The Lost Souls of Angelkov (31 page)

A
lthough Dr. Molov has assured Antonina that the amputation was a success and the healing is complete, Konstantin’s behaviour becomes more and more troubling. He sits in his room and speaks of nonsensical things. He refuses to come out. Some days he weeps, other days he shouts. He sends for Tania, but when she arrives he thinks she is Irina, come to haunt him, and sends her away. He cries for Irina. He does not call for Antonina.

Some days he talks about his dead son; some days he doesn’t remember a son.

At Antonina’s request, Grisha has taken over the complete running of the estate. He comes to Konstantin’s study to report various incidents to her, or to ask her about paying for repairs, and she looks at him carefully as he speaks, as if it’s difficult for her to understand his requests unless she concentrates deeply. At other times she mindlessly doles out a
stack of rubles from Konstantin’s strongbox without looking at the written accounts Grisha hands to her.

Konstantin has always dealt with this. It means nothing to Antonina. She assumes, each time she unlocks the heavy box, that it will continue to contain rubles, even though she has no idea how they get there.

In the first week of June, a man rides into the yard. Antonina has requested that any stranger arriving at the estate be reported to her, hoping it will be news of Misha. A servant runs to tell her of the man’s presence.

It’s the third time since Mikhail was taken—over two months ago now—that this has happened. The first two times it turned out to be someone stopping to ask directions.

Today, Antonina doesn’t react with quite the same alertness as previously. She slowly sits up in her bed after the message has been delivered to her bedroom. Lilya opens the window; it’s mid-afternoon, and the room, in the growing heat, smells musty.

“Did he come to the house?” Antonina asks. “Did he come specifically to speak to me?”

“No,” Lilya tells her. “Apparently he came across the fields, and took the back road to the stables.”

“I must go out to him,” Antonina says, swinging her bare feet to the floor. “Help me, Lilya.” She reaches to the end of the bed for her gauzy robe.

“Tosya,” Lilya says, “I will go and see what he wants. You wait here.”

“No. No, I must go out. Perhaps he’s one of the kidnappers, with another ransom note.” Even as she says the
words, Antonina feels no hope. She has given up on hope. She simply waits for each day to pass.

Some days, she drinks tea with lemon, or eats a piece of bread and jam. Mostly she lies on her side, facing the window, watching as the leaves unfurl from the trees. She sits up periodically, to sip from the glass on the table beside the bed. She has grown tired of the thick, heavy wine and now drinks only vodka. Although Konstantin had shut down his distillery the previous year, saying it no longer brought in enough profit, there is a storehouse full of his own special brand, waiting to be sold. There are many, many bottles in the cellar of the manor. The vodka is clear and crisp.

Sometimes a small nightingale comes to the branches of the tree outside her window, calling in a whistling crescendo.

“Antonina Leonidovna,” Lilya says, as if speaking to a child who has been ill a long time, “you mustn’t overexcite yourself. And if you do choose to go downstairs, please, let me help you dress properly. It isn’t good for the servants to see you this way … Please, let me help you dress, and … your hair.” The last word pulses in the air. “Let me attend to your hair.”

“There isn’t time,” Antonina says, but as she stands, she has to shut her eyes and hold on to the bed.

Lilya puts her arm around Antonina’s back, feeling her ribs just under her skin. “You must put on a warm gown. And at least cover your head.”

Antonina, with Lilya following, makes her way across the sunny yard, where she sees Grisha talking to a stranger. Unable to wait until she reaches them, Antonina calls out Grisha’s name, and he turns, a startled look on his face.

He glances at Antonina’s velvet hat, pulled low on her forehead. The collar of her soft wool coat is turned up around her face. It’s a warm day, and yet she’s dressed as though the air has a chill. Her skin has an unhealthy opaqueness. He hasn’t seen her in the last ten days; every time he sent word that he had estate issues to discuss, he was told she was resting and didn’t wish to be disturbed, that he should deal with it himself.

“What is it, Grisha?” Antonina says, having closed the gap between them. She looks up into his face, and then into the face of the other man. He is very broad, with a grizzled grey beard. He takes off his cap and bows to her; his grey hair stands up in greasy spikes. “What does he want? Why is he here?” She looks back at Grisha, studying the expression in his dark eyes.

The man lifts his head and stares at her boldly.

“He brings a message,” Grisha tells her.

“A message?” Antonina repeats, as if the word is unfamiliar.

“From your son. He brings something from Mikhail.”

Antonina doesn’t move or speak or even blink. Grisha realizes how ill she is. He wonders if she understood what was just said.

“Madam?” he says softly. “Countess Mitlovskiya? Did you hear? It is a message from Mikhail Konstantinovich.”

Antonina straightens and grabs the stranger’s arm. “You have him? You have my son?”

“No, no, madam. I only came to give proof. I’m not involved in any way, countess, but simply a messenger. Would I come here, and put myself at risk, if I was involved?” He glances at Grisha.

