The Midwife of St. Petersburg

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  She sank into the nearest chair and waited.

  Alex proved the epitome of politeness, but underneath she sensed a man who was committed to Imperial Russia. That put her and her family at dangerous odds. She could not imagine Kronstadt compromising his military duty, whatever it might be, in order to lessen the consequences for anyone who had presumed freedoms that were not theirs to enjoy. His strength could certainly prove an asset, but she was also wary of his inflexible commitment to duty. He knew what he wanted in life and would allow nothing to interfere.

  Even so, she was relieved it was Kronstadt, and not Durnov, who asked the questions.

  Perhaps twenty minutes plodded by. She heard their low voices, but not well enough to distinguish which man was talking. Just when she believed that it was going well for Uncle Matvey, his voice rose in denial, followed by the calm voice of Colonel Kronstadt.

  Soft footsteps sounded behind her. She whirled. A wiry-looking man in plain clothes, but carrying a gun, stood watching her. Policeman Leonovich.

  Leonovich had a wide mustache and unruly brown hair that dipped in a wave across his narrow forehead. His eyes were oddly pale—she had always thought so when she had seen him in the village. He carried a cup of coffee in one hand and a sweet cake in the other. He must have entered the kitchen by the back door. It disturbed her that he had entered without her noticing. Something in the way he watched her always made her uncomfortable. He was oblivious to the crumbs dropping on Grandmother’s clean floor.

  “You might use a plate, Mr. Leonovich,” she said coolly. “Grandmother does not appreciate sticky crumbs trampled about.”

  He might have been deaf for all the attention he gave to her words. Those strange eyes took her in from toe to head as they had at other times. Her skin reacted unpleasantly.

  “Are you alone?” he asked, licking the crumbs from his fingers and wiping them on his trousers.

  “No. But what concern would that be to you? I did not hear you knock on my uncle’s door.”

  “It was open. I hear your father has been arrested, and that arrogant brother of yours is leaving for St. Petersburg—or it’s Petrograd now, or soon will be. The name change is all about hatred for Germans and loyalty to Russia.”

  She kept silent.

  “Three women alone in the manor house will mean more labor for you now. Maybe I can get one or two of the fellows together, and we can cast in our time to help you fair ladies now and then.”

  “We won’t need any help. We can take care of ourselves and the land. Besides,” she said a little too hurriedly, “Ilya will be here to manage the fields and workers.”

  He smiled. “Ilya is being conscripted. Just about everybody is. And your uncle is going back.”

  Leonovich slurped his coffee and looked around as though deciding on a new home. His presence sparked her anger, but also a looming fear.

  “What do you want?” she asked bluntly.

  “Where’s the fellow from the secret police?”

  “Colonel Kronstadt is in the next room, questioning my uncle.”

  He seemed to reconsider whatever was in his mind and patted his jacket pocket, then brought out a rumpled package of ready-made cigarettes. He reached in his other pocket for a match and lit a cigarette.

  “I think you better come with me down to the station, Miss Peshkova. I must interrogate you.”

  “Colonel Kronstadt ordered me to remain here. He, too, wishes to ask me questions.” For once she was relieved to face questions from Alex.

  A sardonic smile touched Leonovich’s lips. “It is not for me to interfere with the Okhrana. But the local police are very interested in this case, Miss Peshkova. We all worked for Grinevich, you see, and we too have questions that must be answered to our full satisfaction.” He gestured his head toward the kitchen. “In there, then. At the table.”

  It would be unwise to deliberately anger him, but she wondered who it was in the local gendarmes that had authorized him to come here now. With Grinevich dead as of only this morning, would there have been time enough to select his replacement? Major-General Durnov would likely be the one to do so.

  She didn’t think Leonovich had first tried to see Sergei or anyone else at the manor house. For that matter, how had he known she was in the bungalow? It was chilling to think he might have been watching her.

