Dmitri and the Milk-Drinkers. Michael Pearce
Peter Ivanovich accusingly.
‘Surely not. The ushers – ’
He remembered now, however, that the corridor had been empty. All the courts had been in session and the ushers preoccupied with their duties.
‘Someone in the yard – ’
No one in the yard. Everyone very keen to distance themselves as far as possible. They had all been busy with the carts – Dmitri Alexandrovich had seen for himself – and had had no time to notice anything. Had Anna Semeonova gone into the yard anyway? When Dmitri Alexandrovich had last seen her she had been standing in the doorway. Was it likely that a decent, well-bred girl like Anna Semeonova would go out with all that filth, with all that language – Excuse me, Your Honour? A thick veil of mud lay over everything.
Well, it was unlikely, everyone had to admit. Far more likely that she had simply retraced her footsteps and gone out the front of the building, to get a breath of air in the park, perhaps –
‘I suggested that,’ said Dmitri.
‘Well, there you are, then – ’
Only she hadn’t. Or at least the porters on the door swore blind that she hadn’t.
‘Do you think we wouldn’t notice if a girl like Anna Semeonova walked out of the door?’ they said indignantly. ‘Truly, Your Honour – ’
‘Yes, but were you there, you oafs? Off for a drink – ’
They denied this fervently; and, indeed, there was some independent evidence that they had been at their posts the whole of the morning. Had they just missed her, then?
‘Anna Semeonova? A girl like that? Not a chance, Your Honour.’
The park? Had she been seen in the park? Was there anyone …? Yes, indeed, there were several people who had been in the park the whole time. Old Olga, selling sunflower seeds on her traditional pitch, Ivan Feodorovich sweeping the paths, a young clerk from the Court offices (and what was he doing out there? A woman, no doubt!) A woman it was, and she was produced, all tearful. Yes, Your Honour, she had been there all morning, well, not all morning, she was a respectable working girl, but just that part of the morning, only a few minutes, well, yes, the whole of the second half of the morning – it was such a lovely morning, Your Honour, quite spring-like – and she hadn’t seen the young lady. Yes, she would have recognized her. She used to see her in the church. Such a lovely coat she would wear, fur trimmings on the lapels, white, black, white, black –
‘For Christ’s sake, shut that woman up!’ said Peter Ivanovich with increasing irritation. Because he was getting nowhere. Incredible as it might seem, a respectable young woman, from one of the best local families, had simply disappeared. And, what was worse, she had disappeared from the Court House itself.
‘It makes us look damned stupid,’ the senior judge said to the Chief of Police. This was late in the afternoon and the girl had still not been found. They had searched the building not once but three times and were about to begin again.
‘She must be here somewhere!’ said the Chief of Police, Novikov. ‘I mean, it stands to reason.’
‘What would you know about reason?’ said the senior judge sharply. Normally he got on quite well with Novikov. Indeed, when there was no one better available, he sometimes played cards with him. But that was probably a mistake. It encouraged slackness. Give these people an inch and they would take a mile. Get off their backs for just one second and they were bloody useless.
And if anyone was bloody useless it was this damned man Novikov. You’d think anyone would be able to find a girl in a building if they set their mind to it. If they had a mind, that was. He gave Novikov a black look. Six hours! The girl had gone missing at about eleven o’clock and it was now past five o’clock. It would soon be dark. What if they hadn’t found her by then? Her father was already here and was beginning to talk about the Governor. Well he didn’t mind that too much. He was an old friend of the Governor himself. But Pavel Semeonov was also mentioning Prince Dolgorukov and that was different. Dolgorukov had influence in the places that mattered; not least in the Ministry of Justice, where the patterns of judges’ careers were decided. Moreover, since the assassination of the previous Tsar and with the swing back to sterner measures, his power had grown sharply. He was definitely the coming man; and the judge, who had built his whole career on his talent for allying himself with coming men, was anxious to avoid a false step now. Especially over something as ridiculous as this!
Something must be done; and, since the population of Kursk seemed to be composed entirely of imbeciles and slackers, he would have to do it himself. He glanced at his watch. Six o’clock! He was due at Avdotia Vassilevna’s in half an hour, but that would have to wait. He would miss the zakuski, which was a pity, for Avdotia Vassilevna had a flair for hors d’oeuvres. But sacrifices had to be made. He was damned, though, if he would miss the lamb cutlets; not for something as piffling as this.
He rang the bell on his desk. He would begin with that nincompoop who had, apparently, actually seen the girl, the only one, at any rate, in the whole of Kursk daft enough to admit he had seen her and then, the fool, somehow mislaid her.
‘Fetch Examining Magistrate Kameron,’ he directed.
Dmitri had also had ideas about how he was going to spend the evening. This was Thursday and along with other intellectual exiles from the capital he normally foregathered at the house of Igor Stepanovich to discuss the contents of the latest national periodicals. Tonight they were going to discuss an article in the most recent number of the New Contemporary. The article was unlikely to be very contemporary by the time it reached Kursk nor the journal very new, having been passed around the members of the group until they had all read it; but, reading it, they felt they were in touch with the latest ideas that were swirling around the capital. This was important as otherwise in the provinces you soon felt quite out of things. It was especially important to Dmitri, who had absolutely no intention of burying himself in a hole like Kursk for any longer than he could help.
There was, too, an added attraction this evening. Until quite recently the group had consisted entirely of men. This was less out of principle – in the group they were all advanced thinkers and, now that emancipation of the serfs was out of the way, saw the emancipation of women as the next great step – than out of necessity. The fact was that there was a shortage of intelligent women in Kursk. This was not their fault, as Igor Stepanovich pointed out: it merely reflected the general lack of educational provision for girls. Given such provision, in a few years young women would be able to talk on equal terms with young men. Even in Kursk.
The point was well made, and conversation was moving on to the general question of what form the education of women should take when Pavel Milusovich’s sister, Sonya, interrupted. The conversation was taking place in the family’s drawing room. She said that education was nothing to do with it. She had not been to university, she pointed out, but surely no one would deny that she had twice the brains of her brother. This was all too evidently true, and the argument stalled for a moment or two. Why, demanded Sonya, should she be excluded from the meetings of the group?
‘You’re not being excluded,’ said Igor Stepanovich. ‘It’s just that you wouldn’t be happy if you came.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Sonya.
‘You’d be on your own,’ said Igor.
‘So?’ said Sonya.
Igor couldn’t immediately think of a reply. Another of the group, Gregor Yusupovich, said that it wouldn’t look good. Other people were not as liberated as they were and if she was the one woman in a group of men it would prejudice her chances of marriage. Sonya said that, on the contrary, she thought it would improve them.
‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘why does there just have to be one?’
‘We’re back to where we started,’ said Igor. ‘You’d be all right,’ he conceded, ‘but the truth is there aren’t any other – ’
‘How about Vera?’ said Sonya.