Spies in St. Petersburg

by Katherine Woodfine

  Sophie opened the box with careful fingers. Inside, lying on the softest cushion of snow-white satin, lay a perfect golden spyglass. It was decorated with narrow bands of mother-of-pearl and sparkled all over with precious stones.

  ‘Boris – it’s exquisite!’ she exclaimed in delight.

  Boris gave a booming laugh, obviously well pleased. ‘But of course it is. This is Rivière’s, you know, Alice. Everything we make here must always be beautiful.’

  Lifting it gently out of its box, Boris showed her the delicate mechanism. Sophie marvelled at the series of tiny golden levers, which allowed each of the coloured glass lenses to be raised and lowered in turn. She put the spyglass to her eye, and watched in astonishment as the world turned first red, then blue, then purple.

  ‘It’s a fascinating device. What did you say your customer wanted to use it for?’ he asked, with interest.

  But Sophie only shrugged. Even to kindly Boris, she dared not give even the smallest hint about the purpose of the spyglass. ‘I don’t know. He didn’t say much.’ She’d described the customer as an eccentric, aristocratic gentleman, who refused to give a name, and only paid in cash.

  ‘Well, he has certainly paid well,’ said Boris approvingly. ‘Now, you will take this to him, and tell me what he thinks of it, won’t you?’

  Sophie smiled and said that of course she would, although it gave her a brief pang of conscience. For of course, Boris would never know what her imaginary ‘customer’ thought. This was it: her work at Rivière’s was done. As she prepared to leave the shop that afternoon, she knew that her mission in St Petersburg was almost at an end. All that was left was to take the spyglass and the notebook safely back to London. She would go the next morning, she decided, if she could get a ticket. Mademoiselle Alice Grayson was about to disappear from St Petersburg, for good.

  Before she left, she went to the safe and retrieved the small parcel wrapped in brown paper, placing it carefully into her pocket beside the spyglass. She took one last glance around before she left. The shop had been even busier than usual that day, crowded with wealthy customers who had travelled in from Moscow and Riga and Ekaterinburg for the Imperial Gala of the Circus of Marvels, which would be taking place at the Ciniselli Circus that evening. Of course, all the visiting aristocrats wanted to come to Rivière’s, and as she left she could see Irina showing an expensively dressed couple some of the splendid music boxes – the peacock, the parrot, and of course, the wonderful firebird. Sophie smiled and then turned away, stepping out into the chilly street. Her time of Russian firebirds was over now: it was time to think of home, and London sparrows.

  Although she had paid for the spyglass with her money from the Bureau, she felt rather like a thief as she went down the Nevsky, very aware of the weight of the velvet box in her pocket next to the notebook. She wrapped her gloved hand securely around them both as she walked, thinking as she did so that she might not walk this way again, and looking all around her, as though she was seeing it for the last time.

  As she turned away from the bright shop windows and the glitter of the palaces towards Vera’s, she felt a wind of change blowing – a bitter winter wind, bringing with it a new sharpness, something fierce. The canals were clouded with mist, and the skies were growing dark already. Perhaps it would be cold enough to freeze tonight? She found herself walking a little faster than usual, glancing back over her shoulder, alert to anyone lurking behind her in the gloom. But there was nothing to be seen but the mist, and she put her head down and walked onwards, suddenly eager to get inside and close the door on the murky St Petersburg night.

  At Vera’s, all was snug and warm and familiar. She could hear the pleasant sounds of the house: Vera humming to herself in the kitchen, the children’s footsteps above as they played. In the parlour she found that the Count was ensconced in an armchair, sipping tea and chatting to Nakamura. She felt glad that Vera had found a room for the Count – or ‘Herr Schmidt’, as she was careful to call him. In spite of everything he had done she didn’t like the idea of leaving him alone and frightened, in that dingy, depressing hotel, looking over his shoulder for the Fraternitas at every turn.

  For now though, she didn’t go and join them. Instead, she went straight up the dark stairs to her room. She wanted to examine the spyglass again before supper, and what was more, she needed to start making her plans for the journey back to London. How peculiar it would be to leave this house, which had been her home for the past few weeks – and to say farewell to Boris, and Vera and Mitya.

