Death in St. Petersburg

by Tasha Alexander

  “I had hesitated to say anything before now, but the time has come that I must confide in you. Sokolov is in my employ,” he said. “I understand your wife saw him in the Winter Palace and expressed some sort of concern?”

  “She did,” Colin replied.

  “Ladies so often like to make a meal of things, don’t they?” I could not see Mr. Tabokov, but I could hear from his tone that he was probably rolling his eyes. “Sokolov has operated secretly as an agent of mine for the better part of a decade. I’m afraid I must request that you cease making any inquiries about him, as his work is most sensitive. There are many even within the government whom I cannot trust with this information.”

  “I see,” said Colin. “You are aware of his political ties?”

  “I made them for him,” Tabokov said.

  “You can depend upon me to take the matter no further,” Colin said. “I would, however, like to speak to Sokolov, if you could manufacture an opportunity.”

  “Of course, of course. I shall organize it with expedience. Good to see you, as always,” he said. “Apologies to that lovely wife of yours for stealing you away from her. You’ve done well there, old boy.”

  Ekaterina Petrovna

  September 1898

  Irusya had spent much of the summer in a state of despondency. Kolya had gone to Europe and would not return until the autumn. Katenka had noticed increasing tension between her friend and the prince and wondered if time apart might benefit them both—or, if it didn’t, might provide the perfect opportunity for Lev to return to Irusya’s life.

  Although he was living in Petersburg again, Katenka did not see him often. She pleaded with him to return to his old habit of going to the Naval Cathedral with her on Sundays. He agreed to walk with her, but he wouldn’t accompany her inside for the service. Still, she relished the time with him. He apologized time and again for having subjected Mitya to so much ranting on the subject of ballerinas being unable to resist the temptations of princes that he convinced his friend none of them was immune.

  “I caused you so much unhappiness.” Lev turned to face her and took her by the hands. “I should not have cut you out of my life, nor tried to separate you from Mitya. Can you forgive me?”

  “It is all in the past now,” Katenka said. “Irusya was asking about you not long ago, worrying that you despise her.”

  “I could never despise her.”

  “That’s what’s I told her.” She stared at her brother. There was something in his eyes she could not quite recognize.

  “What did she say?” he asked.

  “She asked if I were certain,” she said, “and when I told her I was, she looked very pleased to hear it.”

  Lev almost smiled. “I understand things are going well between you and Mitya. I am glad. I love him like a brother.”

  Katenka knew well enough to recognize the hesitation in his voice. “Are you sure you approve?”

  “Yes, I do, of course, but I have my concerns,” he said. “I know he used to tell you that Irusya and I would grow apart because we lived in different worlds. He was right about that, and now I must offer you the same caution. Mitya does not live in your world. The two of you may not be so far apart as Irusya and I, but I worry that—” He stopped.

  “What do you worry?” she asked.

  They had crossed the Fontanka River on the Egyptian Bridge. The route was not the most direct they could have taken to the cathedral, but they had fallen into the habit of prolonging their walks. Lev tried to make his sister too late to go to church, and Katenka did her best to keep her brother with her as long as possible afterward.

  “I do not wish to see you hurt, Katyurushka. I know how strong you are, and I know the pain a ballerina faces every day, but the pain of heartbreak?” He paused. “That pain, Katyurushka, I do not want to see you turn into a beautiful dance.”

  January 1900

  20

  As soon as I had learned from Masha about Prince Nikolai Danilovich Ukhov’s relationship with Nemetseva, I had tried to contact him, but he was away, in Vienna. He replied to me upon his return and asked me to call on him a nine o’clock the next morning. This was extraordinarily early for a meeting in Petersburg. As an early riser, this did not trouble me, even though the sun was not yet up and it felt more like night than day. The snow had stopped, and the cold infused the air with more ferocity than it had before. My lungs ached with every breath. I had asked Colin to accompany me, and despite the fact that the Ukhov Palace was only a few blocks from the hotel, we half regretted our decision to walk.

  “I can’t say I much like your colleague Mr. Tabokov who called on you last night,” I said, my breath freezing against the soft muffler wrapped around my neck. “You did an excellent job of keeping me too distracted to mention it after he left, but he’s exceedingly rude.”

  “You shouldn’t have listened to our conversation.” Colin had buried his gloved hands in the pockets of his fur-lined overcoat.

  “He shouldn’t have spoken so loudly if he didn’t wish to be overheard.”

  “It is unlikely he has ever considered the possibility that a man’s wife would be eavesdropping.”

  “Do I detect a slight note of criticism in your tone?” I asked.

  “You do indeed, my dear,” he said. “But it is Tabokov at whom I direct it. He shows an appalling lack of imagination for someone in his position.”

  “I wouldn’t trust him if I were you. He’s shifty.”

  “Is that so?”

  “My famous intuition knew it at once,” I said. “So be careful with him, will you?”

  We crossed the last bridge before the palace and saw the pistachio-green dwelling sprawled before us, running an astonishing distance along the river. “A home fit more for a king—an emperor, I should say—than for an ordinary nobleman,” I said. “Princes here aren’t even royal, yet look how they live.”

