‘Well, be careful he doesn’t swallow you,’ said Olga, ‘you are very unsurpassed tonight, sweet. Which dances have you saved?’ They compared cards, their jewelled heads close. ‘Tasha, no! You’re to dance the last with someone else, I’ve already promised that Colonel Kirby shall engage himself to me for that.’
‘How could you have if he isn’t here?’
‘Tatiana, you are not to argue.’
Tatiana did not miss her sister’s rising pink, but she only said with sighing woe, ‘Ah me, and I did imagine myself divinely waltzing with him. And Ivan wouldn’t just have his mouth open, he’d say the most deliciously immortal things about my bewitching beauty. Oh well, with his arm still in plaster perhaps he couldn’t manage to dance, anyway. Or perhaps the awful wretch has forgotten the ball is tonight and will appear tomorrow instead?’
‘Darling, go and ask Mama,’ said Olga, ‘she’ll know why he isn’t here.’
Tatiana eyed her sister. Olga looked adorable. Colonel Kirby really was a wretch. Olga had spent ages preparing for the ball and he wasn’t here to appreciate it.
‘Very well,’ said Tatiana, ‘and perhaps it’s better that I ask.’
Alexandra, seated because her limbs ached so, smiled as Tatiana approached. How beautiful the girl was tonight.
‘Darling,’ she said, ‘you look quite the prettiest young lady, Papa and I are so proud of you and Olga.’
‘Yes, I am rather divine tonight,’ said Tatiana. ‘Mama, where is Colonel Kirby?’
Alexandra looked round. Her ladies-in-waiting were, however, chatteringly engaged with the Tsar’s suite of officers. She did not want too much curiosity evoked about Colonel Kirby. There was enough of it already.
‘My love,’ she said, ‘he has begged to be excused because of his arm. He felt he could only stand about and look out of place.’
‘But, Mama,’ said Tatiana, ‘he was playing in the gardens with us this afternoon and throwing a ball about. He wasn’t standing about at all.’
‘Darling, he has begged to be excused and I could not refuse.’ Alexandra spoke with gentle finality. ‘I shall be going up soon, I’m a little tired and Papa says we aren’t too formal tonight. Will you and Olga come up with me to say goodnight? Then you may return and enjoy yourselves and Papa will keep an eye on you. He says if he doesn’t both of you are quite likely to be carried off.’
‘Papa is sweet,’ said Tatiana. She did not quite know what Olga was going to say now. Her sister had made herself as inconspicuous as possible near the buffet so that she could still keep her dance card free.
‘Tasha?’ She was a little anxious. ‘What did Mama say?’
‘It’s just as I thought,’ said Tatiana, ‘it’s his arm. He thinks he would only be awkward with it, so he begged Mama to excuse him.’
Olga looked incredulous.
‘He’s not attending at all?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Tatiana gently, ‘it’s because he isn’t thinking of himself but Mama. Mama knows you’ve spent an awful lot of time with him and perhaps—’
‘I see,’ said Olga quietly, ‘I see.’
She danced. She smiled as she danced. So many people said how lovely she had become this last year, how modest she was, how unflirtatious. When Alexandra retired both her daughters accompanied her to her suite. Despite her aching limbs she moved gracefully through the state hall, acknowledging bows and curtseys with her nervous smile.
The three of them peeped in on Alexis. The Tsarevich was wrapped in childish slumber, peaceful and without pain. Alexandra stooped to press the lightest kiss on his hair. In her boudoir she said goodnight to her daughters, enjoining them to return to the festive ball. They kissed her warmly, affectionately.
Olga was very quiet as she and Tatiana left Alexandra’s boudoir, she said nothing as they traversed a shining corridor. Tatiana put an arm around her.
‘Sister, don’t be doleful, it’s such a splendid ball,’ she said. ‘And it isn’t as bad as you think, Ivan is only trying to do what’s right. Olga, you simply mustn’t think about him so much. He is being good, you must be good too.’
‘Good?’ Olga’s whisper was almost fierce. ‘Is it being good to neglect us so, to stay away without even telling us? He didn’t have to dance, he could have attended.’
‘Olga,’ said Tatiana, ‘he’s doing this because it’s sensible.’
