Strange Are the Ways

by Strange Are the Ways (retail) (epub)

  Grigor’s young face was grim. ‘Look, if I stack the luggage here, by this pillar, will you stay by it whilst I discover what’s happening?’

  ‘Of course.’ Nearby, a frightened-looking woman was trying to pacify a small crying child.

  The ten minutes he was away seemed like as many hours. The look on his face as he pushed through the crowd towards her was not comforting.

  They had travelled a long way together; he paid her the compliment of complete honesty. ‘There’s nothing,’ he said. ‘No sledges, no cars. The trams aren’t running. So far as I can see it’s as you said; there’s no transport of any kind.’

  ‘What’s happening in the city?’

  ‘No-one seems exactly to know. Everyone’s got a different story. But it certainly seems that the Duma has turned on the Tsar, and is trying to take control. The people have taken to the streets. Half the army’s gone over to the rebels. The situation’s totally confused.’ He stood suddenly uncertain, watching her. She could almost feel the weight of responsibility he felt that he carried as her escort. He looked all at once quite touchingly young and unsure of himself. ‘There’s sporadic fighting all over the city, especially around the Liteini District, where the barracks are.’

  As if on cue there came again the distant spattering of gunfire, like pebbles thrown sharply against glass. A woman, elegant in expensive furs, was crying, her husband patting her shoulder awkwardly, her young maid staring, frightened and open-mouthed.

  ‘Well, we can’t stand here all day, that’s for sure,’ Anna said, still stubbornly calm. ‘What are the alternatives?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Without transport –’

  ‘We walk,’ she finished for him, apparently unruffled. ‘And what, then, of our luggage? We certainly can’t carry it.’

  He thought for a second. The moment of uncertainty had passed. Spurred by Anna’s own outward composure he was crisp and efficient again. ‘Wait. I’ll see what I can do.’

  He was back quicker this time, accompanied by a heavily-built man in station uniform. ‘That’s it,’ Grigor said, pointing at the far from inconsiderable pile of luggage.

  ‘Yes, Excellency.’ The man did not move, but stood, waiting.

  Grigor shook his head. ‘Oh, no. We get the luggage safely stowed first. Then you get the money.’

  The man eyed him for a moment, insolently. Then he lifted a shoulder and turned away.

  ‘Hey!’ Grigor grabbed his arm. ‘Where the devil do you think you’re going?’

  With a gesture that just a few days before would have been unthinkable the man shook the detaining hand from his sleeve.

  Slanting, coal-black eyes surveyed Grigor with calm hostility.

  For one moment Grigor stared back in sheer astonishment. Then he shrugged. The moment did not call for heroics. ‘All right. Half now, and half afterwards.’ He produced a folded note, which disappeared into the other man’s pocket, then stooped himself to pick up two of the smaller suitcases. ‘Can you manage the black one? Or perhaps the small brown?’ he asked Anna.

  ‘I can manage them both.’ She struggled upright, a bag in each hand. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘The station master has requisitioned some rooms and is storing passengers’ luggage. At a price, of course – a quite extortionate price, as a matter of fact. But I don’t see that we have any choice. At least it should be safe until we can send someone to pick it up. I’ve dropped every name I can think of, including the British Ambassador’s.’ His quick and boyish smile was suddenly less strained. ‘You have an overnight bag?’

  ‘Yes. The one I packed for the train.’

  ‘Right. We’ll take that with us, and anything else –’ he glanced at the impassive face of the porter and decided against the word ‘valuable’ ‘ – anything else you might need. Then I’ll get you to your hotel – unless you’d rather make for the Embassy?’

  ‘The British Embassy?’ Anna shook her head firmly. ‘No. They’d be just as likely to try to pack me straight up and send me back to England. I’ll make contact later. When I’ve found my family.’

  Half-heartedly he opened his mouth to say something, changed his mind and shut it again. He had been in Anna de Fontenay’s company for long enough to know when not to argue. ‘Right. Let’s get this safely stowed and we’ll be on our way.’

