The Russian White, page 14
One rat emerged from a hole in a broken pavement. It sniffed the air as it tested for danger, and, sensing none, it climbed out, and began to hunt.
Old, wily and cunning, with many moons experience of the advantages to be taken from the careless habits of human kind. And huge, twice the size of its fellows. Its arched back rose in a jagged line that stretched the length of its body. Fur and skin stretched tight over the hollows and curves of its ribs.
Other rats followed, taking courage from this old master. They spilled out of the hole and gathered round him, writhing and squirming in eager anticipation.
The old rat dashed into the darkness, and the pack followed, moving as one. They scampered through the passageways and alleys, keeping to the shadows, scurrying over the sleeping forms that never felt their passing. Unafraid and silent, they hunted together.
The old rat saw the child first. Watched, as the thin infant leaned against a woman’s thigh, and traced imaginary lines in the air with its stick, as if trying to join up the stars, one by one.
The old rat approached, and sniffed at the sweet sickly scent that surrounded the child. The woman was dead. It came closer, the pack followed. Noses and whiskers twitched; an easy kill, but-something, hiding in the darkness, sensed but not seen, made them wary. They inched nearer, ready for the final dash.
The child emerged from its dream, and gazed at the dark shadow that swirled across the wet cobbles at its feet. It stared, wondering, but too tired and too weak to cry out.
The old rat attacked. It darted forward and bit the child’s toe.
The child squealed, surprised by the sudden pain, but the pack surged forwards and smothered it.
Fear, and an instinctive desire to survive, fuelled the strength needed to scream, and the child’s high-pitched shriek filled the night.
A guttural snarling howl answered its cry, and a wolf sprang out of the shadows, bounded towards the child, and pounced on the vermin.
Its leap broke the old rat’s back, and the pack scurried away, squeaking in terror, and dived into the gutters and drains.
The old rat squirmed, and the wolf tore its throat out, and ended its pain.
The child whimpered, and reached up with tiny hands to grab the wolf’s warm fur.
The clouds passed across the stars, and when they cleared, and the starlight shone once more, the wolf was gone.
Isobel woke with a start. Lamplight dazzled her. She squinted through her fingers and saw an old lady beckoning her to get up.
She groaned and turned over. She didn’t want to leave the warm straw mattress.
A firm but insistent hand shook her shoulder. She turned back and opened her eyes. The lady pointed towards the open door, and encouraged her to hurry with tongue clicks and trills.
Isobel stretched and rolled off the mattress. She shivered in the freezing air of the dark attic room. She bundled herself into the thick overcoat, and stepped into the over-large boots. The cold leather made her teeth chatter. Why did she have to get up so early?
She shuffled after the old lady, and followed her down three flights of wooden stairs to the shop on the ground floor.
Konstantin Raevsky sat at the table in the place that he had occupied the previous day. Candles, stuck onto a wide plate, flickered with a steady glow. Terrington sat beside him, and sipped a hot drink from a pewter tankard.
“Ah please.” Konstantin pointed to a chair at the end of the table. “You sleep well?”
Isobel yawned. “Yes-didn’t want to wake up.”
“Have some tea, that will revive you.”
The old lady left the room.
“I have not slept at all.” Konstantin affected a look of exaggerated sadness. He reminded Isobel of a clown at a fair. “We talk about you and him,” he went on. “And decide what must be done.”
Who had he been talking to? She looked at Terrington, but he covered his face with the tankard and drank.
Four chairs stood around the table; a guest, at this time of the morning? Who and why, but sleepiness made it too difficult to think or ask. They sat in silence, and she gazed at the candles and rubbed her eyes.
The old lady returned and set a tankard of tea in front of her. The black surface steamed and shimmered, but its warmth was a comfort, and she cupped the tankard in her cold hands.
Konstantin smiled. “Many things we need to say, and all-ah!” He rose, and Isobel turned to see the new arrival.
