Part 35 (2/2)

Hadfield stood in the middle of the rug, conscious of the sorry figure he cut in his prison greys, his hand clutching the top of his trousers. General Glen did not move from the fire, pity and contempt written in the lines of his face. Only when the door closed quietly behind the governor did he speak.

'What have they done to you?'

'This?' asked Hadfield, touching the yellow bruises on his cheek and about his eyes. 'It's not as bad as it appears.'

'Pity. d.a.m.n it, you deserve it.'

They stood gazing at each other in awkward silence. Hadfield wanted to say he was sorry but he was sure it would be like lighting a blue touchpaper.

But an apology was what the general was waiting to hear. 'What do you say for yourself, sir?'

'That I deeply regret the pain and the embarra.s.sment I have caused you and my aunt after all the kindness you have shown me.'

'But why, sir? Why?' The muscles in the general's face were twitching as he fought to hold his anger in check. 'You've disappointed everyone. The amba.s.sador, the British government . . . Lord Dufferin was obliged to a.s.sure the emperor that no one at the emba.s.sy had the slightest inkling you were involved with these people, this woman . . . and I have had to apologise to His Majesty. Lady Dufferin feels you betrayed her trust. We all do. Explain yourself, sir.'

Hadfield took a deep breath, as if collecting his thoughts, but there was nothing he wished to say. He could not speak of his feelings. There was no need. A ferocious diatribe burst from his uncle like warm champagne from a bottle: the disgrace his nephew had brought upon him, his aunt's pain and the disappointment of his cousin Alexandra. 'And your mother. Did you think of her? How could you allow yourself to be deceived by this Romanko woman?'

'Do you know if she is still-'

'Your mistress is not my concern.'

'Don't call her that.'

General Glen looked away for a few seconds, his face puce, hands balled, as if struggling to contain an urge to punch his nephew. 'My only concern is that we avoid a public trial,' he said at last. 'We're going to have to dress this up as an unfortunate affair of the heart, of course, a dangerous infatuation.'

'Of course.'

General Glen took a menacing step closer: 'd.a.m.n fool. I'm only doing this for your mother and your aunt's sake.'

'I'm sorry.'

'You have your aunt and cousin to thank for my presence here today.'

Hadfield nodded. 'Please give them my-'

'There is no reason to be optimistic,' said the general, cutting across him impatiently. 'The Ministry of Justice is pressing for trial and an exemplary sentence. You are fortunate Lord Dufferin is still willing to speak on your behalf as a British subject.'

'Yes. Thank you.'

'I don't want your thanks, sir. I want to see the back of you.' He stared at Hadfield for a moment, then walked over to the governor's desk and sat down. 'Who was responsible for those?' he asked, pointing at Hadfield's face.

'An officer of the Gendarme Corps.'

The general listened to a description of the attack with his head bent, turning the signet ring on his right hand distractedly, interrupting only once to check and make a note of Barclay's name.

'Not the behaviour of a proper gentleman,' he observed dryly when his nephew had finished. 'But he may have unwittingly done you a good turn. And this fellow Dobrs.h.i.+nsky?'

'I haven't seen him for two or three weeks.'

'Did he strike you? Is there anything I should know about his conduct?'

For a fleeting moment, an image of the special investigator's pallid face, his small brown eyes and trembling hands, flitted through Hadfield's mind. He dismissed the thought at once.

'Nothing? d.a.m.n fellow,' said General Glen, rising from his chair. 'It was his job to prevent this whole sorry business.' There the interview ended, cold, businesslike, without affection and with the presumption their paths would not cross again.

Within a few days the emptiness of the prison filled his mind once more. The only relief came with the patient tapping of the pipes. More arrests, and there was to be a trial in the court building next to the prison. One of the warders was unable to contain his excitement.

'Tomorrow. They're here in the prison already. I've been to take a look at Zhelyabov. Is it true he was sleeping with the aristocrat?' But he knew nothing of a Kovalenko or a Romanko.

Hadfield heard his first word of Anna the following morning as the courtroom was beginning to fill. Clink, clink, clink. A frenzy of tapping and a bittersweet message for the doctor: 'Anna sends love.'

On his knees, spoon in hand: 'Where is Anna?'

He heard his question pa.s.sed down the pipe by his neighbour. Half an hour later there was a reply: 'Here.'

Unable to contain his disappointment, he jumped to his feet, pacing, spinning in his tiny cell, struggling to hold in check an urge to shout, bellow, beat on the door. Oh G.o.d. What now? Trapped, helpless, there was nothing he could do but tell her he loved her too. Sinking back to his knees, he c.h.i.n.ked it on the pipe, over, and over and over.

After that he fretted about Anna and their baby constantly, searching every few hours for an excuse to send her a message by the prison telegraph. But there was no reply. He lay for hours on his bed, churning the same fears over and over until he reached the pitch of misery beyond which only madness lay. Once he dreamt he pa.s.sed invisible through his door on to the landing and was drawn by fairy tale light to her cell where, to his surprise, the ceiling seemed to dissolve into a starry night sky, and he bent beneath it to kiss her tenderly. But a door clanged shut on the landing below, resounding in the well and forcing him back to the complete darkness of his own cell.

The trial lasted only three days, the verdict never in doubt.

'Were you a friend of Sophia Perovskaya's, Doctor?' One of the younger warders asked at breakfast one morning.

'An acquaintance.'

'They say she's the only one who may escape. The emperor would have to confirm her sentence personally because she's n.o.bility.'

But the new tsar was not inclined to show clemency. No exceptions would be made for s.e.x or birth and the sentences were confirmed on all five of the regicides. The news travelled along the pipes to every corner of the prison and, when everyone knew, there was silence. Even the warders seemed to step more lightly on the iron stairs. In his mind's eye Hadfield could see Anna curled in misery, with thoughts of the ordeal her comrades must face, and his heart ached for her and with the fear that one day the same harsh justice might be meted out to her too. In desperation he sought the governor's permission to write to his uncle and to the emba.s.sy. He would acknowledge his unborn child and request it be given the protection any British subject was ent.i.tled to. For a day he heard nothing. Then he received word the governor was seeking guidance. And, on the eve of the executions, a visit at last.

'But who were you expecting, Doctor?' asked Dobrs.h.i.+nsky. He paused for a few seconds, his eyebrows raised in a quizzical expression: 'Your uncle again? You know, he has done you great service. Sit down, please.'

Hadfield did as he was bidden.

'First let me apologise for Major Barclay's behaviour. He was overwrought but that is not to excuse him. He was most ungentlemanly.'

'Yes.'

'I have just visited the condemned cells. You know the regicides are to be executed in the morning?' The special investigator's voice was reflective, his eyes fixed for a moment on the middle distance. There was the same sickly pallor in his cheeks, his skin drawn tighter across the bone.

'Have you tried to imagine how you would behave if you were the condemned man?' Again the curious cold tight-lipped smile. 'Or woman?'

'Is it possible to imagine?'

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