Aglaia Filippovna continued to drift in and out of a coma, almost as if there were some link between her and the fog, as if the fog were claiming her for one of its own. On one occasion, alerted to her return to consciousness, Porfiry and Virginsky hurtled dangerously through the enshrouded streets to the palace on the Fontanka, but by the time they got to her, Aglaia Filippovna was in the throes of an epileptic seizure.
Princess Naryskina was once again in attendance. Indeed, it seemed as though she had not moved from her position by the bed. Her gaze was lit by the same static energy, which seemed to feed off the spasms and distress of the invalid.
It seemed to Porfiry that the disease was another, stronger being that had taken possession of Aglaia. He thought of a dog he had once seen shake a rat to death in its jaws. He imagined the disease as an invisible predator, and the poor frail girl as the prey caught between its teeth.
After the fit had passed, she slept, under the weight of a tremendous exhaustion. She came to briefly an hour or so later, but Dr Muller forbade them from mentioning the death of Yelena Filippovna, for fear of provoking a further attack. She seemed to have no recollection of the events of the night of the benefit gala and spoke of her sister in the present tense, as if still alive.
‘Where is Yelena? Why does she not come to see me?’
‘You must rest now.’
Aglaia Filippovna wrenched herself upright, then fell back more exhausted than before. She closed her eyes and they thought that they had lost her again. But her hands fidgeted convulsively on top of the counterpane. She enclosed the thumb of her right hand inside the fist of her left and twisted her hands against one another, as if she were turning a screw at the base of her thumb. Her voice throbbed faintly, her lips barely moving. ‘Yelena is to be married, you know.’
‘Yes.’
‘To her dashing officer of the Guards. Captain Mizinchikov.’
‘I think you are mistaken, Aglaia Filippovna.’
Dr Muller shook his head warningly at Porfiry.
‘It is all arranged. He has no money but she loves him. Love will find a way. I am happy for her.’ Still she kept up the twisting motion with her hands. Then suddenly they fell lifelessly apart. The smile froze on her lips and slackened into a curve of enervated distaste.
‘Aglaia Filippovna?’
They got no more out of her that day.
*
Prince Sergei was waiting for them in the corridor outside Aglaia’s room. Or at least he appeared to have been waiting. The possibility came readily to Porfiry’s mind that he had been eavesdropping. He had the skulking disposition of an eavesdropper.
‘How is she?’
‘She remembers nothing,’ said Porfiry. His face was grave, even forbidding. A single blink sealed his thoughts as he scrutinised the prince. ‘She believes her sister is still alive.’
‘W-would that she were!’ His flitting gaze chased along the moulded curlicues of the wall, before coming back to settle on Porfiry. ‘Aglaia Filippovna will have to be told.’
‘Dr Muller advises against it, for now at least. Her constitution is very delicate. She has been able to take in very little nourishment between her bouts of unconsciousness. And her epilepsy exacts a terrible toll on her.’
‘But she c-cannot live out a lie!’ There was an unexpected force to his protest. ‘How are we to maintain such a pretence? What if she asks to see Yelena? What if she insists?’
‘It will not be easy. But neither will it be indefinitely. Dr Muller will notify us when he considers that she has regained strength sufficiently to be told the news. In the meantime, she needs to rest. Is it convenient for her to stay here at the palace?’
‘Of c-course. We would not have her taken anywhere else. We will ensure she is well c-c-cared for.’
‘That is very … kind of you.’
‘It is no more or less than our c-Christian duty. Besides, she is my sister-in-law. That is to say, she would have been, if Yelena and I had married.’
Porfiry thought of the words Yelena had written to Captain Mizinchikov.
I do not love Naryskin. The idea of loving Naryskin is absurd. Naryskin is absurd.
‘She asked you to kill her, but you refused. Instead you asked her to marry you.’
‘Yes.’
‘And she accepted your proposal, willingly, with a free heart?’
‘Of c-c-course!’
‘But still she prevailed upon Captain Mizinchikov to kill her?’
‘Either that or he k-killed her out of jealousy. She had rejected him in my favour.’
‘She rejected him as a husband but chose him as a murderer. Who should be jealous of whom, I wonder?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘She chose him to carry out this momentous deed!’
‘But she had asked me to do the same. I had no c-cause for jealousy on that account, although I must say, I find your … argument c-c-convoluted and repugnant.’
‘I am sorry if this line of enquiry offends you. However, this is an unusual situation, to say the least. A murder victim who solicits her own murder. Did she ask any other men to kill her, do you know?’
‘You really are an outrageous individual.’
‘Perhaps she was as promiscuous in her desire to die as she seems to have been in her desire for physical intimacy.’
For a moment it seemed that Prince Sergei would strike Porfiry. In the end he let out a fragmented groan of denial.
‘The signal honour that she conferred upon you, in asking you to kill her, was surely debased in your eyes by the fact that she made the same request of Mizinchikov.’
‘Honour? What k-k-kind of honour is it to be c-called upon to k-k-kill the woman one loves?’
‘Let us say privilege, then. A murder committed under such circumstances would be no common murder. It would itself be a declaration of love. She had set the ultimate test. Perhaps one could say that you were not up to it and Captain Mizinchikov was.’
‘If so, I am glad that I failed her in that.’
‘Naturally.’
‘I do not see what you aim to achieve with this unpleasant c-c-questioning. Are you suggesting that I am in some way involved in Yelena’s death?’
‘Not at all. I am merely trying to understand the situation fully. Do you believe that Captain Mizinchikov loved Yelena?’
‘She certainly did not love him.’
‘That is not what I asked. But even so, how do you know?’
‘She … told me so.’
‘I see. In a letter, by any chance?’
Prince Sergei flushed but did not answer.
‘But he loved her? May we establish that?’ insisted Porfiry.
‘In his own c-crude and brutish way, yes.’
‘If so, and if he did kill her at her request, how could he bear to go on living? Surely the only way a man, a passionate man — am I to take it that is what you mean by crude and brutish? — the only way he could bring himself to c-c-contemplate such a deed was if he had also resolved upon his own destruction, or should I say self-destruction?’
‘Do you mock me, sir?’
‘Mock you?’
‘You affected to stammer.’
‘I assure you I had no intention of … you must forgive me. If it’s true, I am mortified.’
‘Your c-c-colleague will c-confirm what I say.’
Porfiry turned to Virginsky in desperate appeal. ‘You did seem to stumble over a consonant, Porfiry Petrovich.’ The younger magistrate winced apologetically but could not disguise his enjoyment of Porfiry’s discomfiture.
‘If indeed that is true, then believe me that it was out of sympathy and not a desire to mock. It was an unconscious slip. The mind plays tricks on us. My mind is especially prone to do so. I meant nothing by it at all. Except …’
‘Except what?’ demanded Prince Sergei.
‘Except perhaps, in my mind, I was merely registering the particular consonant that most commonly causes you difficulty. My mouth, perhaps, betrayed my thoughts. There is no more significance to it than that.’