A young woman stood in the doorway dressed in a tailored green jacket and long black skirt. Dark brown hair hung straight and loose to her shoulders, and softened the sharp lines of her jaw and cheekbones. She carried a cloth bag with leather handles.
Konstantin took her hand and led her to the empty chair. She sat down and Konstantin returned to his seat. The lady beamed a sparkling smile.
“Good morning. My name is Dunyasha Ilyinichna.” Isobel recognised the cultured accent from the day before, but she didn’t remember seeing this smart lady amongst the other Russians.
“I am the wife of Yakov Ilyinichna, Russia’s Ambassador to London.” Her confident poise suggested ease when speaking in public; refined, but natural, which made people listen.
“You must be Isobel,” she acknowledged. “And you Terrington? Am I right?”
Isobel nodded, but Terrington stared over the top of his tankard and said nothing. He looked frightened, and his anxiety erased Isobel’s calm and forced her sleepy mind to concentrate. What was the Russian’s ambassador’s wife doing in the back streets of Southwark? She gripped her tankard tighter.
Dunyasha held up a blue velvet cosmetics bag secured by a golden drawstring. She untied the string and tipped up the bag, and the Russian White clattered onto the table.
Isobel jumped and Terrington flinched, his tankard suspended halfway between his mouth and the table.
The diamond’s fractured surface flashed in subtle tones of yellow, that deepened to darker shades below its surface. It might be alive, and it drew Isobel into some unseen infinity deep within its heart. She looked away, afraid of being lost in those curious depths.
Konstantin’s gaze fixed on Terrington, and he smiled a knowing smile.
“The Russian White,” announced Dunyasha. “Back in Russian hands at last.”
“It is good,” Konstantin replied in his slow deep voice. “It has been out of Russia for too long.”
He picked it up and angled it at the candle flames, then twisted it from side to side, so that light and shadow swept in waves across its surface. “What your Master would give to have this back. Eh?” he teased Terrington.
“Don’t tempt him with false promises Konstantin. It is no laughing matter. Too much blood has been spilt in its name.” Dunyasha snatched the diamond out of his hand, and dropped it back into the velvet bag. “Now, we have some serious talking.”
Her commanding authority demanded attention. Like being taught lessons as a child, thought Isobel, but worse, as if an impossible test was about to be set.
“Isobel.” Dunyasha’s sharp chin jutted towards her. “You have been searching for the Russian White with James Turney. Why have you been doing this?”
She squirmed, like a naughty child caught doing something wrong. “I-I didn’t mean to look for it,” she gabbled. “It’s just-well, it’s just that when I ran away with James he told me about it-because during the tour Russian men joined the company, the tour with The Classical Beauties, and I asked about them. He told me about the diamond.’ Her voice trailed to a whisper.
“I see.” Dunyasha did not sound convinced. “So it must have been a terrible revelation to discover the diamond, the imitation diamond, in your London house?”
This abrupt statement hit like a slap, and she nodded, “yes,” because that was all she could do.
“Why did you run away from home?”
Her stomach tightened. This intense questioning unnerved her, and she sipped her tea as she thought of an answer. The tea tasted strong, almost stewed, and unsweetened. Would Dunyasha know if she lied? She might, something frightened her about the woman’s determined manner. She took a deep breath. “I was very unhappy.”
“Why?”
“Do I have to tell you?”
Konstantin reached across and patted her arm. “It is important that you answer all our questions, because then we will know how to help you.”
“How to help me?”
“We all want to get James out of Bedlam.” Dunyasha’s white teeth gleamed in the soft light.
The mention of James reassured her. She needed their support to rescue him. She took a deep breath. “I ran away from home, because I was very unhappy.”
“This you have told us already.” Dunyasha’s fixed smile remained unchanged. “And I think it is sad. You live in big houses with servants and everything that a young lady of means could possibly need. So what is it that makes you unhappy?”
Isobel sipped her tea. She didn’t want to tell the truth. Her reasons, spoken out loud, sounded silly. She sprang upon variations of the truth, but they were all raw, and unformed, because she had no time to think them through; all that was left was the truth, plain and simple, because there was nothing else to say.
