The White Russian

23

I t was almost an hour before he came back-during which time they had more or less sat in silence-and when he did so, his manner was offhand. It took Ruzsky a few moments to realize that this was from anxiety rather than irritation.

Shulgin, he decided, as they followed him down the corridor, was not a bad sort. He reminded him even more forcibly of his father.

Their coats were again returned and they were led back across to the library, where a silver tray with a samovar upon it awaited them, between two low chairs and a long settee, covered with crimson velvet and gold piping. “Please have a seat,” Shulgin said, before disappearing.

They did as they’d been instructed and looked around. It was a beautiful room, less ornate and therefore somehow more intimate than the antechamber they’d just left. A fire burned on the hearth between two enormous bookcases filled from floor to ceiling with leather-bound volumes. In the center of the room, there was a giant globe with a three-dimensional, topographical map of Russia similar to the ones he had been taught with at the Corps des Pages. It stood beside a grand piano. Ruzsky had an almost irresistible desire to go and play.

“Could you please explain what in hell is going on?” Pavel asked.

Ruzsky shook his head. “I have no idea.”

Shulgin reentered the room, accompanied by a man in a sailor’s uniform and a young girl of about Ella’s age. The man looked resentful, the girl shy and nervous. They both sat awkwardly on the chairs, while Shulgin took his position on the long settee. He leaned forward and poured tea, though only Ruzsky accepted the proffered cup.

“These are two of Ella’s colleagues from the household staff,” Shulgin explained. “They knew her as well as anyone.”

Ruzsky waited in vain for them to be introduced and then leaned forward to offer his hand to the man, who took it reluctantly. He seemed about to open his mouth when Shulgin intervened. “I don’t think there is any need for you to know their names.”

Ruzsky sat back down.

“For their own safety,” the colonel added.

“Of course.”

Ruzsky dug a notepad and pencil from his jacket pocket. He turned to the girl. “You knew Ella well?”

“Quite well, sir, yes.”

“You worked alongside her in the nursery?”

The girl glanced at Shulgin. Her vulnerability made her seem even prettier than she’d first appeared.

Shulgin nodded and she turned her anxious eyes back to Ruzsky. “Yes,” she said.

“Did you know her from Yalta, or from here in Petersburg?”

“Just here, sir. I’m from Moscow.”

“You’ve never been to Yalta?”

“No, sir.”

“How long have you worked at the palace?”

“About two years.”

“I served with her father,” Shulgin said. “Her background is second to none.”

Ruzsky ignored the interruption. “You both looked after the Tsarevich?” he asked. “You and Ella?”

“I worked with Ella,” the sailor said.

Ruzsky swung toward him. “You looked after the Tsarevich together?”

“Yes,” the man said.

“Did you know Ella before she came here?”

“No. I’m from Petrograd.”

“How long have you been working at the palace?”

“Three years. Before that, Kronstadt; before that, the Barents Sea.” It was said without pride, almost like a prisoner rattling off the length of his sentence.

“You liked Ella?”

“Of course. Everyone liked her.”

“You were lovers?”

Shulgin almost choked on his tea. “Investigator, I must warn you-”

“No,” the man said. His gaze was steady.

“Ella already had a lover?”

“So she said.”

“Did she say who?”

“I knew he was an American, someone she’d met at home.”

“What did she say about him?”

“Nothing. Not to me, anyway.”

“Nothing?”

The man shrugged. He had a wide, strong face and held himself well. His naval uniform was immaculately pressed.

“She was secretive?” Pavel asked, suddenly finding his voice.

“About him, yes.”

“What about other friends?” Pavel asked.

The sailor shook his head. “She went to see her mother on Sundays. She wrote letters. That was all. She led a quiet life and didn’t deserve to have it ended like that.”

“Few do,” Ruzsky said. He turned toward Shulgin. “Do you have any of her letters, or other belongings?”

The colonel shook his head.

“Did she ever talk about politics?” Ruzsky asked the sailor. He knew neither wished to be here, or to help their former colleague.

“Not to me.”

“Not to you, or not at all?”

“Not to me.” A muscle was flexing in the man’s cheek. Why was he so angry?

“To others?”

“I can’t say.” The sailor shook his head.

Ruzsky turned back to the girl. “And you, mademoiselle?”

“Not to me. No, of course not.”

“Why of course not?”

“This is the imperial household, Investigator,” Shulgin said.

“Did you ever hear her discussing politics with others?” Ruzsky asked the girl.

“No, sir.”

“Did you know that her American lover was a well-known revolutionary criminal?”

“No, sir.” Her shock was genuine.

Ruzsky addressed the sailor. “You?”

“No.”

“But you knew that she went to see Rasputin in Petersburg on her days off?”