  She affected indifference, as though she had no reason not to trust him, and walked past him into the now-stuffy kitchen. The afternoon sun was intense and streamed through the window near the table. She wanted to open the window and let some air in, but Leonovich had decided to stand in front of the table with his back next to it. She pulled out a chair and sat down. He placed his cigarette between his lips to let it dangle while using both hands to remove a scarred leather folder from under his jacket. He flipped through soiled pages, preparing to take notes, and came up with a stubby pencil.

  “Now then, Miss Karena, let us get down to the bony facts.”

  “Mr. Leonovich, I wish to be called Miss Peshkova, thank you.”

  His lip jutted out. “I beg your pardon. Miss Peshkova. Miss Karena Josipovna Peshkova.” He leered. “Any other names, Miss?”

  “Simply Miss Peshkova will do sufficiently well, Mr. Leonovich.”

  “What do you know about what happened last night?”

  “Last night?”

  “Miss Peshkova, I don’t like to play fencing games. You know exactly what I mean.”

  “I know only what I have heard reported by the authorities.”

  “Which is?”

  She shrugged. “There was a disturbance last night?”

  “A riot.”

  “In which poor Mr. Grinevich was injured.”

  “His head was kicked in. He died this morning of brain injuries.”

  “I am very sorry, but I don’t know anything about such horrible cruelty.”

  “You can be thankful you were not there, Miss Peshkova.” His lower lip curled again in a sardonic smile. “After all, you’ve got Zinnovy to swear you were with him, right? At least, that’s what you’re saying, that you weren’t there.”

  She remained silent. Could Leonovich possibly have seen her there?

  “Sergei Peshkov was there, though, right?”

  “Was he?”

  “You know he was there.”

  “There’s no proof he was there, according to Major-General Durnov. And your questioning of me is useless. The Okhrana has already arrested my father for arranging last night’s Bolshevik meeting. You’re the policeman who first spoke to my father about Grinevich, so you see, it no longer matters about Sergei. Major-General Durnov is satisfied that he has arrested the revolutionary.”

  His hard smile appeared to be frozen in place. He altered his course.

  “Has Sergei talked to you before about politics?”

  “No.”

  “Never?”

  “Seldom, if ever.”

  “Seldom. You are lying to me. It is very serious to lie to me.”

  “He may have said a few things in passing about the coming war, but hardly anything that interested me.”

  “Your brother is interested in this war, is he? What did he say about the war?”

  “That Russia would win against any and all of her enemies. That the good Russian people must send the soldiers off with songs and pray for them to have victory over the Germans. That our great czar will lead us to victory.”

  The curl of his bottom lip deepened. “How patriotic! And your father? He is leader of the patriotic Bolsheviks in town, is he? You support your father, do you?”

  “My father is not a Bolshevik.”

  “He has admitted that he is. He knows Lenin, Trotsky, the other revolutionaries. He has books and pamphlets by Karl Marx in his office at the college. He had secret meetings with Chertkov. You know who Chertkov was, Miss Peshkova?”

  Yes, she knew exactly who Chertkov was.

  “Yes. I see you do. Is there any reason why your father should not join h
is professor colleague, Chertkov, Miss Peshkova?” he asked with a leer.

  “My father is not a Bolshevik.” Her temper flared. “I am not a Bolshevik.”

  He leaned toward her and banged his fist on the table. “Lies! Now we are back where we started.”

  She heard footsteps behind her halt just inside the kitchen, but her eyes were fastened on Leonovich.

  He raised his eyes and looked past her shoulder. She saw his face change, and he straightened from the table.

  “Who gave you authority to question Miss Peshkova?”

  Karena turned her head. Alex stood in the doorway with an unpleasant countenance.

  Leonovich looked uneasy. “I am from the local gendarmes. Grinevich was murdered last night.”

  “We are fully aware. Any and all revolutionaries are under our jurisdiction.”

  “What about Menkin? Where’s he?”

  “He waits in the other room. The interrogation has been handled as fully as possible at this stage. I just received this message from Major-General Durnov.” He held a piece of paper on which something brief had been written. “You are to report to him at the manor house. At once.”

