The Killing of Anna Karenina Page 3

  ‘If you can pay, well and good. But I have a mission. I want to work in the tropics, possibly Africa or South America.’

  He had been persuaded, he said, to come to this remote spot in Herefordshire by one of his teachers who knew Lord Irmingham. It would be good training for him and he could earn a little money to fund his missionary plans. He explained what he meant as he helped his patient on with the clean shirt and the linen waistcoat.

  ‘The whole idea…’ he shook his head over what he was saying ‘…the whole idea of a community has come from Lord Irmingham. I admire the spirit of charitable self-help, cooperation, friendship and so on. It’s what I should like to help create somewhere in the tropics. Mind you, it’s far too paternalistic! And there’s no need for excess, sir! I am not going to be impressed by your filthy lucre!’ He picked up the coins, clinked them together and then thrust one of them back at the prince. ‘It’s the parasites at the Court, they’re the problem.’

  ‘Parasites?’

  ‘Ay, parasites!’ The remaining coin was spun up in the air and then pocketed. His light-brown eyes subjected the prince to a long, unblinking, serious inspection. ‘The Irminghams, sir, bought this estate about forty years ago, so I’m told. They pulled down the original manor house on the other side of the river and built Stadleigh Court. Import of Russian timber, export of steel pins, that’s how they made their money.’

  The prince acknowledged he knew a little about the import of timber but nothing about steel pins.

  ‘Well, then, you’ll see how the Russian connection started. Lord Irmingham is an idealist. He has read the things your writer Tolstoy teaches – you know, non-opposition to evil by violence, vegetarianism, making your own clothes and so on – and he believes it all. He’s convinced everyone should do the same. So he entertains people who are likely to be persuaded – which is the object of the soiree, as I understand it. Of course, it’s all very fine if you can afford it, if you’re a Rothschild or a Carnegie, but Lord Irmingham’s no Carnegie and he can’t afford it. At least that’s how I see it. I haven’t been here long enough to find out more. What I do know is he’s got two children, his son Gerald and the other is the Lady Helen you’ve just met.’

  The mention of Lady Helen made him blink rapidly and glance out of the window.

  ‘She lives here, does she?’ the prince asked.

  ‘Oh, yes, this is her house. It’s a lot bigger than it looks. It was her idea that I should have a consulting-room here. The old doctor had one near the church. Where I lodge.’

  ‘She’s an extraordinarily beautiful woman, isn’t she?’

  Enough confidence had been established between the two men for Lady Helen Swanning’s beauty to be appreciated without the prince fearing he might encroach on the young doctor’s feelings.

  ‘Oh, aye, I’m not calling her a parasite,’ was the immediate whispered answer. ‘It’s true, she is beautiful. And she takes it all very seriously. She is commanding, as you said. Are you feeling comfortable now, sir?’

  ‘Yes, yes. What does she take very seriously?’

  ‘The Tolstoy thing, sir.’ He said she was learning Russian under the guidance of Mr Kingston. ‘A serious-minded, very beautiful woman, that’s who Lady Helen is.’ Whatever the young Dr James Parkinson’s feelings were, he successfully concealed them at that moment under a professional manner stripped of its Scots accent. ‘I must advise rest, sir. For at least a few days. As for where you can stay… Ah, Jane, what is it?”

  The maidservant had reappeared. She announced, standing in the doorway in a black frock with a white apron, her hands to her sides and the chin of her small oval face pointed tentatively towards them, that tea was ready in the sitting room and her mistress hoped to see them.

  ‘Are you up to it?’ the young doctor asked. His one raised eyebrow seemed to refer as much to the emotional challenge of the occasion as to the physical effort required for it. The prince nodded. Jane led the way into the sitting room.

  It was a spacious room for such a cottage and obviously part of an extension to the original structure. Armchairs and a sofa in flower-printed covers were the main furnishings distributed on a red-patterned Indian carpet. A fan-shaped brass screen stood in the fireplace and harness brasses gleamed on the wooden mantelpiece. The fragrance of red and yellow roses in vases competed with a lingering smell of wood ash.

  ‘Repaired?’ asked Oswald Holmcroft, rising from the sofa where he had been sitting beside Lady Helen. ‘How are you feeling, prince?’

  ‘Much better, thank you. I am very grateful to Dr Parkinson.’

