Count Antonov's Heir

by Christina Laffeaty

  Caroline found Katya at her side. ‘I wish you would go up and see Michael. The child has been inconsolable since it was discovered that you had left.’

  In an abstracted mood, Caroline made her way to the nursery. Michael flung himself at her. ‘Marisha!’ he accused tearfully. ‘You went away! Why did you go away?’

  ‘Hush, dear. I’m back now.’

  ‘You musn’t do it again! You must promise not to do it again!’

  ‘Michael,’ she said soberly, ‘how can I promise that? I may have to go away in the future.’

  ‘Then you must take me with you!’ he demanded. Caroline sighed.

  ‘I can’t even promise that, Michael. But I will promise you one thing—I won’t go away again without telling you first.’

  He considered for a moment before knuckling the tears from his eyes. ‘Then I’ll cry and cry, Marisha, so that you’ll have to take me with you.’ The matter settled to his satisfaction, he tugged at her hand and whispered, ‘I’ve found another treasure for the secret place, Marisha. It’s a bird’s egg.’

  ‘Michael,’ she said gravely, ‘you must be very careful that no one else finds out about the secret place. No one at all.’

  ‘I will,’ he nodded. ‘It’s our secret place.’

  Caroline spent some time with him in the nursery before she went downstairs again. Sacha had changed into his white and gold uniform of the Chevalier Gardes, and was leaving to report for military duty. Uncle Viktor bewailed the fact that his age precluded him from joining the impending witch-hunt for Nihilists, and then speculated pleasurably on what would be done to the Czar’s would-be assassin if he were thrown on the mercy of the mob.

  Caroline made the excuse that she was tired, and went to her room. There she paced up and down, wrestling with a problem which was growing larger in its implications by the minute.

  Grigori, when he dabbled in Nihilism, could never have foreseen the day when an attempt would actually be made on the Czar’s life. It had been a game to him, no doubt; a symbolic blow struck against Sacha, whom he hated. And now Grigori was stranded in some remote inn, unaware of the developments, while in the cellars of the house his printing press had become a time-bomb which threatened to destroy everyone in its vicinity.

  What ought she to do? Confide in Sacha? In his capacity as member of the Czar’s personal bodyguard, his duty would be clear. He would have to inform on Grigori. In the present climate of fear and retribution, Grigori could expect no mercy.

  It is true that he had forfeited any liking or respect or sympathy Caroline had had for him. But even so, how could she betray him in cold blood? How could she have his imprisonment—perhaps even his death—on her conscience?

  She wished, now, that she had not brushed the matter of the secret printing press under the carpet. If she had told Grigori at the time that she had stumbled upon it, he would no doubt have removed it from the premises. She considered, for a moment, confiding in Uncle Viktor and asking him to arrange for its secret dismantling and removal from the house.

  In the end Caroline decided to do or say nothing for the moment. In all probability she was worrying unnecessarily, and the state of emergency in the city would end within a day or two.

  But instead, a madness seemed to descend over the whole of Russia. The Nihilists, far from being demoralised by the arrest of one of their members, became suicidally daring. An extreme branch of the movement, styling itself The Secret Executive Committee, began to emerge as a dominant factor. They no longer confined themselves to posting illegal placards, but started incendiary fires and carried out ‘executions’ of corrupt public figures.

  The Czar responded by imposing even more oppressive measures and stringent regulations. Caroline was glad that she had not confided Grigori’s secret to Uncle Viktor after all, for to the latter’s delight the Czar appointed him one of the new, specially created Commissars to deal with suspected Nihilists. Uncle Viktor carried out his duties with so much enthusiasm that Caroline wondered if he would have spared his own son.

  St Petersburg, only days ago alive with people enjoying themselves, became a dead city. Porters were stationed at each door, armed with stout sticks, to guard against arsonists. Business came to a standstill. Rigid curfews were imposed on the public, and no house lights were allowed to show after ten at night. If three or more persons were gathered together in the streets they were liable to summary arrest on suspicion of plotting treason.

