She switched on the lamp that stood on her bedside table and took a sip of water.
“I must just be tired. Thankfully, we’ve only a week left before we go home. This trip has lasted long enough.” Cromwell. She needn’t worry about Cromwell. It’s true that Leslie had seen him in questionable company in a restaurant one night, with horrid girls and horrid boys, but that kind of thing was understandable at his age. And when she raised it with him, he apologized. His teacher was very satisfied with his progress. He was a kind, honourable boy. He was just like his father. Everything was fine. She needn’t worry.
She laid her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes.
“That being said, I’ll be so glad to see Cromwell back at Eton,” she thought as she drifted off to sleep.
Through sleep, she heard the door squeak gently and someone walk into the room. She woke up.
“A thief,” she knew instantly. Still half-asleep and without opening her eyes, she reached for the revolver under her pillow and clasped the cold steel with her fingers. She was not afraid. She was brave and always felt elated in the face of danger, as when she and her husband had hunted lions, and that time in Switzerland when she had fallen from a cliff into a crevasse.
She lay stock-still, breathing steadily and listening to every noise. Then she moved her head as if she were still asleep and carefully opened her eyes.
The room was almost pitch-black. Only the opalescent light on her bedside table gave off a dim glow.
She saw Cromwell, his arms outstretched like a blind man’s, moving on tiptoe towards her dressing table. She didn’t move or cry out; she just unclenched her fingers from the revolver.
Cromwell stopped, opened her jewellery box and then opened the drawer of her bureau and started stuffing something quickly into his pockets.
She carried on breathing evenly and calmly. He turned to look at his mother, his eyes darting and squinting with anxiety.
“He squints,” she thought quite calmly, as if he were a stranger. “I’ve never noticed before that he squints.”
As if Cromwell’s possible squint was the only thing that interested her at that moment in time.
The drawing-room light went out and the door to the corridor quietly closed.
That’s when she got up and walked over to her dressing table. She still couldn’t quite believe it. Perhaps he had come by just to borrow a book. But her jewellery box was empty and the money from the bureau was gone.
“Thief!” she cried out. “Cromwell is a thief.” She listened to the sound of her own voice.
In the dark mirror, she caught a glimpse of her pale, instantly aged face and turned away in horror and disgust.
“I’m the mother of a thief. The mother of a thief.”
She remembered how a few years ago she had gone to see a scandalous trial. A young man from a good family had robbed a bank. All of London was in court that day. The mother of the thief—an old lady in mourning—wouldn’t stop crying. He was sentenced to ten years in prison. It had been hot and boring, and she regretted going. Back then, she thought that there were two kinds of people: honest folk and criminals. And that between them lay the deepest crevasse. And she found everything that concerned criminals to be uninteresting and distasteful. She never spared them a moment’s thought. She didn’t even pity the weeping old woman in mourning. Why would the mother of a thief deserve pity?
“And now Cromwell is a thief,” she repeated. “A thief.”
There was no crevasse any more, everything had mixed together and he was now on the other side, with the criminals. And she, his mother, was there too. He was her son. James’s son.
“What a blessing that James was killed,” she whispered and burst into tears.
What was she to do? What was she going to do now? She cried and cried until she was weak from weeping. There was nothing she could do.
“We’ll leave for London tomorrow,” she finally decided. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll speak to him. I have to wait till morning to calm myself down. There’s no going back now anyway.” Even if nobody were to find out about this, even if he were not sentenced to hard labour, he was going to remain a thief for ever. And she would never forget that she was the mother of a thief.
She got back into bed. As she pulled up the cover, her hand brushed her naked breast and immediately recoiled in disgust, as if she had touched a toad, so repulsive was her naked body to her.
X
LIZA OPENED the door to Cromwell. He entered the house quickly—as if he were on the run—and double-locked the door behind him. They stood facing one another, pale and confused.
“Did you get them?” Liza said, her voice breaking with anxiety.
“Here.” He held out a long string of pearls, as he began taking out wads of notes from his pockets.
“Wait, Crom, where am I supposed to put all this? Let’s go up to my room and you can give me it all there. Take off your coat.”
He stuffed the crumpled notes back into his pockets obediently.
Liza walked on ahead. The string of pearls hung off her wrist like a rosary.
“Quiet! Kolya is asleep already.”
“Asleep?” he asked in disbelief when they reached the landing.
“Yes, sleeping. What’s so odd about that?” She glanced at him over her shoulder. He was clambering laboriously up the stairs. The look on his face was quite different from usual—it was tired and resigned. Liza switched the light on.
“Take a seat on the divan, Crom. Was it difficult?”
“Yes, very. But I thought it would have been even worse.”
“She didn’t wake up?”
“No, she was asleep. She didn’t even stir.” He paused for a moment. “But she’ll know tomorrow…” he added, his voice trailing off.
Liza sat down beside him. She wanted to comfort him, to reassure him. But he didn’t need comforting. No, what she needed to do, what she absolutely must do, was say something to him. But what? What?
He stood up, pulled the money, earrings and rings out of his pockets and piled them on her desk.
Liza didn’t even turn to look at them.