“I ran away from home, because I didn’t need to do anything ever again for the rest of my life. I could have anything I wanted. Nothing was ever going to happen to me that wasn’t already decided. I ran away because it was something that I could do.” She hid behind the tankard. Her cheeks burned, and she didn’t want them seeing her blush.
“I see,” replied Dunyasha. “You were bored. You had everything and yet it wasn’t enough. Am I right?”
Isobel nodded. To admit the truth, despite her blushes, wasn’t so embarrassing, and her anxiety about this strange woman lessened. She lowered the tankard. “I was doing something for myself, and whether it turned out good or bad didn’t matter, because it made me feel alive.”
Dunyasha bowed her head as if to acknowledge that she understood. “You are a very spirited young lady. I admire that. I too have fought for a life that made me more than just a woman. It is a choice, one that must be taken with open eyes. I am too old to have children now, but my husband’s life is my life too. We work together, and I will never regret my decisions. But you do not work; you act on a whim, a fancy. Is that enough for you?”
Isobel had never heard any woman speak like Dunyasha before. Did relationships, and what a man and woman were permitted to do, in life and society, work differently in Russia? She didn’t know how to answer and said nothing.
“So.” Dunyasha’s chin jutted upwards. “It was chance that brought you and James together?”
“Yes, on the boat to France.” She placed her tea on the table.
Dunyasha’s head tilted as she waited for her to continue. What did she want to hear? That’s what happened; clear and straightforward. The silence provoked new feelings of guilt.
“Why? Did you think I knew him already?”
“I do not know,” Dunyasha reasoned. “But it is curious that you meet. The sister of the man who has the Russian White meets the operator who brings in the agents from Russia to search for the diamond. You see how this makes me think?”
Such an explanation did sound unlikely. But facts sometimes were. She had nothing to hide, and she spoke her reply with conviction. “I had never heard of the diamond before I met James.”
Dunyasha folded her hands on the table. “I think I want to believe you.”
“That’s what happened. Why would I lie? I have nothing to gain by making it up.”
“That is what I have to be sure of.”
“You think I was looking for the diamond too?”
“No. But you may have been double crossing us. Your brother may have sent you out to find James and report back to The Brotherhood about his activities. It might be many things. And yet your explanation could be the right one. It is so simple that a liar would find it hard to make it sound convincing.”
Isobel’s cheeks burned again, but this time from anger. She banged her tankard on the table. “I love James very much.”
Dunyasha’s smile widened. “This I believe. You have sincerity, something that cannot be manufactured. So I repeat, it must have been a big surprise when you found out about your brother, and his involvement with the diamond?”
Isobel replied with a cool; “Yes.”
“I see, and what about you?” Dunyasha’s abrupt manner and level gaze turned on Terrington.
Taken by surprise, he spluttered into his tea. Isobel guessed he hadn’t heard anything he didn’t know already, and she released her pent up anxiety in a furious shout. “Don’t believe anything he says. He’s a murderer.”
Dunyasha jumped at Isobel’s outburst. “I do not know about murderer, but an accomplice to murder certainly, and a friend of The Brotherhood. Am I right?”
Terrington stared into his tea.
Isobel snorted. “He won’t answer. He only speaks when William tells him to.”
“An accomplice to murder is a punishable crime in Russia,” Dunyasha continued. “In earlier times you would be dead already, and not sitting at my table and drinking my tea.”
Terrington slouched, impassive and still, sullen resignation his only visible emotion.
“You would kill to get hold of the diamond wouldn’t you?” Dunyasha’s brusque manner slid to one of tender concern, and the suddenness of her compassion surprised Terrington, so that he looked at her for the first time.
“You would do anything for your Master,” Dunyasha cooed. “He must trust you very much.” Like a mother, coaxing a shy boy, wary of frightening him into silence, yet determined to get at the truth. And it worked, because Terrington answered.