  Anna nodded briskly, both her confident smile and her imperturbable calm every bit as bogus as his. ‘I just hope they haven’t burned down the hotel. I’m dying for a proper bath.’

  * * *

  ‘At least we don’t have to go through the centre of the city,’ Grigor said, ten minutes later as they made their way in bitter cold up the bleak and eerily quiet road that led from the station. A dirty yellow tram stood abandoned upon the lines in the middle of the street, its windows broken, its interior wrecked. A sullen glow marked the sky above the grimy stucco buildings behind it. ‘Your hotel is on the Voskresenskaya. We only have to cross the river, it isn’t far. Most of the trouble is beyond, in the city itself I think. Let’s hope the bridges are clear.’

  They trudged on in silence, feet crunching upon dirty snow. The glow in the sky was brighter. A woman hurried past them, head and shoulders huddled into her shawl. They drew into a dark doorway at the sound of horses’ hooves; a detachment of cavalry trotted briskly past, heading towards the bridge, and the city. Anna’s feet had lost all feeling; the shoes she had worn to travel in had never been intended for wear in solid-packed, frozen snow. She was shivering with cold despite her expensive coat, hat and muff. Grigor glanced at her worriedly and increased his pace a little. ‘It isn’t far now.’

  She smiled reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry, a little cold won’t kill me. You forget, Grigor Petrovich, I’m a Russian – and no aristocrat, either. I’ve been cold before.’ Strangely, the tartly cheerful edge in her voice was this time not forced. Despite the danger, despite the cold, she found herself acknowledging a stirring of excitement, of anticipation, that would not be denied. The initial shock absorbed, she was beginning to realize that, however demoralizing the circumstances, she was back in St Petersburg – Petrograd – at last. The city did not look as she remembered it – torn posters fluttered upon drab walls, shops were boarded up, the dreary streets were desolate and empty – yet still, after all, once it had been home. And if the homecoming was not quite as she had planned it, then that could not be helped, and must be survived. War had come, and now, apparently, revolution; but the city had seen both before – indeed, within her own lifetime – and would no doubt see them again. She determinedly crushed misgivings. Despite the unfortunate and slightly unnerving circumstances, she had not the slightest doubt that she had done the right thing in coming; quite the contrary. The sense of fate that was so much a characteristic of so many of her countrymen had not entirely passed Anna by. The urge that had brought her home at such a time was not without reason, of that she was certain; she would trust to God and to her own common sense – not necessarily in that order – to work out the future. First she would find her family; all else must stem from that. For now it was enough that she was here, and hopefully could be of some help to them. England stood behind her, safe and secure, a refuge and a protection. And anyway – the trouble would blow over. It always had before.

  Despite her companion’s anxious urging she paused on the bridge and looked down upon the vast expanse of the silent, frozen river. The palaces that lined the southern bank were unusually dark and quiet, most of them shuttered and closed against a threat until now unimagined and unimaginable. On the other bank the vast bulk of the Fortress reared against the sky, the Imperial Standard fluttering above it as it always had. She remembered, suddenly, that afternoon with Katya – the fires upon the banks, the laughter, the gay music of sleigh bells, the graceful figures of the skaters.

  ‘Anna Victorovna – please! We should hurry!’ Her young escort was looking nervously up and down the length of the all but deserted bridge. Behind them the rattle and roar of a convoy
of lorries could be heard approaching. Ahead lay the broad sweep of the Liteini, leading to the heart of the city and to the large barracks area. A sudden sustained rattle of gunfire echoed again, recalling her brusquely from the calm and stable past to the astonishing present.

  ‘Of course. I’m coming.’ She turned her back upon the wide, frigid expanses of the Neva and hurried after him across the bridge.

  * * *

  Grigor set down her bags and surveyed the dingy room in helpless apology. ‘I’m sorry. It truly seems to be all that’s available. I couldn’t even bribe anything better out of them. The city’s bursting at the seams. This is part of the servants’ quarters, I think. But I honestly believe you’re lucky to get a room at all.’