  Lady Helen had tea things and a silver teapot on a little table in front of her. She at once gave orders for everyone to be seated. Oswald Holmcroft for some reason took this to mean a seat by the fireplace, some distance away from the sofa. The doctor and the prince were directed to sit in armchairs immediately facing the little table.

  ‘Tea with milk, prince, or would you prefer it with lemon and sugar in your Russian manner? We have both, so it’s no trouble.’ Lady Helen instructed Jane to hand round a plate of cucumber sandwiches and some cake. ‘My, isn’t it growing dark!’

  The dramatic darkening of the room in the last few moments was followed by the loud noise of heavy raindrops audible through the open window. Then came a clap of thunder. The window was drawn shut at once, which had the effect of creating a momentary awkward silence filled with the sound of tea being poured out and tongs used to place sugar lumps in a teacup and a glass topped with slices of lemon.

  ‘There,’ said Lady Helen.

  Twenty-four, the prince thought, watching her. Such Monna Vanna beauty, dramatised by the sudden darkening, could not make her any older. He could not escape the sense that she ought to be presiding over a solemn society tea party of well-dressed London ladies rather than meting out sugar lumps and lemon slices here in Herefordshire.

  ‘Prince,’ she said, ‘I think you are going to have to stay here, aren’t you? I mean, you can hardly travel with such injuries. And it looks as if we’re in for a storm. Where do you live?’

  He said he lived in London. A house in Portland Place.

  ‘Then it’s out of the question. You cannot possibly go to London tonight. I think James will agree.’

  The doctor agreed.

  ‘Right, then that’s settled. We have a spare bedroom and blankets and pillows. Or if you’d prefer, there is the inn, but it would mean going out again and with your injuries…’

  ‘No, no.’ The spare bedroom would be perfect, he assured her and added that he was very grateful.

  ‘In any case, prince, you will need time to recover from the shock of your accident. And of course something will have to be done with your bicycle. Oswald, do you think the forge could do something?’

  Oswald was certain the local forge could mend the frame.

  ‘So, you see, it’s much better if you stay here.’ She raised her teacup and drank while the prince swallowed a mouthful of hot sweet lemon tea. Putting down her teacup in its saucer with a faint bell-like chime of bone china against bone china, she went on: ‘It’s really very fortunate you’ve arrived like this. You see, you’re in time for the soiree.’

  ‘Please tell me what this soiree is.’

  ‘Oswald’s told you, hasn’t he, about our little social experiment here? We’re trying to have a little community. We do so admire your great writer Count Tolstoy. But our community’s not yet properly Tolstoyan, so I won’t call it that. It’s father’s idea, but a compatriot of yours, Mr Kingston, is the keenest of all and it’s such a pity he is not here to meet you. He has had to go over to the Court. We try to be as self-sufficient as we can. I made this dress of mine, for instance. Oswald’s had a shot at making his boots.’ The boots, hardly elegant, protruded rather like outsize leather slippers from the ends of Oswald’s large stocking-clad legs. He grinned at his own handiwork. ‘And we make our own bread, our own soap, our own ink, oh, a host of things! It’s rather fun really. But of course w
e do have to buy lots of things from outside. So it’s really just a game we’re playing. Is the tea sweet enough for you? That’s something we have to get from outside, you see. Oh, and I should add that we’re very keen to have people from outside as well – visitors, you know. My father runs social occasions over at the Court. He likes to convert his guests to his way of thinking. Yes, dear, what do you want?’

  She had spoken easily, rarely blinking her magnificent dark-blue eyes and hardly reinforcing her words with any gestures, but at that instant Jane suddenly re-entered the room almost at a run. Looking flustered, she announced that the doctor was needed urgently at the Court.

  ‘Oh, dear, oh, dear!’ cried Lady Helen. ‘But in such rain it seems such a pity!’

  Dr Parkinson’s own reaction was a robust shrug of the shoulders and a quick downing of his cup of tea. He offered his apologies and quickly left the room. A carriage had arrived from the Court, it seemed, so he would be in the dry for the journey. Meanwhile, the rain sounded as loud as a sea at high tide. Munching a sandwich, the prince looked through the window at a back garden of shrubbery, damp lawn and distant glistening greenhouse.

