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They got off the train at Bulovnir, the tiny station that served Prince Andrei's estate. Fitz's experts had suggested that Andrei build a small township here, with a timber yard and grain stores and a mill; but nothing had been done, and the peasants still took their produce by horse and cart twenty miles to the old market town.
Andrei had sent an open carriage to meet them, with a surly driver who looked on while Jenkins lifted the trunks onto the back of the vehicle. As they drove along a dirt road through farmland, Fitz recalled his previous visit, when he had come as the new husband of the princess, and the villagers had stood at the roadside and cheered. There was a different atmosphere now. Laborers in the fields barely looked up as the carriage passed, and in villages and hamlets the inhabitants deliberately turned their backs.
This kind of thing irritated Fitz and made him bad-tempered, but his spirits were soothed by the sight of the timeworn stones of the old house, colored a buttery yellow by the low afternoon sun. A little flock of immaculately dressed servants emerged from the front door like ducks coming to be fed, and bustled about the carriage opening doors and manhandling luggage. Andrei's steward, Georgi, kissed Fitz's hand and said, in an English phrase he had obviously learned by rote: "Welcome back to your Russian home, Earl Fitzherbert. "
Russian houses were often grandiose but shabby, and Bulovnir was no exception. The double-height hall needed painting, the priceless chandelier was dusty, and a dog had peed on the marble floor. Prince Andrei and Princess Valeriya were waiting beneath a large portrait of Bea's grandfather frowning sternly down on them.
Bea rushed to Andrei and embraced him.
Valeriya was a classical beauty with regular features and dark hair in a neat coiffure. She shook hands with Fitz and said in French: "Thank you for coming. We're so happy to see you. "
When Bea detached herself from Andrei, wiping her tears, Fitz offered his hand to shake. Andrei gave him his left hand: the right sleeve of his jacket hung empty. He was pale and thin, as if suffering from a wasting illness, and there was a little gray in his black beard, although he was only thirty-three. "I can't tell you how relieved I am to see you," he said.
Fitz said: "Is something wrong?" They were speaking French, in which they were all fluent.
"Come into the library. Valeriya will take Bea upstairs. "
They left the women and went into a dusty room full of leather-bound books that looked as if they were not often read. "I've ordered tea. I'm afraid we've no sherry. "
"Tea will be fine. " Fitz eased himself into a chair. His wounded leg ached after the long journey. "What's going on?"
"Are you armed?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. My service revolver is in my luggage. " Fitz had a Webley Mark V that had been issued to him in 1914.
"Please keep it close to hand. I wear mine constantly. " Andrei opened his jacket to reveal a belt and holster.
"You'd better tell me why. "
"The peasants have set up a land committee. Some Socialist Revolutionaries have talked to them and given them stupid ideas. They claim the right to take over any land I'm not cultivating and divide it up among themselves. "
"Haven't you been through this before?"
"In my grandfather's time. We hanged three peasants and thought that was the end of the matter. But these wicked ideas lie dormant, and sprout again years later. "
"What did you do this time?"
"I gave them a lecture and showed them I'd lost my arm defending them from the Germans, and they went quiet-until a few days ago, when half a dozen local men returned from service in the army. They claimed to have been discharged, but I'm sure they've deserted. Impossible to check, unfortunately. "
Fitz nodded. The Kerensky Offensive had been a failure, and the Germans and Austrians had counterattacked. The Russians had fallen to pieces, and the Germans were now heading for Petrograd. Thousands of Russian soldiers had walked away from the battlefield and returned to their villages.
"They brought their rifles with them, and pistols they must have stolen from officers, or taken from German prisoners. Anyway, they're heavily armed, and full of subversive ideas. There's a corporal, Feodor Igorovich, who seems to be the ringleader. He told Georgi he did not understand why I was still claiming any land at all, let alone the fallow. "
"I don't understand what happens to men in the army," said Fitz with exasperation. "You'd think it would teach them the value of authority and discipline-but it seems to do the opposite. "
"I'm afraid things came to a head this morning," Andrei went on. "Corporal Feodor's younger brother, Ivan Igorovich, put his cattle to graze in my pasture. Georgi found out, and he and I went to remonstrate with Ivan. We started to turn his cattle out into the lane. He tried to close the gate to prevent us. I was carrying a shotgun, and I gave him a clout across the head with the butt end of it. Most of these damn peasants have heads like cannonballs, but this one was different, and the wretch fell down and died. The socialists are using that as an excuse to get everyone agitated. "
Fitz politely concealed his distaste. He disapproved of the Russian practise of striking one's inferiors, and he was not surprised when it led to this kind of unrest. "Have you told anyone?"
"I sent a message to the town, reporting the death and asking for a detachment of police or troops to keep order, but my messenger hasn't returned yet. "
"So for now, we're on our own. "
"Yes. If things get any worse, I'm afraid we may have to send the ladies away. "
Fitz was devastated. This was much worse than he had anticipated. They could all be killed. Coming here had been a dreadful mistake. He had to get Bea away as soon as possible.
He stood up. Conscious that Englishmen sometimes boasted to foreigners about their coolness in a crisis, he said: "I'd better go and change for dinner. "
