Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [321]
‘Get out.’
He wondered if anyone could hear them, but stood his ground. It was all or nothing now.
‘Daria Mikhailovna, permit me at least, and with great respect, to say that you have done me an injustice. And even if you are unfairly angry with me, do not, I beg you, destroy my poor wife and children, who are innocent.’
‘You sent them to pester me already once today and I sent them away,’ she retorted sharply. ‘Now leave my house.’
His wife and children there? What was she talking about? ‘I did no such thing,’ he replied truthfully.
But the old woman’s attention seemed to wander now. She began to mumble, ‘First one comes, then the other, pretending they don’t know. Liars! They’ll get nothing from me.’ Could it be, Alexander wondered, that the countess really was becoming senile? The thought had just formed when she abruptly hissed: ‘Or their children. Filthy creatures! Snakes!’
This last was said with such vehemence, in a manner so insulting, that he could not help tensing with anger.
‘You do not understand, Daria Mikhailovna,’ he went on patiently. ‘You are angry with me but I assure you, no one admires the great Voltaire more than I do. But at the moment, my dear Daria Mikhailovna, even those of us who think as you do cannot speak. The empress won’t hear of it. I’m a State Councillor. Surely you know that I have to be careful.’
He paused, wondering if she had understood. For a moment she did not reply. She stared down at the newspaper that lay before her. Then she looked up at him, with contempt, and spat out a single word.
‘Deceitful!’
What a foolish, vicious old woman she was. And now she continued muttering, though whether to herself, or addressing her remarks to him, it was impossible to tell. ‘He says one thing to this one, another to that. Two-faced. You can’t trust him an inch.’ And just because, in his heart, Alexander was ashamed of the way he had deserted his old patron Potemkin, and because it was true that he had altered his views to the prevailing wind, the crazy old woman’s accusations made him all the more angry. First the hot drive out to the Summer Palace, then his utter humiliation, now this.
‘You don’t understand. I assure you …’ he began.
But she cut in: ‘You think I don’t know you for what you are. This is the second time you’ve come sneaking in here, you snake.’
‘I most certainly have not,’ he retorted hotly.
‘Liar!’ She fell silent, then continued her colloquy with herself. ‘Oh, yes, I saw him creeping in here in the middle of the night like a wolf. Thief! Thinks he can just come in here and mock me. Blackguard! Picking up my books, dancing about in front of me like a lunatic. Snake! Viper!’ She spat out the words.
My God! Then she had not been asleep that far-off night. Her eyes had been open because she was awake. It had never occurred to Alexander that the old lady had been brooding secretly about his foolish nocturnal visit for the last five years. And how on earth could he explain it now? ‘Who do you think you are?’ she suddenly demanded furiously. ‘You think you can deceive me too? Liar!’ she rasped.
He was shattered, yet furious. He was not a liar!
‘All this because I said a few words about Voltaire! What about my children – your own kinsmen? You mean to disinherit them?’
‘You mean to disinherit them?’ She mimicked his words with surprising accuracy and a vicious contempt. ‘I care nothing for your children. Serpent’s brood. Let them starve! Now get out of here. Traitor!’
It was too much. It was cruel beyond reason. The rage and frustration of the day, perhaps of his whole life, suddenly welled up and flooded over.
‘You old witch!’ he cried out. ‘You stupid, senile old hag! What do you know about anything? Damn your Voltaire! Damn you too!’ He raised his fists above his head, tightly clenched. ‘My God, I’ll kill you!’ And he took a step towards her.
It was a gesture of frustration. He had meant, perhaps, to shock her. He hardly knew himself. But now to his horror he saw her shudder,