  Anna surveyed the tiny, drab room; the wallpaper, of a colour so faded as to be unrecognizable, hung in some places in ragged strips from the walls; the furniture, such as it was, was a jumble of worn and shabby cast-offs; the whole smelt unappetizingly of damp and of something that reminded her unpleasantly of cabbage stew. ‘So much for my bath!’ she shrugged, wryly. ‘Don’t worry. It will do. At least it’s warm. And I shan’t be here for long. Just until I find out where Mama is living.’ She walked to the window, looked down into the dirty narrow street beyond. As she watched, a man with a rifle slung over his shoulder moved from a darkened doorway on the opposite side of the road, scurried warily along the shadowed street and disappeared.

  ‘If you should need me – if I can be of any assistance,’ Grigor was saying behind her, ‘please don’t hesitate to contact me. You have my number at the Foreign Office?’

  She turned, smiling. ‘Yes. And thank you, Grigor, thank you for everything.’

  ‘It was nothing.’ He came to join her at the window. The sky above the crowded buildings still flickered with lurid light. ‘They said downstairs that the worst of the fighting so far has been about the barracks in the Liteini District.’ His brow was furrowed. ‘My mother and my sisters live not far from there –’ His voice trailed to silence.

  She touched his arm in immediate contrition. ‘Oh, my dear, how selfish I’ve been! Here I am monopolizing your time when of course you have your own family to worry about! You must go, at once.’

  He hesitated, obviously torn.

  She leaned to drop a light, friendly kiss upon his cheek. ‘Go,’ she said, gently. ‘You’ve been too good already. Please. I insist. I promise you I’ll be all right.’

  He needed no more bidding. Courteously but in relieved and understandable haste he made his farewells and left her.

  It took less than an hour for Anna to become so restive that she thought she might scream. The depressing room was silent, all sound muffled by the winter windows. It was oppressively hot and smelled disgusting. From the window she could see nothing. A slightly nervous venture into the public rooms downstairs discovered most of them to have been turned into dormitories, lined with bunks and packed with luggage. People, almost all men, milled busily about the lobby, too intent upon their own affairs to bother with hers. She drank a glass of weak tea at a small table in the corner, which she shared with a morose man who answered her questions in surly impatience whilst scribbling hasty notes in a small book, which he covered jealously with his arm, as if he suspected her of spying on him.

  Yes, it seemed that much of the army, to say nothing of a great section of the population, had turned against the Tsar and taken the side of the Duma. The Pavlovski Regiment had turned yesterday, there were reports of others today. Yes, the rioting had been bad – more savage, more organized yet more destructive than he had ever known it – and yes, many people were said to have died, on both sides. Discovering her ignorance, he warmed to his subject a little. Strikes and demonstrations in these past few weeks had brought the city close to a standstill, the strikers and demonstrators had taken to rioting and looting, and they had been suppressed with thorough brutality. Now, suddenly, the boot was well and truly on the other foot, and the bloodlust of the crowds was up. It was not just the people who were dying now, but those they considered their enemies; the police, the Tsar’s Government officials, the officers who had ordered their men to fire upon unarmed civilians – it was all very bad for business. He relapsed into his ill-tempered silence.

  ‘I need to go to my mother’s apartment,’ Anna said, steadily, watching him, her thin fingers wrapped around her tea glass. ‘Over the river – the Venskaya – are the streets safe enough, do you think?’

  He took an impatient breath, lifted his eyes to hers, then relented. He leaned upon his elbows, his face close to hers. She tried not to recoil from his breath. ‘My dear lady, of course they aren’t safe. But you ask me is it possible? Yes, it’s possible. Most of the trouble is on the main streets and squares. The Liteini is barricaded, the Nevsky too in places, but – if you know the city?’

  ‘I do,’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘Then it’s possible to avoid trouble,’ he said, and determinedly and finally returned his attention to his notebook.

  Anna thought about that. She could not – she absolutely could not! – stay here in solitary and lonely ignorance until something happened to restore order to the city. She could not remain in that dreadful little room for one minute longer than was necessary. She had to find out what was happening to her family, and her parents’ apartment – she faltered upon that, surprised at the trick her memory had played her – her mother’s apartment – seemed to be the best place to start.