It took Shulgin a few moments to react. “That is a confidential matter,” he said. “And no business of other members of staff.”

“But you knew?” Ruzsky asked the man.

“She had the good sense not to broadcast any relationship… friendship,” he corrected himself.

“Why do you call it good sense?” Ruzsky asked.

The sailor did not answer.

“This has no bearing on the investigation,” Shulgin said again. “I really must ask you-”

“Tell us about her last few days,” Pavel said.

The sailor leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and rubbing the palms of his hands together. “What do you want to know?”

“Was there anything different or unusual about her behavior?”

The sailor shook his head and then looked at the girl.

“No,” she said.

“She was very happy,” the sailor added.

Shulgin stood. “Chief Investigator, a word, please.”

As they stepped outside, Ruzsky said: “There is no point in allowing us to meet with these people if you are going to prevent us asking them any pertinent questions.”

“Remember where you are,” Shulgin whispered.

“I can see exactly.” Ruzsky looked down the corridor. “Now, do you want to find out who killed your girl or not?”

“We shall call the Okhrana,” Shulgin said.

“Be my guest, but they are utterly unsuited to anything that might require a modicum of patience to unravel.”

“You have your father’s arrogance.”

Ruzsky hesitated. “How well do you know my father?”

“He was in my year at the Corps des Pages.” Ruzsky realized that, despite his own lowly office, Shulgin had deliberately accorded him from the start the respect due someone of a similar background. “I can’t have you rampaging about in there-”

“They’re as stiff as boards.”

“They’re nervous.”

“That’s not the reason, and you know it. You want us to get to the bottom of this, or we’d not even have got through the door this morning. And so, by the sound of it, does the Empress. What is it? You don’t trust the Okhrana?”

“You have not served your cause well.”

“Did you telephone the police department after our first visit?”

Shulgin looked at him with incredulity.

“After we first came out here to see you, did you telephone the department to request that the investigation be dropped?”

“Why would I do such a thing?”

“We humble members of the city police,” Ruzsky said, “were led to believe that the Empress herself did not wish the investigation into Ella Kovyil’s death to proceed.”

“That’s preposterous. Who told you that?”

“Your friend Mr. Vasilyev.”

Shulgin glanced down the corridor in the direction Ruzsky had a moment before. A weary resignation seemed to replace his confused frown. He removed his monocle and tucked it into the pocket of his immaculately pressed uniform.

“It would be better if you were not there while we talk to them,” Ruzsky said.

“That’s out of the question.” Shulgin raised his arm to indicate that they should return.

Ruzsky resumed his seat and leaned forward. “A few final matters, if you would be so kind. Did she… did Ella talk about the American’s return?” He had been looking at the sailor, but now turned toward the girl. “Mademoiselle?”

“She was very happy that Robert… Mr. White had come back. She received the news that he would be, several months ago in a letter.”

“Did you ever meet Mr. White?”

The girl shook her head. “No, sir.”

Ruzsky looked at the sailor. “How did you find her over these past few months?” He made a conscious effort to soften his tone. “You must have seen her every day. Was there anything you noticed that would help us, anything unusual?”

“She was moodier. One minute very happy, the next withdrawn.”

“Did she give any hint as to why?”

“I thought it was… women’s matters.”

The girl nodded. “One minute she would… talk about it, I mean. She would say something like, ‘Natasha, he is coming, he really is.’ And then she would say, ‘Natasha, I don’t know what to do, but he is wonderful.’ When I asked her what she meant, she would say, ‘It is nothing.’ She received many letters, addressed by the same hand; one or two a week in the last months. They are placed on a table outside the kitchen. She would fall upon them and no matter how late she was, or what other duties awaited her, she would race up to her room and stay there for half an hour, sometimes more.”

“There were… incidents,” Shulgin said.

“She loved the boy more than anyone,” the sailor snapped back. Ruzsky saw for the first time that the man’s anger was directed against his superior.

“She harmed him?” Ruzsky asked.

“She raised her voice, that was all,” the sailor said. “The boy was unwell, it was not his fault, but we are all under pressure.”

There was an awkward silence.

“How did she behave in the last day or two, immediately before the incident that caused her dismissal?” Ruzsky asked.

They both shook their heads.

“She gave no sign of being under any additional strain?”

They didn’t respond.

“So what exactly happened?”

“Chief Investigator-”

“I’m not asking what she stole, but how she was caught,” Ruzsky told Shulgin. “Surely we can be informed of that.”

“One of the footmen found her in the Empress’s study,” Shulgin said. “Naturally, he had no choice but to inform me, and I the Empress. It was not a place she was entitled to be.”

“What was she doing there?”