  She would have to say goodbye to Nakamura too, she realised, with a sudden stab of regret. He might have come with her to St Petersburg, but she knew he would have no reason at all to accompany her all the way back to London. When he’d finished his work at the Aero Club, she knew he was planning to travel east, across Russia and then home to Japan. The thought of saying goodbye to him after so many months seemed very strange indeed.

  But as she came to the top of the stairs, Sophie stopped abruptly, forgetting all about her farewells. She could hear a noise ahead of her: an odd, furtive, rustling sound. All at once, her skin prickled. Acting on instinct, she slid into the shadows. At the top of the stairs, the door to her room stood ajar – although she was quite certain she had left it closed that morning. Inside, she could see a small light flickering, like a candle flame, moving about in the dark.

  Sophie crept silently towards the door, until she was close enough to peep inside. She saw a dark figure moving around her room – opening drawers, rummaging through her clothes, rifling quickly through the things she’d left on the table by the bed – a London newspaper, the Russian– English dictionary Mitya had loaned her, a brooch, a few hair-pins. The candle flame illuminated a sharp nose, a pointed face and close-cropped hair – and at once, Sophie recognised Mitya’s friend Viktor.

  What was he doing, poking about her room? Was he looking for money, or jewellery, she wondered? She watched in growing alarm as he lifted her pillows, as though searching for anything that might be hidden under them, and then began feeling about under her bed. To her horror, she saw him reach forward and pull out her attaché case, containing all her remaining money from the Bureau – not to mention her papers and her mother’s diary. It was locked, but Viktor gave it a shake, listening intently to hear the contents rattle. He smiled and the candle lit his face from beneath, making his eyes hollow and black.

  Sophie hesitated. She couldn’t possibly let Viktor take her attaché case – apart from the money, it was full of confidential papers from the Bureau. And yet somehow she didn’t want him to know she had seen him. As she stood, wondering what to do, a voice called out from the stairway below her.

  ‘Alice! Are you there?’

  It was Nakamura – and then came the sound of his feet on the stairs. At once, Viktor dropped the attaché case, cursing under his breath. He pushed it back under the bed, blowing out his candle and dashing for the door. Sophie pressed herself back into the deep shadows behind it, but she didn’t need to worry about being seen. Viktor didn’t pause even for a moment but darted quickly down the stairs.

  Sophie crept after him. She was in time to see Viktor pass Nakamura on the stairs, pushing by him and hurrying downwards. Nakamura came to the top of the stairs to see Sophie standing watching him.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked in surprise.

  Sophie nodded. ‘But I just saw Viktor sneaking about my room. It looked like he was trying to steal something.’

  Nakamura frowned. ‘He’s been hanging about here all day. Asking odd questions about all sorts of things, including you – and Herr Schmidt. I think he might have been poking about in Herr Schmidt’s room too.’

  What was Viktor up to, creeping about the house, poking around in the lodgers’ bedrooms and asking questions? Was he a thief? Or, Sophie suddenly wondered, could there be any connection with the mysterious scheme she’d heard him discussing with the other students in the cellar? Whatever the reason, she most certainly did
not want Viktor going through her things. She would have to keep the spyglass safely with her until she left for London.

  She knew she should go and check her room and make sure that nothing had been taken, but she couldn’t resist showing the spyglass to Nakamura first. ‘I’ve got it,’ she whispered. ‘The spyglass – it’s here in my pocket. Boris finished making it today. Come and see!’

  Down in the cellar room, Sophie made sure the door was tightly shut before taking out the blue velvet box and opening it.

  ‘What an instrument!’ Nakamura exclaimed in admiration, sinking down into a chair to admire it more closely.

  ‘I’m going to take it back to London straight away,’ said Sophie. ‘Together with the notebook, it will allow us to examine the paintings, track down the secret weapon – and destroy it, for good!’

  Nakamura looked up at her quizzically. For a moment he paused as though uncertain, and then he spoke: ‘You told Herr Schmidt – the Count – that you would see this weapon destroyed. But Sophie, let me ask you this. How can you possibly be so sure that your government will not want to claim it for themselves, and use it for their own ends?’

