The man who fell out of the sky backhanded one of the Nikolashki, and the rest of them stepped back, understandably stunned by his appearance as well as his rude behavior. I could not see the face half-hidden under his wide-brimmed hat — only a long, clean-shaven chin was visible.
He grabbed my elbow. “Come on,” he said, and pulled me along. I ran after him, into darker streets with only a scarce smattering of streetlamps. He ran quickly, changing directions as to confuse any pursuit, and I did my best to keep up. My skirts tried to twist around my legs, and my chest felt as if it would explode against the confines of my corset. “Wait,” I gasped.
The stranger paused and let me lean against an anonymous brick wall where I stood gulping air.
“Wong Jun,” I finally managed. “They still have one of my friends.”
The stranger gave a soft chuckle. “I am awfully sorry to hear that, miss,” he said in perfect English, “only I’m not going back. Look at the bright side though — two of them got free. Maybe for long enough to leave the city and avoid further trouble altogether.” He had an easy, pleasant manner of speech. By then I had decided he had not fallen out of the sky, but had a good enough heart to interfere with injustice when he stumbled upon it. It was his sudden appearance that had confused me.
“I appreciate your assistance, sir,” I said. “You came seemingly out of nowhere.”
“Just happened by.” A flash of teeth under the brim of the hat, and another soft laugh. “Name’s Jack Bartram. I do believe I’ve seen you in my philosophy class.”
I shook a proffered hand, very long, with square-tipped fingers. “If you say so.”
“Forgive my lack of manners, miss.” He took off his hat, and I saw an entirely unremarkable, pale visage — even if he was in my class, he had one of these faces that was easily forgettable. But he was quite tall and gangly under his cloak, and that made him memorable enough.
“I am Alexandra Trubetskaya,” I said. “It is a pleasure to meet you, and I thank you for a timely and dramatic rescue.”
He was laughing still. “I hope your friends will get a chance to say the same to you.”
I smiled then. “I hope so too.”
He put his hat back on, and stood a moment listening for the sounds of the pursuit. Satisfied that there was none, he offered me his arm. “It would be my pleasure to escort you back to your dormitory, Miss Trubetskaya,” he said.
I nodded and took his arm. “Thank you. Anastasia must be worried sick.”
Chapter 4
I did not get a chance to tell Olga about my miraculous rescue and the terrible behavior of the Nikolashki — by the time Mr. Bartram and I arrived at the dormitories, all windows but mine were dark. I listened to Anastasia’s relieved exclamations and then went to bed, but not before peeking out of the window, and observing that, to my disappointment, my rescuer was gone.
I saw him on Monday in my philosophy class. It took place in the afternoon, when most of those present, full and contented after lunch, dozed to the monotone of Professor Zhmurkin, who informed us of the Prime Mover and other such fanciful notions. I, however, was alert, and looked past Olga and Dasha’s nodding heads (it was like watching a seesaw) to the back of the auditorium. When I looked behind me, my heart fluttered painfully in my chest. The colorful robes and long braids were gone now, replaced by a row of empty seats. There were three Chinese students left in attendance, and all of them had their hair cut in the current style and wore Western dress.
My sorrow was quickly replaced by blushing, fluttering joy as my eyes met the steely-gray gaze of the Englishman from last night, who smiled and nodded to me as if I were an old friend. I quickly turned away, and listened to the lecture, flustered by my embarrassing joy. I should not be feeling elated with Chiang Tse and Lee Bo missing and Wong Jun no doubt languishing in some prison. But what could I do help them?
As always, I imagined what Aunt Eugenia would say. Her stern voice crystallized in my mind with perfect clarity. “Foolish girl,” she would’ve said if she were here. “You have plenty of connections in this city — don’t tell me your poor mother and I wasted our time introducing you. If you want to find something out, nothing’s stopping you.”
That was true enough, I thought. Yet Eugenia had never been subtle, and I suspected that the matter of arrested foreign friends required at least a modicum of subtlety. Unfortunately, I was too much of Eugenia’s niece to think of anything artful. My first inclination was to march to the Winter Palace and shout at the emperor; my second was to spit in his brother’s smug face. Either course of action was unlikely to yield the desired results.
I barely heard the end of the lecture, and nudged Olga when we were dismissed. She woke with a start, rubbed her eyes, and shot me a look of mild irritation. “What did you do that for?”
“Time to go,” I said timidly. I still hadn’t apologized for Saturday; I wasn’t planning to even though I knew she expected it.
Olga rose and followed Dasha Muravieva out, and I lagged behind, angry at myself for feeling guilt even though I had done nothing wrong. I was almost ready to apologize anyway, so as not to feel so shut out.
“Miss Trubetskaya?” I heard a soft male voice behind me. I knew who it was before I turned around.
There was a sly quality to Jack Bartram’s smile, and it made me think that he was always hiding something wonderful, that he held some magical secret in the hands he clasped behind his back.
I couldn’t help but smile in return. “Mr. Bartram. It is a pleasure to see that you are well.”
“As well as your friends.” He followed me out of the auditorium and offered me his arm, which I took with a sense of developing habit.
“What do you know about them?”
He leaned closer, his warm breath tickling the tip of my ear. “A friend of mine was at the train station yesterday, early in the morning. He saw two young men of Chinese origin board the train, and I’d wager they were those fine gentlemen I never got a chance to properly meet. I thought you might like to know that.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bartram,” I said, an enormous weight left my shoulders with such alacrity that I stumbled. Only Jack’s arm allowed me to maintain my upright posture. “That is wonderful news. Now, if I could only find out about Wong Jun and where they are keeping him… ”
Jack only shook his head. “I cannot help you there, Miss Trubetskaya.”
“You’ve already accomplished a great deal,” I said. “I am quite grateful. I will now look into the matter using my own resources.”
“I wish you good luck,” he said. Once outside, he put on his hat — not a top hat like most men wore that season, but the wide-brimmed, soft contraption he’d worn the night before. It hid most of his face from view — although not from me, because I walked closely enough to peek under it.
I had forgotten about Olga and Dasha who had gone ahead, quite content to walk along with Jack Bartram in whatever direction he cared to point the tips of his black scuffed boots. Even though his legs were ridiculously long, he took care to match his loping stride to mine, and seemed as pleased to walk along the paths covered in yellow leaves as I was. We breathed the bitter autumn smells and the scent of coal from the river, and I found myself in front of my dormitory quite a bit sooner than I expected.
As much as I found Jack’s attention flattering — especially because, rightly or wrongly, I assumed he was less aware of my impending titles and fortune than my compatriots, and therefore I could ascribe unselfish motives to him. As soon as I was alone in my apartment, I turned my mind to finding out about Wong Jun. It really would be more convenient, I mused, if one had an ability to not worry about people one had just met and seen arrested by the secret police. For better or worse, however, such ability was as beyond my grasp as the clouds now gathering outside of my windows.