“Thank God for that! We have five minutes to ourselves, without that odious man.”
“I think, Emily, you dislike him because when he first met us at the Hotel Metropole he asked if we were mother and daughter.”
“Well, what a stupid thing to think! Anyway, now he’s gone, I want to know about what you said when they arrested Yuri. Did you say you’ve got other evidence about the Håkansson murder, apart from Prince Alexei’s letter? Can it prove Yuri’s innocence?”
“The evidence would definitely prove that he is innocent – if he could get a fair trial.” I explain about the exchange of telegrams, and my hopes that Yuri won’t be mistreated.
“So what you’re saying, Agnes, is that if you put together all the evidence – the prince’s letter, the gun you found, and the testimonies of Rasputin and Bukin, it proves that Yuri must be innocent. In fact, we now know quite a lot about Håkansson’s murder. We know Yuri didn’t kill her, Rasputin didn’t, and Bukin and Aristarkhov have alibis.”
“But if Aristarkhov had an accomplice, then he could have given himself an alibi, while the accomplice carries out the murder. And what better way to give yourself an alibi than by entering Prince Alexei’s room immediately after the shot is fired?”
She looks at me. “That’s a darned good point. And now, Aristarkhov plans to avoid any blame himself, by putting Captain Sirko on trial for the crime! You’ve got this all worked out, Agnes. Aristarkhov arranged the murder of Svea Håkansson. That son-of-a-bitch is behind everything that’s going on.”
“I’m not totally sure of that. But what I do know is that we need to find out more, somehow.”
“I tell you what you need to find, Agnes. You need to find Aristarkhov’s accomplice. Someone does the general’s dirty work for him.”
“I think I know who that is. The man at the Finland Station – the one who kept watching us, and whom Lenin was so keen to meet. I overheard his name: Ivan Horobets. I’m sure he was the man who tried to burn down a cottage that Professor Axelson and I were staying in when we first came to Russia. I wouldn’t be surprised if he worked for Aristarkhov. In fact, I feel certain of it.”
The compartment door opens. A trolley appears in the doorway: behind it is a tired-looking waitress.
“Ladies? This was ordered for you? Andrei said…”
Emily buts in. “Yes. Thank you…” She looks at the waitress. “You called him Andrei. Do you know Mr Sokolov?”
Despite the dark circles under her eyes, her face lights up, and the waitress shows us a lovely smile.
“Oh yes! Every month or so, Andrei comes on this train. Always, he goes all the way to Moscow alone, then returns to Perm with guests.” She lifts silver covers off the trays. “The main course is beef stroganoff, made with fresh mushrooms and smetana – sour cream. It is Andrei’s favourite. I hope you enjoy it!”
As soon as she’s gone, I look at Emily. “That was a good question you asked! So Sokolov does this journey regularly. I wonder who his ‘guests’ are?”
“More to the point, Agnes, I’ve been thinking about what you were saying about Aristarkhov and his accomplice. Try this idea for size. You say this Horobets guy works for Aristarkhov. Suppose Horobets was there, at the Finland Station, as Aristarkhov’s representative?”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at it like this. After the February revolution, Aristarkhov was in hiding, the revolutionaries were after his blood.”
“Yes…”
“So, what if Aristarkhov told Horobets to pretend to have Bolshevik beliefs, and to apply to join the St Petersburg Soviet?”
I look at her pale, intense face. “I’m not sure I follow?…”
“If Horobets joined the Bolsheviks, he could meet Lenin – and ask him if Aristarkhov can be taken into the Bolshevik fold.”
I think about what she’s saying. “So that was how Aristarkhov switched sides… yes, it makes perfect sense, Emily – from Aristarkhov’s point of view. But I don’t understand why Lenin would be interested in such a deal.”
Emily ponders for a moment, while I try to picture exactly what we saw at the station. I think aloud.
