St Petersburg by wire,” he said. “But the Tsar is at the opera. It will take time.”
“Time!” Peter snorted, and turned as Pobrebski stamped in.
“All troops have been put on full alert, Your Excellency,” Pobrebski declared. “We are reading to repulse any foe.”
“Just where is this foe supposed to come from, General?” Stoessel inquired.
Pobrebski flushed. “I did what I thought best, Your Excellency.”
“Of course you did,” Alexeev said soothingly. “But we can do nothing until we receive orders from St Petersburg. They will not be long delayed. Thank you, gentlemen.” He gazed at Anna for a moment, as if wondering what a woman was doing there.
Peter escorted her from the room. “May I ask if my wife is safe, General?” he asked Pobrebski.
“She expressed a wish to return home, Your Highness. So I sent her there, under escort.”
Peter nodded. “You had better get back out there as well,” he told Anna.
“Aren’t you coming?”
“I am sure they will find me something to do here.”
*
Dawn brought the full extent of the disaster. The two battleships, Retvisan and Tsessarevitch, together with the cruiser Pallada, had all been hit by torpedoes and were sagging in and about the Tiger’s Tail, keeping afloat by frantic pumping. They would clearly not be fit for action again for some time, and for the moment they were blocking any exit from the harbour. Not that the rest of the Russian squadron were showing any great anxiety to put to sea: clearly visible on the near horizon was the entire Japanese battle fleet, including their new battleships, anticipating a sortie. It was the feeling of helplessness that so angered Anna. She kept telling herself that this had to be a temporary feeling. The Japanese had launched a totally treacherous attack, against all the accepted usages of international politics. Once the immense power that was Russia was mobilised, the impudent little yellow men would be crushed out of existence.
But she also had to remember her own contemptuous words to Alexeev, only the previous night, that while Russia could now, thanks to the railroad, transfer forty thousand men a month to the Far East, Japan could transfer many more than that across the much smaller distance of the Sea of Japan. Alekseev had retorted that that was impossible, because of the Russian Navy, but now that navy had suffered a paralysing defeat, before war had even been declared!
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