The Lost Souls of Angelkov (68 page)

“No,” Antonina says. “I want Grisha here. He’s getting
Misha back, Lilya, perhaps as soon as tomorrow. Leave us alone. I’m fine.”

Lilya doesn’t move from the doorway, and Antonina studies her.

“Why are you wearing my dress, Lilya?” she asks, frowning. When Lilya doesn’t respond, she shakes her head and tells her, “Go and put on your own clothes and take that to the laundry. I’m surprised at you. Please leave. Now.”

“All right, Tosya,” Lilya finally says. Before she leaves, she stares at Grisha. We need each other right now, she thinks. But just wait. You have no idea what is about to happen to you.

Lilya stands in the shadows of the upstairs hall until she hears Grisha’s footsteps going down the stairs. It’s after eight o’clock. The front door closes. He’s so bold he doesn’t even go through the servants’ entrance in the kitchen, she notices.

She goes into Antonina’s room. There is one lamp glowing softly, and the fire is well built up. Antonina is in a deep sleep. Lilya takes off her boots, then Antonina’s dress and the belt with the keys, and puts them at the foot of the bed. She lies beside Antonina in her cotton petticoat. As the mattress dips with her weight, Antonina stirs and reaches out, her hand touching Lilya’s bare arm.

Lilya holds her breath. She sees Antonina’s mouth move in a smile. “You’re still here, Grisha?” she murmurs. Her eyelids flutter but stay closed. The smile fades, and she sleeps again. Lilya lies still, taking in Antonina’s peacefulness.

Eventually, Antonina moves, opening her eyes, and gasps at the sight of Lilya’s face, almost touching hers. She struggles to sit up, moving away from her.

“Shhh, shhh,” Lilya says, trying to stroke Antonina’s cheek. “Shhh, my darling, it’s just me. I’ve come to be with you, to help you sleep through the night. I’ll stay with you.”

Antonina blinks, pushing back her hair. In the lamplight, her eyes are too wide, and her mouth trembles.

“Why do you look so distressed? Don’t be upset, my lovely. It’s all right. Once you feel better, I’m going to show you that I can love you more than he’ll ever know how.” Lilya picks up a strand of Antonina’s hair and brings it to her face. She closes her eyes and inhales.

Antonina slides off the bed, holding on to the headboard. “Get out, Lilya,” she says, her voice low. “Don’t speak of love to me in this manner. You shame yourself. Do you hear me?” She points at the door. “Get off my bed and leave my room at once.”

Lilya stares at Antonina as she climbs off the other side of the bed. Her face looks as if she’s been struck.

“And don’t come back unless I ask for you.” Antonina looks at her dress and Lilya’s belt on the end of the bed. She picks up the belt and unhooks the ring of keys. “You are my servant,” she says, folding her fingers over them. “Never forget that.” She throws the belt onto the floor.

Lilya is weeping now, tears running down her cheeks. “Tosya,” she says softly. “Please. Are we not friends? More than friends, after all we’ve been through together. Don’t treat me like this. After what happened to Lyosha, and to me, so long ago, how can you—”

Antonina won’t let Lilya play that old game. “I demand
that you leave,” she interrupts. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow, in daylight.”

Lilya wipes her cheeks with her palms. “Yes, tomorrow. We’ll talk tomorrow. It’s been a long and difficult day, Tosya. You’re not thinking clearly.” She picks up her belt and boots and, in her petticoat, goes to the door, then looks over her shoulder. “You’re making a mistake,” she says. “Soon you will see your mistake and beg for my forgiveness. And I will forgive you. I will forgive you,” she repeats, and then is gone, in her stocking feet, into the dark hall.

Antonina walks to the door. She shuts it, turning the lock, then collapses against it, breathing hard. She doesn’t care what Grisha said, she must dismiss Lilya immediately. The woman is dangerous, she thinks, recalling Lilya’s face as she stared into hers on the bed. Dangerous.

Early the next morning, while Antonina is still asleep behind her locked door, Grisha comes to the house.

“It’s time, Lilya,” he tells her. Her face is blotchy, her eyelids swollen and red. “Today you’ll take me to Soso, and then we’ll get Mikhail Konstantinovich. Today he will be reunited with his mother.”

