Синтия Хэррод-Иглз - Anna

‘No,’ Anne said thoughtfully. ‘Poor Jean-Luc. It must have been very bad for him.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘You feel sorry for him? I thought you hated him unrelentingly.’

She gave a painful smile. ‘I did. But I wonder sometimes… I can see just a little what he must feel. Did you tell him about Basil?’

‘Yes. Also about the Theatre Français leaving with Napoleon’s train: that his old company, to a man, are heading out of Russia as fast as they can go.’

Anne looked puzzled. ‘Why did you tell him that?’

‘Because he needs somewhere to go.’

Anne studied his face carefully. ‘He’s going with them? He does not mind, then, leaving Rose?’

‘Do you want him to stay?’

‘No – of course not – but–’

‘Then be grateful.’ He stood up abruptly and walked to the fireplace, resting one elbow on the chimney-piece, and said, ‘Now that Basil is dead, there is nothing for him here. He will be an embarrassment to you and to himself, besides being a danger to Rose – moral and physical. For her to be in company with a Frenchman now – and later, for her to be under the influence of a known sodomite–’ The brutality of the word made Anne wince and he met her eyes briefly and then turned away to look into the fire. ‘Yes, I put it to him that way, in those words. So he’s decided to go back to Paris, to his own people.’

‘You put it to him?’ she said slowly. ‘What else? Nikolasha – what else?’

He didn’t turn his head but spoke still staring into the fire, his forehead resting against his arm. ‘I threatened him a little, too. Told him that once I married you, I wouldn’t let him see her. I said that if he didn’t go, I would see to it that everyone found out he was French.’ A pause. ‘That would be like sentencing him to death.’

There was a long silence. She looked at his back, and didn’t know what to say, or even to think. All he had said of Jean-Luc was true; yet Jean-Luc had brought Rose safe out of Moscow, and Rose loved him. There was no place for him here now; he must be sent away. Nikolai had done what he did for the best, she thought, but it was not the sort of thing she would have expected of him.

He stirred, as if he had heard her thoughts. ‘I don’t like myself very much at the moment,’ he said.

Jean-Luc left early the next morning, not wishing still to be there when Rose woke. Kirov did his best for him, gave him money and a fur coat and a horse; and wrote him a letter which would get him safely through any Russian military hands into which he might fall. ‘When you get near the French, make sure you destroy it, or they’ll think you’re a spy. You had better buy provisions as you pass through Serpukhov and carry them with you. Travel as fast as you can – stay at the head of the French column. With a good horse, you should get through – but take care of it. If it dies, you die.’

Jean-Luc received everything – money, horse and advice – in hostile silence. Kirov eyed him thoughtfully. ‘It’s for the best,’ he said. ‘When the Grande Armée has gone, it won’t be a good thing to be French.’

‘No. But that isn’t why you want me gone. You don’t give a damn about the safety of my skin.’

‘No – but Anna does. And I care about her – and Rose.’

At the mention of the child, Jean-Luc’s face crumpled for an instant, before he regained control. ‘Take care of her,’ he said. ‘If you let any harm come to her – I may not be able to hurt you in this life, but I’ll pursue you beyond the grave, I swear it.’

‘I’ll take care of her,’ Kirov said gravely. ‘I – I wish you well.’

The mask was in place, and Jean-Luc gave him a smooth and seamless look. ‘God damn you, Count Kirov,’ he said calmly. ‘And God damn Napoleon Bonaparte – if he hadn’t invaded Russia, none of this would have happened.’

‘I think God has damned him already,’ Kirov said. ‘Take care you don’t get caught in the blast.’

It was hard to explain to Rose that Jean-Luc had gone. She accepted it at first, but Anne realised later that it was only because she hadn’t understood, and thought he would be back. When they prepared to leave the inn, she dug in her heels and refused to move. They must wait for Jean-Luc, she declared. They couldn’t go without him.

Anne tried to explain the situation, and Rose’s lip began to tremble.

‘I want Zho-Zho!’ she cried ominously.

‘Darling, he’s gone away, back to his friends. He can’t stay with us any more.’

‘When’s he coming back?’

‘He isn’t coming back, poppet. He’s going to live with his own people from now on, in France.’

Rose’s eyes filled with tears, and the tears overflowed. She had lost Mademoiselle and Nyanya and Papa and the ginger kitten, and had clung through all of it to Zho-Zho, who had taken her to a safe place where they gave her a new kitten and nice things to eat and a dozen people cuddled her all day long. But if Zho-Zho went, there was no firm foundation to her life: chaos loomed, and the only way she knew to respond to that was to cry, loud and long.

She was still crying when they carried her to the carriage; she cried on and off for the next three hours, and only stopped crying in the end through sheer exhaustion. As they drove at last into Tula, she was asleep on Pauline’s lap, her thumb in her mouth, and the kitten dozing in her arms, her tear-swollen face drawn in lines of weariness and sorrow. Her eyelids flickered now and then as they drove through the streets, and when they pulled up in the sweep in front of the Davidov house she took one quick look, and then turned her face into Pauline’s bosom and closed her eyes, retreating from intolerable reality into sleep.

The butler opened the door as the carriage pulled up, and a footman came out to help put down the step. Nikolai stepped down, and turned back to offer Anne his hand; but before she was out of the carriage, there was the sound of light feet on the gravel, and Shoora came running down the steps and towards them.

Kirov turned to catch her by the forearms as she flung herself at him; at the door of the house, Vsevka had appeared, looking grave, and behind him Kira, wearing black bands for her fiancé who had fallen at Borodino.

‘Nicky! Thank God you’ve come!’ Shoora was crying. Her face was pale and her mouth bowed with tragedy. ‘You got our message then? Oh, what’s to be done? We’ve been worried out of our minds!’

‘Shoora, dearest girl, calm down! What message? I haven’t had any message from you,’ Kirov said.

Shoora’s eyes grew rounder, her mouth made a soundless ‘o’ of shock. ‘Then – then you haven’t – you don’t know about–’

‘What’s happened?’ he asked, gripping her hands firmly; but his heart was cold with apprehension.

‘We sent a letter to you straight away by the military courier, to headquarters. We thought you’d be there, or that they’d know where you were. We didn’t know what to do for the best – but it wasn’t my fault, Nicky, you must believe me! I had no idea what she was going to do!’

‘For God’s sake, Shoora, tell me what’s happened !’

‘It’s Lolya – she’s gone. She’s run away.’

The all was soon told, and it was very little. Lolya had gone out riding, accompanied by her maid; when she did not return for dinner, Shoora had been alarmed, thinking she must have met with an accident, and Vsevka had sent out servants to search the estate.

‘You didn’t miss her until dinner time?’ Nikolai said incredulously.

‘It was nothing unusual. You know how she loves to ride. She was often out all day without noticing the time,’ Shoora protested. ‘She used to wear out that maid of hers, but of course I wouldn’t let her ride completely alone, in case of accidents.’