“Have you seen him?” Antonina’s voice is louder than it has been in weeks. “Was he well? Where is he?” She whirls back to Grisha. “Go with him and find him. Get my boy back, Grisha.”

Grisha speaks sharply to the man. “Well, Lev? Have you anything more to tell us? Can you tell us where we can find the child?”

When the man Grisha calls Lev doesn’t speak, Antonina cries out, “Did you come for money? I can give it to you. Come to the house, and I will give you more money, and then Grisha will go with you to my son. Please, oh, please.” She’s crying, moving from Grisha to Lev, tugging on their sleeves, the fronts of their jackets, their hands. “Please,” she cries again.

Lev looks from Grisha to Antonina. “Yes, I came for more money. Once they have more money, they will return the child. You should know he is alive by what I brought,” he says, gesturing to Grisha.

“What did he bring, Grisha?”

“I’ll show it to you, madam, but please, calm yourself. We’ll go to the house and I’ll show you there.”

“Show me now,” Antonina begs. Demands. “Give it to me, Grisha.”

Grisha reaches inside his tunic and pulls out a folded paper. He hands it to Antonina. She studies the music score on one side and then reads the short note on the other. She drops to her knees in the mud and kisses the creased page over and over, rocking back and forth as she holds it to her breast. Her lips move; she is praying. Tears run down her cheeks, and finally she grows still. “He’s alive,” she whispers. “My Misha is alive.”

Lilya helps her to her feet.

Antonina takes a deep breath, wiping her cheeks. She straightens her shoulders and faces the man called Lev again. “You will tell me where you got this.” She holds up the page. “You will tell me immediately.”

Lilya sees the old flash in Antonina’s eyes, a look that hasn’t been there for so long. Her voice is once again that of the countess, not a broken, grieving woman. She even appears taller.

Lev glances at Grisha. “Countess, I am not directly involved. I am the messenger,” he repeats, “and I receive my instructions by written notes. I do not see anyone.”

“I don’t believe you. Grisha, do you believe this man? And who is he, anyway? Where has he come from?”

In the silence, a crow croaks from the branches of a linden.

“We have little recourse but to do as he asks, madam,” Grisha says. “We will give him the money. I won’t let him go until I make sure he has nothing more to tell us. That he speaks the truth. Do you speak the truth?” Grisha asks. Then, his hands flat on the man’s chest, he gives him a shove.

Lev falls onto his bottom, looking up, undignified and yet defiant.

“I think I can persuade him to tell us more,” Grisha says, and this time he puts a foot on Lev’s chest and pushes him flat.

Lev lies in the mud with Grisha’s foot on his chest, his eyes narrowed as he stares up at Grisha until the steward hauls him up by one arm. “Don’t worry, madam. If there is anything more to learn, I’ll beat it out of him.”

“What of the money?” Lev says, uncowed.

“What is the demand this time?” she asks him.

“It is the same as the first amount, countess,” he answers after a moment’s hesitation.

“And when will my son be returned?”

Lev shrugs. “I am only the messenger,” he says, strangely calm in spite of Grisha’s threats.

At that, Grisha drags him towards the stable. He looks back at Antonina. “Go to the house, madam. I will have him beaten until he tells me what he knows, and then report to you.”

Clutching her son’s message to her chest, Antonina walks firmly and purposefully back to the house and into Konstantin’s study. She takes out his strongbox and fits the key into the lock. She carelessly counts out a stack of rubles, seeing—but not caring—that the box is almost empty. She wraps the pile of bills in her handkerchief and gives it to Lilya, who hurries out to the stable with it.

She hands it to Grisha. He stands in front of Lev, who is leaning against the wall of a stall.

“Leave us, Lilya,” Grisha says, and the woman hurries off.

When Lev unexpectedly rode into the yard and produced the letter from Mikhail, written on the back of the Glinka musical score, Grisha had felt an overwhelming sense of relief. The boy wasn’t dead. Soso had made him wait all this time, punishing him.

He hadn’t expected the countess to come to the yard when Lev was there; she rarely ventures out of the house. It confused matters, her joy at the letter from her son.

“I will hold the money,” he tells Lev now. “You don’t suppose I will just give it to you.”

“But you have proof the boy’s alive.”

“Yes, but you don’t get the money until you bring the child back. Do you understand? There will be no money unless Mikhail Konstantinovich is returned.”

Lev looks at him with such venom that Grisha wonders if he has just sealed the child’s fate.

“It will take a while,” Lev finally says. “If you don’t give me the money, it only means you will wait again. Who knows how long this time.”

Grisha knows Lev is acting on Soso’s commands. “Where is Misha?”

“He’s alive, I tell you. That’s all that matters, isn’t it?” When Grisha doesn’t answer, Lev says, “I’ll send word when and where to bring the money, and when you do, I’ll exchange it for the boy.”

Grisha steps closer. “I’m to believe you?”

“What choice do you have?” Lev asks, and then turns and leaves the stable. Grisha watches him mount his horse and ride away. Surely the boy is becoming a nuisance. How long will they want to keep him?