  “The only significant difference between this and the homes of Britain’s aristocrats is the color it is painted,” Colin said.

  “Yes,” I said, and sighed. “So much wealth.”

  “Need I remind you, before you start adopting revolutionary tendencies of your own, that you personally are in possession of a very great deal of it.”

  “I am well aware of that,” I said. “We must make sure we do something good with it. I don’t know why it strikes me so now, here. Perhaps it is the way the Russian palaces shine against the snow. Devonshire House is probably no smaller, but it does not command one’s attention in the same sort of way.”

  “Devonshire House was designed to be hidden from the public,” Colin said. “One could argue it is less honest about its grandeur. Come, now, I’m beginning to freeze.”

  We went around to the front entrance of the palace, where we were admitted to a large drawing room decorated in gold silk. The prince, a tall man with finely formed delicate features and warm eyes, rose to greet us.

  “I apologize most heartily for not being able to speak to you until now. As you know, I’ve been away,” he said, after the requisite introductions had been made. “I imagine you’ve caused a bit of a stir in the city by looking into Irusya’s death, Lady Emily. The official investigators, of course, haven’t approached me on the subject, not that I thought they would. I assume you’re here to make sure I didn’t take care of her myself in a fit of jealous rage.” His smile was charming, revealing rows of even, white teeth.

  “No, of course not. That is not it at all—”

  “I’m teasing you, Lady Emily. Forgive me. And you must call me Kolya.” His voice grew more serious. “Irusya and I spent many pleasant hours together, and I loved her quite dearly. She returned my affection, most passionately. Our connection lasted nearly two years, ending when I got married. Irusya and I both knew it was inevitable, but it did hurt her, and for that I am deeply sorry. She was so young, so idealistic. I’m afraid she might have imagined that somehow we could have … well. She must have known that was impossible.”

&
nbsp; “She seemed a rather sophisticated lady,” Colin said.

  “She became one, certainly, but there was an innocence about her when we first met,” Kolya said. “She was always very open and unguarded about her feelings for me, and that made it more difficult for her when the affair ended. We hadn’t felt much need to hide our relationship—neither of us was married—which meant that when it ended, everyone was talking about it. I’m afraid she felt rather harassed. It is no surprise she became more discreet after the experience.”

  “Did you know her friends well?” I asked.

  “Irusya had many, many acquaintances, but few friends. She often brought Ekaterina Petrovna—Katenka—to parties with her. I understand they had been close since their first days at school, but I could not claim to know her well. Katenka was not like Irusya, at least not when I knew her. She always seemed reserved and uncomfortable. Truth be told, I never quite comprehended how their friendship survived.”

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “Katenka always seemed to me jealous of Irusya’s success,” he said. “Not that she felt Irusya undeserving of it, but more that she believed they could not both achieve it. I do not know how to best explain my meaning. She thought one could not rise in the company without the other declining. After earning the rank of coryphée, Katenka confessed to me that the news had taken her by surprise, as she had never expected that she could receive a promotion because Irusya was the successful one.

  “That hardly means she believed Nemetseva would have to have been demoted or in some sort of decline,” Colin said.

  “No, not literally, I suppose,” Kolya said. “It was something in the way she said it, her tone, and that, combined with the way I had seen her interact with Irusya, made me come to believe what I do. I do not claim to be an expert on their friendship, and I may have interpreted things incorrectly. I am only telling you what I felt after observing them both.”

  “How did Nemetseva react to her friend’s promotion?” I asked.

  “With joy and delight,” he said. “She believed Katenka to be the superior dancer and hated that she did not get better roles. What she wanted more than anything was that they would both be principal dancers. I often thought Irusya needed the friendship more than Katenka did. She certainly was the one who worked to keep them close. So far as I could tell, Katenka preferred other friends, a girl called Sofya in particular. She was a dancer, too, but I cannot claim much of an acquaintance with her. When they came to parties together, they kept to themselves and glowered at the rest of us. I believe they scorned the bourgeoisie.”

  “Were they vocal about their politics?” Colin asked.

  “No, no, I draw the conclusion only from the feeling they gave me. Katenka never seemed comfortable in my presence, and I do not know if this was because she disapproved of me or if it had something to do with Irusya.”

  “Was she jealous of her friend?” I asked.

  “Jealous enough to want Irusya dead?” the prince asked, smiling. He shook his head. “No, that is unthinkable. But then I cannot imagine anyone committing so vile an act. The poor girl. She did not deserve so terrible an end.”

  We thanked him, took our leave, and walked back through the palace’s snowy garden to the pavement outside its large iron gate.

  “What a devoted lover,” Colin said. “Not a word against her.”

  “I quite liked him,” I said. “I hadn’t expected to.”

  “My dear, you always try to like people. I don’t. The gracious Kolya is probably no worse than most other rich aristocrats, but I wouldn’t take everything he said at face value,” Colin said.

  “Probing observations about Katenka, though, especially her friendship with Sofya, who I’m due to call on next. Care to accompany me?”