  The prisons were full of persons of all ranks, some arrested on the flimsiest excuses. Sentences became harsh in the extreme. People were condemned to be shot for circulating inflammatory pamphlets, and a young noblewoman received four years’ hard labour for not informing on her revolutionary friends. Caroline received this news with mounting fear. The parallel with herself and Grigori’s printing press was uncomfortably close.

  One morning, when both Uncle Viktor and Sacha were absent from the house on their Imperial duties, two armed Cossacks banged on the door, demanding entry. They exclaimed that they had powers to search the premises.

  Caroline stood rigidly, her mouth dry with shock. What could they be searching for, unless they had information about the printing press?

  When they asked to be shown to the nursery, Caroline tacked herself on to the group which ascended the stairs, her fears crystallised into certainty. Why should they wish to visit the nursery, unless they had somehow learnt of Michael’s ‘secret place’? And how could she stop the child from answering questions put to him by the Cossacks?

  But they had no interest in Michael after all. One of the men began to turn the nursery upside down as he searched, while the other placed his hand on Nurse Varna’s shoulder.

  ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of being involved in the Nihilist movement.’

  ‘You are mistaken!’ she cried, wide-eyed with terror.

  ‘It is you who have made a mistake, Antonina Varna. Your nephew in the Moscow prison has confessed to being a Nihilist, and has implicated you.’

  Nurse Varna was white-faced with shock. ‘No! It is not true! If my nephew confessed, then it must have been because he was tortured!’

  Her protests were in vain, and so were those of the aunts and Katya. In the atmosphere of hysteria and fear which pervaded Russia nothing would have been of any use. Nurse Varna was arrested and taken from the house, and Caroline elected to stay with Michael in her place.

  Her thoughts were chaotic. If Nurse Varna could be arrested on such slender evidence, what would happen to all of them in the house if the printing press should be discovered? Grigori had to return to St Petersburg without any further delay, and get rid of it.

  When the men heard of Nurse Varna’s arrest, Uncle Viktor shrugged and said, ‘Many people are being arrested. We must expect to lose some of our servants.’

  Sacha rubbed a hand across his face. He looked tired and tense; he had been on duty almost continuously since the day the state of emergency had been declared. He did not comment on the nurse’s arrest, but merely said, ‘I should be grateful, Caroline, if you would be responsible for Michael until I can make other arrangements.’

  She nodded, and then searched for a valid excuse to have Grigori brought home. ‘Sacha, is it true that civilians may not carry weapons of any sort, and that anyone wishing to travel anywhere has to obtain a permit?’

  ‘Quite true.’

  ‘Well—I’ve been thinking ... Grigori may not know of these new regulations. Now that the newspapers are being suppressed, one has to rely on rumour for information, and rumour is not very dependable. If Grigori should try to come home he may, in his ignorance, fall foul of the law…’

  Sacha looked thoughtful. Clearly he had been too busy to spare Grigori a thought before now. ‘I shall ask to be excused duties tomorrow, and go and fetch him,’ he decided.

  ‘How will you know where to find him?’ Aunt Natalia asked anxiously. ‘There has been no word from him—’

  ‘I daresay he has been kicking his heels at
Ivaskara,’ Sacha said.

  For the first time in almost a week, Caroline was able to sleep that night, secure in the knowledge that Sacha would bring Grigori home, and that she would be able to hand her burden over to him. Grigori must have had help in setting up the printing press, and no doubt he would be able to call on that same help to dismantle it.

  The next day, Caroline was seldom far away from the window. She scanned the streets anxiously, and made automatic responses to Michael’s many questions. Several prison wagons passed by, with a police officer mounted beside the driver and an escort of armed Cossacks.

  It was not until late in the afternoon that Sacha returned with Grigori. Caroline settled Michael down for his nap, and descended the stairs to speak to him. But she was waylaid by Sacha.

  ‘I saw her, Caroline,’ he said with satisfaction.

