The Longest Winter Page 5

  Chapter Three

  For Evelyn the fact of the Revolution was entirely overtaken by her knowledge of Tony’s death. When she thought of her morning in the Taurida Palace at all it was only to wonder how the Petrograd people could be so obsessed with their own affairs when an apocalyptic war was killing so many thousands of heroic men on both the Eastern and Western Fronts. What the revolutionaries might be doing to Russia scarcely troubled her as she thought of what must have happened to Tony.

  All she knew for certain was that he had been killed leading his men to the wire and that word conjured up some of her most frightening nightmares. John had, in his one terrifying moment of weakness, told her that one of the things the men hated most at the Front was watching their friends spreadeagled on the barbed wire, not quite dead, and calling out to their comrades for help. She would never be able to forget the tone in which he had said, ‘They always look as though they’ve been crucified.’ Now in her dreams and waking nightmares it was always that picture she saw, and it was always Tony’s voice she heard calling futilely across the mud and craters of No Man’s Land.

  Struggling to contain her terrors and not let her misery show, it did not once occur to her to escape the Revolution and go back to England. Sometimes she thought wistfully of her home, but always in connection with either Tony or John. She had no wish to go home to live in England without them, and she was too worn out to face the prospect of a renewed battle with her parents. If she could not follow Tony and John to the Front as a nurse she would prefer to stay in Russia.

  She tried not to think of the trenches and the suffering Tony must have endured, but there were times when she could not help it. She tried not to wait for news of Sergei, but every letter that was brought to the house put her in a fever of guilt and fear. It seemed impossible to forget the war whatever else she tried to do. Her fears and memories so obsessed her that at times she could hardly answer rationally the simplest question any of her cousins put to her, and she never seemed to hear the conversations that swirled about the dinner table each evening.

  It was some weeks before she began to understand what had actually happened in Russia. For a time she did not notice even the most obvious signs in her cousins’house: the disappearance of white bread from their table; or the growing surliness and unruly behaviour of the servants. The first thing that broke through her consciousness was the twins’increasingly heated anger. They had always quarrelled, but never before had she seen them looking as though they hated each other.

  One morning in early July, Evelyn actually listened to what they were saying and she could not believe what she heard. When Robert Adamson, who was sitting beside her on a sofa in the morning room, felt her jerk upright, he turned to see her staring white-faced at her cousins. When he asked her what the matter was she said:

  ‘What has happened? Why did Georgii say that?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That Piotr was a traitor who wanted the Germans to win the war.’

  For the first time in weeks Bob Adamson really looked at her and noticed that her big eyes had no life left in them, her skin looked thick and heavy, and her mouth was slack with worry as she turned to him for an answer.

  ‘Miss Markham, you must know what they are arguing about,’ he protested. When he saw that she really did not, he reminded himself that she had lost both her brother and her fiancé in the war, as he gathered together the rags of his patience to try to explain. ‘You know that after the Revolution a provisional government was set up?’ Evelyn nodded. Relieved to get some rational reaction from her, he went on, trying to simplify the turmoils of the Revolution for her. ‘Most of the members of the government are from the Cadet party.’

  ‘Like Georgii?’ she suggested, sounding puzzled.

  ‘That’s right. Most of the middle-class intelligentsia belonged to the Cadets, and they, like the Provisional Government, want to carry on with the war, because they believe that your country and France will help them if they do and abandon them if they do not. Piotr, like most of the opposition parties – the Bolsheviki and the Social-Revolutionaries and so on – believes that there is no hope for Russia’s survival unless she is allowed to leave the fighting. He thinks – as I do – that the Provisional Government won’t be able to hold on to their power much longer.’

  A furious voice interrupted him:

  ‘Only because of the machinations of your damned leftwing parties. If my dear brother and the cursed Bolsheviki would only put Russia before their insane desire for world revolution, we could all work together and save our country.’

