R. Morris - A Razor Wrapped in Silk

‘So? What is the solution?’

‘The children who were murdered by Aglaia Filippovna … what links them?’

‘They were all pupils at this school?’

‘What else?’

‘They were all factory workers.’

‘Yes. Factory workers. To be more precise, they all worked, in fact, at foreign-owned factories.’

‘That is true. But what of it?’

‘Samson’s riddle. Why think of Samson’s riddle now? Unless a certain address in St Petersburg put Samson’s name into his mind and suggested the riddle, which is particularly apt to his intentions.’

‘Samsonyevsky Prospekt.’

‘Very good, Pavel Pavlovich. Samsonyevsky Prospekt. There is, I believe, a prominent foreign-owned factory that lies between Samsonyevsky Prospekt and the Vyborgskaya Embankment. On Samson’s Quay, in fact.’

‘The Nobel Factory! You think he has taken her there? But why?’

‘Time is of the essence, Pavel Pavlovich. Let us find a drozhki . We can talk on the way.’

The air was crystalline. A piercing winter clarity assailed their eyes and sharp particles of frozen moisture stung their faces. Sensing their urgency, the driver stood and whipped his horse mercilessly. The drozhki swung precariously from side to side, as fragile as an empty acorn shell tossed on the wind. At times it seemed to leave the ground.

Porfiry shouted to be heard over the roar of conveyance. ‘News of Aglaia Filippovna’s miraculous recovery no doubt reached him. He must have realised that once she was up and out of his control, it was only a question of time before we came after him. And so, perhaps, he wishes to make one final grand gesture.’

‘What?’ The word came out sharply and was whipped away by the wind.

‘His plan was to incriminate the Tsarist regime — to make the public believe that a member of the Romanov family was capable of child murder, or at the very least to prove that the Tsar was incapable of protecting the empire’s most vulnerable children, thereby propagating revolutionary sentiments to the wider populace. Aglaia Filippovna’s motives may well have been different. Her action was driven by her monstrous jealousy of her sister. She wished to harm all who loved Yelena. That is why she attacked the pupils of Maria Petrovna’s school. To attack Maria Petrovna, whose love for her sister was the most unconditional and unquestioning of all. And of course, Aglaia Filippovna’s jealous rage culminated in her actually destroying her hated sibling. This no doubt created difficulties for Perkhotin. He was forced to help her cover up an essentially personal murder, which he attempted to pass off as political. The two-headed eagle again.’

‘And so? Where does that leave us?’

‘He is no fool. I imagine that he realises the game is up. He must know that his deception has been uncovered. There is little point continuing the pretence. He is exposed as a greater monster than the regime he seeks to overthrow.’

‘Go on.’

‘He has nothing to lose any more. He is not a man to run and hide. He is a man to go out in a blaze of glory.’

‘But why would he take Maria Petrovna with him?’

‘He has shown throughout his career the need to impress young women with his cleverness. There is nothing that flatters his vanity so much as his idolisation in the eyes of young ladies. Perhaps he wishes to persuade Maria Petrovna of the correctness of his actions, to justify himself to her.’

‘You do not think she was involved in this all along?’

‘Only unwittingly. Were she to know the truth, she cannot but be appalled at Perkhotin’s part in Aglaia’s crimes. Her former idol will be transformed into a monster. The effect will be devastating. Everything she has based her life on has stemmed from his teachings.’

‘Why would she go with him?’

‘She may have been acting under duress, though nothing Father Anfim said hinted at that. More likely, she does not yet know the full truth. Perhaps he has revealed Aglaia Filippovna’s guilt, without disclosing his own role in it. She may believe that she is rushing to a meeting with Aglaia Filippovna, and wishes to persuade her to give herself up before any more innocents die. Or perhaps she does know the truth. And Apollon Mikhailovich himself is the friend whose life — or soul — she hopes to save.’

‘What do you think he intends to do?’

‘The story of Samson is instructive, I think. In chapter fifteen of the Book of Judges, we are told that Samson attached burning firebrands to the tails of three hundred foxes, tethering them in pairs, two to a firebrand. I always thought that rather cruel. He released the foxes into the fields of the Philistines, burning their crops in a great conflagration. I wonder if Perkhotin has something similar in mind. The Nobel brothers manufacture a diverse range of engineering products. Including armaments for the Russian state. I have read accounts of their experiments into the development of a new and highly destructive explosive material. They have successfully blown up sections of the Neva, I believe. A crude incendiary device planted in the right part of the factory would result in a far more destructive conflagration than could be achieved by three hundred blindly panicking foxes.’

Virginsky stood in the rocking drozhki and screamed at the driver. ‘Faster! Make the beast go faster!’

*

The Nobel Metalworking Factory was a modern, and in some ways model, factory. It had been in existence for a mere eight years, and so the semi-derelict dilapidation that characterised so many Petersburg factories had not yet taken hold. The Nobel family itself, or rather the members of it who remained in St Petersburg, resided in a mansion that was inside the factory precincts. In fact, their home was attached to the factory and seemed to grow out of it, as if the comfort and leisure of these few individuals was just another product manufactured there. But by choosing to live so close to the source of their wealth, they showed that they were not ashamed of it. On the contrary, it suggested that the pride they might naturally feel towards their home extended to the factory too. It could also be taken as a gesture of solidarity with their employees, or those of them who lived on site in the purpose-built workers’ quarters.

The mansion presented a neo-classical frontage which, together with a stand of trees planted beside it, almost hid the grimier blocks behind. The screen was only partially successful because the trees were now seasonally denuded. There was an ornamental garden in front of it, bounded by a wrought iron fence, with a semi-circular recess reminiscent of the entrance to a park. The productive factory buildings appeared plain and functional, though well-maintained and orderly, laid out at right angles to one another. As an indication of the factory’s rational design, there was only one smoking chimney tower, which peeped over the roof of the palatial facade. Perspective suggested that it was at the rear of the factory precinct, at the furthest possible distance from the Nobel family home.

It was here that Porfiry and Virginsky called, identifying themselves as magistrates and insisting that Ludwig Nobel himself be made aware of a most serious threat to his factory. All this was very hard for the maid to take in. Somewhat panic-stricken, she informed them that Ludwig Immanuelevich was currently at work in the office.

‘Then take us to him, miss! There is not a moment to lose!’ demanded Virginsky. ‘Do you wish to be blown to atoms?’

The question galvanised the timorous girl into action. She led them at a bustling lick through a beech-panelled hall, which had a fresh but sober countenance. There was no real decline in the standard of decor as they passed into the servants’ quarters. In the kitchen, it was not just the hanging pots and pans that gleamed, but every surface, even the freshly-waxed floor.