The Lost Souls of Angelkov (59 page)

“If only what?”

“There was some way to get such an immoral influence out of Antonina’s life. But what can we do? We’ll have to sit back and watch it happen. Watch him seduce the countess.” And then Lilya doesn’t say anything more.

Grisha pulls an apple from an open sack on the shelf. He rubs it absently with his thumb as he walks from the pantry.

Lilya follows him. “Grisha!” When he doesn’t respond, she shouts, “Antonina deserves love. Not what that man is trying to use her for.”

Her words stop him. Finally he looks back at her, then tosses the apple onto the table. It rolls off and hits the floor as he leaves.

Lilya fingers her hair. Once she brings Mikhail Konstantinovich back to Antonina, the countess will give her all her love. That’s what she said to Kropotkin:
Whoever returns my son will have my love and gratitude for life
.

Antonina is playing the piano when Lilya enters the salon with a tea tray.

Antonina stops, looking over her shoulder at Lilya as she sets down the tray. “You’ve still had no word from Soso, Lilya? You don’t know where he is?”

Why is the countess asking about Soso now, so soon after Lilya has seen him? Is it simply a coincidence?

“No,” she says.

Antonina stares at her. “Do you miss him?”

“My life is better without him.” She arranges the cup and saucer, the plate of biscuits. “He drank too much, and was often ugly in his talk, and with his fists.”

Antonina makes a sound in her throat. “At some time, maybe some years ago, did you care for him?”

Lilya shrugs. “He was a hard worker. And he never hit Lyosha, even though he wasn’t pleased to have him with us.”

“That was all, Lilya?”

Lilya stares at her. “I just said so. I have never loved a man, Tosya.”

“But that’s terribly sad, Lilya.”

“Is it?” Lilya challenges. “Was it not the same for you and the count? Are you not the same as me?”

Antonina’s eyes widen. “The same as you?”

“Neither of us will ever love a man fully,” Lilya says. She wants Antonina to agree, wants her to see how it is for her. How it could be for Antonina, if she would only recognize it.

On the first day of November, Antonina readies herself for Valentin’s arrival.

She thinks of Yakovlev’s advice that she should pay a minimum amount of taxes as of the first of the month. And yet she has no rubles to offer. How long will it be before officials arrive at the door, threatening to take the estate from her? She will speak to Grisha about selling some of the antiques. Surely he will know how to begin the process of emptying the manor of the items that would bring the highest prices.

To help take her mind from the worry, she practises Chopin’s Nocturne No. 20. She will play this piece for Valentin. She has decided she will not drink any wine or vodka during his visit. She will not.

By two o’clock, his usual time, he hasn’t arrived, although the fire is dancing in the music salon and the samovar is waiting with the teapot and the best cups and saucers. Antonina goes up the stairway to the landing window, scanning the road and the clear sky. All is peaceful, quiet, as if readying itself for the long winter. Something has shifted for Antonina. In spite of the disrepair and ruin of the estate itself, she’s seeing the beauty of her land for the first time in a long, long while. The thought of the taxes to be paid comes back to her. Will this be her last winter at Angelkov? In the next instant she thinks of Mikhail. He’s subject to colds and sore throats during the winter. Who will give him hot milk with honey and butter? Who will have him soak his feet in warm mustard water?

She can’t think about him being uncared for. It makes her want the vodka.

She glances at the timepiece pinned on her bodice. Valentin is close to an hour late. As she looks out the window again,
a lone horseman appears far down the road, and she nods. There he is. But as the rider comes closer, she sees it isn’t Valentin. This man is heavier and shorter. She goes down the stairs, and when Pavel opens the door to the knock, a stranger hands him a folded paper, bows his head and leaves.

“Madam,” Pavel says, handing it to her. Lilya has also come at the knocking, and is standing beside Antonina.

“I hope he hasn’t fallen ill,” Antonina says, taking the note to the music salon. Lilya follows her, and Antonina unfolds the thick vellum square with the royal imprint of the Bakanevs at the top. She reads it then sits down, the note falling into her lap.

“What is it, Tosya?” Lilya asks, kneeling at Antonina’s feet, the vertical line between her eyebrows deep.

Antonina swallows and refolds the paper, standing. “I will go to my room, Lilya. I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

Lilya jumps up, putting her hand on Antonina’s forearm. “Is it bad news? He’s ill, then—Kropotkin?”

Antonina looks into Lilya’s face. “His name is Mr. Kropotkin, Lilya. And no, he is not ill. He has been called away.”

Lilya is unblinking before Antonina’s steady gaze. “What of the children’s lessons?”

Antonina tilts her head. “You care about the children at the Bakanev estate, Lilya?”

Lilya won’t look away. “I know you enjoyed the visits of Kr—Mr. Kropotkin, Tosya. I’m sorry if you’re disappointed by his departure.”

“What makes you think he’s departed? I only said he’d been called away from the Bakanevs’, not that he was gone from Pskov.”

“I only meant—”

“Thank you for your concern.” Antonina’s back is straight as she leaves Lilya in the music salon with the dying fire and the cooling tea.

In her room, away from Lilya’s questions, Antonina reads the letter again.

Antonina walks up and down the veranda for an hour before dusk. When she goes inside again, she passes Lilya on the way to her bedroom but ignores her. She orders Lilya to go away when she knocks, gently and persistently, on the locked door.

As darkness falls, Antonina adds more logs to the fire, crumples the letter and throws it into the flames. Then she retreats to her bed with the bottle of vodka from her wardrobe, Tinka beside her.

It is after eight o’clock that evening when Valentin arrives at Angelkov.

Pavel has fallen asleep in a chair in front of the stove in the kitchen, and there has been no sound from Antonina’s room for hours.

When Lilya hears the dogs barking frantically, she goes to the door and opens it, peering into the darkness. As Valentin comes up the step and is illuminated by the lamp Lilya holds, she tells him, before he can speak, that Countess Mitlovskiya is asleep, and has left express wishes not to be bothered. By anyone, Lilya adds. She knows Antonina will have drunk herself into a deep state of unconsciousness by now.

“Where can I find the steward?” the man asks.

Lilya frowns. “Why do you ask about Grisha?”

“It isn’t your business,” Valentin tells her. “Where will I find him?”

“I expect he’s in his house,” Lilya says.

“And where is that?” Valentin struggles to hold his temper. He’s seen how this woman hovers about Antonina, using any excuse to be present when he visits, giving him dark looks when she thinks her mistress isn’t paying attention.

Lilya points with her chin. “Behind the servants’ quarters. Follow the road past it. His house is the only one.”

Without another word, he turns from her.

Lilya watches him go, her mouth firm. Grisha will make sure Kropotkin doesn’t linger at Angelkov.