The Coronation (48 page)

Yes. Yes. Fandorin was right. The shroud of fog enveloped me once again in its protective mantle, and I was able to carry on listening.

‘I have had enough time to reconstruct the entire plan of Lind’s Moscow operation.’ Erast Petrovich ripped a handkerchief apart with his teeth, bound up his wound crudely and wiped large beads of sweat off his forehead. ‘The doctor made his preparations unhurriedly, well in advance. After all, everyone already knew when the coronation would be last year. The idea was brilliant – to blackmail the entire imperial house. Lind calculated that fear of a worldwide scandal would drive the Romanovs to make any sacrifice. The doctor chose an excellent position for managing his operation – inside the very family against whom he intended to strike. Who would ever suspect the excellent governess of such an outrage? With his extensive connections, it was not hard for Lind to forge references. He gathered together an entire t-team. In addition to his usual helpers, he engaged the Warsaw bandits and they put him in touch with the Khitrovka gang. Oh, this man was a truly remarkable strategist!’

Fandorin looked thoughtfully at the woman lying at his feet. ‘It is strange that I cannot say “she” and “she was” about Lind . . .’

I finally managed to force myself to look at Emilie’s dead face. It was calm and mysterious, and a bloated black fly had settled on the tip of her snub nose. I squatted down and drove the vile insect away.

‘But, after all, the most important secret of the doctor’s power was precisely femininity. It was a very strange gang, Ziukin, a gang of extortionists and murderers ruled by love. All of Lind’s men were in love with him – with her, each in his own way. “Mademoiselle Declique’s” true genius was that this woman was able to find the key to any man’s heart, even a heart absolutely unequipped for love.’

I sensed his gaze on me, but I did not look up. There were already two flies circling above Emilie’s face; they had to be driven away.

‘Do you know what Somov told me b-before he died, Ziukin?’

‘Is he dead too?’ I asked indifferently.

Just at that moment I noticed an entire colony of ants climbing up Emilie’s sleeve, so I had plenty to keep me busy.

‘Yes, I checked him very simply. I turned my back to him. And of course he immediately attempted to take advantage of my apparent g-gullibility. There was a short struggle, which ended with your assistant impaling himself on his own knife. Even as he wheezed his last, he was still struggling to reach for my throat. I am not easily frightened but by God the sight of such a frenzy sent cold shivers running down my spine. I shouted at him: “What, what did you all find in her?” And do you know what answer he gave me, Ziukin? “Love.” That was the final word he spoke. Oh, she knew how to inspire love. I believe you too felt the influence of Doctor Lind’s charms, did you not? I’m afraid that you were too scrupulous altogether. As far as I can tell, Somov fared better than you did. I found this on him.’

He took a small silk bag out of his pocket and extracted a lock of chestnut hair from it. I recognised the hair immediately as Emilie’s. So that was the kind of French lessons they had. But there was no time for me to feel upset. The cursed flies had performed an outflanking manoeuvre and I caught one, the most persistent, on Mademoiselle’s ear.

‘Now it is clear why Doctor Lind had no women friends and was regarded as a m-misogynist. Homosexuality has nothing to do with it. Emilie cunningly led us astray by laying a false trail. We must assume that Lord Banville left the empire long ago, after making the poor boy Glinsky pay for the loss of his lover. Ah the exquisite Mr Carr, the innocuous fancier of blue carnations and green forget-me-nots! He was killed to make us even more sure that Lind was Lord Banville. While you and I played the idiot and chose pantaloons and stockings for the doctor, Mademoiselle must have searched the apartment, failed to find the casket or the Orlov and decided to make another move in her complicated game by telephoning Somov at the Hermitage and ordering him to do away with Carr. The operation was entering its final stage. Lind had to get back the jewels and take possession of the diamond.’

‘No!’ I exclaimed, overcome by a sudden horror. ‘No, there’s something wrong here! You are mistaken after all!’

He gaped at me in amazement, and I, choking on my sobs, told him about my last telephone conversation with Emilie.

‘If . . . if she was Doctor Lind, then why did she refuse? I . . . myself offered to give her the casket and the diamond! She would not take them! She said she trusted you and I must not get in your way.’

But this did not unsettle Fandorin at all. ‘Naturally,’ he said, nodding. ‘The loot on its own was not enough for the doctor. He – dammit, I mean
she
– wanted my head as well. Once she had found out the time and place of the meeting from you, she had the opportunity to conclude her Moscow operation at a single stroke. In a most triumphant manner, redressing all the failures and settling all accounts in full.’

Erast Petrovich hesitated. He looked as if he was feeling guilty and intended to beg my pardon.

I was not mistaken – he did indeed start to apologise: ‘Afanasii Stepanovich, I have treated you cruelly. I used you without explaining anything to you or taking you into my confidence. But I could not tell you the truth. You were captivated by Emilie and would never have believed me. Yesterday evening I deliberately spoke abruptly to you on the telephone and did not g-give you any information. I needed to provoke your s-suspicion. I knew that, assailed by doubts, you would turn for advice to the only person you trusted, Mademoiselle Declique. And you would tell her everything. I also chose the monk’s clothes deliberately. Lind, with his – O Lord, with
her
– uncanny quick-wittedness, was bound to realise what a convenient costume it would be for her.

‘The hood, the black mantle and the habit make it possible to mask both the figure and the face. I told Lind the plan of action myself, through you. Mademoiselle was well aware of your habit of arriving everywhere ahead of time. She reached the bridge at twenty minutes past five and waited. I had warned you that I might be late, and so she had no doubt that you would be the first to arrive. She would have time to take the jewels from you and prepare to meet me. But I took up a position in the bushes at half past four. I could have shot Lind sooner, before you arrived, without exposing myself to any risk, but God only knows what you would have imagined afterwards. You would never have believed that Mademoiselle Declique was guilty unless she proved it to you herself. Which she did in quite excellent fashion. Of course that has cost me a bullet hole in my shoulder, and if the sun had not been shining in her eyes the outcome of the duel would have been even sadder for me . . .’

