Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [424]
The spasm of fury that passed through Savva Suvorin caused him to break his heavy stick over his knee. For a moment, he wanted to confront young Grigory and break him as completely as he had broken his stick. But it was one of the great strengths of the old man that a lifetime of hardship had taught him never to act rashly. Where, he wondered, had Grigory come by the leaflet? Was it likely that the impoverished young peasant could have instigated such a thing by himself? For a time he became deeply thoughtful.
Then he put the leaflet in his pocket.
Just a few hours later, by the side of a field of barley, Timofei Romanov was looking at his son in puzzlement. For the proposal that Boris had put to his father had taken the older man by surprise. ‘You’re saying we should go to Bobrov for money? Enough to give Natalia a dowry?’
‘And to pay off your debts too.’
‘On what grounds?’
‘Let’s say his friendship for you. Didn’t you play together as children? Hasn’t he helped you before?’
‘He’s also short of money himself,’ Timofei objected. ‘I don’t want to ask, and he’ll certainly refuse.’
‘Maybe he can’t refuse.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Because I think he’s vulnerable. Remember how Nicolai was nearly arrested?’
‘But he’s sick.’
‘So they say. But he isn’t, you see. They really are preparing a revolution. I’m sure of it.’
‘How can you know?’
‘I just think so, that’s all. But if I’m right and Bobrov’s just pretending Nicolai’s sick, and he thinks we know something, he may decide to help you – see?’
‘You mean, blackmail him?’
Boris grinned. ‘More or less.’
Timofei shook his head in perplexity. ‘I couldn’t,’ he repeated. It was against his entire nature.
‘I’d come with you,’ Boris suggested. ‘You don’t have to be blatant. Just feel him out. You’ll see if he’s nervous soon enough.’ And as Timofei still looked unhappy: ‘Just think it over, Father. That’s all,’ he suggested.
The noon sun was high the next day when the villagers of Bobrovo trembled to see the tall figure of Savva Suvorin, in his high top hat and black coat, and carrying a new walking stick, come striding down the lane towards them. He passed straight through the village, however, looking neither to right nor to left, and made his way up towards the manor house.
He was going to see the landowner.
The journey brought back many memories. It was sixty-two years, the old man remembered grimly, since he had walked up that very path with his father to ask permission to visit Moscow. Forty-seven years since Alexis Bobrov had brought him back after his recapture and ordered him to be flogged as a runaway serf. And every detail of those events was as fresh in his mind now as on the day they had happened. Savva never forgot.
Nowadays, of course, his wealth could have bought the Bobrov estate twenty, a hundred times over. The landlords who had treated him like a dog were frightened of him now. And today, they had given him the means to destroy them.
For having reflected on the matter, there was little doubt in his mind about the basic facts. He had heard, of course, about the incidents concerning young Nicolai Bobrov in the village – how he had worked with Romanov, then preached revolution. The story that Nicolai was sick had struck him as unlikely. He had also observed the ginger-haired student hanging around near his factory and once seen him with Grigory, the boy who was sweet on the Romanov girl. Now, suddenly, Grigory was distributing revolutionary leaflets. The coincidences were too many. He had no doubt that the police would easily discover a link between the two. ‘So young Bobrov and his friend are revolutionaries,’ he muttered. He could have them both in jail. And then the Bobrovs would be destroyed – it would be a final and terrible revenge. He had thought about it with pleasure for