‘Sensible?’ Olga stopped as they reached a wide, shining landing. The noise of the ball reached them as a muted agglomeration of sounds and echoes. ‘Oh, that is a stupid, useless word!’
‘You are going to get shockingly upset in a moment, I know you are,’ said Tatiana. ‘Olga, sweetest, dearest, he’s doing it because – oh, because he’s so much in love with you that he’ll do nothing to make things impossible. You must help him, you must dance all night with everyone else—’
‘Tasha, did he say that?’ Olga trembled so violently that Tatiana caught her by the arms. ‘Did he tell you that he — no, he didn’t, he could not, he must not.’
‘Darling, he didn’t tell me anything, but he adores you, it’s the most obvious thing I’ve ever seen.’ Tatiana gently squeezed her sister. ‘You must be happy with that, he’ll never hurt you, never do anything to spoil what there is. That’s why Mama lets him stay, she trusts him. Darling, a ball is very romantic, it can weaken two people awfully—’
‘I am not going to dance with everyone else,’ said Olga. She was very still now, her blue eyes dark. ‘I am not. You go on, darling, I’ll come soon, I promise.’
Karita answered the light tapping on the door of Kirby’s suite. She opened her eyes wide to see Grand Duchess Olga, beautiful in her white ballgown, superb in her composed regality.
‘Karita, where is Colonel Kirby?’
‘Your Highness,’ said Karita apologetically, ‘he has gone out.’
The light was failing by the time Kirby reached a woodman’s hut half a mile from the palace. But half a mile was little in the vastness of the Imperial estate. A man called Peter Prolofski was there, a man in a dark blouse, black trousers and black hat. His white face was round. The black hat looked as if it sat on a shining moon. Kirby was aware of a second man, a shadowy figure in the background of the dim hut.
‘You’re late,’ said Prolofski. His voice was flat, toneless. Kirby sensed that here was a man who did not care very much for people as they were or for the world as it was.
‘Once I leave the palace to look for a place like this I’m a stranger to the estate,’ said Kirby, ‘and your message did not give me much time.’ The message had been handed to him by a blank-faced male servant. ‘What is it you want?’
Prolofski had no time for preliminaries, for unnecessary words.
‘I want Gregor Rasputin,’ he said.
‘Take him for all I care, I’m not his keeper,’ said Kirby.
‘Don’t waste my time,’ said Prolofski, his pale face expressionless, ‘you’re here to listen, to receive orders. Rasputin is the protector of Nicholas the Bloody. He doesn’t realize to what extent, but he is. The peasants believe in Rasputin the holy man, the holy man believes in the preservation of Tsarism. He believes in it because it enhances his own power. Without Tsarism he’d be nothing. But what Rasputin believes in the peasants believe in likewise. They’re proud that a holy man who is also a peasant has the Tsar’s favour. Therefore Rasputin must go. Therefore you, comrade, must see that he goes.’
‘I’m a small pebble, Rasputin is a mountain,’ said Kirby. ‘Tell me how a pebble can bring down a mountain. No, I’ll do other work for you, find out things for you, but I can’t touch Rasputin. My talent is for acquiring information.’
The darkening hut smelt dry and woody. Prolofski smelt of soap and leather. He also smelt of cold fanaticism. He did not need information. The stupidity of such a suggestion made him softly spit.
‘His death,’ he said, contemptuous of anything else, ‘must be seen as an act of the Romanovs. When the Romanovs eliminate Rasputin, the peasan
ts will eliminate the Romanovs.’
‘That’s not a fact, that’s surmise,’ said Kirby. ‘I’m not a Russian, but I don’t think anyone can correctly guess what the people would do under any given set of circumstances, or even guarantee that what they would do one day they would follow the next.’
‘You are a wriggler,’ said Prolofski. ‘We will see to the peasants, you will see to Rasputin. You will kill him with the good reasons of an Englishman, when you catch him attempting to outrage one of the Romanovs.’
Kirby went cold and rigid. The round moon of a face was blank, so were the eyes. They were like the eyes of a dead fish, as Karita had said.
‘Which Romanov is this?’ he asked.
‘There’s only one who will suit our purpose,’ said Prolofski, ‘one whom Rasputin has looked at often enough. Olga Nicolaievna.’
