David Dickinson - Death Comes to the Ballets Russes

‘Would that they were, Mr Fitzgerald! I have watched them read the relevant pages in their history books about the French Revolution. I have talked till I am blue in the face about the potential causes. And what do I get? Some excellent work, I admit, but one of the wastrels — there are always three or four in any class, sending each other messages, looking out through the window, scratching signs on their chairs and desks — has said that the mob stormed the Bastille because they were bored and hadn’t anything else to do. Another says that the King spent all his time on that damned tennis court where the oath took place and was so busy playing that he didn’t pay any attention to what was happening in Paris.’

‘I don’t envy you,’ said Johnny, ‘but I think you look as if you might be a little over halfway through.’

‘So I am, well, that’s something. Now, Mr Fitzgerald, I understand you want to talk to me about Uncle Richard’s will. Is that right?’

This was all pretty direct, Johnny said to himself. Take away the polite condolences and that was exactly what he had come for. ‘Absolutely right,’ said Johnny.

‘I’m not going to beat about the bush, Mr Fitzgerald. I think it is most excellent sport. I drink in all the latest news from my mother and my aunt. They all believe it’s terribly serious, close the door to make sure the servants aren’t listening in the hall — all that silly cloak-and-dagger sort of stuff. I think it’s like being in a horse race — a very long horse race, mind you — where the favourite is in the lead for a while then he falls back and is replaced by one of the other runners. There used to be four of us in the race, now Alexander has fallen at one of the fences.’

‘Becher’s Brook, as it were.’

‘Precisely so. And when the new position has been well established, that only lasts a certain amount of time before he too is replaced. My relations keep asking me how I feel about Alexander’s death and I’m afraid I make the usual noises. But deep down, I’m rather intrigued in one sense. If you thought, Mr Fitzgerald, that you were one of four riders left in the big race, and that number was suddenly reduced to three, how would you feel? It’s hard to get too upset about it when you think that your own chances have been improved by a third or a quarter. You were four to one in the big race. Now you’re three to one. Don’t you see?’

‘That’s all very interesting, Mr Cooper. Do you know who the new favourite is, by any chance?’

‘No, I don’t, as a matter of fact. I think I was in the lead until I was replaced by Alexander, so it’s not likely to be me.’

‘Do the changes in expectation, as it were, always follow the same pattern: A followed by B and B followed by C and C followed by D?’

‘No, they don’t. It’s all completely random. There was once a period of A to D in strict alphabetic pattern, but it didn’t last.’

‘Does your uncle know you are a strict follower of form in this matter, Mr Cooper?’

‘No, he doesn’t. He hardly ever sees us at all. My aunt says he doesn’t like young people as a rule, but that might just be camouflage.’

‘Let’s suppose, Mr Cooper, that you were in the preferred position, leading the field, and your uncle dropped down dead. What would you do with the money?’

‘I’d get married for a start. I have been in love for six months or so with a young lady who teaches English at the girls’ school here. We could buy a bigger house. Maybe I could give up teaching history altogether. The problem is, we don’t know how much money there is. Do you know, Mr Fitzgerald?’

Johnny shook his head. ‘No, I don’t know exactly. I may have an idea quite soon.’

‘Well, when you find out, and I’m sure you will, a resourceful chap like you, remember to drop me a line. Just the total will do. You needn’t bother with the rituals of politeness.’

‘Tell me this before I go, Mr Cooper. You say all your information about the places in the race comes from your mother or your aunt. You don’t have any conversations with your uncle about the latest odds and so on?’

‘That’s right. It all comes from my mother and my aunt.’

As Johnny took his leave, a return to marking history essays calling on Mr Cooper’s side, two thoughts would not leave him alone. The first was that he suspected Peter Cooper was probably more like his uncle than anybody suspected. And the second was that, in the discussions about what he would do with the money, there had been no mention of sharing it out with anybody else.

Natasha Shaporova was sounding depressed and frustrated in her room in the Taneyev household, surrounded by the family icons.

‘Regret no further news to report here,’ the telegram began.

Powerscourt was reading it aloud to Lady Lucy.

‘Have read all letters to female members of the household. Nothing further to report. None of the men can find any of theirs. Alexander wrote more often to the women of the household than to his brother and his father. Both remember him referring to something very secret, something he shouldn’t have seen at all, and what should he do about it. The brother doesn’t remember replying, but admits he could have done. His father suggested that he send more details of what he’d actually seen. The brother thinks he may have left the letters in his barracks, the father thinks his may be in the yacht club. Both under strict instructions to carry out further searches. Regards Natasha.’

‘That all sounds pretty miserable,’ said Lady Lucy. ‘I shouldn’t like to be shut up in a room plastered with all those gloomy icons.’

‘Think about it, Lucy. What could it refer to?’

‘Well, it could refer to the future plans of the Ballets Russes. Further appearances in Europe cancelled because of lack of money. No return trip to London, perhaps.’

‘Or it could refer to some affair happening inside the company, something it would be very hard to cope with, if it came out.’

‘Like what?’

‘Well, like Diaghilev taking another lover apart from Nijinsky. That would put Nijinsky’s nose out of joint for a while. He might even leave.’

‘Perhaps it had nothing to do with the ballet and had to do with Ballets Russes being used as a sort of mobile post office, as Colonel Brouzet suggested from Paris. I can’t see that at the moment, mind you.’

‘Maybe what he wrote was proof that the company was bankrupt and he would have to go home.’

‘Proof, certain proof, Lucy. There are no certainties here, none at all. We had better turn our attention to other things before we drive each other mad with speculation.’

Brown’s Hotel, tucked away behind Piccadilly, prided itself on being one of London’s most private and discreet establishments. It was not one of those hotels you would go to if you wanted to be seen. Leonid Solkonsky’s suite was on the first floor. No shortage of funds, Powerscourt thought, back in the Solkonsky ménage near the Winter Palace or the vast estates in the interior. Any hope of solving the murder of Alexander Taneyev in one of London’s finest hotels vanished when the footman opened the door of the sitting room and showed him in.

An old gentleman, with white hair and a small white beard, wearing some Russian military uniform covered with medals, walked very slowly to greet him. He was leaning heavily on a stick in his right hand.

‘Lord Powerscourt,’ the old gentleman showed him to a seat near the window, ‘would you like some tea?’

‘That would be very kind.’

‘I always find English tea — well, English tea from Ceylon — so much better than the stuff we have at home.’

He rang the bell and lowered himself carefully into another armchair. ‘You must forgive the uniform, Lord Powerscourt. For today only I have returned to my old role as Colonel Solkonsky of the Preobrazhensky Guards. I am an honorary Colonel of the regiment, having served in it all my life.’