‘Anna Arkadyevna,’ he said a little sternly, unwilling to let such emotional gluttony come between them, ‘I wish to talk about your enemies.’
She grew a little rigid, but this did not stop him from telling her quite candidly what he had discovered. He went on to assure her that what Oswald Holmcroft had shown him and the evidence of the ‘documentation’ meant nothing by comparison with what he had found on the bed of the river. That, he insisted, was tangible proof. He unwrapped what he had been holding and showed her the horseshoe, the rusty nails having been removed.
‘Frou-Frou’s!’ she cried.
‘Exactly, Frou-Frou’s. Your horse.’
‘Oh, my beloved horse!’
‘Yes, but in a court of law it could well be argued, my dear Anna Arkadyevna, that it was no proof you were the rider. The horse might have been real, but were you? Do you,’ he inquired as tactfully as possible, ‘have any other evidence that could be offered as proof?’
If he had been able to see her face, to have had a clear view of the expression in her eyes, he might have judged more certainly, because he did not want to undermine his own certainty that she was who she was. Her demeanour, though, said it all. Her raised head, haughty but not arrogant, and the light touch of her hand on his arm left little room for doubt, but it was her tone of voice that clinched it.
‘My dear Prince Dmitry, I feel sure you will protect me. I would not speak to you now if I were not sure of this. The truth is simple.’ She paused a moment, gave another sigh and looked down at her fingers, now clasped tightly together. ‘I came here with the help of dear Hannah. That is the truth. I came here with nothing. Dear, faithful Boris and his wife, they came later. I had been disowned, you see, literally disowned. Disowned by my husband, who would not give me a divorce or let me see my son. Disowned by… disowned by the one man I once loved, Count…’ The prince was sure she did pronounce the name Vronskii, but almost under her breath, raising a handkerchief to her veiled mouth as she did so and turning aside for a moment. ‘And he,’ she emphasised more loudly, ‘disowned me by declaring me dead! I mean!’ Her suddenly unclasped hands offered this as an evident untruth. ‘No, I was merely badly injured. Had it not been for the love shown me by Hannah, my saviour, I would have perished! Oh, it was a terrible, terrible time! And he, he it was, who had accused me, you know, of having an unnatural love for her, because I was fonder of Hannah than of my own daughter! Of course, I loved her and she loved me in return. She gave me all her love. All he did in return was disown me and give the impression…’
Perhaps at that point she noticed the other’s reaction, because the prince was on the point of asserting that Count Vronskii had been deeply contrite to the point of despair. He had known that he was almost suicidal with grief. If it had not been for his death in one of the engagements below Plevna, he would very likely have lost his life by his own hand. He was about to point this out when she seemed to acknowledge it by hobbling stiffly away from the window and reclining gracefully on to the high-backed sofa. This made it harder to catch a glimpse of her features behind the veil, which he regretted because she had begun speaking quite softly in a much less aggressive, more confessional tone.
‘I know I can be accused of expecting too much from him.’ She adjusted her black dress round her and indicated the prince should sit where he had sat before. ‘We did not have faith between us. Love needs the certainty of faith for it to put down roots and grow. You see, there was the triumph of success in him. He boasted of me. He took from me all he could and I was no use to him any more. And all the time my love kept growing more passionate and selfish, while his was waning and waning, and that’s how we drifted apart. And where love ends, hate begins, you know.’
Saying this, she appeared to begin talking to herself. She mused, for instance, about the likelihood of receiving a divorce from her husband and marrying the Count. Mentioning her husband, Aleksei Alexandrovich Karenin, she painted a picture in her soft voice of his looks, the reticent, lifeless, faded expression of his eyes, the bluish veins on the backs of his hands, his way of speaking, the way he cracked his fingers, and from her words a portrait of the man sprang to life. But when she described the feeling between them, supposedly of love, she literally gave a little shudder of disgust. Her love had been for Vronskii. But could she have married him? No, her love for Vronskii had become her life, but when that love perished her life perished with it.