  Sophie frowned. She felt sure that the Bureau would destroy the weapon. It was clearly the right thing to do. But it occurred to her now that the Chief had never actually said so. All he’d ordered her to do was to have the spyglass made, and to bring it back to London as soon as possible.

  ‘An unknown, deadly secret weapon – lost for centuries? It’s like something from a strange old legend. I know my government would certainly want it for themselves,’ Nakamura went on. He saw her stricken face and then laughed. ‘Don’t look so worried. I haven’t said a word to them. If I did, they might try to claim it and use it against their enemies. At one time, I might have wished to help them do that – but now . . . well . . . I’m no longer so sure that would be a good thing.’

  Nakamura was right, Sophie realised. She’d spent so much time thinking about the Fraternitas, when of course they would not be the only ones who would want a weapon like this one. There were many people – powerful people all over the world – who would want it, if they knew it existed.

  ‘Can you really be certain your government will be any different from mine?’ asked Nakamura gently.

  Coldness began to wash over her, like icy water. Could she be absolutely certain? The Chief had never said anything to her about his plans. Was it possible that he was going to hand the information about the weapon over to the Generals in the War Office? She knew how closely the Bureau worked with the Army and Navy; after all, everything she’d done for them so far had been to help give them a military advantage. What if they planned to take the weapon for themselves, and to use it against Germany, or another of their enemies? The thought gave her a sudden, sharp chill.

  But before she could say anything in reply, Vera’s voice came suddenly from above them. ‘Supper is ready!’

  It felt strange to put talk of secret weapons and governments aside to join the others for supper. She tried to keep her mind on the conversation, but her thoughts kept drifting back again and again to the weight of the spyglass in her pocket – and especially to what Nakamura had said. It didn’t help much that the supper table was quieter than usual – Boris had not yet returned from the Rivière’s workshop where he often worked long, unpredictable hours, and Mitya and Viktor had left to attend a lecture. Nakamura and the Count discussed new innovations in aeroplane engines, whilst Vera scolded Luka and Elena on their table manners, and at the same time tried to get the shy Ukrainian girl, Alina, to talk – but Sophie found herself saying very little at all.

  ‘Are you all right, lapochka?’ Vera asked her, after a little while.

  ‘Oh yes, of course – I’m just rather tired,’ she explained.

  Vera nodded understandingly. ‘You must have worked hard at the shop today! The city is so full of people for the Imperial Gala at the circus tonight.’

  ‘I wish we could go to the circus,’ said Elena wistfully.

  But Vera shook her head. ‘The Imperial Gala is not for the likes of us. It’s a special performance for the Tsar and his family – and all the most important members of the Court! No doubt they all wished to visit Rivière’s while they are in town,’ she added to Sophie. ‘I expect that’s why Boris is so late tonight, no doubt there are many new commissions –’

  But almost as the words came out of her mouth, the door opened and Boris himself came striding in, still wearing his outdoor coat and muffler.

  ‘Everyone – we are going to the Imperial Gala!’ he announced in delight, beaming around at them, flourishing a handful of paper. ‘I have tickets for all of us – we’re going to the Circus of Marvels, tonight!’

  A Night at the Circus, St Petersburg

  ‘The circus? We’re really going to the circus?’ gasped Elena, her eyes as wide as the dinner plates. ‘But how?’

  ‘One of our clients is the owner of the Ciniselli Circus building,’ Boris exclaimed, tremendously pleased with himself. ‘I did a special favour for him – a present for his wife’s birthday. As a thank-you, he has given me these – complimentary tickets to the Imperial Gala. So, we shall be going to the circus in the company of His Imperial Majesty himself! How about that, Vera my dear?’ He set the stack of tickets down on the table amongst the dishes, with a dramatic flourish.

  ‘The circus?’ tutted Vera at once. ‘Do you really think that I have time to go gadding about to the circus of an evening? I have work to do – a house to run. You should go, and take the children.’ But in spite of her protests, Sophie could already see that her eyes were sparking with excitement.

  ‘Babushka, you cannot miss seeing the Tsar!’ insisted Luka.

  ‘Pah! Do you think I care anything for him?’ said Vera. ‘I would not wish to see all those people, bowing and scraping and making fools of themselves.’

