Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [451]
And after he had gone, Misha remarked admiringly: ‘Thank God we have him with us. He makes things happen. The authorities daren’t ignore him.’
Though he had noticed Boris Romanov’s coolness towards him, Nicolai would still have been surprised to hear the dispute raging in the izba of Timofei Romanov round that same time.
The disputants were old Arina and Boris. Timofei and his wife said little; as for the subject of the quarrel, the seventeen-year-old girl, her grandmother’s namesake, no one thought of asking her at all.
‘You can’t do it,’ Boris was fairly shouting. ‘Those people are our enemies, only you’re all too stupid to see it.’ At this Timofei looked uncomfortable and old Arina shrugged contemptuously. ‘Besides,’ Boris cried, ‘she should be here to help her parents.’ But old Arina was obdurate. ‘It would be one less mouth to feed,’ Timofei’s wife remarked at last.
‘Better to starve,’ Boris growled.
The years since the tragic fire that killed Natalia had done nothing to assuage the feelings of Boris Romanov. Indeed, as time passed, his sense that the Bobrovs and the entire gentry class were conspiring against him had grown even stronger. To Boris, the evidence was clear. Ten years ago, for instance, when it was rumoured that the government would finally abolish the burdensome payments the peasants had been making to their former owners ever since the Emancipation, the administration finally announced only a niggardly reduction of twenty-five per cent. ‘And what the devil is the use of that?’ Boris protested. Now the peasants’ voting rights to the zemstvo assemblies had been almost wiped out. ‘Another swindle by the gentry,’ Boris stormed. ‘Now they even take our votes away.’ And when, during the famine, old Timofei had pointed out the good work that Misha Bobrov was doing, Boris had only replied contemptuously: ‘If that old criminal can do it, an honest peasant could do it better.’
His grandmother’s decision that her granddaughter Arina should join the Bobrov household had therefore filled him with fury. Yet, since his father was head of the family, and Timofei was not prepared to contradict the determined old woman, there was nothing he could do.
‘I think it would be best,’ Timofei finally agreed, ‘if they’ll take her.’
And the old woman was certainly adamant. It was astonishing what force of will could be contained in that small frame; it was strange, too, how her determination to ensure the family’s survival had now caused her to shift all her thoughts from her own beloved daughter to the next generation. Her memories of the last great famine, perhaps some guilt from the time she had nearly exposed her as a baby, now caused old Arina to fight for the girl with an implacable determination. If things got worse, there was only one house where there would certainly be food. ‘I’ll speak to them,’ she said quietly. ‘They’ll take her.’
So it was that, shortly after Vladimir Suvorin had left, the Bobrov family was faced by old Arina and the girl. The old woman did not even have to say much. Anna Bobrov understood perfectly. ‘Of course we’ll take her,’ she promised. And then, with a smile: ‘My husband is tired. I’m sure he’ll be glad of her help.’
By that afternoon the girl was installed. ‘Now you’ll be safe,’ her grandmother whispered to her as she left. But there was one other message that remained, for some time, in the girl’s mind. For just as she had departed the village, Boris had pulled her to one side and muttered: ‘Go to those damned Bobrovs if you choose; but just remember, if you ever become their friend, you won’t be mine any more.’
The next six weeks were busy for Nicolai Bobrov. His mother’s prediction that the young Romanov girl would be useful soon proved to be accurate: a few days later, relieved of the strain of, coping alone with the famine, Misha Bobrov suddenly fell sick. Day after day he lay on his bed, seemingly