  Once the doctor had left the atmosphere changed. Lady Helen became quite intimate.

  ‘Prince,’ she said, ‘Oswald tells me you are Prince Nikolay’s grandson.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘You see, the Tolstoyan connection is very intriguing to us. Are you closely related, if I may ask? I know it may seem that I am prying, but I have a reason for asking.’

  The prince instantly tried to satisfy her. No, he was not, strictly speaking, related to Count Leo Tolstoy but knew him, of course, and the family at Yasnaya Polyana. They were all kindred, so to speak.

  ‘What about the Karenins?’ she suddenly asked.

  The question was so unexpected he could scarcely believe it was being asked in all seriousness. He tested the question’s possible intent by asking who she meant.

  ‘Do you mean Anna Arkadyevna?’

  ‘Well, no, prince, I really didn’t mean to…’ Her reaction was puzzling. It was as if she had been taken by surprise and appeared ready to change the subject. ‘You see, I said just now how fortunate it is that you’re here at this particular moment. There is the soiree, of course, but I was thinking about another possibility.’

  She exchanged glances with Oswald Holmcroft. He did not seem to reciprocate and merely clasped his hands together.

  ‘No, well, perhaps we can talk about that a little later,’ she said. ‘More tea?’

  The prince thanked her and politely refused. He could tell that something was being deliberately hidden from him, so he took the opportunity to ask whether there was any explanation for what he had seen that afternoon.

  ‘A black boat? A black figure inside it?’ Lady Helen glanced again at Oswald Holmcroft. ‘And you say a red rose… That’s quite odd.’

  As a matter of fact, it didn’t sound at all odd. He was about to apologise for mentioning it when Oswald Holmcroft intervened with an even odder sort of contradiction: ‘Yes, well, in a way, I suppose, it was…’ His large hands were unclasped and slapped down on his bare knees ‘…it was, er, connected.’

  ‘Connected?’

  ‘With what we’ve just been talking about, Lady Helen. What the prince saw was probably connected with the, er… with what we’ve just been talking about.’

  These hesitancies annoyed the prince. He said he thought he saw someone being shot but he did not mention that he had seen the same figure shortly afterwards walking along the riverbank and speaking words he could understand. The looks on his listeners’ faces showed obvious disbelief.

  ‘Oh, but not being shot!’ said Lady Helen. ‘Oswald, didn’t you say…’

  ‘Yes, I’d been shooting rabbits. I was very careful to…’ At which point he may have remembered how he had reacted to the sight of the prince’s wound, for he quickly added: ‘I kept everything under control, I can assure you, Lady Helen.’ It was hard to tell in the dusk whether he was embarrassed or not. ‘The boat you saw, prince, very likely belonged to the Court. The behaviour of people from the Court can be very strange.’

  ‘And of course if, if somebody has been shot by accident, that would explain why James has had to go over there so urgently,’ was what Lady Helen supposed, but Oswald Holmcroft poured cold water on this possibility: ‘I doubt very much whether anyone has been shot, I really do, Lady Helen.’

  She let silence diminish any shade of rebuke in this remark before raising her chin and saying: ‘Did you know, Prince, that Oswald is our local historian? He is also well-known for his work on Cromwell.’

  ‘Forgive me, no.’

  ‘Oh, yes. His work on Cromwell is in all the libraries.’

  ‘Then in that case I will have to…’

  ‘I doubt very much,’ Oswald Holmcroft interrupted, ‘whether you actually saw anyone being shot.’

  The prince did not feel it right to contradict this and smiled faintly. There was a pause. All three suddenly realised the rain had stopped.

  ‘Good heavens, it’s time I was going,’ said Oswald Holmcroft.

  He made his farewells at this point rather too promptly, saying he was so grateful for the cup of tea and what a pleasure it had been to meet the prince.

  ‘He lives with his mother,’ Lady Helen explained when he had left. ‘And she always gets worried if he’s late. He’s a dear person. You must read his book on Cromwell. I can lend you a copy, if you like.’

  He thanked her and said he would like that very much. The prince could not help feeling that among the secrets being kept from him the hardest to fathom was exactly what the boyish historian of Cromwell felt towards Lady Helen. He could hardly have felt nothing at all. She was far too intelligent and commanding to be ignored and far too beautiful, surely, for mere friendship; but as soon as they were alone he realised she was more truly feminine and domestic than she had seemed at first. She noticed him smother a yawn.