  ‘Though if I were you –’ The evil breath was in her face again. The man had stood, was bending above her, his face not unfriendly, ‘I’d find something to cover those fancy clothes. Just a precaution, you understand?’ He cocked a knowing eyebrow and left her.

  Instinctively she did understand, and did not miss the irony. Anna Victorovna Shalakova, the ordinary girl who had walked the streets of St Petersburg in perfect safety, had become Anna de Fontenay, a lady of some means and substance. How very much things must have changed in the city if that could be considered a change for the worse.

  * * *

  There were maids, still, in the Hotel de la Quay, and one was ready to sell her soul, never mind her cloak and boots, for the money that Anna offered her.

  An hour later Anna left the hotel under cover of the early-evening darkness and set off along the quay, westwards, in the direction of the Winter Palace and the Nevsky Prospekt.

  As she had been advised, she tried to steer clear of the main streets and squares. She was not, as she had expected, alone. Everyday life, as always in the face of prodigious events, had to go on. Others too were hurrying about their business, or simply standing around watching, waiting, animatedly arguing. Every street corner had its small group of observers, smoking, talking, stamping their feet against the cold; to Anna’s surprise she heard laughter, and excitement in the voices. History was being made and the people of Petrograd were making it. Groups of soldiers disputed noisily, amongst themselves and with anyone else who would listen, brandishing their guns and bayonets as they talked. The occasional uniformed horseman clattered past, to the hoots and derision of the crowds.

  No-one took the slightest notice of Anna.

  She stood in the shadow of a wall, watching, as a mixed bunch of soldiers and ill-dressed young men marched past in ragged order. All carried weapons of one kind or another, and Anna recognized in astonishment amongst them the uniform of the famed Semeonovsky Regiment of the Tsar’s own Guards. At the end of one street a detachment of Cossacks had been cornered by a shouting crowd. In vain a purple-faced officer screamed at his men to charge; the mounted soldiers sat their horses, ignoring him, until one bent, straight-armed, to hand his weapon to a man in the crowd. A roar went up. Almost hysterical, the young officer levelled his pistol at the rebellious soldier’s head. The roar this time was of a different and terrifying nature. Anna watched, horrified, as the officer was dragged from his terrified, rearing horse down into the furious mob, as if into the maw of a hungry animal. She heard his scream as she
turned away, aghast, hurrying on.

  The incident had shaken her. For the moment she too had been seduced by the heady feeling of excitement that pervaded these streets; yet the violence that lurked beneath the surface was truly terrifying. Thankful for the shabby cloak she wore, she drew it tighter about her and turned the corner into the Nevsky.

  Luck was with her. For two or three hundred yards the wide avenue was empty. Further on there was a crowd, with torches, and she could see the tumbled obstruction of a barricade. Further on still she saw the glimmer of fire. The shopfront by which she stood was shattered, the interior looted. A chair lay broken upon the pavement. She hesitated for a long moment, heart beating very fast. She had to cross that wide expanse of road; then she could slip into the sidestreets again and be safe.

  A group of young men, shabbily dressed, buffeted past her, laughing and shouting. One of them carried a bayonet, another an officer’s sword. She drew back from their path. One cannoned into her, knocking her against the wall. She steadied herself. A convoy was driving towards them and towards the barricade; two long, shining limousines, small red flags fluttering upon their bonnets, young men with rifles standing upon the running boards and lying upon the roofs, followed by a lorry full of students and workers, armed to the teeth, waving and shouting as they went. The group on the pavement ran into the road, swarmed onto the truck, hauled on board by willing hands. The convoy roared on towards the barricade, where a banner-waving crowd awaited it, and comparative quiet fell.

  Anna took a breath, wrapped the cloak tightly about her, ducked her head and picked her way across the slippery packed snow of the wide thoroughfare.

  No-one shouted. No shot sounded. Somewhere an engine revved violently, and died. The smell of smoke was strong on the cold air and the dirty snow was specked with black fire fragments that floated about her, smudging upon her skin and her clothes. Then she was in the shadows again, and safe. She slipped into a sidestreet, her confidence growing.