“Listen, Crom.” She clasped her arms around her knees. “Crom, you know, I don’t think you should go to Russia after all.”
“Why ever not?”
“I don’t know. But you shouldn’t. I’m scared for you, Crom,” she whispered. “I’m scared for you,” she repeated, and those words suddenly clarified everything for her—the anxiety that had gripped her all day, that inexplicable fear. It was all clear to her now—she was scared for Cromwell’s sake. She didn’t yet understand what danger lay in store for him, but she knew that it was imminent.
She got up and walked over to him.
“Crom, you must leave. It’s still not too late. Crom! Your mother’s still asleep.”
She quickly gathered up the money and jewellery from the desk.
“Take it. Take it back. Take it home. Go home, Crom. Nobody has to know anything. Go home.”
He looked at her in astonishment.
“What are you talking about? I thought you said…?”
She took his hand in hers.
“Crom, please. Go home, Crom. I know it was me who talked you into this. But I didn’t understand anything then. You don’t need this. You should stay out of it. You’re an Englishman, Crom. Take the pearls, take the money and go home.”
He shook his head.
“Stop it, Liza.”
“Crom, I’m begging you—go home.”
She tried to stuff the money back into his pockets. He took her hands in his and bent down to look into her eyes.
“This isn’t how brave young women behave.”
“If you love me, Crom, please… I’m begging you.”
“No, I won’t. I won’t, precisely because I love you. It’s too late now anyway. It’s too late for me. I’m a thief. The only thing I have left in my life is you.”
“Oh, Crom, but you haven’t thought it thr
ough! They could kill you in Russia.”
“But they could kill you, too! We’ll be together. I’m so unhappy here. I don’t much value life at all.”
He put his arms around her.
“Kiss me, Liza. Don’t let’s talk about it any more.”
She lifted her face to his and gazed into his pale-blue eyes. They were just like a baby’s. Overwhelmed by tenderness, fear and pity, she felt his hot lips on hers. And suddenly, through the kiss, through the blood pounding in her ears, through all the tenderness and pity, she heard a faint noise. A barely audible noise. Liza threw her head back and, still fixing the gaze of the pale-blue baby’s eyes, trained her ears. She heard something click on the other side of the door. And then all was still.
What was that? She pressed her lips to his again and threw her arms around his neck; growing weak from fear, pity and tenderness, she held on to him to prevent herself from falling.
“You’ve gone terribly pale. Do you feel unwell?”
“No, not at all. Kiss me again, Crom darling.”
She pressed herself to him but then quickly removed her arms from his neck and withdrew.
“Wait here. Sit down on the divan.”
“You’re leaving?”
“No, no, just wait a minute, Crom. I’ll be right back.”
She walked over to the door quietly and gently pressed the door handle. The door didn’t move.
“It’s locked,” she thought. “It’s locked from the outside, on the latch.”
Without saying a word, she went over, opened the curtains and threw open the windows. Bright moonlight illuminated the garden and the smooth stretch of wall beneath her window. There was no ledge, no drainpipe. Jumping would mean breaking one’s legs.
She closed the window and drew the curtains together.
“Crom could break the door down. He’s stronger than Nikolai. And I’d help him,” she thought.
Cromwell reached his hand out towards her.
“Come here, Isolde. What are you looking at over there?”
“Crom, I’m asking you for the last time. Go home.”
He shook his head.
“Enough. I’m not going anywhere. Even if I had to die in an hour, I wouldn’t leave you.”
Liza let out a sigh.
“All right. If you don’t want to, then…” She paused. “Then let’s go to bed, Crom. It’s very late,” she added quickly, blushing.
She was embarrassed.
“We’ll go to bed with our clothes on, all right? The divan’s very big.”
He blushed too. He looked at her uncertainly.
She fetched a pillow and a blanket from the cupboard.
“Will you be able to sleep in your clothes?”
“Of course I shall.”
“There’s only one pillow, so we’ll have to put our heads close together. Will you be comfortable enough? What is it? Go to bed now.”
He lay down against the wall. She lay down beside him and turned out the light.
“Are you all right, Crom? Are you warm enough?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“You’re so long. Your arms are so strong. If you’re uncomfortable, you can get undressed.”
She pressed herself against him in the dark.
“No, I’m comfortable like this.”
“Crom. My darling Crom,” she whispered into his ear. “I love you so, so much. I’m so grateful to you. If you wanted something, I wouldn’t say no, Crom.”
He moved away from her, even pushing her away her a little.
“No, not that, that’s not allowed.” There was fear in his voice.
“But why? Why not? What if I want it? I want you to be happy.”
He embraced her again.
“I am happy.” He kissed her cold cheek. “When we get back from Russia, when we’re grown-up, then we can marry.”
“Oh, Crom, we’ll never grow up.”
“Who knows? We could live to a hundred.”
“No, no. Anyway, why wait? Why always wait? Why don’t you want it now? Why?”
“Because it’s not allowed.”
He leant over her in the dark and kissed her neck, her lips, her eyes.
“You’re crying. Why are you crying, Isolde?”
“Because we have so little time left to live.”