  “I’m afraid I must return to the palace,” he said. “Take care, my dear. You never know how dangerous a ballerina might be.”

  He was teasing, of course, but had he come with me to see Sofya he might have changed his tone, not because of her so much as her neighborhood. She lived not terribly far from Katenka, but in a section of the city even more wretched. Her flat occupied a corner on the second floor, which meant she did not have to climb the mountain of stairs Katenka did, but her rooms—she had only two—were small and dark, despite the tall windows. The glass, streaked with smut, let in very little light.

  Sofya was expecting me. I had arranged to meet for further discussion when I had last been at the theatre. She welcomed me inside but offered no refreshment. No samovar stood in her sitting room, if I may so call the desolate little space whose sparse furnishings included a battered and lumpy sofa.

  “I will not apologize for my home,” she said. “I don’t earn much in the corps de ballet, and, even if I did, I have never been tempted by material comforts.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for.” My words were honest; an apology certainly was not required. One could not help but be a bit taken aback by the shabbiness of the dancer’s apartment, particularly as it contrasted so completely with the elegance of the Mariinsky Theatre. However, it was spotlessly clean—everywhere but the windows—and Sofya showed not the slightest embarrassment at her humble surroundings. “I asked to see you here not to judge your home, but because I thought you might be more comfortable speaking openly than you were at the theatre.” I did not want to approach the subject of the pamphlets directly, preferring instead to first win her trust. “As you know, I’m trying to determine who might have wished Irusya ill.”

  She sat next to me on the sofa. “I already told you I did not know Irusya very well, but I cannot think of anyone who despised her.”

  “You did share a dressing room with her, though?”

  “Yes, but only because Katenka and I are so close. She’s the best friend I have ever had. I adore her.”

  “Do you ever find her difficult? Some have told me she can be awkward.”

  “Who said that? Some of Irusya’s grand friends?” Sofya snorted. “They never cared for her—nor me—because neither of us was interested in them. They weren’t used to that and didn’t like it.”

  “It must have been difficult for Katenka, though,” I said. “She and Irusya had been close for so long, only to be pulled apart by differing social expectations.”

  “That’s a convoluted, if delicate, way to put it,” Sofya said. “I am not the only dancer who has spoken against those among us who choose to ally themselves with noble patrons. Some of us feel to do so would be beneath us, as if we were admitting that we weren’t good enough on our own.”

  “Does Katenka share that belief?”

  “Katenka resides uncomfortably between two worlds. She does not object to the bourgeoisie, nor does she cultivate a relationship with them. Yet she does not give entirely into occupying the world she can afford to live in. She grew up in a wealthy household and found herself in reduced circumstances when her grandfather died. I would not expect her to be delighted at the change. She is a good friend, and I admire her greatly, as a dancer and as a human being. She has never made me—or, for that matter, Irusya—feel bad for choosing a path different from her own.”

  “Do her brother’s politics put her in a difficult situation?”

  “Lev’s politics? I didn’t realize he had any.” She knew his name, and the speed with which her words tumbled out told me she knew more than she was inclined to share.

  “We are both aware of the dangers than can arise from … unconventional ideas. It is unfortunate that one must take things like that into consideration. We are not accustomed to doing so in Britain. I’m sure Lev agrees that the people there are in a much happier situation than those here in Russia.”

  “Your working class is not better off than ours, and I don’t believe for a minute that Lev would agree with you.” Her cheeks darkened. “I am in a far better position to understand his views than you are.”

  “I apologize for my mistake. I took you at your word when you said you didn’t realize he had any p
olitics.”

  “It has nothing to do with this anyway. Lev would never put his sister in harm’s way,” she said. “If anything, he would defend her to the death. He adores her. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for her.”

  This was precisely what I suspected. “Nothing?” I paused for a moment, wanting her to feel the silence. “What about your political views? Are you content with society?”

  “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be? I have everything I could possibly want,” she said. “I’ve never been overly ambitious. I love the ballet but don’t have to be consumed by it. I’m happy where I am and delighted to see Katenka getting the adoration she deserves.”

  “Was Irusya standing in the way of her friend’s success?”

  “No, not precisely,” Sofya said. “Katenka was the one holding herself back.” She looked me in the eyes, as if challenging me. “What do you make of this mysterious dancer who has been seen all over the city, en pointe in the snow? She’s causing quite a stir, isn’t she? Of course, no one can dance en pointe in the snow. Not well, at any rate.”

  It was an odd way to change the subject. “I can’t imagine what she means to accomplish by it,” I said. “Have you any ideas?”

  Sofya shrugged. “Perhaps she means to draw attention to herself. She could want an audition with the company.” She laughed. “I am jesting, of course. I have no idea what her intention could be. The only thing I know for certain is that she is not Irusya’s ghost. Her pointe work isn’t nearly delicate enough.”

  “You’ve seen her?”

  “Only once, when she was across the Neva and caused a commotion among the people ice-skating. I was on the bridge.”

  “Did you recognize her?”