R. Morris - A Razor Wrapped in Silk

‘I cannot be as confident as you that he is the murderer. I rather find that the interesting circumstances you have just revealed provide a more compelling motive for you to murder Yelena Filippovna than for your father. It is also psychologically consistent that you would wish to accuse him of a crime you had committed, as you would blame him for her death, believing that he had somehow forced you to it.’ Porfiry glanced briefly at Virginsky. ‘My experience of such triangles is that the resentment is all on the side of the son.’

‘It is not resentment. He wanted to prevent our union because it horrified him.’

‘He told you that?’

‘He didn’t have to. Surely it must horrify any man to think of his own son lying with his former mistress. It is tantamount to incest.’

‘Had you not already slept with Yelena Filippovna?’

Prince Sergei’s gaze darted away.

‘I see … how unlike Yelena Filippovna. And yet … if she had slept with your father, she might naturally hesitate to consummate her relationship with you. My dear prince, you have interrupted us at a most crucial stage of our investigations and I fear that, through no fault of your own, you have entirely distracted me from my train of thought. The information you have imparted is extremely diverting. Yes, it has diverted me from the course I was set upon.’ Porfiry seemed genuinely at a loss. He cast about the room as if to get his bearings. ‘Of course, our investigations are always disturbed by the unruly intrusion of events. However, increasingly, as I get older, I am finding it more and more difficult to recover from these disruptions. My mind, like my eyes, is not as sharp as it once was. Is that not so, Pavel Pavlovich?’

Virginsky blew out his cheeks in embarrassment. He looked down at the blood-stained towel.

‘Ah, yes, thank you for reminding me. Tell me, Prince Sergei, is Aglaia Filippovna still a guest at the palace?’

‘She is.’

‘And is she still incapacitated?’

‘Indeed. She is in a state of semi-consciousness most of the time. She drifts in and out of a comatose trance.’

‘But she has her lucid moments?’

‘I fear not. In the brief moments when she is capable of speech, she appears utterly confused. My mother has taken to sitting with her. My mother is very devout, you know. She prays for Aglaia Filippovna constantly.’

‘Your mother …? Of course, your mother!’

‘What do you mean by that? My mother feels a great deal of sympathy for the young lady.’

‘I wonder, have you discussed your suspicions regarding your father with your mother?’

‘I did not wish to worry her.’

‘And yet you had no compunction in making your allegations directly to a magistrate?’

‘My conscience will not allow me to keep silent any longer.’

‘In other words, your hatred for your father out-weighed your consideration for your mother.’

‘That is a despicable way of putting it. Was it not my civic duty?’

‘To betray your father?’

‘I believed he was Yelena’s murderer.’

‘Given what you have said today, does it not occur to you that your mother too had a motive for killing Yelena Filippovna?’

‘Surely not!’

‘Will your mother be with Aglaia Filippovna now? Perhaps we should pay a visit on the invalid and her nurse.’

‘You will say nothing of my father’s affair with Yelena. It will destroy her.’

‘One cannot know in advance what it may or may not prove necessary to say,’ said Porfiry. He stretched up to stem the gas, plunging them into gloom. ‘You will bring the towel with you, Pavel Pavlovich.’

The room was as gloomy as it had always been. It was lit only by the slumbering glow from the open hearth, which was reflected in fitful waves across the ceiling.

It seemed to Virginsky that Aglaia Filippovna’s hair had gained in strength and substance at the expense of every other aspect of her physicality. It sprawled around her head, no longer a halo but now wild, raging flames of intense blackness. The pallor of her skin matched the luminosity of the crisp white bed linen. Her hands lying on the folded-over sheet seemed transparent. Her face grew out of the pillow that her head rested on. Beneath the covers, her body appeared thinner and straighter than ever, merely a long wrinkle in the counterpane.

Princess Yevgenia Andreevna Naryskina maintained her bedside vigil, though she was seated now. A chair had been placed for her exactly on the spot where before she had stood. Her eyes seemed deeper-set than Virginsky remembered, their hungry energy receding physically into her head. She looked up briefly at their entrance, taking in the apprehension in her son’s face, and reflecting it back with a nervous excitement. The sight of the blood-stained towel added to her agitation, but she did not linger on it. It was always to the girl on the bed that her gaze returned, although the nature and intent of that gaze was difficult to interpret. The most obvious construction was that it was a look of solicitude, but Virginsky couldn’t shake off the impression that she sought to hold Aglaia Filippovna captive with her gaze. Despite her son’s anxieties, Virginsky doubted that there was anything that could be said to the princess that could destroy her or even surprise her. Those eyes had seen much, and foresaw the rest, it seemed to him.

‘Good day, Madam Princess,’ began Porfiry briskly. ‘And how is the patient today?’ He leaned over the bed, and in a movement that seemed almost scandalous, so unpredicted was it, took Aglaia Filippovna’s hand in his own.

Princess Naryskina tucked her chin against her collarbone to squeeze out: ‘The same as ever.’

‘She revives occasionally, is that not so?’

‘Occasionally.’

‘And always the first thing she sees is your face. At the sight of which she promptly falls back into a trance!’

‘It is not exactly like that. We try to get some nourishment into her. And tend to her other needs. Besides, I am not always here. I cannot say if she revives when I am not. The nurse tells me she does, now and then.’

‘Of course. It has often occurred to me how easily we might have solved this case if only we had been able to get a meaningful testimony from Aglaia Filippovna before now. What keeps her locked inside this inner prison? Surely it can no longer be the action of the bromide poisoning?’ Porfiry paused, his face opening up expectantly. Virginsky was dimly aware that Porfiry was all the time toying with Aglaia Filippovna’s hand, his fingers moving incessantly, obsessively among hers; but somehow one did not care about this, he realised. It was Porfiry Petrovich’s ice-coloured eyes, his lashes blond to the point of transparency, that demanded attention. In that moment, his gaze was captivating, hypnotic.

‘I wonder, madam, if you will assist me in a psychological experiment. I take it you wish to see the young lady recover from the debilitating condition to which she is in thrall?’

Porfiry’s eyes held and compelled the princess.

‘I have no knowledge of psychology,’ she protested, though in truth it was more a surrender of will than a protest.

‘There is no need to worry about that. We are all in some degree psychologists, are we not? Besides, the role I wish you to play is very simple.’ Porfiry produced a folded newspaper clipping from a pocket. ‘Please read aloud the passage marked, if you would be so kind.’

He passed the slip of newsprint to the princess.

Virginsky sensed that with her static demeanour and shadowy dress, she was more comfortable on the periphery of events, hardly seen, or if noticed at all, soon ignored. Perhaps this was what had drawn her to the side of Aglaia Filippovna and why she was so riveted by the girl’s unmoving form. Her fascination was not without a touch of envy. To be invited now into the centre of this momentous incident — a murder investigation — to be asked to participate, and not simply witness, it was almost too much for her. Her consternation bordered on panic. She fumbled in her reticule, spilling its contents with a yelp of dismay onto Aglaia Filippovna’s bed. Virginsky looked away from the spillage as though from something indecent, though he noticed that Porfiry was unashamedly goggling at the items. Such was the greed in Porfiry’s eye that it appeared he longed to handle the objects. It was only his reluctance to release Aglaia Filippovna’s hand that prevented him, it seemed.