‘Yes?’ Perhaps his voice gave away his desire to do murder here and now, for the shadow in the background stirred.
‘You’re very close to the Romanovs,’ continued black-hatted moonface, ‘and can arrange matters for us better than anyone else. It can be done any time when Rasputin is in St Petersburg again, visiting his German harlot.’
‘Who is she?’ He surprised himself at his calmness, considering the heat and violence of the hammer in his head.
‘Alexandra the whore. If you say your talent is for acquiring information,’ sneered Prolofski, ‘you must have had your nose shortened recently. Or perhaps she has—’
‘Don’t say it. We need to work amicably. Go on with the relevancies.’
‘Simply, comrade, you’ll kill Rasputin when you find him attempting to outrage Olga Nicolaievna. You’ll hear her screams, go in, chase him out, catch him and kill him. That is all that is relevant, except that you’ll need a pistol. Don’t try throttling him or you won’t live to see the revolution.’
‘What you mean,’ said Kirby, ‘is that I’ll wait for him somewhere in the Alexander Palace and shoot him in the back. He doesn’t have to be anywhere near the Grand Duchess.’
‘Of course.’ Prolofski permitted himself a shrug. ‘You aren’t a complete fool, are you? Where you kill him won’t matter, inside or outside the palace. What matters is the story, the reason. Olga Nicolaievna may perhaps deny it, she’s the type to prefer denial of truth or fiction rather than place herself in the public eye. Everyone knows this. Nothing will happen to you, Nicholas will be grateful to you whatever he thinks of Rasputin. The German whore will scream her head off, but you will be a hero. Who likes Rasputin apart from her?’ He spat again. ‘The peasants will be told that the creature died because of a lying Romanov, since we will do the telling. It would be convenient if you could persuade Olga Nicolaievna to forget her prudishness and co-operate. If she dislikes Rasputin, she doesn’t dislike you.’
Kirby felt a savage desire to blot out the face of the moon.
‘You think that the alternative of having the Imperial family know about me would be worse than this?’ he said. ‘You can forget about any possibility of the Grand Duchess co-operating in a plot to kill a man. She looks at the world in her own way and that sets her apart from people like you and me. When I tell my story of why I killed Rasputin she’ll know I’m lying. You know that she’ll know. So I might as well accept the alternative.’
‘We think not, comrade,’ said Prolofski. ‘You’ll take the chance of reassuring Olga Nicolaievna that you acted for the best, even though you may have been mistaken.’
‘I see.’ Kirby still sounded calm. ‘But I must have time to think this out. When I leave Livadia I shan’t be a free agent, I’m under the orders of my senior officer and have no idea when I might be in Tsarskoe Selo at the same time as Rasputin.’
‘All that is nothing.’ Prolofski rolled spit. ‘You’re still under the orders of your friends in London, who are now pursuing a policy of co-operation with Russia. Your friendship with the Romanovs is encouraged, you may arrange to see them whenever you like as far as London is concerned. If you are simple, we aren’t. However, we’ll give you twenty-four hours to make up your mind. Come here tomorrow at the same time, spell out your decision and outline your own plan for this service to Russia. We’ll want to know every detail and when Rasputin is back in St Petersburg again, we’ll arrange the day with you. You might try arranging it with Olga Nicolaievna. Who knows, she might not look at the world in quite the way you think.’
Was the man as stupid as he sounded? No, thought Kirby, there was no stupidity here. Rasputin was to be executed and by an Englishman close to the Imperial family. The complicity of Olga, real or suggested, was unnecessary, superfluous. It was meant only to show him that if he wished to offer a reason for the killing, this was the one that, with Rasputin’s reputation, had the basis of authentic possibility to it. It was also the one that would provide him with his best chance of escaping a charge of murder. Except that Olga would not, even to save his neck, support a story she knew to be horrifyingly untrue.
This was what did not fall into place. Simple as Prolofski had said it all was, this was not how Olga was to be used. They had some other role for her, some other tale of complicity that would involve her far more subtly and fix Rasputin’s murder far more securely to the door of the Romanovs.
‘I’ve never done this kind of work,’ he said, ‘and must tell you I may not be very good at it. I must think it over and see you again this time tomorrow.’