I was not thinking about anything at that moment, simply listening.

Fandorin looked from me to the dead woman and narrowed his cold blue eyes. ‘What I do not know is what she intended to do with you,’ he said pensively. ‘Simply kill you? Or perhaps win you over to her side? What do you think? Could she have done that? Would a quarter of an hour have been enough for you to forget everything else for the sake of love?’

Something stirred inside me at those words. Not quite resentment, not quite anger – a bad kind of feeling, but faint, very faint. And at the same time I remembered that there was something that I simply, absolutely had to ask.

Ah yes.

‘What about Mikhail Georgievich? Where is he?’

A shadow flitted across Fandorin’s face – pale and tired but still very handsome.

‘Do you still have to ask? The boy was killed, I think on that day when you tried to save him by chasing after the carriage. Lind decided that he would take no more risks and chose Mademoiselle Declique – that is himself – as the intermediary instead of you. Or perhaps that is how it was planned from the very beginning. Our Emilie played her role quite brilliantly. To make everything completely credible she even led us to the vault, from which it was so convenient to escape through an underground passage. She would have got away with everything if not for my little surprise with the coachman.’

‘But on that day His Highness was still alive!’

‘What makes you think so? It was Lind, that is Emilie, who shouted up to us that the child was alive. The little mite had already been lying dead for days somewhere, at the bottom of a river or in an unmarked grave. And the most revolting thing is that before they killed the child, they cut off his finger while he was still alive.’

It was impossible to believe such things. ‘How can you know that? You weren’t there, were you?’

Erast Petrovich frowned.

‘But I saw the finger. It was clear from the droplets of dried blood that it had not been amputated from a dead body. That is why I continued to believe for so long that the child might be ill and drugged but was still alive.’

I looked at Emilie again, this time I looked long and hard. That is Doctor Lind, I told myself, the one who tortured and killed Mikhail Georgievich. But Lind was Lind, and Emilie was Emilie. There had not been any connection between them.

‘Ziukin! Afanasii Stepanovich, wake up!’

I slowly turned towards Fandorin, not understanding what else he wanted from me.

Erast Petrovich was grimacing in pain as he pulled on his frock coat.

‘I shall have to disappear. I have eliminated Lind, saved the Orlov and recovered Her Majesty’s jewels, but I was not able to save the grand duke. The emperor has no more use for me, and the Moscow authorities have cherished their animosity towards me for a long time. I shall go abroad; there is nothing more for me to do here. Only . . .’

He waved his hand through the air as if he wished to say something but could not make up his mind.

‘I wish to ask to ask you a favour. Please tell Xenia Georgievna. . . that I have thought a lot about our argument . . . and I am no longer so convinced that I was right . . . And give her this.’ He handed me a sheet of paper. ‘It is an address in Paris through which she can contact me. Will you give it to her?’

‘Yes,’ I said in a wooden voice, putting the paper away in my pocket.

‘Well, g-goodbye.’

The grass rustled as Fandorin scrambled up the slope. I did not watch him go.

He swore once – he must have jolted his wounded shoulder – but even so I did not look round.

I realised that I would have to collect up the scattered jewels: the tiara, the diamond clasp, the collar, the small bouquet, the fountain aigrette. But, most important of all, what was I to do with Mademoiselle Declique? Of course I could walk up to the park office and bring some attendants – they would carry the body up the slope. But I couldn’t leave Emilie here alone, for the ants to crawl over her and the flies to settle on her face.

On the other hand, even though she was not heavy (after all, I had already carried her in my arms), would I be able to carry her up such a steep slope on my own?

I supposed it was worth trying.

‘ . . . most profound gratitude to Divine Providence for having preserved this sacred symbol of the tsar’s power for Russia.’

His Majesty’s voice trembled and the sovereign paused in order to control a sudden surge of emotion. The empress made the sign of the cross, and the tsar immediately followed her example and also bowed to the icon hanging in the corner.

No one else present crossed themselves. Nor did I.

The royal audience had been granted to me in the large drawing room of the Hermitage. Despite the solemn significance of the event, only those privy to the circumstances of the drama that had been played out were present: members of the royal family, Colonel Karnovich and Lieutenant Endlung.

Everyone was wearing mourning armbands as on that day it had been announced that His Highness Mikhail Georgievich had died in a suburban palace from a sudden attack of measles. Since it was known that all the younger Georgieviches were suffering from this dangerous illness, the news seemed credible, although of course certain dark fantastic rumours had already begun to spread. However, the truth was far too unlikely for anyone to believe.

Xenia Georgievna and Pavel Georgievich stood there with their eyes wet with tears, but Georgii Alexandrovich kept himself in hand. Kirill Alexandrovich looked impassive. One could only assume that from his point of view a most wretched story had concluded in a fashion that was not the most catastrophic possible. From time to time Simeon Alexandrovich dabbed his red eyes with a scented handkerchief, however I suspect that he was not sighing for the little prince so much as for a certain Englishman with straw-yellow hair.

Having regained control of his voice, His Majesty continued: ‘However, it would be unjust to thank the Almighty without rewarding the individual whom the Lord chose as His own good instrument, our faithful House Master Afanasii Ziukin. Our eternal gratitude to you, our precious Afanasii Stepanovich, for your fidelity to duty and devotion to the tsarist house.’

‘Yes, dear Afanasii, we are most pleased indeed at you,’ Her Imperial Majesty echoed, smiling at me and as usual confusing the difficult Russian words.