Part 28 (1/2)

'Are you quite well, Doctor?' Dobrs.h.i.+nsky did not attempt to disguise his irritation. Hadfield stared intently at him for a few seconds more, lifting his fingers to his lips as if wrestling with a particularly vexing problem. Then he turned abruptly to Dobson: 'George, you must excuse us. There is something I have to discuss with the collegiate councillor in confidence.'

The correspondent was quite taken aback, but after a moment's hesitation he nodded and took a few steps towards the door. The courtroom was empty but for the clerks gliding across the polished floor, tidying testimony and evidence from the tables.

'Well, Doctor?' Dobrs.h.i.+nsky asked when they were out of earshot. 'How can I help you?'

'Collegiate Councillor, it is a question of what I can do for you.'

'Oh?' Dobrs.h.i.+nsky raised his eyebrows quizzically. 'Do you have information that might be of use to our investigation?'

'No, no,' Hadfield said with a brusque shake of the head. 'In a professional capacity as a doctor. You see, I have some experience of treating men with your problem insomnia, stomach pain, a certain weakness of the body, loss of breath it is a most pernicious habit.'

Dobrs.h.i.+nsky's face tightened in an angry frown, the colour rising for once to his sallow cheeks. After a few cold seconds, he said: 'I can't imagine what you're referring to, Doctor.' He leant a little closer and Hadfield could smell the sickly sweetness of his breath and feel it against his cheek. 'Are you trying to blackmail me?'

'To treat you.'

There was an intensely hostile gleam in the special investigator's eye. 'Be careful, Doctor. The days are shorter. You may not be fortunate enough to escape a second time.' He brushed past Hadfield and ignoring Dobson stalked out of the courtroom.

Society had twittered with the story of the handsome young English doctor beaten to within an inch of his life by terrorists. So fearless, so determined to bring His Majesty's enemies to justice, an innocent victim who had treated the wounded after the explosion at the palace. General Glen had given a party to celebrate his recovery, anointing him beneath the martial portrait of his great-grandfather, reading a message of sympathy and grat.i.tude from the emperor. His aunt had tried to persuade him to move from the island to a larger apartment 'You can afford it. Everyone wants to claim you as their physician.' And yes, he had found himself in the enviable position of having to turn patients away. But he refused to consider a change of address. If anything, he spent more evenings at home, and he had invested a little money in pictures and some furniture to stamp something of himself on the apartment. There were still society engagements on the embankment and at the emba.s.sy, evenings with Dobson and at the houses of rich patients, but more often than not he preferred his own company.

It was late one evening and he was sitting in his s.h.i.+rt sleeves before the fire with a book as usual when there was a knock at the door. The dvornik always thumped with the fleshy part of his fist and this was a lighter hand. To be sure, he picked up the small revolver his uncle had given him after the attack and held it to his side.

'Who is it?'

'An old friend from Zurich,' came the m.u.f.fled reply.

'Come in then, old friend.' He opened the door and kissed Vera Figner warmly on both cheeks.

'Who else were you expecting?' she asked, pointedly looking down at the gun.

'I thought you would know.'

Vera frowned and reached out to rest her small hand lightly on his sleeve: 'What are you talking about, Frederick?'

They were still standing in his hall, Vera in her hat and dark grey cloak. 'I'm sorry. Come and sit beside the fire,' he said, and he led her into the drawing room and helped her from her things.

'Did Sergei the dvornik see you? It's not safe for you here.'

But Vera had been watching the house for some time and had waited until Sergei had stumbled off in the direction of the tavern on Bolshoy Prospekt.

'You look thinner, Frederick,' she said, examining him with a clinical eye. 'How long has it been? More than a year, and so much has happened in that time.'

So she knew nothing of the attempt on his life. He was relieved. 'What has happened, Vera? We are still waiting for your revolution.'

She gave him a disdainful pitying look of the kind that only one full of perfect certainty is capable of giving. 'I don't want to argue with you, Frederick,' she said, 'especially when you've been so kind. Was it difficult to get tickets for the trial? I knew you would manage it.'

'A little. Your note was a surprise after such a long time,' he said with a wry smile.

'I want you to tell me what you saw, what you heard: Evgenia how is she?' Vera's tone was clipped and matter-of-fact, as if the fate of her sister was no more important than the day's grocery order.

Hadfield studied her for a moment then rose without speaking and stepped over to the drinks tray. 'Can I pour you something?'

She nodded.

He poured a little brandy into two gla.s.ses, placed one on the table at her side and returned to his chair with his own.

'Well?' she asked impatiently.

'Evgenia looked a little grey but defiant, of course.'

'And the others?'

For half an hour he answered her questions, describing the proceedings and the evidence in the smallest detail. And he told her of Alexander Kviatkovsky's pa.s.sionate words denouncing tsarist tyranny and his determined justification of terror as the only course open to the people. As he spoke her expression began to soften, a small affectionate smile, a twinkle of pride, and soon all the questions were of Kviatkovsky. And when he had told her all he could, she sat back in her chair with a heartfelt sigh.

'He means a lot to you?'

'Yes.'

They sat in silence for a while, Vera avoiding his gaze, turning her gla.s.s on the arm of the chair. She looked lovely in the firelight, calm, even a little severe, and his heart went out to her because he could sense her quiet pain.

'Is Anna safe?' He had to ask the question.

She looked up in surprise. 'Anna Kovalenko?'

'Didn't you know we were close?'

'No. I didn't. How peculiar.'

'How so, peculiar?'

She hesitated, searching carefully for her words. 'You're very different. Anna is so committed to our cause and you're from such different families . . .'

He smiled sardonically. 'The provincial aristocrat speaks, and I thought you were of the people now.'

Vera flushed angrily. 'She is a good comrade. You're very different, that's all I was trying to say.'

'And you have no idea if she knew of the attempt to murder me?'

Vera frowned and leant forward, her small hands clasped tightly together. 'You should explain now, Frederick. Who tried to kill you?'

'The People's Will.'

'Don't be ridiculous,' she said with a cross shake of her head. 'This is some sort of delusion.'

'Oh, Vera,' said Hadfield with a mirthless laugh. 'I've suffered from delusions, but sadly this is not one of them.' And he explained to her what had happened. 'The student was taken. He told his interrogator I was to be executed as an informer.'

Vera listened with a pensive frown, perched at the edge of her chair, her gaze bent to the floor. Suddenly, s.n.a.t.c.hing at her skirt, she rose abruptly from the chair. 'I must go. Where's my coat?'