Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

“What about the clothing? Malitsas don’t come cheap.”

“They do if you buy them secondhand,” Trotsky argued. “That way you won’t attract any attention. Think about it. People won’t be asking you awkward questions, such as ‘How come you suddenly have money to throw about?’ ‘Where are you planning to go to?’ ‘Whatever happened to that new malitsa you bought?’ And so on.”

Taking a last drag on his cigarette, Goat’s Foot nipped off the fiery tip and carefully put the remainder down the side of his boot. Turning sideways to Trotsky, he gave him a look that was almost one of respect.

“Here,” he said, “you’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

Mindful of the sentence of three and a half years’ hard labour that still hung over his head after his escape from Verkholensk, Trotsky smiled and said nothing.

Chapter Fifteen

Friday 16th February

Berezovo, Northern Siberia

Thankful to be back in the warmth of her house, Yeliena Tortsova pushed the front door shut behind her and deposited her packages upon the hallway table. Large snow crystals fell onto the mat at her feet as she removed her outer coat. She felt satisfied at how well her morning’s expedition had gone, despite the worsening weather. She had been able to buy all the things that she had set out to buy, even the half dozen paper shirt collars for Vasili (the one he had put on that morning had shown distinct signs of wear). At the surgery Chevanin had been pleasantly lustful and on the way home, in celebration of the sense of nameless joy she now felt, she had bought four small cakes from Gvordyen’s to share with Vasili upon his return.

Never had she had such an appetite: she was even beginning to put on weight. Catching sight of herself in the hallway mirror, she paused and studied her reflection, smoothing a hand across her midriff and straightening her shoulders like an artist’s model.

I’d pass in a crowd, she told herself, although I’m hardly the “Dark Rose” of Anton’s poems.

As she lifted her hands to remove the pins that had secured her hat from the gusting wind, her maid appeared by her side.

“There you are, Katya,” said Yeliena. “Take my coat into the kitchen and hang it near the stove until it dries, will you? And take that box of cakes also. You may serve them when the Doctor returns.”

“Yes ma’am!” the maid replied.

Edging closer, she whispered hoarsely: “You have a visitor, ma’am.”

Yeliena frowned. She was not expecting anybody and Vasili would be due home within the hour. If it was Anton, she would feel annoyed. It would really be very bad of him to call uninvited.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Madame Wrenskaya, ma’am. She arrived about half an hour ago, and has been waiting for you to return.”

“Madame Wrenskaya?” echoed Yeliena in surprise.

“Yes ma’am. I didn’t like to let her in as you weren’t here, but what with the weather and all…”

“Quite right, Katya,” replied Yeliena. “A lady of her age can’t be left waiting on our doorstep. I trust you offered her some refreshment while she waited?”

“Oh no, ma’am!” replied Katya firmly. “She said that she did not want to be disturbed.”

“Oh dear,” sighed Yeliena.

“Shall I boil up some coffee?” suggested Katya.

“No!” said Yeliena quickly. “I rather think she would prefer some tea, as soon as you can.”

Pausing only to pat her hair into place, Yeliena hurried into the drawing room, her mind already forming an apology for keeping her visitor waiting.

Madame Wrenskaya was asleep in a chair by the hearth. Noting that Katya had neglected the fire, Yeliena stooped and, picking up the fire tongs, carefully placed a small log across the glowing embers. As she straightened up, she involuntarily gave a small cry as a sharp pain shot across the base of her spine. The fire tongs fell from her grip and clattered noisily as they struck the edge of the brass hearth fender. Opening her eyes, Madame Wrenskaya blinked rapidly several times.

Yeliena apologised for waking her.

“I hope I didn’t give you a shock.”

“Shock?” repeated Madame Wrenskaya dully.

Baffled, her pale blue eyes swept around the unfamiliar room.

“You were resting and I woke you up,” explained Yeliena gently.

“No matter, my dear. Come in and draw up a chair.”

The old woman pushed herself up in the chair, brushing a cracked palm over her face as if she were washing the sleep away.

“I was just having a little nap,” she told Yeliena. “How nice it is to see you. Would you take some tea?”

Yeliena looked at her guardedly.

“I have a new maid, you know,” the old woman went on. “I got rid of the other one. She was stealing from me, but this one is just as bad. She is never there when you want her. Just ring for her, my dear, would you? Although,” she added gloomily, “I doubt if she will come.”

Yeliena gave an embarrassed laugh.

“No, Anastasia Christianovna,” she said raising her voice, “you have come to visit me, remember?”

“You?”