Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [428]
‘No.’ There was a long pause. Then Misha shook his head. ‘Just put him on the train,’ he said. ‘Come back before dawn.’ And though Boris looked doubtful, he waved them away.
After they had gone, he sat in the salon for several minutes. Boris’s argument had worried him. It was perfectly true: there was nothing to stop Popov returning and no knowing what new troubles he might start for them if he did. And what of the young revolutionary? As far as Misha knew, no one was expecting him to turn up anywhere. The fellow was a wanderer. He might just go off into the country, of his own accord, for the rest of the summer. If he disappeared, it could be months before any enquiries were made about him. And by then …
He shook his head. It’s people like me, he reflected, decent people, who are always helpless when faced with vicious beasts like this Popov. In my place, I don’t suppose he’d hesitate for a second.
And it was just at this moment that Boris Romanov suddenly reappeared.
‘Popov’s gone, sir,’ he said. ‘He was seen going through the village towards Russka. What shall we do?’
Misha leaped up. ‘Impossible!’ He rushed upstairs, but unlocked the door to find the room empty. The devil! Suvorin had told him to keep Popov in the house. Now he’d probably gone to warn his associates or start some new trouble, and then what would Savva Suvorin do? Was there no limit to the danger this red-headed fiend could cause them? ‘You’ve got to stop him,’ he cried. ‘Quickly!’
But Boris did not move.
‘If we catch him today, he’ll be back tomorrow,’ he pointed out quietly. ‘What’s the point, Mikhail Alexeevich?’
‘Just stop him, for God’s sake,’ the landowner almost pleaded.
Still Boris did not move.
‘About my sister, sir,’ he said gently. ‘And my father.’
For a long moment both men were silent. Then at last, staring down at the floor, Bobrov murmured: ‘I’ll give your sister a dowry. As for your father – I’ll help. Will that do?’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you.’
‘And …’ Misha did not know how to go on.
‘Don’t worry, sir. We’ll take the young gentleman to Vladimir. You won’t be troubled with him any more.’ He turned to go, only pausing for a moment to remark: ‘He’ll be needing his luggage if he’s travelling. If you could pack his bags, sir, we’ll collect them before dawn.’
Then he was gone.
It was unfortunate that, though they hurried, the two Romanovs were just too late. By the time they came to the end of the wood opposite the monastery, Popov had vanished. The path leading across the fields and over the bridge into the town was empty.
‘God knows where he is,’ Timofei muttered. There was nothing to be done. But one thing was certain. ‘We’ll catch him on the way back,’ the peasant said.
Timofei had a club, Boris a knife. Their plan was easy enough. ‘When we’ve killed him,’ Boris had explained, ‘you hide with him in the woods while I go and bring his luggage in the cart. Then we just put him in the back, like he’s sleeping, and drive off towards Vladimir. Later we’ll bury him and his luggage somewhere.’ It should be straightforward. There was nothing but forest and a few hamlets on the way. ‘Plenty of room in which to bury him,’ Timofei remarked cheerfully.
The spot where they chose to wait was the little clearing by the old burial mounds, with its clear view to the monastery. Even if Popov chose to return after dark, they would be able to see him by starlight as he came along the path.
They settled down to wait.
Yevgeny Popov waited patiently by the old springs along the path to the skete. He had not wished to go into Russka by daylight, but fortunately he had met a boy by the monastery and given him a few kopeks to deliver the note. He had only waited an hour before the young man he had summoned came in sight.
Peter Suvorin was in a state of some excitement. What could the urgent summons mean? But when Popov gravely told him, he positively trembled. ‘The message from the Central