Ilil Arbel: Madame Koska and the Imperial Brooch

“Yes, Inspector,” said Natalya.

“Do you remember what time it was?”

“About seven-thirty or so, I believe,” said Natalya.

“Madame Koska,” said the inspector. “Is it a regular occurrence for any of your employees to be here after six o’clock?”

“No, Inspector. Miss Saltykov and I stayed later than usual to organise a room dedicated to ironing special fabrics. She left about six-thirty or so.”

“Then why did you come back to the atelier, Miss Saltykov?” asked the inspector.

“I stopped on my way home to see if I could find some good ironing cloths, Inspector,” said Natalya. “I did find them, and since it was raining, I thought it was easier to take them back to the atelier rather than carry the heavy box home with me.”

“Do you have a key to the atelier?”

“No, but I knew Madame Koska was going to stay late, since she told me she was going to do the accounting, so I was expecting her to let me in.”

“Are you often involved with work after hours?” asked the inspector.

“Yes, often,” said Natalya. “I like taking little embroidery or beading projects home with me, like a sleeve, or a collar, or a shawl. I enjoy doing them in the evening after dinner.”

“Miss Saltykov is extremely dedicated to our vork,” said Madame Koska. “She is my most reliable employee, and my chief beader, inspector.” Natalya smiled but said nothing.

“I see,” said the inspector thoughtfully. “But you don’t stay on the premises at night, do you?”

“No, I do the projects at home, Inspector. Madame Koska is very generous to let me do so and also pays me extra.”

“So that was the first time you were expected to be at the atelier at night. I see. Tell me what happened when you got back?”

“The door was ajar, so I came in, and as I turned on the light, I saw Madame Koska on the floor. I was terribly scared, I thought she had a heart attack, so I bent over her to see if she was breathing, and she opened her eyes. I was so relieved…”

“What happened to the box of ironing cloths?” asked the inspector.

“I don’t know, I think I dropped it when I saw Madame Koska on the floor,” said Natalya. “Why?”

“Because I wish to see it,” said the inspector. “I want to make sure you really carried a box of ironing cloths. You see, I placed a man across the street to watch the place, after the last robbery. I must ask him if he saw you carrying a large box.”

Natalya looked at him with a fixed stare. “What are you saying, Inspector? That I am lying about what happened? Why should I?”

“I don’t know, Miss Saltykov. If you are lying, you are the only one who knows why.”

Natalya’s face turned ashen grey. She got up, tried to say something, and fell down, fainting.

“Well, well,” said the inspector as Madame Golitsyn and Madame Koska rubbed Natalya’s hands, supported her head, administered smelling salts, and eventually managed to wake her up. She looked around her, confused.

“Inspector,” she said with great dignity. “If you suspect me of doing harm to Madame Koska, you are wasting precious time that should be spent on finding the real criminal. Nothing on the face of this earth would make me harm Madame Koska. She had been kinder to me than anyone I know other than my family and the Tzarina of Russia, may her soul rest among the angels. You can arrest me, interrogate me, or even execute me, but I will never change my story; it is the truth.”

“These young ladies are very quick to assume I am about to arrest them,” said the inspector to no one in particular. “I needed your story. Now I am going to verify it with the store where you bought your cloths. Common police work, Miss Saltykov, and there is no need to feel like the heroine in the moving pictures.”

“Inspector,” said Madame Golitsyn quietly, “My niece had much trouble with police persecution in the old country. It is not surprising she would be afraid of you.”

“But we are in England, Madame Golitsyn. In this country, the police are meant to help, not to persecute anyone, and we expect our citizens to help us in return. Are you coming, Korolenko? No, I just remembered. You had your other business with Madame Koska. Good day, ladies. I will be back soon.”

When he left, Madame Golitsyn said, “I am taking Natalya home, Vera. Come, child, we need to talk.” Natalya followed wordlessly, for once not insisting she must complete her work. Madame Koska looked anxiously at her bent back and slow gait. The girl was terribly upset. “Of course, Annushka,” she said to the retreating figure of her friend. “Thank you, my dear. And keep her home tomorrow so she can get some rest. I’ll stop over to see you both this evening.”

When everyone left,Mr. Korolenko got up, closed the door of the office, and walked to the window. Looking thoughtfully out into the street, he pulled a plain envelope out of his jacket’s pocket and started turning it in his hands. Madame Koska waited, wishing he would get on with whatever it was so she could go and have some coffee.

“I made some inquiries on your behalf,” he finally said. “I hope you will believe me that it was done with good intentions.”

“I am sure it was done with the best intentions, Mr. Korolenko, whatever it was.”

“I wanted to know what happened to your husband, Madame Koska.”

“But you couldn’t, since he disappeared,” said Madame Koska, surprised. “They looked for him when he vanished and wanted to arrest him. They never found him. I had a feeling he left Europe to avoid them and told them so, and they did look in Constantinople, where so many Russians escaped to, but he was not there. They finally had a clue he went to Manchuria, but they could not pursue him there.”

“Well, they did not look in the right places,” said Mr. Korolenko. “I don’t want to shock you, but your husband is dead, Madame Koska. I got in touch with the proper authorities, and what I have here is his death certificate. Your husband was killed during the war. He was not fighting in the war since he was over the age limit; he was hiding in Switzerland. They are not sure who killed him, but they found his body in a hotel in Geneva.”

Madame Koska took the envelope and calmly opened it and took out the death certificate. Yes, it seemed correct, Grigory Koska, date, place, age… it all fitted. So logical of Grigory to escape to Switzerland, he probably had some money tucked away there, so many people did.

“Ah, well,” said Madame Koska, and laughed. “What is the etiquette for thanking someone for bringing you the death certificate of a husband who had run away from you?”

“You don’t seem upset,” said Mr. Korolenko.

“I am not,” said Madame Koska. “I never wanted to see him again. I wished him no harm, but whether he is dead or alive makes very little difference to me, Mr. Korolenko.”

“Unless you wish to marry again someday, Madame Koska,” said Mr. Korolenko quietly. “It’s not impossible that you might wish to do so.”

“Not impossible, but highly improbable,” said Madame Koska. “I do thank you, though, Mr. Korolenko. It’s always best to know the truth.” Was it really best, she thought to herself, did she really want to have that finality stamped on her long association with Grigory? She shrugged. What’s the use of brooding?

“I am not so sure about it being so improbable,” said Mr. Korolenko.

“Do you really think I would ever trust another man after what Grigory had done to me, deserting me after embezzling and leaving me to deal with the legal results? I don’t think so.”