  ‘Oh, prince, you must be tired. I shouldn’t go on chattering like this. Just wait and I’ll…’

  Her immediate concern was to ensure the spare bedroom was comfortable. She attended to this in person with Jane’s help. After a brief interval, the prince was summoned to follow her upstairs and was grateful to find myself shown into a low ceiling-ed bedroom containing a high metal bed with brass knobs at each corner. He had to admit he was feeling extremely tired. Cucumber sandwiches, cake and sweet tea had been most satisfying, but he had to prevail on her hospitality for one further favour – a sheet of paper, if she would be good enough to let him have one.

  ‘Paper, prince?’

  ‘I would like to send a telegram.’

  ‘Of course, you must let your people know what’s happened. Your wife will be anxious.’

  ‘No, no.’

  He noticed how she turned away immediately, perhaps hiding her embarrassment, and foraged in the top drawer of a bedside cabinet. He explained that his wife had gone back to Russia to see her mother, who had not been well, and he was a kind of grass widower. Lady Helen had gathered enough already about his short bicycling holiday for there to be no need to say more about it, except to add almost by way of apology how fond he was of English poetry: ‘It’s a little hobby of mine. When I have the chance, I travel to places I have seen mentioned in famous poems. I was looking for Wordsworth’s “sylvan Wye”. That’s really why I’m here and so indebted to you. I must not prevail on your hospitality a moment longer than necessary. No, I am sending for my man. What address shall I give?’

  She was disconcerted. ‘Ah… Yes…’ Frowning, she added: ‘It had better be Stadleigh Court. I’ll take it over myself. I have to go over this evening.’

  She handed him a small writing pad. An inkwell and pen had appeared on the small table. ‘Our own,’ she pointed out, referring to the ink in the inkwell into which he put the wooden nib before writing out, in very black capitals, the bold, if inscrutable, message: ‘COTTON BRING CLOTHES STADLEIG
H COURT HEREFORDSHIRE URGENT. R.’

  She queried what it meant.

  ‘He’ll know. Very good ink,’ he remarked. ‘Tell me – why did you ask about the Karenins? You know what happened to Anna Arkadyevna, don’t you? Suicide. She threw herself under a train.’

  Lady Helen suddenly peered at the prince, as if he was an archaeological discovery of incalculable value. ‘You’re certain of that, prince, are you? Did you ever meet her?’

  He had to admit he did meet her. Twice, in fact. Long, long ago.

  To his absolute astonishment she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek with every sign of being delighted to do so. Before he could stop blinking or respond in any proper fashion he heard her go running down the stairs in a positive avalanche of racing footsteps. Meanwhile, he sat on the bed and contemplated the need to put on the nightshirt that had been laid neatly on the pillow.

  In the quiet of the early evening after the rain he fell into a healing and dreamless sleep that lasted until quite late the following morning. Meanwhile, his hostess had gone across the river, climbed terrace after terrace of the Stadleigh Court garden and heard the organ music float out ever more loudly over shrubs and flowerbeds. The short telegram had indeed been despatched within the hour. By eight o’clock that evening railway timetables had been consulted in the house in Portland Place and a cab ordered to go to Paddington.

  4

  The next morning after a very late, suitably vegetarian breakfast of carrot juice, homemade bread, gooseberry jam, fresh butter and oatcakes, the prince whiled away a little time reading a two-day-old copy of The Times in the hope that Lady Helen would shortly come back from whatever good works she had been busy with since early morning. Approaching midday he heard a familiar voice just outside his door. It was his manservant Cotton who had just arrived with a carriage from Stadleigh Court.

  He was always known as Cotton. No forename, no relatives, it seemed, no past experience except service in good households that brought with it a reputation for trustfulness, cleanliness and practicality in ways the prince could only envy. He had, for instance, a remarkable ability of quite Herculean intellectual valour for understanding railway timetables. They were second nature to him. On receipt of the telegram he had gone at once to Paddington, booked a ticket for Swindon, found a means of reaching Stadleigh Halt, been conveyed to Stadleigh Court and then been instructed to fetch the prince from Lady Helen’s cottage in a carriage provided by Lord Irmingham. What is more, he came with fresh clothes.