They let him go, they watched him go. It was dark now. Prolofski did not mind the dark as long as he could turn his moon face up to the sky.
‘He has gone out?’ Olga could not believe she had heard aright. ‘He can’t have.’
‘Your Highness,’ said Karita, ‘he has gone for a walk.’
‘A walk? Tonight?’ Something very close to angry resentment manifested itself in the young Grand Duchess. ‘If that is true – oh, it had better not be. Let me see.’
‘Your Highness—’
‘Karita!’
Karita, in an unaccustomed fluster at the temper of the most equable of the Grand Duchesses, hastily moved aside to let Olga inspect the suite for herself. Olga simply swept in and Karita thought her quite sweetly magnificent. But what had come over her? She was never like this. Following her into the empty drawing room, Karita heard the sound of footsteps approaching the suite. She turned, saw Kirby entering through the still open door and hastened in a silent rush to him.
‘What you have done I don’t know,’ she whispered, ‘but Her Highness the Grand Duchess Olga is here and seems very put out. Whatever it’s about, you will need to think quickly.’
Olga had gone through the drawing room and was rapping on the bedroom door before the sound of voices in the entrance to the suite reached her ears. She swung round and met Kirby face to face in the drawing room. Karita vanished, leaving the Tsar’s daughter to deal with the Englishman in her own way. Karita had a feeling that whatever the cause of the confrontation, it was Ivan Ivanovich who was going to come off worse.
It would do him good.
Olga regarded Kirby with fierce resentment. While everyone else had taken so much trouble, he was quite indifferent to the occasion. He was dressed so casually in flannel trousers and an old velvet jacket it was almost an impertinence.
He saw there was no diffidence of any kind about her, she was angry, she was beautiful, and her pride and her tiara gave her a tallness. He would have spoken but with a gesture of her hand Olga made it very clear that she would speak first.
‘Colonel Kirby,’ she said, ‘will you tell me what has happened that you can’t attend on us tonight? Will you tell me why it’s safer for you to go out walking than it is to come to the ball?’
‘Your Highness—’
‘Oh!’ For the first time in her life Olga stamped her foot. She did not like him like this, he was dark, serious and had no smile for her, none at all. She was near to tears but her anger saved them from spilling. ‘Oh, to call me that! Now I see, we are not to be friends, then. I have done somethin
g quite shocking and so you go walking in the night to be out of my way and call me Highness when you do see me!’
‘That was only because—’
‘I don’t care to hear why! What does the reason matter? You wish to be formal.’ Olga was surprising herself and Kirby even more. ‘Very well, we will both be formal. I can be so as much as you, and you are commanded, do you hear? You are commanded to attend on me. I will wait while you suitably attire yourself.’
His darkness was transfigured into astonished delight. His shy Grand Duchess was actually being imperious. There was something new to be discovered about her every day.
‘Suitably attire myself?’ he said, his eyes mirroring the delight he felt. ‘I am commanded? I am commanded, Olga?’
‘Colonel Kirby,’ she said, ‘are you laughing at me?’
‘Indeed I’m not,’ he said, ‘I’m in great admiration of you. Am I in such positive disgrace because I cried off? Well, there was this arm of mine and there are always so many young officers devoted to you. I thought it a night for you to dance with them—’
‘Oh!’ Again she stamped her foot. She disliked his words intensely. Not only did they amount to no real excuse at all, but they had connotations of horribly dismaying condescension. Young officers! As if she were no older than Tatiana. ‘Am I not able to please myself? Are you to tell me you know what is best for me? Oh, I have done something worse than shocking, that is very clear!’
Karita was right, Olga was very put out. He had not seen her so upset. He had asked Alexandra to excuse him because of his arm, but the real reason had been connected with the message he had received. There was, however, also the fact that he knew Alexandra wished him to exercise restraint in his relationship with Olga. Restraint was one thing, hurting her was another.
‘No,’ he said, ‘it’s I who have offended, Olga. I have hurt you. I am very sorry, will you forgive me?’
Olga caught at a lip that was suddenly trembling. There was something more than contrition in his expression, something that reached out to her. She could not maintain a demeanour so foreign to her, not when he looked like that, not when she was so unhappy. She melted in desperate appeal.
The Summer Day is Done Page 25