Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

“As you suggest,” said Olga, her tone more cautious now, “this strategy only works if everybody supports the idea. We need a champion to put her name to a letter saying that they will not do business with traders that do business with Irena Kuibysheva. Once a few leading names are collected others will follow.”

“Well?”

“We would like you to be our champion.”

And here we are. Madame Wrenskaya congratulated herself sourly. We have arrived at the point and there are no surprises. Although I do not like either Kuibyshev or Kavelin I don’t care enough about their wives to involve myself in this matter. It is both too tiring and beneath me.

“That is quite out of the question,” she said firmly.

“Please consider our request for one moment longer,” insisted Olga pleasantly.

“No, I will not,” retorted Madame Wrenskaya, piqued by the younger woman’s persistence. “I will not become a public spectacle for a group of merchants’ wives over a sordid affair between adulterers. I am only sorry that you have wasted your time and mine with your foolish request.”

She reached out her hand for her small handbell intending to bring the interview to an end. To her disbelief she saw Olga snatch the handbell up from the table and clasp it securely with both of her hands.

“Before you ring for Mariya,” Olga said quietly, “would you please look at the bottle of cognac I have brought you?”

Surprised both by Olga’s behaviour and by her manner, Madame Wrenskaya looked at the bottle on the small table beside her.

“Yes, I am looking. It is very nice. What of it?”

“Does the bottle look at all familiar?” asked Olga, with a slight smile.

“No, why should it?”

“It is the same bottle from which your late husband drank the evening he died.”

Seeing Madame Wrenskaya glance instinctively down at her empty glass and then quickly back at her, Olga gave a light laugh.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she assured the old woman, “it is quite safe. You have seen me drinking from it as well. But, you do remember it now, don’t you?”

Slowly Madame Wrenskaya nodded her head.

“And you do remember the very unfortunate circumstances of that night? Because I do.”

Olga watched the understanding grow in the old woman’s eyes.

“Yes,” she heard her say softly, “I remember.”

“Then you will recall your saying,” continued Olga in the same reasonable tone, “when it was all over, and I had accompanied you home and we were alone in this room, that if ever I needed your assistance, whatever the circumstances, you would be willing to prove yourself my friend and come to my aid. Whatever the circumstances.”

There was a moment’s silence. Despite her outward confident exterior, Olga waited anxiously for the response to her demand. Fixing her gaze on Madame Wrenskaya’s immobile features, she saw her look briefly at the handbell she was holding clasped in her lap then away, towards the mantelpiece where rested a framed photograph of her dead husband.

What a pompous little man you were, Madame Wrenskaya was thinking. How you must be enjoying my discomfiture now! I can hear you protest, huffing and puffing with outraged self importance. “But this is simply blackmail! Throw her out of our house!” This is not blackmail, you wretch. This is a debt to be honoured. No wonder she is so sure that I will agree. She has been holding the wild card all along, and she has played it admirably. The fact is, after all these years I had forgotten all about the matter because you yourself were so forgettable. Of course, there is no question but that I must accede to her request. This is not blackmail, only a payment deferred for services rendered. She took the rubbish out.

“Yes. I remember,” repeated Madame Wrenskaya quietly.

“Well,” said Olga with an inward sigh of relief, “I have never asked to redeem that pledge until now. Now, I both need and expect you to keep your word and to give me that help.”

The old woman nodded her assent and Olga handed her back her handbell.

“Ring for Mariya and ask her to bring pen, ink and paper,” instructed Olga. “Together we compose a letter that will rid this town of its pestilence.”