As she spoke, certain things became obvious. Proof in the form of something tangible or scientifically valid mattered a great deal less than the need to believe. The prince acknowledged to himself that he believed in her. He believed she was who she was. He also realised that by asking for proof he had inadvertently forced her to remember the misery of those final moments, above all the loathing she had felt for all the people she encountered on the way to her alleged death. That repugnance had never been completely banished from her life.
‘You ask me for proof,’ she said, again as if speaking to herself. ‘My proof was what I heard that woman saying in the carriage: “People are given minds in order to get rid of what bothers them.” That’s all. I wanted to get rid of what bothered me. I had no faith, you see. And I had no one to believe in me or to believe in. There was only my Seriozha and he, well… I had lost him for good.’
It was on the tip of his tongue at that moment for the prince to point out the obvious with the best of intentions, which was of course that her son was no distance from her after all, but he checked himself because she dramatically raised her hand in prohibition of another word from him. Simultaneously the fragile brilliance of the evening light suddenly lessened. There was a noise, perhaps an animal from outside, perhaps the muffled yell of a sick man. The prince lacked the courage to speak. In any case, it was soon clear that, behind her veil, Anna Karenina was silently weeping.
He bit his own lip sharply enough to draw a little blood in an effort to suppress his own tears. He knew he should say something comforting or make some gesture of compassionate understanding, but he could think of nothing. She let her arm drop and inhaled deeply. Then she spoke quite loudly and very calmly.
‘He will die, my dear prince. We all know it. You cannot save him now. I am resigned to the inevitable. It was a heaven-sent pleasure that he eventually came here and I loved the few weeks we had together, but I know I will lose him again. My life has been a pattern of light and dark, but through the dark there has always been the glimmer of a candle flame. That is what I have enjoyed most of all. Here in this tower, where I have been a prisoner, I have enjoyed the happiness of love, you know – a secret, immoral, shared love, unworthy perhaps, but a solace. I owe this place so much. And most of all, of course, I owe it to my dear Hannah… Her sacrifice, you see, if I may put it this way, has given me a greater happiness than anyone can imagine!’
This was a reminder of what Lady Helen had said about her brother Gerald. Oddly, it was an aspect of Anna Karenina’s life that the prince found hard to come to terms with and he at once searched his conscience to know if he should mention the relationship next day, however obliquely and confidentially, when he made his statement. It might in a man-to-man sense give some degree of emotional validity to his sworn testimony on her behalf. Hard-bitten lawyers would understand, he felt, if they were given all the facts and would condone rather than condemn. Then he abandoned the idea. Anna Arkadyevna’s candour had to be respected. It led him to feel greater respect for her lover as a result. Again, though, the room visibly darkened. There was need for a candle, he thought, but in leaning forward to ask him to light one, as he supposed, she began saying something excitedly in what sounded like an alarmed stage whisper: ‘I think he is back! I heard him threaten me last night!’
‘Who?’
‘Vronskii! I heard him!’
‘Where?’
‘In my bathroom! I distinctly heard him!’
She was mad! In her bathroom! She must have seen the expression of utter disbelief on the prince’
s face because she drew back instantly into the deep shadow of her sofa.
‘No one believes me. Perhaps I am mad,’ she murmured. ‘They say the mad hear voices.’
‘He threatens you? What does he say?’
‘He says he will kill me.’
‘Oh, but surely…’ Her claim merely fed the prince’s disbelief and he said so.
‘Oh, no,’ she insisted, ‘it is him, it is the Count! I’m sure of that!’
He was equally sure she was talking nonsense. He knew Count Vronskii was dead. He said he was killed below Plevna. She merely turned her head away and refused to say another word.
There appeared to be no further point in continuing the conversation. After the usual courtesies, he bowed and said goodbye. He was sure she was no imposter and would testify to that effect, but it was clear that her secluded life had left her subject to delusions and an obsessive fear of so-called “enemies”.
13
The prince awoke late on the day of the soiree. Breakfast was late because Cotton spent an hour or more fetching the Rudge Explorer from the other side of the river. Then an overworked laundry maid apparently mislaid the prince’s clothes. The recital of explanations and apologies left him without any choice: it had to be evening dress for morning wear. If this annoyed him, he was even more upset and annoyed by the strangeness of Anna Karenina’s claims of being threatened in her own bathroom – and by Count Vronskii of all people!
