Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

“You also sent your men here to me without even coming along to introduce them. What am I to make of it?” She threw up her hands and turned aside while shaking her head and heaving a dramatic sigh.

“I made sure Neilson was here to help them settle in,” he answered, removing his coat and hat. “What’s happened? Have they bothered you for anything?”

“Well, no,” she said, taking his hat and coat and hanging them on the rack by the door.

“Good, then,” he told her before taking her in his arms and kissing her. “Anyway, now I’m here, and there will be no more trips back east for a good long while. Just the usual overnight visits to the capital.”

“How was the train ride?” she inquired with a distracted look. “Not those old third-class rattletraps, I hope…”

“Oh, no,” Ned answered, brightening. “In fact, we had a compartment all to ourselves in a brand new American sleeper.”

“How many were you?” she asked.

She took his hand and led him into the sitting room without waiting for an answer.

“Four. We played cards most of the way,” he added with a laugh. “I lost fifty dollars…”

“Who were the others?” she asked, turning suddenly to face him.

“You’ve heard me talk about Staff Captain Ivashov, of course,” he answered, still smiling. “And two others.”

“Americans?”

“No.”

Ned sat down heavily on the sofa without waiting. She sat opposite him in a straight-backed chair.

“They were Allied officers, then?” she continued.

“Not exactly. Russians from Irkutsk. You wouldn’t know them.”

“No, but I know something about one of them,” she replied, eyeing him warily. “Anna Vasilyevna told me all about her. So tell me, did you or did you not escort the Maid of Baikal to Omsk?”

“Madam Timiryova wasn’t supposed to tell anyone,” Ned snapped, his eyes flashing. “The girl’s life is at risk, for heaven’s sake. Bolshevik agents are out looking for her even as we speak.”

“But Anna could hardly avoid telling me if she wanted to request my city flat for the girl,” Yulia pointed out, unshaken. “Or didn’t you know that Anna and I were fast friends?”

“I didn’t. Does Neilson know?”

“Of course he does. He’s the one who suggested that I offer her the flat in the first place. I hardly ever use it. Besides, I do so admire her—the girl, I mean. To defy her father and come here to see the Admiral, at her age! I could never have done such a thing.”

Ned detected a note of playfulness in her voice and could see that she was enjoying having some fun at his expense.

“Who else knows about Zhanna using your flat?” he asked, letting out a resigned sigh.

“Just the housekeeper. I can be very discreet, you know. You can ask Colonel Neilson if you don’t believe me.”

“Then you approve of the Maid?”

“Of her character and her program, yes,” the widow replied. “But I also hear she is quite beautiful, and I wouldn’t approve at all if my handsome captain were to fall in love with the girl after spending so long with her in close quarters. Do you have anything to say for yourself, young man?”

Ned laughed and tried his best not to look embarrassed.

“It seems odd to say it,” he explained, “and you may not believe me, but the more I come to know Zhanna, the less physical attraction I feel toward her. It’s as if any such desire had never existed. Instead, she exerts an odd sort of fascination that’s very hard to explain.”

Ned looked across the table at Yulia, who seemed to find his explanation equally difficult to believe.

“If you doubt me, Yulia, I suggest that you put the same question to Ivashov, or to Zhanna’s young friend, Boris Viktorovich, who joined us at Irkutsk. In fact, Zhanna seems to have this effect on most all men, not just on me.”

“Very well, I see you have your story and are sticking by it,” she replied in a good-humored tone. “But, mind you, I shall meet the girl for myself soon enough, for Anna Vasilyevna plans to invite us both to tea. But don’t worry, I will be ever so discreet…”

“Ha!” Ned replied. “I sense mischief.”

“What? You don’t trust me to keep a secret?”

“Of course I do, Yulia,” Ned replied, “but while we’re on the subject of discretion, I don’t know how long I can stay in the main house and not in the lodge without drawing suspicion from the men. Even dining here with you tonight is awkward. Perhaps we should consider different arrangements, as disagreeable as that might be for us both.”

“Do as you must,” Yulia answered with a melodramatic pout. “But I will not let go of you quite so easily as that. Dinners I can sacrifice from time to time, but you have been away for far too long. Your nights belong to me.”

* * *