He fell asleep before she did. His head rested heavily on her shoulder. She remained absolutely still, so as not to wake him. Tears were still trickling down her face. She had never felt such pity, such tenderness, such weakness. Grey light streamed in through the slightly parted curtains.
She gazed at his sleeping face. She was thinking of nothing in particular, nothing crossed her mind. He was asleep. He was breathing steadily, and was so warm. Just like a child. She tucked the blanket more snugly under his chin.
“He’s just like a baby. Like he’s my son. Sleep, sleep, little darling.” And she closed her eyes, still smiling.
When Liza woke up, Cromwell was already gone, and the money and diamonds were no longer on the desk.
She made her way downstairs. Cromwell, Andrei and Nikolai were taking breakfast in the dining room. Eggs and bacon were frying in a pan on the stove. Nikolai was pouring the coffee. He seemed very pleased. Liza bid them good morning and sat down at her place.
Nikolai was looking after Cromwell.
“Why aren’t you eating? Shall I fry you a steak?”
“Thank you, I’m full.”
But Nikolai insisted.
“You must eat. You’re used to hearty breakfasts. It’ll set you up for the journey…”
For the journey. Liza imagined a train with Russian yellow, blue and green carriages. This was the train that was going to take her to Russia.
“Liza, why aren’t you eating? Do you need an invitation?”
Liza looked at her brother with surprise. He was being so nice. She hadn’t seen him like this for a long time.
“It’s because we’re finally leaving. And that’s why Andrei is sulking, too,” she thought as she gulped down her hot coffee. “As for Kolya locking my door, he was right to do so. I very nearly ruined everything.”
She lifted her head.
“If we’re leaving tonight, then when am I going to buy stockings and sweaters?”
Nikolai laughed.
“Oh, you’re on about sweaters again. I suppose everyone has priorities, and yours are sweaters. Go on, then, go and buy yourself some.”
He took out two hundred-franc notes from his pocket.
“Make sure they’re warm.”
“What about you?”
“We don’t need any. We have some that we’ll pick up at the border. Just make sure you’re home by six.”
Liza took the money.
“All right.”
Nikolai got up.
“Listen, Crom, you should write to your mother.”
Cromwell shrugged.
“Why?”
“So that she doesn’t worry. Tell her you’ll be back in three months. And that you didn’t take the money and things for yourself, but for a…” Nikolai paused as he searched for the right words. “For a just cause.”
“As if that would change anything! She won’t care why I stole them.”
“No, no,” Nikolai was eager to convince him. “It changes everything. You must write. Tell him, Liza.”
Liza nodded.
“Of course. Crom, you should write.”
Cromwell thought for a moment.
“All right. If you insist. Give me some paper. I’ll write, although it’s hardly necessary now.”
Liza watched his pen quickly cover the white page with unfamiliar black words.
He licked and sealed the envelope. Nikolai picked it up.
“Post it, Liza.”
Liza went over to Cromwell.
“Do you want to come shopping with me, Crom?”
“He can’t go out,” Nikolai interrupted her. “He might be spotted, and then we’ll be in trouble.”
&n
bsp; Liza sighed.
“Well, if you say so…” She took Cromwell’s hand. “I really don’t want to leave you today, Crom. Come, see me out.”
In the hallway, he took her short coat with the gold buttons down from the stand and handed it to her.
She put on her beret and smiled at him.
“You were just like a baby last night. Like you were my son.” She blushed. “Well, goodbye, Crom.”
XI
IT WAS SIX O’CLOCK. Liza was making her way home, clutching a parcel to her chest.
Warm stockings. She could wear them to the North Pole if she wanted. And gloves too. She loved the sweater most of all though. Made of camel’s wool, it was so fluffy and light! Although maybe she shouldn’t have bought the pink one. Joan of Arc probably wouldn’t have worn the pink one. But they didn’t even have sweaters back in those days. And it was too late to change it anyway. “I’ll have to tell Kolya that it was the only colour they had,” she thought.
She took out her keys, unlocked the front door and stepped inside, into the dark hallway. A wall of damp air assaulted her nostrils.
It was as cold inside as it was out. The house didn’t seem lived-in any more; it seemed abandoned. “Well, we’re leaving tonight anyway.”
“Hello!” she called out. Her voice was loud and carried. No reply came. The drawing room was empty. Cromwell was sitting in the dining room, under the hanging light, copying something out of a guidebook.
“Look what I bought!”
“Hold on, I’ll take a look in a minute. Nikolai asked me to draw up our itinerary, but I don’t understand some parts.”
“Where are they?”
“Upstairs. They must be packing.”
Liza ran upstairs.
“Kolya!” she called out.
Nikolai’s bedroom door opened and Andrei stuck his head out.
“Leave us alone, we’re busy.”
“I wanted to show you my sweater.”
“Later, you can do it later. You have one and that’s all we need to know.”
“Go downstairs,” Nikolai shouted. “We’ll need your help in a minute.”
Liza went back to the dining room and sat down on the divan. She was still holding her parcel, which she placed on her lap. How cold it was! They could have made a fire… Never mind—she needed to get used to it. Russia was much colder.
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