‘When it’s all over I must get back to London as soon as can be arranged,’ he admitted to Cotton.
‘Yes, sir, I will see to it. I will consult the train times in Bradshaw.’
‘I will have to attend the soiree, of course, but after that I imagine I will be free to leave.’
‘Yes, sir, of course. Meanwhile Lord Irmingham wishes to see you, sir, as soon as possible.’
Giles, it turned out, was also puzzled and worried and annoyed by the lady in the tower when he welcomed the prince into his study. He delivered a litany of complaints as he paced up and down in his pale blue cassock to the accompaniment of a gentle hissing.
‘Her son, you know. She’s worried about him. So I’ve called for a second opinion.’ The arrival of a doctor called Simons was expected shortly. ‘Gives himself airs, you know, very tiresome.’ Anna Karenina had meanwhile complained of hearing more threats.
‘I know she is perfectly sane. We must attribute her fears, I suppose’ – Giles shook his head in a show of melodramatic despair – ‘to nervousness, to her lonely life, to worrying over her son, all sorts of things. I most earnestly hope so. She will insist on speaking Russian or French and I can’t always understand what she means.’
The prince understood his host’s exasperation at the lack of sense, most especially the extraordinary claims about being threatened in her bathroom, but agreed she was perfectly sane. As for proof in a tangible sense, there was nothing he could add. Luckily she had apparently made a statement of her own.
‘Here it is,’ Giles said. ‘My daughter Helen translated it earlier this morning.’
A desk drawer was unlocked and two papers were fished out, one of which, though written in a shaky hand, was in Russian and stated quite simply that Anna Arkadyevna Karenina was alive and well and living in Stadleigh Court. The other paper offered a word-for-word translation and had been written by Lady Helen Swanning, judging by the handwriting and the ink. The prince looked at both and handed them back with an assurance that the translation was accurate.
‘Good, good.’ A rapid batting of eyelids. ‘You can probably imagine why I wanted this kept secret. It’s what my father wanted and what she herself wanted. She has also since sworn an affidavit. It was in connection with her late husband’s will. My lawyers will show you everything this afternoon. All I would like you to do, my dear Dmitry, is to make a similar statement confirming that she is, in your opinion, the lady whom you met in St Petersburg, entitled, you know, to be known as Anna Karenina and that you would testify to this effect in a court of law.’
The request was challenging because such testimony was easily contestable, as the prince well knew, but it was his duty to keep his promise. He agreed.
Giles was engaged in thanking him when the bald-headed Dr Simons was announced. He immediately strode into the study to offer his second opinion. With a flourish of a monocle and in a solemnly pompous tone of voice he claimed that the patient required hospital treatment which was apparently out of the question; that one overworked, young and inexperienced doctor was not enough; that the conditions under which the patient was now being treated were not hygienic and the disease was at an advanced stage. Coupled with a lack of specific remedies, the prognosis could not be favorable. He replaced his monocle, snapped shut his medical case, left his audience in no doubt that the worst should be expected, bowed and made his way out.
Giles shrugged his shoulders. ‘You see?’
The strain in his face said it all. There was nothing the prince could say that would improve matters. He had lunch in his room so as to keep out of the way of all the preparations for the soiree. Once again, rather surprisingly, the organ was used, its bass notes reverberating loudly, but it was hard to be sure whether the equivalent of spring-cleaning in the Gothic hall or the rearranging needed to accommodate long trestle tables and rows of chairs produced the greater noise.
The prince spent the afternoon drafting an affidavit in the presence of the two London lawyers, a process lasting much longer and proving more exhausting than expected. Because the resultant document would have to be translated into either French or Russian at some later stage, exactitude in the correct legal wording was imperative. The experience so tired the prince that all thought of leaving for London was abandoned for the time being. Cotton was relieved.