  ‘You saw her? Who, Sacha?’

  ‘Anna, of course. Anna Barovska, my old nurse. We had little time to talk, but she seemed well enough, even though she is much aged and somewhat frail. I am glad she is safely installed at Ivaskara, and away from this turmoil.’

  Caroline had temporarily forgotten about Anna, and she was too preoccupied to pursue the subject with Sacha. She made an excuse and hurried away to look for his cousin.

  Grigori no longer bore any evidence of the beating he had received at Sacha’s hands. But although his physical scars had faded, the mental ones were still raw. He gave Caroline a look of loathing.

  ‘What do you want? Have you come to have a laugh at my expense? It must have amused you to think of me, stranded in that godforsaken inn!’

  ‘I assure you, I have found very little to amuse me in the past few days! Grigori, I have to speak to you—’

  ‘Then go ahead.’

  ‘Not here. We may be interrupted. I’ll wait for you in the disused wing of the house, in that room where unwanted furniture is stored. Please join me as soon as possible.’

  She withdrew, leaving him looking thoughtful. In the cluttered room which contained the hidden entrance to the cellar, she pulled a dust-sheet from a discarded sofa and sat down to wait for Grigori.

  He arrived shortly afterwards, rubbing his chin. ‘Well, Caroline? What is the reason for all this melodrama?’

  ‘I thought you would have guessed. Do you remember that day when you entered this room and found me here? I pretended that I had been exploring the house. It wasn’t true. I had just come through there.’ She gestured towards the large wardrobe which concealed the entrance to the cellars.

  Grigori appeared to be playing for time. He picked his way over pieces of furniture towards the wardrobe, and studied the gap between it and the door to the cellar.

  ‘What made you suspect that there was a door behind the wardrobe, Caroline? Feminine intuition?’

  She said impatiently, ‘Of course I suspected nothing of the kind. If I had come upon this room, I would have concluded that it was simply a storage space for discarded furniture. What you obviously don’t know is that there is a second entrance to the cellars. Michael found it. He has promised to keep his knowledge a secret, but he is only a child, and if he is questioned ... You can see that it’s imperative you should get rid of that printing press.’

  He smiled, and for a moment he was disturbingly the old, charming, gentle Grigori again. The Grigori who had never really existed.

  ‘You must have a tenderness for me after all, Caroline, not to have betrayed me,’ he said softly.

  ‘I have nothing but contempt for you,’ she contradicted in a flat voice. ‘But there is a savage purge against Nihilists at the moment, and if that printing press were discovered you would be shot. I don’t wish to have your death on my conscience.’

  He threw himself down on the sofa, his hands clasped behind his head. ‘You know, Caroline, fate works in an ironical way. When Aunt Maria first told us how violently you reacted when you witnessed the social inequalities in this country, I decided that you would probably sympathise with the Nihilists. I was right. I decided that I would adopt the pose of a Nihilist too, so that I could gain your confidence and make your seduction easier. I never dreamt that it would bring me this totally unexpected bonus.’

  She had stiffened. ‘Are you—trying to tell me that you’re not a Nihilist?’

  ‘That’s right, Caroline,’ he said softly. ‘It was all a charade, for your benefit.’

  ‘Then—that printing press in the cellar ... The posters which had been printed on it—?’

  ‘Have nothing to do with me. Which means that someone else in the house must be involved. Caroline, do you know why you and I met in this room that day?’

  ‘No...’

  ‘Twice before I had seen my cousin Alexander come from this room. It had seemed odd to me that he should be visiting a room in the disused wing. So I decided to pay it a visit. I could see nothing remarkable about it, and concluded that he must have been looking for some lost document in the bureau drawers. But, of course, he must have been down to the cellars.’

  ‘Sacha! No!’ Caroline’s mouth was dry. ‘He has expressed himself strongly against the Nihilists—’

  ‘Naturally. He would hardly advertise his close allegiance to them, would he? But he has always treated his peasants with a nauseating tenderness. I should have guessed that Alexander was a Nihilist.’

