Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
‘S omething must happen!’ Anna said the words fervently as she knelt in front of the icon of Saint Anne. ‘Olga doesn’t love Peter. Please God, make something happen to prevent him marrying her.’
She looked into the saint’s kindly, tranquil face and found no answer. It was heresy to doubt God’s Will, but unquestioning obedience was not in Anna’s nature. God was omniscient. He knew that she and Peter were meant to be together. If He doesn’t help me now, she thought as she climbed into bed, why should I go on believing in Him?
She had finished the portrait today and decided against telling Maria about Major Renin. The dowager princess ruled supreme in her palace and permitted no interference from her daughter-in-law. She must be a nightmare to live with, but only once had Anna heard Maria be disloyal. ‘I call her the sacred cow,’ she had declared during the last sitting. ‘Sacred to the tsar and a cow to the rest of us.’ Her tone wasn’t serious but there was an undercut to it that heartened Anna. Her friend had spirit and wouldn’t be crushed by her mother-in-law.
Anna lay still, waiting for sleep to envelop her, until she heard the creak of footsteps on the floorboards outside her bedroom. Sasha was home at last. Sofia would be relieved, she thought, as his boots thumped crossed the landing. She sank back on the pillows, and had closed her eyes when a door slammed. Anna sat bolt upright, listening intently. It wasn’t like Sasha to be clumsy. Was he drunk? She hoped not after Sofia had waited so long for his return.
All was quiet and she lay down again. Then, it seemed the very next moment, there was a loud crash. Anna relit her candle and got out of bed. Putting on a housecoat, she tiptoed across the landing and put her ear to the door of Sofia’s bedroom. She could hear Sasha’s voice, low and urgent, and the sound of muffled sobbing. Without stopping to knock, she turned the knob and walked in.
A chair lay on its side and a huge fire blazed in the hearth. Sasha was emptying the desk, turning drawers upside down so their contents fell to the floor. He was sorting through letters, reading them quickly, then throwing them onto the flames. Letters and documents were scattered all over the room.
She cried out, ‘Mother of God, what are you doing?’
‘Pavel Pestel’s been arrested,’ Sasha muttered without looking round. ‘I must destroy all incriminating evidence. Do you have anything from Pushkin? If so, bring it here at once!’
Anna stared at her brother. His hair was dishevelled and there was a strange look in his eyes. On the mantelpiece, the flame of a candle wavered, wax dripping slowly down the edges into the copper holder, and behind her she heard Sofia’s fast, shallow breathing.
‘Go and fetch your Pushkin drawings! Anything to do with that man’s dangerous. Do you have them? ‘
‘But they’re mine.’ Anna’s voice was hoarse.
‘Damnation, Anna! Will you do as I say? Don’t just stand there. Time is of the essence.’
‘I won’t let you have my drawings. They’re the most precious thing in my portfolio.’
Her heart was pounding and her face burned from the roaring heat of the fire. At any moment, the leaping flames might set the chimney alight, but she would not hand over her Pushkin drawings. She had never seen Sasha like this. Silent and grim-faced, he went on tearing up manuscripts, scowling as they curled and blackened into ashes.
‘Please tell me what’s happening, Sasha. Let us help you.’ Sofia knelt up on the bed, her arms outstretched as she pleaded with her husband.
‘I don’t have time now. I’ll explain tomorrow. Promise not to say a word to anyone – nor you either, Anna. Everything will be fine. This is only a precaution.’
Sasha walked over and took Sofia in his arms. He held her to him, stroking her hair, before he took her face in his hands and kissed her. As Anna watched from the doorway, she heard the whinnying of horses and jingling harnesses in the street below. Sasha had a carriage waiting for him. It was snowing and past midnight. Where in the name of God was he going?
Sasha shrugged on his heavy military overcoat and gave the fire a final stir. She stood motionless as he bent down and touched her cheek with cold lips before he went out. ‘Death to the tsar!’ The words came into Anna’s head, like water dropping onto stones, as his footsteps echoed down the stairs. Could she imagine her brother ever saying such a thing? She thought of Nicholas Bulgarian’s description of the Green Lamp Club. He had insisted Sasha was among those toasting the assassination of the emperor and she’d refused to believe him. Even if he had been there, it was only as a sympathetic spectator, she had told herself. His actions tonight changed everything.
Sofia was trembling, her eyes like glass, and Anna sat down on the bed beside her. For a long time neither of them spoke. The fire burned down slowly until only small flames licked the grate. When Sofia seemed calmer, Anna stood up and kissed her goodnight.
‘What does this mean, Anna?’ Sofia asked tremulously, a look of strain returning to her face.
‘I’m not sure, darling—’Anna began and then stopped. She must tell Sofia what Nicholas Bulgarin had said. If Sasha was in trouble, then his wife had a right to know. Between them, they could help him.
As she hesitated, uncertain how to begin, Sofia reached out and grasped her hand. ‘There’s something you must know, Anna. I wanted to tell Sasha, but he was too frantic to listen. I saw the doctor yesterday and I’m with child. We must pray it’s a blessing.’