R. Morris - A Vengeful Longing

‘ This is Setochkin?’ cried Vakhramev incredulously. ‘My God, I had expected a golden Adonis, not this washed-up, bloated monk-fish of a man.’

Yegor couldn’t help smirking. There was some accuracy to the description; he had to admit his master had seen better days.

‘What on earth was Tatyana thinking?’ said Vakhramev.

‘Ah!’ said Colonel Setochkin, a look of shame-faced understanding descending on his features. ‘So that’s what this is all about. You are — ?’

‘I am Vakhramev!’

‘Tanya’s father?’

‘How dare you let my daughter’s name pass your lips?’

‘I fear that it will be very difficult to resolve this matter if I am not permitted to say her name. Perhaps, though, it would be better if you were to come with me into my study. I find it is preferable not to discuss these matters in front of one’s servants.’

‘I don’t give a damn about your servants.’

‘All the same, sir, if you will be so good as to accompany me, I believe we may settle the affair satisfactorily.’

‘You talk of satisfaction?’

‘No no no! You are mistaken. I didn’t mean that at all.’

‘It is for me to demand satisfaction, not you. Do you understand that?’

‘I was not — ’ Setochkin forced a smile. ‘Sir, I very much fear that we are getting off on the wrong foot.’

‘I cannot be held responsible for that.’

‘I was not suggesting that you should be.’

‘It was you who began to talk of satisfaction. You cannot pretend to be a man of honour with me.’

Setochkin’s expression darkened. ‘Be careful, sir. I am a reasonable man. Above all, I pride myself on that. Nevertheless — ’

‘There is no nevertheless, sir. You have forfeited all right to a nevertheless. You did so the day you seduced my daughter.’

Setochkin was about to say something, but an unfortunate coughing fit from Yegor just at that moment seemed to put him off his stride. Yegor felt his master’s attention on him and regretted his incontinence. ‘I must insist that we continue this discussion in my study, sir. If only for Tatyana’s sake.’

Now Yegor felt himself the object of Vakhramev’s disapproving scowl. ‘Very well. Perhaps it would be better, after all.’

Setochkin held out one arm, allowing Vakhramev to go first. The other man shook his head contemptuously as he walked past.

Yegor sought his master’s eye again but was refused it. The study door was closed to him. He heard the visitor’s voice rise immediately to a shout. Setochkin was compelled to raise his voice in response. In the resultant clamour, it was difficult to make out any details of the recriminations levelled against Setochkin, or of his rebuttals, however much Yegor strained to listen. But the general drift was clear enough from what he had been privy to already; so when he heard the clump of footsteps coming back towards the door, he relinquished the thrill of eavesdropping and hurried off towards the kitchen.

He found Dunya with her hands in a bowl of flour and butter. Yegor watched her naked elbows pump, fascinated by the deep T-SHAPED clefts in her bulbous upper arms, and was for the moment distracted from his purpose. Reflections on the weakness of human flesh imposed themselves upon him and an unexpected sympathy for his master’s predicament almost took the pleasure out of sharing what he knew. He blinked and looked away from those fascinating elbows.

‘He’s been up to his old tricks again,’ he said dourly.

Dunya grunted. It was neither encouragement nor forbiddance.

‘Some gentleman’s daughter,’ continued Yegor. ‘It will end badly, no question. They’re working themselves up to a duel.’

The wattle at her throat shook as a register of her contempt.

‘It’s a question of honour. That’s what it comes down to.’

Dunya clicked her tongue in disdain.

‘It’s that haughty-looking one. Tatyana. I knew she was trouble as soon as I clapped eyes on her. My, she’s a beauty though. You have to give her that.’

Dunya snorted, as if she would give her no such thing.

‘That’s all very well, Dunya, but you’re not a man. Not a man like the colonel.’

‘As he cooked the porridge, so must he eat it,’ said Dunya at last, with great deliberation.

Yegor nodded at the truth of this. He even opened his mouth to comment on it. But any words he might have produced were taken from him, as was his breath, by a sharp explosive crack in the air. Having once served in the Izmailovsky regiment, he was in doubt as to what it was. ‘Gunshot!’

Dunya lifted her hands from the bowl, causing the loose skin on her forearms to quiver. Cook and butler looked into each other’s faces, then all at once, Yegor turned towards the door. By the time he reached it, he was running.

He found Vakhramev with the pistol in his hand. Colonel Setochkin lay face up on the rug, into which he was seeping a dark and prodigal colour. The angles of his arms were like those of a running man, frozen mid-bound. His features were set in a frown of puzzlement.

‘You’d better get the police,’ said Vakhramev calmly.

‘You’ve killed him!’

‘You’d better get the police,’ repeated Vakhramev, rather less calmly. He looked sharply down at the weapon he was holding and mirrored the expression of the dead man, frowning as if at some gross impertinence.

‘Ah, Polya, my dear, how delightful to see you again.’ Porfiry rose to his feet and gestured to the empty chair in front of his desk. ‘So good of you to pay us this visit. You have met Pavel Pavlovich, I believe.’

Polina wrinkled her brow and regarded Porfiry suspiciously out of the corner of her eye as she sat down. She barely glanced towards Virginsky, who had just risen from the sofa. He sank back into it, withered by her disregard. ‘But I was presented with a summons. I had to come. That’s what the man said.’

‘Oh? Did they do that? I am so sorry. I expressed a wish to see you — just to clear up one or two things, you understand — and one of my subordinates’ — Porfiry glanced reproachfully at Virginsky, although in fact he had had nothing to do with issuing the summons — ‘was rather too zealous in executing it.’

‘It doesn’t matter. I wished to see you too.’

‘You did?’

‘Yes.’ Some kind of turmoil rippled in the girl’s brow. Porfiry could not shake off the impression that it was affected. ‘Something has been on my conscience.’

‘I see.’ Porfiry sat down slowly, not taking his eyes off Polina.

‘The master, Dr Meyer. .’

‘Exactly!’ broke in Porfiry, rising to his feet excitedly. ‘That is exactly what I wished to talk to you about! How extraordinary! We were thinking along the same lines. It’s all right. He has told us everything. You are blameless.’

‘No. Not blameless. I. .’

Porfiry sat down again, smiling and blinking his face into a childlike openness.

‘Please do not look at me like that. I cannot bear it. You look so trusting. I do not deserve that look.’

Porfiry pursed his lips and frowned. Polina burst into giggling laughter. She angled her head coquettishly as she looked at Porfiry.

‘And now you are making me laugh,’ she said in mock rebuke.

‘Perhaps it would be better if you looked at Pavel Pavlovich?’

Polina cast a desultory glance at Virginsky. ‘No.’

Virginsky shifted awkwardly between resentment and devastation.

‘My dear,’ said Porfiry. ‘I shall try to help you. Dr Meyer confessed that he made advances to you. He led us to believe that you rejected those advances. From his discomfiture, I rather imagined that your rejection was laced with a wholly understandable scorn. You humiliated him. Perhaps you blame yourself for that, but I do not. He tried to take advantage of your relative positions. It was an abuse. Your behaviour was entirely proper.’