“Do you remember how Lenin behaved, when he arrived at the Finland Station? He wasn’t interested in talking to Chkheidze. But he seemed very keen to meet Horobets.”
Emily nods slowly. I can see that she’s thinking it all through.
“Yes. I think I know why Lenin would be interested in having Aristarkhov on his side. Since that day at the Finland Station, I’ve realised how the Bolsheviks work. Lenin is actually a lot like the Tsar: his regime doesn’t tolerate dissent. I predict that Lenin will create a new secret police, a new Okhrana. If so, who better to lead it than an experienced man like Aristarkhov?”
“That’s a very good point, Emily. A deal between Lenin and Aristarkhov would explain why the Bolsheviks now possess Okhrana’s old files.”
“Yes – of course! I hadn’t thought of that angle – but that’s the reason Bukin was told to gather up the Okhrana files and send them to Aristarkhov. The general knew that if he held all the Okhrana files, he had a strong bargaining tool. Information is power.”
“I agree, Emily. Lenin stepped off that train at the Finland Station – and Horobets was the person he wanted to meet first. That was because Lenin wanted to do a deal with Aristarkhov. The deal was good for both of them: Lenin got Aristarkhov’s skills and experience, and all the Okhrana files; Aristarkhov got a powerful position in Lenin’s government.”
I’m just telling Emily the story of finding the gun under the ice at Tri Tsarevny, when Mr Sokolov reappears.
“Your food is here! Ah, I see they have made you the beef stroganoff, with proper Russian smetana! Enjoy it – but we must eat quickly. In one hour we will cross the Kama Bridge, and arrive at Perm Station.”
18
Xanadu
Emily and I have been living in this strange community for a month. The Yermak Estate is a beautiful place on the banks of the Sylva River, deep in southern Siberia: when we arrived, its wooded parklands were a blaze of red and yellow fall colors. Even now, after all the leaves have fallen, it still looks charming: manicured lawns and a gravelled drive surround the neoclassical, white-painted mansion. Its pillared exterior and wide porches give it the air of an antebellum house in Georgia or the Carolinas.
On our arrival at Yermak, Mr Sokolov introduced us to “the residents”. The first to greet us was a Mr Avdeyev, a flamboyantly-dressed man who told us he was a playwright – “My works have been been performed on Broadway, you know.” Then we were taken to see a florid-faced gentleman with a single name: Vova. Mr Sokolov whispered to us when we met “A great artist, a Socialist-Futurist”. Vova insisted on showing us his studio, a large dingy room full of semi-abstract monochrome canvases depicting industrial workers, factories and railway engines.
After we left Vova to his paintings, Mr Sokolov took us along to the main sitting room, where we met a gaunt, nervous-looking youth. Mr Sokolov introduced him as Fyodor Rokossovsky – “a promising young anarchist poet”. Our conversation was interrupted by the discordant thumping of a piano overhead. “That will be Mr Trifonov, an avant-garde composer” Sokolov explained. “He will not wish to come down to greet you: he cannot stand being disturbed. A lover of solitude, a kind of genius.” We finally met Mr Trifonov at dinner, where he talked, with his mouth full, the whole time.
There are several others living here, too, although Emily and I are the only women, apart from the cooks and cleaners. The other “residents” introduced themselves over the next few days after our arrival. There’s a French travel writer, who told us that his stories of the hardships of peasant life in Russia, published as a serial by a leading Paris magazine, had angered the Tsar. He was denied a permit to travel onwards along the railway through Siberia, or back to Moscow, so he is stuck here. There are also two Russian journalists who were told last year by Okhrana that they must either stay at Yermak, or face prison. And finally, there’s Dr Günther, a German geologist who had been exploring the Ural Mountains in the summer of 1914. When the war broke out, he was arrested. He now lives here, surrounded by his fossil samples and seemingly very happy. All these people are accommodated at Yermak, with free board and lodging and an ample supply of books and newspapers. Philippe Dubois, the travel writer, summed it up to me one morning at breakfast.