David Oldman - Dusk at Dawn

‘We only got the Bolshevik side of that in the Petersburg press,’ Sofya said.

Valentine looked at her obliquely.

‘Look, old man,’ he said to Paul switching back to English again, ‘how much have you told—’

He stopped abruptly as if remembering Sofya spoke the language.

‘The Left Socialist Revolutionaries didn’t support peace with Germany,’ Sofya said to Paul, ignoring Valentine. ‘We knew there’d be trouble even though they backed the Bolshevik coup in October. They disagree with Lenin over the peasants as well as the war. They even supported the Ukrainians when Germany invaded.’

‘You keep up with political events, Miss Rostova,’ Valentine said to her.

‘A means to an end,’ she told him.

‘What end would that be?’

‘Keeping my head.’

Valentine chuckled.

Sofya didn’t share his amusement. ‘They arrested all the Left SR leaders. Even Spiridonova.’

‘And who is Spiridonova?’ Paul asked.

Valentine made an elaborate show of deferring to Sofya.

Sofya scowled at him then said to Paul, rather sarcastically Paul thought, ‘Maria Spiridonova? Hasn’t your mother told you about her?’

‘I’ve been rather preoccupied with the war lately,’ Paul replied tartly, not enjoying being caught between Valentine and Sofya’s barbs.

‘She’s the darling of the Party,’ Sofya went on regardless. ‘When she was twenty-one she assassinated Luzhenovsky at a railway station. She tried to kill herself but the Cossacks got hold of her first.’

It seemed to Paul that assassination was a habit the Social-Revolutionaries found hard to break.

‘Had a bad time of it,’ Valentine said. ‘Pretty little thing.’

‘She was gang raped,’ Sofya stated flatly.

For a moment no one spoke. Then Valentine rubbed his hands together.

‘Well, why don’t we have some tea?’ he said and looked around with the air of a man waiting for a volunteer.

Sofya sighed irritably when no one else offered. ‘Where is it, then?’

‘The samovar’s through there,’ Valentine said cheerfully, gesturing to the back of the house. ‘You’ll find everything you need on the table.’

Sofya stomped off down the passage.

‘She’s rather an ill-tempered young lady, this cousin of yours,’ Valentine remarked once Sofya was in the kitchen. He took Paul’s arm and steered him into another room.

It was dank and smelt of mould. Motes drifted on shafts of sunlight streaming through holes in the tattered curtains. The floor was littered with newspapers, books and a miscellany of other rubbish. Valentine picked his way through, kicking the mess aside. Against one wall a sagging sofa was half hidden under rumpled bedding. A rough pine table and two chairs stood next to it. Valentine pulled one of the chairs out and sat down. Behind him an icon had been fixed in a corner of the wall, bracketed by two candles. A cobweb hung between them suggesting it had been some while since devotions had been paid.

‘Exactly how much have you told her,’ Valentine finally finished asking, returning to English once again.

‘Only what I had to,’ Paul said defensively, taking the other chair. ‘Since I came here to find Mikhail, Sofya was the obvious place to start.’

‘You didn’t find him, I take it?’

‘No. I did find out that he already knows Admiral Kolchak, though. It seems the admiral was involved with the Kornilov coup as well. And Kerensky’s war minister, a chap named Savinkov.’

‘Boris Savinkov?’

‘Oh, you know him, do you?’

‘Not personally,’ Valentine said. ‘He founded the Union for the Regeneration of Russia with some of the other Right SRs — Lebedev and Sorokin. A strange bedfellow for your cousin and Kolchak, don’t you think? Savinkov instigated a rising again the Bolsheviks in Yaroslav, on the Volga. This happened before we left home. The Bolsheviks put it down, and pretty brutally too, by all accounts. They shelled the city and used poison gas. A lot of dead.’

‘Poison gas?’

‘Pretty gruesome, old man,’ Valentine agreed. ‘Does Miss Rostova know where her brother is?’

‘No. He left Petersburg a few weeks ago. He didn’t tell her where he was going.’

Valentine raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Do we believe that? Odd he didn’t take her with him. I suppose he didn’t want to saddle himself with a girl, even if she is his sister.’

Valentine’s implication was obvious. Paul had saddled himself with the girl. He felt a wave of irritation. It was all very well for Valentine, appearing and disappearing like some Indian swami whenever he chose, apparently without the slightest regard for his associates. Paul had fewer options. He felt more like a chess pawn. He’d been limited to a few jerky moves while Valentine seemed able to leap around with knightly disregard.

‘You might have let me know you were getting off the steamer at Copenhagen,’ he said, picking at an old wound.

Valentine waved an airy hand. ‘Last minute decision, I’m afraid. Couldn’t let the old girl telegraph ahead, could we?’

‘How—’ Paul bit off the rest of the question. He’d rather not know. He hadn’t yet rid himself of the vision of Tamara Oblenskaya disappearing over the side of the Hesperus . The expression on the girl’s face was still apt to creep up on him in idle moments.

‘I don’t suppose there’s a chance you brought my portmanteau with you, is there?’ Valentine asked.

‘ Your portmanteau? Turner wouldn’t even let me take my bag off the steamer. Then those chaps in Helsingfors made me leave everything else behind. How did you get here so quickly anyway?’

‘Ferries, old man. Copenhagen to Malmo, then Stockholm. Stockholm across to Abo in Finland, or Turku as the Finns call it. Used to be the capital. Train the rest of the way. Hun’s not bothering too much now he’s on the run. Capital news really, don’t you think?’

‘What news? I’ve not heard anything for weeks.’

‘No? Well I daresay they’re not saying too much about it in Finland. Never mind, old man, I’ll bring you up to date later. More pressing business at the moment. Have you told your cousin why you’re looking for her brother?’

‘I’ve told her that London sent me. And about the Czechs and Kolchak—’

‘Did you?’ Valentine interrupted. ‘Ah well, never mind. Spilt milk, as they say. The situation’s changed anyway.’

‘How?’

‘The Bolsheviks have strengthened their hand. Your cousin was right in that they arrested Spiridonova and the other Left SR leaders. Lenin talked his way out of the attempted coup at the Moscow congress so the Left SRs took it onto the streets, and made a hash of that, too. Trotsky brought a couple of Lettish regiments into the city and put them down. Until then, apart from Dzerzhinsky, the Cheka was more or less run by Left SRs. They say Dzerzhinsky shot his deputy, Alexandrovich, himself, then cleared out the rest of the Left SRs. Once they were faced with arrest, most of the rank and file turned their coat and supported the Bolsheviks.

‘What difference does that make to us?’

‘I’m afraid it’s left us in a bit of a pickle,’ Valentine said. ‘You in particular.’

‘ Me ?’

‘What’s a “pickle”?’ Sofya asked coming in with a tray.

‘He means I’m in trouble,’ Paul said.

Sofya put the tray on the table. It held three chipped cups contained black tea and a saucer full of sugar lumps.

‘Why is Pavel in trouble?’

Valentine took a cup. ‘I’m very much afraid, Miss Rostova, that the Bolsheviks know your cousin is in Petrograd.’

‘How?’

‘Well it wasn’t from Olga Volokoskaya,’ Valentine said, nodding at Paul pertinently.