“I serve my Master.”
“You are a loyal servant,” Dunyasha agreed. “In Russia, such loyalty is honoured.”
“You honour murderers?” Isobel scoffed.
“Of course not,” Dunyasha replied. “Though loyalty of a servant to their Master builds a foundation of trust that is much admired in Russian society. He would be held in high regard.”
Did she really believe that? Servants worked for you; most of the time you didn’t even notice them, and you certainly never talked about them, except to point out how difficult it was to find good ones. Terrington didn’t have an original thought in his head, unless her brother put it there. “He’s violent,” she retorted. “And he’s not afraid to kill.”
“I agree,” Dunyasha’s voice hardened. “He should hang. His actions are loyal but misguided.”
“But,” Konstantin interjected. “Worthy of consideration.”
“We shall see.” Dunyasha drummed her fingers on the table. “I look at him and see the coiled stealth of the snake. He moves alone. He will do what he thinks is best. It may be wrong to take him.”
“Try him,” suggested Konstantin.
“I do not trust him.”
Terrington slouched so low in his chair that his head was almost out of sight. Isobel fantasised about where they might take him. Far, far away, she hoped, where she would never see him again.
Dunyasha traced her finger along the cracks in the table, and appeared deep in thought. Then, a decision reached, she pushed her chair back, stood and stretched. With her arms extended, she twisted her body until her spine cracked, and then she relaxed her shoulders to relieve tension.
“It is my great pleasure to inform you, Isobel Hunt, and you Mister Terrington,” her clear words, brittle and hard, sounded rehearsed; “That you will accompany the Russian White on its journey back to Russia. This is an honour and a duty that you will be grateful to undertake. I am very happy that this should happen.”
Isobel let go of her tankard, and tea slopped over the table. Dunyasha ignored the steady splash of dripping liquid.
“You have honoured our nation by your selfless devotion to finding the diamond.” Her eyes focused on some middle distance, as if reciting remembered text that she had learnt, or been taught. “And the Russian people thank you for this service. It is possible that the Tsar himself,” she made the sign of the cross, and so did Konstantin. “Will grant you one of our country’s most esteemed honours. His delight at its return will show the ignorant nations of Europe the sincerity of his will to rebuild the Orthodox faith in the Holy Lands. This will now be possible with the return of the Russian White. It is one of the founding stones of our Motherland, given by the Fathers of the Holy Lands at the very birth of our nation, and with it we will restore the Orthodox faith to a realm that is now little better than a heathen wasteland. Our Tsar will lead those people back to the light. His will is to lead a crusade, a glorious Holy crusade.” She sat down, her cheekbones flushed, and Konstantin reached across and squeezed her hand.
Fear smothered Isobel’s attempts at rational thought. Terrington stared past her, and frowned. Had she heard right? She coughed and her voice trembled. “But I don’t want to go to Russia.”
Dunyasha’s fixed smile returned. “I understand how you feel. But I regret that you have no choice in the matter.”
Isobel retorted; “You can’t just take me.”
“We can.” The smile set, like ice. “You know the diamond is returning to Russia. We cannot leave you in England with this knowledge. The Russian White must always remain a secret.”
“So-what?” she swallowed. “You’re frightened I’ll tell someone? I helped you look for it. I was helping the Russians, remember?”
“But now that it is found, all traces of its whereabouts must be eliminated. And that includes anybody who has helped us in our search. You cannot be expected to remain silent for the rest of your life. It will always be there, in your head, and the desire to share what you know will grow and wane throughout the years. When it is strong, you will feel the need to speak, and if your self-control is weak, your words will betray us, and the deaths of many men and women who have given their lives searching for it. This is a risk that we cannot take.”
Panic pumped through her body. Instinct told her to run. The door to the alley was locked. Escape through the other door, up the stairs and out of a window? Might that be possible? Terrington’s knuckles turned white as he squeezed his tankard. Think of something, keep them talking. “You can’t make me a prisoner,” she shouted. “It’s against the law.”