“The footman in question said that she started in a guilty manner when discovered.”

“She was at the Empress’s desk?”

Shulgin had taken out his monocle again and was staring at it. “I don’t see how this can have any direct bearing on the case.”

“So she didn’t steal anything?” Ruzsky asked.

Shulgin looked at him. “The Empress believes that she did.”

“What?”

“I’m afraid-”

“What on earth could this girl have been looking for in the study of the Empress of the Russias?”

“I don’t know.” Shulgin could no longer conceal his own exasperation. “I simply do not know.”

“The Empress told you she had stolen something, but not what? I thought you said Ella readily confessed to her crime.”

“She didn’t steal anything,” the sailor said.

“Then what was she doing in there?” Ruzsky said.

“We have taken this as far as it can sensibly go.” Shulgin stood. Neither of the others now met Ruzsky’s eye.

As soon as they had been let out of the wrought iron gates, Pavel breathed an enormous sigh of relief. “Christ,” he said. “Has Tobolsk done something to your mind?”

Ruzsky did not respond. He took out and lit a cigarette.

“Going on with the investigation is not exactly sane, but that was pure madness.”

Ruzsky stopped. “It gives us a degree of protection. Don’t you see that?”

“No.”

“That was the most bizarre interview we have ever conducted. Correct?”

“Indisputably.”

“They are completely in the dark. They’re suspicious of the Okhrana and Vasilyev.”

“That may be, but it’s not going to help us. We’re just caught in the middle.” Pavel pointed at him aggressively. “You have taken us into the middle of a minefield, and you know it.”

“If the Okhrana has been following us this morning, then now they’ll know that they have to tread carefully.”

“Rubbish. We’ve just increased the stakes in a game whose rules we don’t even begin to know. And we’re still no nearer to working out what in the hell is going on.” Pavel’s face was flushed. “Tell me what that was all about.”

Ruzsky shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“You’re damned right you don’t know. We’re invited into the family apartments. The woman who rules us is lurking in the doorway like some kind of ghost. It is all completely unreal. She asks us whether the Okhrana are involved. She doesn’t know what’s happening beyond her own doorstep?”

Ruzsky raised his hand. “But Ella did steal something.”

“The sailor man denies it.”

“But as you say, they’re worried. Very, very worried. Worried enough to entertain the notion of interrogating a couple of lowly city policemen, and then allowing us to interview members of the household. Is that normal? Hardly. And a few months ago it would have been unthinkable.”

“So we go crashing in like a couple of ignorant peasants-”

“That girl stole something important.”

Pavel stared miserably into the distance.

“It is the only rational explanation for that episode. They can’t admit she stole something, let alone what it was, but they don’t trust the Okhrana. Or at least, they were talking to us as a way of finding out how the investigation is proceeding.”

Pavel shook his head. Farther down a cab driver stood by his horse, waiting for a fare.

Ruzsky had never seen a droshky waiting there before.

There was a young, dark-haired boy standing in the far corner of their office, looking out of the window.

For a moment, Ruzsky felt a surge of excitement. “My boy,” Pavel bellowed as he bounded over and took his son into his arms.

A woman appeared next to him. “Sandro,” she said, embracing him warmly.

He held her. “Tonya.”

Ruzsky stepped back. She was thinner, her blond hair framing a face that seemed more careworn than before he had gone away. Her lips were pinched and her cheeks hollow and in another woman it would have had the effect of making her look mean, but Tonya had always possessed an air of fragility. She gave him a shy smile.

“What do you say to your uncle Sandro?” Pavel said. He still had his son in his arms.

“Hello, Uncle Sandro.” The boy was younger than Michael. He had long eyelashes and big blue eyes and, apart from his hair, was the spitting image of his mother.

The sight of him, the innocence in his voice, made Ruzsky’s heart lurch.

It was insane. He had been back more than forty-eight hours. Why had he not seen his boy?

Tonya picked up a suitcase and put it on Pavel’s desk. “A holiday in Yalta!” It was a poor joke and, when she turned to face Ruzsky, he saw clearly the fear in her face. “You will look after him, won’t you, Sandro?”

“I was rather hoping it would be the other way around.”

“I don’t trust him to look after himself.” Whatever confidence Tonya had projected a few minutes before had vanished.

“He’ll be fine,” Ruzsky said. “I’ll see to it he’s kept out of trouble.”

“I can tell, even on the telephone, when he’s uncertain about something.”

“Tonya-”

“Please, Sandro.” Her eyes burned. “You will look after him, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Tonya…” Pavel’s face softened further as he took his wife into his arms and drew their son into the narrow gap between their bodies. Ruzsky stood, transfixed, then turned and quietly withdrew.