‘Yes, sir. In any case, it has begun to rain and I think it will continue raining for most of the night, by which time your bicycling clothes should be ready, sir. The laundry has promised it. And according to Bradshaw there would not be a suitable connection with the main line to Paddington until shortly before midday tomorrow. Which I think would be soon enough.’
‘Good,’ the prince said.
***
The soiree opened at six o’clock in the evening. In her long black dress, diamond tiara and highly powdered complexion Lady Isobel was a graceful hostess. She received everyone with welcoming smiles, handshakes and the occasional offer of a kissable cheek. The prince had been instructed to stand beside her. Introduced as ‘our dear friend from Russia, Prince Dmitry Rostov, a relative of Count Tolstoy, you know,’ he found himself the object of flickeringly darted looks usually reserved for radical archbishops or men with open fly-buttons.
Though she played her role to perfection, she was outshone by her stepdaughter who swept in after most of the guests. Lady Helen wore a plain moiré silk dress, perhaps of her own making, that lent her appearance a sheen of magic consciously enhanced by her brilliant eyes and pale bare shoulders. Her beautiful red hair, lustrous with raindrops, was held in place by two ornate spiral pearl clasps. Lady Isobel surveyed her, smiled politely and coldly offered a powdered cheek. It was not kissed.
‘Come, prince,’ she said, turning him away from the new arrival, ‘I know Gerald would like to have a word with you.’ She guided him imperiously towards her stepson without regard for guests who were forced to give way. ‘Your man Cotton has been extremely helpful in giving Charles fishing lessons. Gerald would like to thank you for letting him.’
Buffet-style food set out on long trestle tables was already proving an attraction. Gerald, equally politely, had held back and was evidently on his own. Lady Isobel darted away – ‘to see to things,’ as she put it.
‘Very nice chap – your man Cotton, I mean, prince, a very nice chap.’ Gerald broke into a drawl. ‘Not native, I suppose?’
‘Native?’
‘Not Russian, like…’
‘No, Cotton is not Russian.’
‘I thought not. The servants – oh, you kn
ow who I mean, I won’t beat about the bush – they’re, well, quite difficult really…’
Clumsily coded though the words might be, their meaning was crystal clear. The prince was reminded of the picture of Gerald he had noticed on Anna Karenina’s occasional table. Before he could ask a question, Gerald avoided any awkwardness by quickly changing the subject.
‘Charles is a very brainy boy, you know. It’s a problem when you find yourself out of your depths talking to your own child. Your man Cotton seems to have had no difficulties like that. Charles couldn’t talk about anything else. I am an absolute duffer myself. Apart from horses absolutely not interested in a thing. I try to keep in the peak of fitness, take regular exercise, generally do what I can – like your pedal cycling, prince. Horses, though, are my thing.’
It was an appropriate moment to mention Frou-Frou.
‘Oh, yes, a beautiful filly. Lovely creature. What about her?’
The prince mentioned he had found a horseshoe belonging to her.
‘Where?’
‘Near the old ford.’
Gerald stretched his neck. ‘Yes, that was a very nasty thing, a really terrible thing.’
‘Hadn’t a memorial been put there?’
‘Yes, she insisted. I think a kind of headstone was fixed up there. To commemorate what happened, you know.’
‘What exactly happened?’
‘We were never sure what it was or why.’ Gerald had lowered his drawling voice and paused. He looked as if he were chewing hard. Then he added: ‘The poor woman – you must know who I mean – she was hurt very badly. She’s unsure why it happened. All she could think was that a train had whistled. The horse, poor animal, had to be destroyed.’
‘If the horse were real, the rider would be real, too, wouldn’t she?’
‘Of course.’ Gerald looked incredulous and slightly puzzled. ‘Why on earth not?’
‘Because not everyone believes in the existence of Frou-Frou’s rider. If the horse existed as the horseshoe proves it did, that must mean that its rider existed too, and probably still exists, and the sad irony of it all is…’ The prince placed his lips close beside Gerald’s left ear ‘…is that Sergius, or Seriozha, her son, very likely stepped on the horseshoe and contracted tetanus poisoning. And is now very seriously ill.’
The Killing of Anna Karenina Page 16