  ‘Georgii, please explain to me what is happening,’ begged Evelyn, flinching from the anger in his voice.

  ‘I’m surprised you’re interested,’ he was beginning, when Bob Adamson said through his teeth:

  ‘There is no need to be so offensive, Suvarov. Don’t you understand what your cousin has been going through?’

  Evelyn’s mind was in such a turmoil that she did not even notice his championship and just waited for Georgii’s explanation.

  ‘Well, Evelyn, if you really don’t know, this is what has happened. After the Revolution, Prince Lvov formed a government, which has been recognised by all the other Allies. They are struggling to wring some kind of order out of the shambles left by the Tsar and his ministers and they are thwarted at every turn by the other parties and factions in the Duma, the worst of which are the Bolsheviki. They want to ensure that revolutions like ours break out in all the countries of Europe – and America. And they want the Germans to defeat us so that the country is smashed to nothing. Then they can pick their way about the ruins and force their damned tyranny on us.’

  ‘I don’t understand. What are they doing?’

  Adamson opened his mouth to try to explain, but Georgii rushed in to speak first.

  ‘They are inciting the men to desert from the Front. They are having it put about that great estates are being broken up all over Russia and that land will be handed over to any man who is there in his village to be given it. And they are encouraging the men to murder their officers.’

  Piotr had listened in silence to his brother’s wild indictment. When he was certain that it was over, he rubbed his thin hand across his eyes, pushing away his hair, and said quietly:

  ‘Georgii, you know that’s not true. Why do you help spread such lies?’ He turned back to look at Evelyn and tried to explain: ‘It is true that some of the most hated officers have been assassinated, but you can’t blame those poor devils, who have spent the last two years being made to stand up there and be killed without even a rifle to defend themselves, if they do anything they can to stop the madness.’

  Evelyn’s head began to swim. She could not believe what she was hearing and she wondered how she had escaped the knowledge of what was happening. The thought of Sergei facing not only the Hun, but also his own murderous men horrified her. She looked from one twin to the other and then across the sofa to where the American was now standing.

  ‘Mr Adamson, it is not true, is it?’

  ‘Which bit? Officers certainly have been killed and there are many desertions.’

  It was impossible to believe any of them, since each one had his own axe to grind. She badly wanted a disinterested intelligence to help her sort out truth from propaganda. The only person she could think of was Andrei Alexandrovitch. He had demonstrated often enough how much he disliked the factions that were snarling over the decaying body of the Autocracy, and his arrogance and severity no longer seemed a barrier. She believed that he would know what was really happening and she went in search of him.

  It was not until she had looked for him in his smoking room and the library that it dawned on her that in the middle of a weekday morning he would be at the timber works. She heard the front door bang and ran into the hall desperately hoping that it might be he. But when she got there she could see no one except the one remaining footman. He told her rudely that the twins had just gone out. She was turning to climb
the stairs to the schoolroom when Natalia Petrovna came clumsily down towards her, saying:

  ‘Where are the boys? Where’s Peterkin?’

  ‘He’s just gone out with Georgii and Mr Adamson,’ said Evelyn, noticing that Natalia Petrovna looked almost as distraught as she felt. ‘Has something happened? Has there been any news of Sergei?’

  ‘Of course not,’ snapped her cousin. ‘But I need …’ She stopped speaking and almost dragged Evelyn into the salon. ‘I don’t trust any of the servants,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve just heard that parties of the men they call Red Guards are visiting all the houses near here to steal all the food. I must have Andrei Alexandrovitch here and the telephone has been cut off again. The boys must go and fetch him.’

  Something in her cousin’s hysterical voice helped to calm Evelyn and she said almost coolly:

  ‘There’s no way of knowing where they’ve gone. I shall have to go to fetch your husband.’

  ‘But you can’t. A young girl alone out in the streets? I could never forgive myself if something happened. And how will you know the way? There are no cabs again because of the strike at Kronstadt.’

