Boris Akunin - The Coronation

It seemed to me that the shade of the unfortunate little prisoner was hovering over the table, although not a word was spoken about him. After all, the Englishmen had not officially been informed about what had happened – that would have meant the inevitable dissemination of the secret across the whole of Europe. As long as the subject was not touched upon, it did not exist. As men of honour, Lord Banville and Mr Carr would keep silent. And if they did say anything, it would only be in private, among their own circle. That, of course, would fuel rumours, but nothing more than that. And I have already spoken about rumours.

I stood behind Georgii Alexandrovich’s chair, giving signs to the servants if anything needed to be brought in or taken out. But my thoughts were far away. I was wondering how I could exculpate my unwitting debt of guilt to Mikhail Georgievich and whether there was some other way in which I could help to save him. And also – I will not attempt to dissemble – several times I recalled the trusting even admiring way in which Mademoiselle Declique had looked at Fandorin – Erast. I must admit that in picturing myself as Mikhail Georgievich’s rescuer, I imagined how she would look at me in the same way – perhaps with even greater admiration. Foolish, of course. Foolish and unworthy.

‘Why does it have to be me?’ Pavel Georgievich asked, lowering his voice. ‘You were the one who promised to take them to the opera today.’

‘I can’t,’ Georgii Alexandrovich replied just as quietly. ‘You will go.’

Just for an instant – evidently because my thoughts were occupied by extraneous matters – I imagined that I had begun to understand English, for the conversation at the table was naturally in that language, but then I realised that these remarks had been made in Russian.

Pavel Georgievich spoke in a jolly voice, with his lips stretched out into a smile, but his eyes were as spiteful as could be. His father regarded him with a perfectly benign air, but I noticed that the back of His Highness’s neck was turning crimson, and that certainly boded no good.

By this time Xenia Georgievna was no longer at the table – she had withdrawn, citing a slight migraine.

‘Is it because she has arrived?’ Pavel Georgievich asked, still smiling in the same way and looking at the Englishmen. ‘Are you going to see her at the Loskutnaya?’

‘None of your business, Paulie,’ said Georgii Alexandrovich, smacking his lips as he lit up a cigar. ‘You’re going to the opera.’

‘No!’ Pavel Georgievich exclaimed so loudly that the Englishmen actually started.

Endlung immediately began jabbering away in English. Georgii Alexandrovich laughed, added a few words and then, covering his son’s hand with his own immense fleshy palm in a paternal manner, rumbled: ‘Goto the opera or go to Vladivostok. And I’m not joking.’

‘I’ll go to Vladivostok; I’ll go to the devil if you like!’ Pavel Georgievich replied in a honeyed voice, and lovingly set his other hand on top of his father’s, so that from the outside this family scene must have appeared quite charming. ‘But you go to the opera yourself.’

The threat concerning Vladivostok was heard quite often in the Family. Every time Pavel Georgievich was involved in some escapade or provoked his parents’ displeasure in one way or another, Georgii Alexandrovich threatened to use his authority as admiral-general to send him to the Pacific Fleet, to serve the fatherland and settle down. So far, however, this had not happened.

After that they spoke exclusively in English, and my thoughts took a completely different direction.

I had an idea.

The point was that the meaning of the spat between Their Highnesses, which would hardly have been understandable even to someone who knew Russian, was absolutely clear to me.

Izabella Felitsianovna Snezhnevskaya had arrived and was staying at the Loskutnaya hotel.

There was someone who would help me!

Madam Snezhnevskaya was the most intelligent woman I had ever met in my life, and in my time I had seen empresses and high-society lionesses and ruling queens.

Izabella Felitsianovna’s story is so fantastic and improbable that the like is probably not to be found in the whole of world history. Possibly some Madam Maintenon or Marquise de Pompadour might have achieved greater power at the zenith of their glory, but their position within the royal household could hardly have been more secure and enduring. Madam Snezhnevskaya, being, as I have already said, a most intelligentwoman, had made a truly great innovation in court practice: she had started an affair, not with a monarch or a grand duke, who alas are mortal or inconstant, but with the monarchy, which is immortal and eternal. At the age of twenty-eight Izabella Felitsianovna had earned the sobriquet of a ‘crown jewel’, and in fact she really did look like some precious decoration from the Imperial Diamond Room: petite, delicate, unutterably elegant, with a voice like crystal, golden hair and sapphire eyes. This little dancer, the youngest and most talented in all the ballet companies of St Petersburg, had been noticed by the deceased sovereign. In paying homage to the charms of this nymph, His Majesty discovered something more in Izabella Felitsianovna than the mere enchantment of beauty and freshness – he discovered intelligence, tact and the basic qualities of a faithful ally of the throne.

As a statesman and exemplary family man, the sovereign could not allow himself to become too obsessed with this magical debutante, and he took the wise step (one must presume, not without regret) of entrusting Madam Snezhnevskaya to the care of the tsarevich, whowas causing his august parent great concern with his excessive piety and a certain lack of polish. Izabella Felitsianovna bore the parting from His Majesty with courage and took her important state mission most responsibly, so that the heir to the throne soon changed for the better and even committed several follies (admittedly rather modest and not scandalous in nature), which finally reassured his father the tsar.

In appreciation of her services, Madam Snezhnevskaya received a marvellous palazzo on Bolshaya Dvoryanskaya Street, her own choice of parts at the Mariinsky Theatre and – most important of all – a special, in fact exclusive, position at court, which was the envy of many, many others. However, despite all this, she conducted herself modestly, did not abuse her influence and – almost unbelievably – did not acquire any serious enemies. It was known from reliable sources that the lovelorn tsarevich had offered to marry the beauty in secret, but she prudently declined, and when a tender friendship sprang up between the heir to the throne and Princess Alice she withdrew into the shadows, and in a touching scene of farewell with ‘dear Nicky’ she gave her blessing to that union. This action subsequently paid dividends, since it was genuinely appreciated by the new tsarina – yet another unprecedented phenomenon – and she began giving her former rival clear signs of favour. Especially when Izabella Felitsianovna, following a decent pause for grieving, entrusted her tender heart to Georgii Alexandrovich. To be quite honest, I think that in many ways Madam Snezhnevskaya gained more than she lost by this change. Georgii Alexandrovich is a distinguished man and a generous soul with a far more pleasant character than his nephew.

Oh, Izabella Felitsianovna was wisdom itself. One could tell her about anything. She understood how important the secrets of the royal family were, for she herself was their custodian. Snezhnevskaya would come up with something special, something that would not occur either to the slippery Colonel Karnovich or the redoubtable Kirill Alexandrovich, or even the artful Mr Fandorin himself.