  But it didn’t take very much persuading from Luka, Elena and their grandfather before Vera had agreed that for once the dishes could wait – and had begun scolding them all to hurry up and finish their supper, so that they wouldn’t miss the beginning.

  ‘And the rest of you?’ said Boris, looking around the table. ‘I have plenty of tickets – you will all come, won’t you?’

  Alina looked terrified at the thought; and the Count only smiled and shook his head. But although Sophie’s mind was still whirling with thoughts about the Bureau, she could see no reason to refuse a ticket. Boris was so eager to share his good fortune, and after all, she remembered, this would likely be her last night in St Petersburg. It would be pleasant to spend it enjoying an exciting circus performance with Boris and Vera, and the children. She was pleased when Nakamura accepted a ticket too: they could go along and enjoy the circus together, and then finish their talk when they got back.

  ‘But Mitya isn’t here!’ said Luka suddenly. ‘He’s going to miss it.’

  ‘Well, he is spending his evening at a lecture,’ said Vera proudly. ‘That’s more useful to him than a circus. It’s good that he’s paying attention to his studies.’ Anyway, Sophie thought, Mitya wasn’t likely to enjoy a grand Imperial celebration very much, given his views on the Tsar’s extravagance, and the pomp of the Imperial Court.

  Vera hurried them up to their rooms, to dress for the evening. ‘You must wear your very best clothes,’ she explained. ‘This is an Imperial Gala, after all.’

  Sophie didn’t have many grand outfits to choose from, but she was glad of the chance to go back to her room and check everything after Viktor’s snooping. Feeling that she couldn’t risk leaving either the notebook or the spyglass behind at home, she decided to bring them with her. As an extra precaution she opened her attaché case and took out one or two of the most important papers from the Bureau – papers that would certainly give away her true purpose here in St Petersburg – and slipped them safely inside the notebook, before putting the attaché case carefully away in a new hiding place, under a loose floorboard.

  Just
as she’d replaced the floorboard and pushed the braided rug back over it, there came a tap at the door. She thought it would be Nakamura, telling her it was time to go, but instead she saw Vera was standing on the threshold.

  ‘I thought you might like to borrow something special to wear tonight,’ she said, holding out a pretty blue embroidered scarf. ‘This will suit you perfectly, I think.’

  Sophie took it. ‘Thank you – that’s very kind. What a beautiful scarf!’

  Vera arranged it gently around her shoulders. ‘It belonged to my daughter, Natasha,’ she said, in a low voice. ‘Luka and Elena’s mother. She had hair just like yours – such a pretty golden colour!’ She touched Sophie’s hair with a gentle finger. Sophie knew that Vera’s daughter Natasha had died a few years ago and that, although she rarely mentioned it, Vera missed her very much.

  ‘Here, let me plait it for you,’ said Vera now, reaching for Sophie’s brush and comb. It was a very long time since anyone else had combed Sophie’s hair, but she found herself sitting down and allowing Vera to carefully brush it out in long, gentle strokes. It was like being a child again. Her own mother must have done this for her once, Sophie realised – though she had been far too young to remember it. As Vera’s fingers carefully wove her hair into two long braids, she felt tears coming suddenly into her eyes and she had to blink them away.

  Vera carefully pinned the long braids around her head, into a crown. ‘There! Now you look like a good Russian girl,’ she said. ‘We’ll show the Tsar that his daughters aren’t the only ones who can look splendid at the Imperial Gala, hmm?’ She gave Sophie’s shoulder a little squeeze, and then hurried out of the room.

  The ground was already glittering with frost when they set out, well wrapped up in coats and hoods. The canal was still and dark as they hurried over the little bridge, but as they came towards the Nevsky, they saw that they were not the only ones headed to the circus. Grand carriages rattled past, carrying elegantly dressed people; several expensive motor cars sped by them. There was a sparkle of excitement and merriment in the air: Elena skipped ahead, holding Boris’s hand, pointing eagerly to the brightly coloured posters advertising the circus, whilst Luka strolled just behind them, his hands in his pocket, sniffing the scent of caramel apples and candied nuts that hung in the air, and pretending he wasn’t just as thrilled as his smaller sister.