  Evelyn felt suddenly ashamed that she had been so absorbed in her personal sadness that she had been unaware of what had really been taking place around her. She wanted to make some kind of amends to Natalia Petrovna for her selfishness.

  ‘I could take a tram. I know that there are some that go to the Vyborg district and surely the driver or someone could tell me where to go.’

  The desire for her husband’s protection was stronger than Natalia Petrovna’s convictions about the unsuitability of young girls walking alone through the streets of a notorious district, and she told herself that although there were demonstrations by the sailors who were stationed at Kronstadt, they would not affect the main parts of the city, and so she reluctantly accepted Evelyn’s offer, adding:

  ‘But you must take Dindin with you. Two girls together should be safe. I could not let you go alone. No,’ she went on, seeing that Evelyn was about to argue, ‘my mind is made up. Go and change your shoes and I’ll fetch Dindin.’ Evelyn obeyed, apprehensive but determined to do what she could. She was surprised to find that Dindin was excited when they met in the hall, and irritated to see that she was wearing a fashionable and expensive-looking hat.

  ‘Oh, Dindin, really! Why are you dressed like that? Go up and change – and put a shawl round your head. You know we must look inconspicuous.’

  ‘And look like a servant … or a Bolshevik? Certainly not. Evie, you know my father likes us all to be properly dressed; he’s always criticising Piotr’s clothes. He wouldn’t …’

  ‘It is just not safe nowadays to go out dressed like that. You’ll only draw attention to us. Please change.’

  The girl stamped her foot and her pretty face set in sulkily determined lines. For the first time, Evelyn realised how much Dindin would resemble her mother when she was older. She shrugged There was no time to waste quarrelling.

  ‘Well, it’s your funeral. Come on. We can’t waste any more time.’ The first tram that passed their nearest stop in the Nevski Prospekt was so full that passengers were already clinging to the step in serious danger of being pushed off, and Evie refused to let Dindin even try to board it. But the next was slightly emptier and they managed to squeeze a space for themselves inside.

  ‘Where to, Comrades?’ asked the conductor, jamming one of her elbows in Evelyn’s back and nearly winding her as she balanced herself against the swaying of the tram.

  ‘Vyborg,’ answered Evelyn in her obviously foreign accent, holding out a handful of small change.

  ‘That’s a big area, Comrade. Whereabouts?’

  ‘We want the Suvarov Timber Works.’

  ‘Going to the meeting then? I didn’t know they’d let foreigners in,’ said the woman taking some of Evelyn’s money and handing two tickets in exchange. Evelyn could see that she was looking critically at Dindin and obviously wondering why so obvious a bourguika would be going to a factory soviet’s meeting. Tucking the ends of her own worn grey shawl into the waistband of her shabby black skirt, Evelyn said briefly:

  ‘The meeting. Yes. Thank you, er, Comrade. Can you tell me when we reach the right stop?’

  ‘I haven’t time to act as city guide, Comrade,’ she answered, but then something in Evelyn’s face or voice made her relent enough to say: ‘Someone will tell you when we’re over the river. Suvarov’s is well enough known.’ The heavy sarcasm in her voice made Evelyn wonder for the first time whether Piotr’s well-known dislike of his father’s business might have some basis other than his own absurdity, but she said nothing more. Dindin whispered to her in English:

  ‘What did she mean?’

  ‘I don’t know. But don’t let’s talk about it now. What do you suppose is happening out there?’ said Evelyn, peering out of the grimy windows to a large crowd gathered round a speaker.

  ‘Oh, only some meeting. There seem to be meetings about everything these days.’ But as she spoke so dismissively the unmistakable sound of shooting hit them both. They waited, tense, surrounded by apparently unconcerned Russians, but the sounds were not repeated. There had been no real trouble since March, but both girls remembered enough of what they had seen and heard about then to dread a repetition. Evelyn was just wondering how she would get them both home if the striking sailors were to infect the rest of Petrograd and they found themselves in the middle of another demonstration, when the swaying overcrowded tram jerked to a stop, the iron wheels screaming in the tramlines.