  Leonovich eyed him. “What about Miss Peshkova?”

  “You need not concern yourself with Miss Peshkova.”

  Leonovich narrowed his eyes but appeared to step back.

  He looked at Karena, then at Kronstadt. “Why is she here at all? She should be returning to the house.”

  Karena wanted to go to the manor house, but only in the company of Matvey.

  “She’s been ordered to remain here, Leonovich. I’ll see that she’s brought to the manor. I’ll need to give my initial report on Professor Menkin to the general anyway. I’ll take Miss Peshkova with me. I think I can quickly verify certain necessary points in her statement. I shall let you know the Okhrana’s findings, of course, so that our files on this case may supplement those of the local police.”

  Alex walked up behind her and firmly grasped her arm.

  “This way, Miss Peshkova. We’ll talk in your uncle’s office.”

  He helped her to her feet. Her eyes met his, but she saw nothing in the hard green that offered conciliatory reasons for his action in removing her from the clutches of Leonovich.

  She was being led determinedly from the kitchen through the hall and into her uncle’s office. In his other hand, Alex had an equally determined grip on the written notes from his interview with Uncle Matvey, to be later delivered to Durnov.

  She walked to the desk, her back toward him. He shut the door against intruders.

  Uncle Matvey was gone.

  SIXTEEN

  Cat and Mouse

  Heartsore and weary of mind, Karena faced Colonel Aleksandr Kronstadt in the small, crowded office.

  “What have you done with Professor Menkin?” she accused.

  He opened the one small window as wide as he could and pushed aside the curtains, looking out. He loosened the collar of his shirt and unbuttoned his jacket, watching her with that intense, thoughtful look that made his gray-green eyes as warm as the room.

  “Where is my uncle now?”

  “You need have no worry about Professor Menkin. He will not be held. He’s on the porch under guard, waiting for Leonovich.”

  “If he will not be held, why is he still under guard?”

  “Merely a matter of procedure. Major-General Durnov will have questions. Then Professor Menkin will sign a document and be released. However, I cannot say the same for your father. He’s chosen his path. I’m sorry, but he will be brought to Petrograd for further questioning.”

  He pulled out a chair. “Please take a seat.”

  How could she persuade the colonel of her father’s innocence without betraying his love for Sergei?

  “I tell you, my father is innocent of the attack on Policeman Grinevich. He’s not a revolutionary. He’s a local representative of the zemstvo.”

  “I am aware of his position.” He picked up a thick leather notebook. “It’s recorded here that your father’s grandfather was awarded governance of these lands by Czar Alexander I for loyal service. Is that so?”

  “Yes.” Why was he bringing this up now?

  “Do he and Madame Peshkova realize his confessing that he is a revolutionary leader in the Bolshevik Party means these lands will be taken from his immediate family and heirs?”

  Stunned, she sat still.

  His jaw hardened. “No? That’s what I thought. His decision today to throw himself on the altar for his son means he’s surrendered the inheritance of his wife and children.”

  Karena, shocked, could not speak. She put her hand to her forehead.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice softened. “I tried to tell him this, but he seemed fixated on his decision. I don’t think he’s thought this through. Believe me, I find no pleasure in telling you this. But it’s wiser for you to know now. You will need to make plans.” He pushed aside the clutter on the desk and sat on the edge. “I told Professor Menkin. He’ll do what he can. Your best hope is with General Roskov and your aunt in Petrograd. He may be able to appeal to Czar Nicholas.”

  Leave the manor house? Leave the land on which she had been born and raised?

  “As for your stepfather, being a local representative while also claiming to be a Bolshevik may only reap a harsher judgment. Those who hold Bolshevik political beliefs have as their goal to assassinate our czar.”

  Her head jerked up. “Never. My father is a gentle man, most loyal. No one in my family would ever hope to do Czar Nicholas harm. And he’s not my stepfather.”

  “Do you know how many attempts there have been through the years? An attempt was made not long ago here in Kiev at the opera house.” He tilted his head, his gaze combining thoughtfulness with decision. “Do you wonder that we must be careful?”

  “No. But my father would never attempt such evil.”

  He studied her, considering her frank declaration, taking in her face. Her blush did not seem to trouble him.

  “I would know by my father’s political beliefs whether he nurtured revolutionary ambitions.”

  “I don’t doubt that, but as an astute teacher, he’s fluent enough to present his politics in whatever form is expedient. You have heard of the Bolshevik underground? I see by your face you have. Most have heard of the writings and newspapers and books smuggled in from men like Lenin. A collection of Lenin’s works was found in your father’s office. Personally? It looks too contrived to me, and I have my doubts about his guilt. Nevertheless, your father swears loyalties to Karl Marx and Lenin.”

  He gathered up Uncle Matvey’s manuscript and set it aside. She watched him, alert. “Then—you don’t really believe he’s telling the truth?”

  “For myself, no,” he said bluntly. “He’s protecting your brother.”

  She looked down at her hands, straightening a ring on her right hand. Did this mean he and the other officer, Durnov, might not arrest him? Would they change their minds?

  She looked up. “What about Sergei? Are you taking him to St. Petersburg?”

  He leafed through some other scattered papers on the desk.

  “Your brother is free to go,” he said mildly.

  Her breath caught. “What about Policeman Grinevich’s testimony? Did he by any chance mention anything about my father or Sergei?” Or me?

  Even though he apparently saw through Josef’s false confession, Alex remained silent a moment too long, which heightened her tension.

  “I didn’t speak with Grinevich,” he said at last. “Policeman Leonovich and Major-General Durnov were the last ones to see him alive. Durnov is satisfied your brother was not there, and it is his report that will be delivered to Petrograd. Are you suggesting that if I’d heard Grinevich’s testimony, it would contradict the report as it stands now?”

  His bland voice coupled with an even stare unnerved her. He knows … or does he? If he did know for certain, wouldn’t he include this in his own report?

&nbs
p; “No, I’m not suggesting that,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “I have no reason to think he would be involved in that sort of violent rioting. Absolutely not.”

  “Absolutely not,” he said softly.

  Karena stood abruptly but made as though she did not see his momentary, sardonic smirk. She looked deliberately at Uncle Matvey’s manuscript in his control.

  “The manuscript is far from finished.” She found herself snapping the words. “He has worked for a year on the research alone. He’s just begun the writing this summer. What do you intend to do with it?”

  His brow shot up. “Read it for any hint of disloyalty to Czar Nicholas,” he admitted frankly. “Don’t worry, Miss Peshkova. I will see that it is returned in perfect order to your uncle, should it prove, as he says, a work of harmless religion.”

  “Thank you, Colonel Kronstadt,” she said formally. She touched her hair and drew in a breath. “Am I permitted to go about my work now?”

  He smiled. “Not yet. Please be seated again.” He picked up his black leather notebook and walked over to the window where the breeze blew in. He looked quite handsome in his uniform of mostly gray and black, his boots just below the knee. There was also some gold braid and red ribbon on the jacket, which identified a special officers’ corps, but she was not familiar enough with the markings. She noted a gold ring on his finger. It looked familiar. Had Tatiana given it to him? He glanced at her when she remained silent, and she was sure he had caught her gaze on the ring.

  “Did you attend the Bolshevik meeting last night?”

  She glanced at him, but he was looking at his notebook. She turned away, straightening some papers.

  “No,” she said, and bit her lip

  A moment of silence trapped her.

  “You did not hear Lenski last night?” he repeated.

  “I said no, Colonel.”

  “So you did, Miss Peshkova. Did Sergei attend?”

  “No.” She folded her arms.

  “Is he a friend of Lenski?”

  Her heart was thudding. “No.”

  A gust of wind came through the window and stirred the papers on Matvey’s desk. Karena moved to anchor them.

  “He’s seeing Ivanna in Petrograd, is he not? They have a favorite nightclub they attend frequently.”