Lilya blinks, studying Grisha. Then she says, slowly, “No. We’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Why tomorrow?”

“I must have time to tell Soso we’re coming. There are things he will have to do—he and the others …” She pauses. “It must be tomorrow. And Lyosha will come with us.”

“No. Don’t involve Lyosha in this. He knows nothing, and need know nothing.”

Lilya’s lips grow even thinner. “I don’t go without Lyosha.”

Grisha grabs her arm. “First thing tomorrow morning, then. No later.”

“Yes. First thing,” she says.

When he’s gone, she listens at the foot of the stairs to make sure Antonina is still in her room. Then she goes into Konstantin’s study, quietly closing the door behind her. She sits at the broad desk, opening a drawer and taking out a pen and sheet of paper with the Mitlovsky crest at the top. She lifts the lid of the inkwell.

It takes her a long time to compose the simple letter; twice she crumples up the page and takes a fresh one. When she is done, she waits for the ink to dry, then folds the paper and ties it tightly with the fine twine from a spool in the drawer.

She replaces everything with care. In the kitchen she burns the two ruined sheets of paper in the stove. She puts on her cloak and trudges across the yard to the stable.

“Lyosha, there are some errands you must do.”

He puts down the curry comb and looks at Lilya.

“First,” she tells him, “ride to Borzik. As you enter the village, you will see an izba with a donkey tied outside. This is where you will find Soso.”

“Soso is living in Borzik?”

“Yes. Tell him that we will come for him—Grisha, you and me—tomorrow, mid-morning. Tell him the plan is finalized.”

“Plan? What do you mean?”

“Don’t question me, Lyosha. Just do as I say. If Soso
doesn’t agree about tomorrow, or you can’t find him, then come back to me. But if he is there, and says he will wait for us tomorrow morning, then ride on, into Pskov.” Lilya pulls the tied letter from inside her cloak and holds it out to him. “You will take this letter to the authorities on Fedosovoy Prospekt. You must not tell anyone.”

Lyosha looks at the letter she holds out to him. All these secrets. He doesn’t like it. “Sister, I don’t—”

“It is to help us get Mikhail Konstantinovich back to his mother,” she says sternly. “Do you not want this?”

Lyosha remembers the chilling statements Lilya made after killing the musician:
Kill me and you won’t find the boy. Kill me and you kill Mikhail Konstantinovich
. “Of course I do, Lilya. But why must everything be done with such stealth? How is Soso involved?”

“This is all I can tell you. Should you not do as I ask of you, the countess will never see her son again. Do you understand?”

Lyosha nods, and takes the letter.

“No one can know,” Lilya repeats. “The letter must go directly into the hands of the authorities.” Her face is blank. “I can trust you, can I not?”

“Yes. You know that, Lilya.”

Lilya knocks on Antonina’s door and the countess tells her she doesn’t wish to see her.

“But last night you told me we would talk today,” Lilya says, her lips against the door.

“Send Nusha with warm water for me to bathe,” Antonina says, “and tea. Do as I say,” she orders, and Lilya leaves.

Later, after she has bathed and dressed and done her hair as best she can, Antonina goes downstairs. Wrapped in a warm cloak, she walks up and down the veranda. The yard is empty and still, the snow beaten down by horses’ hooves. The sky is a pale blue, streaked with cirrus clouds. She goes down the steps. Halfway across the yard she sees Fyodor. “Is Grisha in the stable?” she calls.

The man shakes his head. “I saw him earlier, but I don’t know where he is now.”

Surely Grisha has gone to get Mikhail, as he said he would. Antonina returns to her room. The waiting is so difficult. Once, she goes to the wardrobe. She knows there is nothing there—she threw the last bottle into the fire—but it makes her feel better to see nothing but her dresses and hats and slippers. She drinks many glasses of water, and manages to eat a few bites of the now-cold breakfast Nusha brought. She pins up a few loose strands of hair. She tries to rub a little colour into her cheeks. When Misha comes to her, she wants to look as well as she can.

The day passes. Grisha does not bring her son to her.

She refuses to give in to despair. She comforts herself with thoughts of Grisha coming to her with Misha the next day.

It’s all she has to hold on to.