  Thrown backwards almost into the lap of a large and unfriendly-looking woman with a basket on her knees, Dindin saved herself by twisting her body violently and putting one arm out to steady herself against the window.

  ‘Evie, look!’ she said urgently but softly and still in English. Together they watched a dark-green armoured car bustling importantly across the lines in front of their tram, twin red flags stiffly flying from the bonnet. It was followed by an open truck filled with young men in peaked caps and working clothes, each one carrying a rifle and most of them wearing great belts of bullets slung ropewise across their shoulders.

  ‘What can be happening?’ whispered Dindin.

  ‘I don’t know, but I don’t think we should look too interested. We must be almost at the river. It can’t be long now.’

  Evelyn hoped that she was right. She felt as though all the other passengers on the bus were staring at Dindin’s ridiculous hat, and all or them seemed hostile. They were clearly as bad as her cousin’s servants: insolent and greedy. Suddenly she saw a man stand up and put both his hands on Dindin’s shoulders. The girl flinched violently and Evelyn braced herself to intervene. But all he wanted was to make enough space to squeeze past her in order to get off the tram. Evelyn sighed in relief and wondered how much more she would be able to bear.

  They saw the Neva embankment about five minutes later and knew that their ordeal was almost over. As soon as they reached the Suvarov Works, the two girls knew they would have nothing more to worry about. Evelyn leaned towards one of the least villainous-looking men and asked in her broken Russian whether he could tell her which stop they would need, and even smiled a little to herself as he said, ‘Yes, Comrade’, but she did not like the way he looked at her cousin. The man nodded his head towards a large building they were passing on the left, and as the light fell slantwise across his face, Evelyn saw how dirty and unshaven he was. She felt a sickening mixture of disgust and fright, but all he said to them was:

  ‘The fortress of Peter and Paul, Comrades, where the enemies of the Revolution are held. Old Suvarov should be one of’em. It won’t be long now to his infernal factory; just across that small bridge. Then when you get off you take the first left and then the second right.’

  Enemies of the Revolution, thought Evelyn. Well, we are both that. Bitter enemies of the Revolution. Oh, why did that idiotic girl wear her stupid hat? And why didn’t I make her change? How are we going t
o get out of this? She could feel panic closing in on her and gripped her purse between her hands to try to stop them shaking. She could not bear to look at Dindin, just silently begged her not to arouse the dislike of these people in whose power they now were.

  Then Evelyn realised that she had not listened properly to the man’s directions and she started to ask him to repeat them. But her voice came out like a croak and he did not understand. She coughed to clear her throat and managed to say reasonably clearly:

  ‘The second right, did you say?’

  ‘Da,’ he said simply, nodding, and at that moment the tram drew up at its stop.

  The two girls had to force their way off the tram and it took them so long to push through the crowd that the tram had begun to move before Evelyn could get off it. She bad to jump off, but landed safely, and together the two girls turned off to follow the man’s directions.

  As they left the main road, they were both shocked to find that the side streets were not cobbled and that they had to pick their way through mud, made sticky by the last night’s rain. There did not seem to be anyone about, and all they could see were the high blank factory walls that towered over them and the thick, blackish-grey smoke that unfolded itself out of tall brick chimneys. Everything seemed dirty and strange, a world away from the broad elegant streets they had left on the other side of the Troitski Bridge.

  They could hear trains chugging by a few blocks away, and the clatter of machinery from somewhere closer; then a man’s shout, suddenly harsh. Evelyn instinctively whipped round to see where it had come from. Turning, she slipped into the grey-brown mud, wrenching her left ankle back under her as she fell. Dindin had not realised what was happening and was hurrying onwards, her head down so that she could see and smell as little as possible of her surroundings. Evelyn tried to get up and, failing, called out: