Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

“No,” she replied dully, still looking into the flames. “That isn’t necessary. Let us finish our rehearsal and then we shall take some tea together.”

Her voice sounded inexpressibly weary.

Still dazed by his admission, Chevanin picked up the script and fumbled with the loose pages.

“Where were we?” he asked.

She did not reply. Looking up, he saw that she was standing motionless, one hand laid against her brow. She had gone deathly pale.

“Are you feeling unwell?” he asked anxiously.

“Yes… I mean, no,” she said with an effort as she began to collect herself. “Let us start with Luka’s exit and with your examining the duelling pistols. Your cue is: You see, there are several sorts of pistols…”

He stood up and began to recite his lines blindly, not daring to look at her full in the face.

“You see, there are several sorts of pistols. There are special duelling pistols, the Mortimer pattern with capsules…”

He found himself unable to continue.

“Go on!” she said quietly.

“But yours are the Smith and Wesson make, triple action, with extractor…”

Chevanin paused again. His voice seemed oddly distant to him, as if someone else was speaking his lines for him.

He heard himself say:

“These are fine pistols. They are worth at least ninety roubles the brace. You have to hold the revolver like this…”

He made a vague gesture with his hand, as he whispered his stage aside.

“What eyes! What eyes! What a ravishing woman!”

Looking up at him, Yeliena slowly raised her right arm until it was level with her shoulder and pointed the heavy revolver in the direction of her husband’s study.

“Is that right?” she asked quietly.

Obeying the directions in his script, Chevanin went to her side. Supporting her outstretched arm with his, he moved carefully around her still frame until he was standing behind her.

“Yes, that’s right,” he said softly into her ear.

He breathed in her perfume as slowly his right hand closed around hers, so that they were now both holding the gun. Hesitantly, ready to withdraw it the instant that he felt her resist, he slipped his other arm around her slender waist.

“Then you raise the cock…” he whispered.

He felt a shiver run through her. With amazement he realised that she was not resisting his embrace.

“Take aim like this…”

Her free hand sought his and, finding it, pressed it firmly to her stomach. A few stray strands of hair tickled his lips and the tip of his nose.

“Put your head back a little,” he commanded.

She obeyed him, leaning the whole length of her trembling body against his.

“Stretch out your arm full length – that’s it,” he went on.

Bending his head, he kissed her tenderly behind her ear and heard Yeliena respond with a soft, “Oh!”

“Then with this finger you press on that little thing…”

He gave the finger that was curled around the trigger a gentle squeeze.

“And that’s all.”

Slowly his free hand disengaged itself from hers and rose to cup her breast. As it closed lovingly around it, Yeliena let out a long drawn out sigh.

“No, Anton,” she moaned, “Please, you must stop.”

Holding her close, Chevanin began to rain gentle kisses along the curve of her throat and jawline.

With a crash the door to the hallway flew open and Katya entered backwards carrying the tray full of the tea things. Turning around, she was startled to see her mistress and her employer’s assistant standing as one, their faces contorted into what she took to be masks of fear and loathing. They were pointing a gun at her.

Showing great presence of mind, she let go of the tray at once and fled howling to the safety of the small back scullery, accompanying her retreat with a series of piercing screams delivered at full volume with the aid of her not insubstantial lungs.

Chapter Twenty Three

Sunday 11th February 1907

Berezovo

High in the fire tower and far from the light and warmth of the Hotel New Century, the guard narrowed his eyes as he peered out into the growing darkness.

There it was again, the flicker of a lamp’s light. He was certain of it.

No sooner had the light appeared than it vanished, entering another bend in the road.

If it is them, he thought, it means that the leading sleigh is less than three or four versts away. But where are the lights of the others?