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ Caroline cried wildly and untruthfully. ‘One of the servants must be responsible for that printing press. But that isn’t important at the moment. While it’s on the premises it’s a danger to all of us. Since I’ve told you about it, Grigori, I think you and I should consider ways and means of destroying it and rendering it unrecognisable before someone else stumbles upon it.’

  She added desperately, ‘After all, think of your father’s position as a specially appointed Commissar! If the printing press should be found—’

  ‘I am thinking of my father’s position,’ Grigori said with a purr of pleasure. ‘He is the very person to whom the existence of the press should be reported. My father would be delighted to do his duty as a Commissar.’ He laughed softly. ‘I promised Alexander that he would pay with his life for what he did to me! Little did I guess that you would help me to achieve my aim, Caroline!’

  He rose, and lightly caressed her cheek with his hand. ‘Enchanting little Judas...’

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  Caroline’s first instinct was to hurl herself at Grigori’s feet in an attitude of abject supplication and beg for Sacha’s life. She stopped herself in time. It would make not the slightest difference, and would merely increase Grigori’s enjoyment of the situation.

  Instead she pushed him aside and ran wildly from the room, her footsteps echoing along the empty corridor. In the drawing-room Katya and the two aunts were sitting alone, stitching at their embroidery or merely dozing.

  ‘Where’s Sacha?’ Caroline demanded in a high, unsteady voice.

  They looked at her in surprise. ‘I believe he went to his room, Caroline,’ Katya answered. ‘But why?’

  She did not stop to offer explanations, but sped upstairs again, hurling open Sacha’s door without knocking. He had been sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, and as he looked up at her the strain in his eyes gave way to astonishment.

  ‘Why, Caroline—’ he began.

  ‘You must get away!’ she interrupted tensely. ‘Hurry! You have, perhaps, half an hour. It will take Grigori that long to report you to his father!’

  ‘Report—?’ He rose, and took hold of her shoulders. ‘What do you mean, Caroline?’

  ‘May God forgive me, I betrayed you...’ She began to cry, letting the tears roll down her cheeks, seeing his features through a blur which mercifully made it impossible to read his expression. ‘I thought—the printing press in the cellar ... I found it, and I thought it belonged to Grigori. He was always quoting the Nihilists to me, you see—I told him to get rid of it, and that was when he—He is almost certainly on his way now, t
o see his father, Sacha!’

  He dropped his hands, and turned away. She watched dully as he shrugged his arms into an overcoat of some drab, anonymous material, and took a locked box from the drawer of his bureau. He began to stuff his pockets with pieces of jewellery which he removed from the box.

  Caroline understood. The jewellery would be needed as possible bribes.

  ‘So it’s true, then,’ she heard herself say. Until that moment she had had, without consciously realising it, a lingering hope that he would repudiate both ownership and knowledge of the printing press, and that it might yet turn out to be the responsibility of one of the servants.

  ‘Yes, it’s true,’ he answered quietly. ‘But I never foresaw that it would lead to an attempt on the Czar’s life. Change through peaceful protest was what I and other moderates within the movement had aimed for.’ He sighed. ‘Look after Michael for me, Caroline.’

  She nodded, and said with anguish, ‘Sacha, I would give my life to undo what I did...’

  He picked up a bearskin hat, and looked down at her. ‘I know,’ he said quietly. ‘Goodbye, my beloved—sister. We may never see one another again.’

  Something broke inside her. ‘I’m not your sister!’ she cried passionately. ‘I should have told you that before it was too late. Your mother was Anna Barovska and you are a peasant changeling! You were substituted for the dead Antonov baby!’

  He stared into her face, thunderstruck. ‘Anna? My old nurse? What craziness is this?’

  ‘It’s true, Sacha. I have always known it. My mother, Euphemia the Countess Antonov, substituted you for her own dead son at birth. We are not brother and sister.’