Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [423]
He listened carefully, though, as she poured her heart out to him. ‘I won’t let them stop me,’ she told him. ‘I’m going to marry.’ And, finally, his heart sank when she said: ‘They may not like Grigory, but when I get pregnant by him they won’t have much choice, will they?’
‘Do you love him?’ Boris asked.
‘Of course I do.’
He said nothing, but he was not convinced.
If only, it seemed to Boris, they had more money. Then his sister would not have had to work in the factory, and she could have had a husband from the village. And who had made everything so difficult? He had, by moving out. If I’d realized, he thought, maybe I’d have acted differently. Yes, he was to blame, and money was the problem. But what could he do now? I’ll think of something, he promised himself.
He put his arm around her. ‘Don’t do anything unless you’re sure,’ he said. And the two of them remained that way for some time, enjoying their renewed intimacy and the peace of the little river.
Boris was surprised therefore when, after about twenty minutes, Natalia suddenly reached into her shirt and pulled out a leaflet. ‘Read this,’ she said, with a faint smile.
It was a remarkable document: brief and to the point. Using some of the same phrases that Nicolai Bobrov had employed, it urged the peasants to prepare for the coming day when a revolution would usher in the new world. It was aimed at the landlords, of course, but it was particularly scathing about the new class of exploiters, the factory owners like Suvorin, ‘who use you worse than animals’. These were the people who must be utterly destroyed, the leaflet said. ‘Organize,’ it urged. ‘Be ready.’ It was a telling composition, and as he read it, Boris’s heart sank.
‘Where did you get this?’
‘Never mind.’
‘But this is dangerous, Natalia.’
‘I thought you were in favour of the revolution. That’s what you said to Nicolai Bobrov.’
‘I want more land. But this,’ he shook his head. ‘This is different. You stay out of it. You could get in a lot of trouble.’ Then, as she only shrugged: ‘Did Nicolai Bobrov give you this?’
‘No.’
‘Who then?’
‘You’d never guess in a million years.’
‘Promise me you’ll drop all this.’
‘I promise nothing. But keep quiet yourself. Don’t tell anyone I showed it to you.’
‘You can be sure of that.’ He had a sudden thought. ‘Is this Grigory in this business with you? Did he get you into this?’
‘Maybe yes, maybe no. Maybe I got him into it.’
He handed the leaflet back to her.
‘I never saw this, Natalia. You burn them if you’ve any more.’ And he got up.
It was his fault, he knew it: his fault that his sister had gone to that accursed factory; that she had decided to marry Grigory; and that now she was getting mixed up in God knew what danger. He must do something – if only he knew what.
Savva Suvorin was a thorough man. When he walked around the workshops each day, his sharp old eyes missed nothing, and he was proud of the fact that he never used spies. True, his foreman told him everything that was going on. ‘But only because they’re afraid I’ll find it out anyway,’ he would say. And no doubt by some similar logic, he was informed about everything that passed in the village of Bobrovo too.
Savva was also in a good temper. Two weeks before, he had been seriously worried about his grandson. The boy had become so morose and moody that both Savva and his wife had feared for his health. But just in the last few days, for some reason, a change had come over Peter: his face had cleared; he seemed to be taking an interest in life again; he was almost cheerful. ‘I dare say,’ old Maria said, ‘it took him a while to get used to things here, after the big city.’ And Savva looked forward to better days.
It was one morning, just three days after the change in Peter, that he noticed young Grigory pass a piece of paper to a fellow worker. At first, he thought nothing of it. When he happened