He had been busy in the district too. He had become an assistant to the Marshal of the Nobility – whose duties largely consisted of keeping up the registers of the gentry in the area. But it gave him a sense that he was participating in the province, and now, with time on his hands, he was making numerous visits to his fellow landowners – ‘To make sure I’m in touch,’ as he put it.
Above all, he had been pleasantly surprised by Sergei’s wife. It was amazing really, he thought, that such a sensible young woman should have married Sergei. He found they agreed about most matters, and though he was too well-bred to pursue the matter, certain hints she had dropped suggested that she had a sensible view of Sergei’s writing too. ‘I must confess,’ she had confided in him the previous week, ‘I didn’t realize when I married him that he just scribbled all the time. I supposed he did something else as well.’ It must be very trying for her, he thought.
It was a pity that Tatiana and Ilya didn’t seem to get on with her very well. But she certainly put herself out to be pleasant to him. ‘I really do think it’s too bad of Sergei to leave me in the country like this,’ she said to Alexis, ‘where there’s nothing to think about all day.’ And then she gave him a pretty smile. ‘I’m so grateful to have you for company.’
Alexis was in Vladimir that morning because he was on his way to spend a few days with a landowner nearby. He had just seen the governor and was planning to visit the great cathedral. And no person, certainly, could have been further from his mind when he suddenly paused, opened his arms, and cried out: ‘My dear fellow! What brings you here? Aren’t you coming to see us?’
It was Pinegin.
The house party was delightful. Misha was so happy to be home. He had arrived at Bobrovo a couple of days earlier than expected and been pleased to find Sergei’s wife Nadia there. She was only a few years older than he was and he thought her rather beautiful.
It was easy to see why young Misha Bobrov was popular in his regiment. Though he looked like his father Alexis, there were some important differences. Physically, he was an inch or two shorter, and more thickset. Intellectually, he was far more advanced. He loved to sit with his Uncle Ilya and discuss life. ‘And though I shall never read a hundredth part of what he has, I like to think a bit of his learning has rubbed off on me,’ he would say pleasantly. And lastly, by temperament he was optimistic and easy-going, so that even Alexis once remarked to Tatiana: ‘Frankly, he’s the best fellow this family has produced for a long time: I’m the first to admit it.’ He had the same little gesture as his grandfather, that gentle, caressing motion of the hand when he touched someone’s arm or ushered them into a room. Even Alexis’s occasional dark moods would usually dissolve at the sight of his son.
As was his habit, Misha spent the first day visiting all those he loved. He sat with his grandmother for an hour. The rest of the morning he spent with Ilya. He found his Uncle in a strange and excitable state, but put it down to the great book he was writing. He also visited the village, kissed Arina, and called upon his childhood playmate Timofei Romanov and his wife Varya. In short, Misha was home, and all was well in the world.
He was curious about the stranger, Pinegin. He had a vague memory of this man from his early childhood – a figure then, as now, in a white tunic and usually smoking a pipe. Pinegin was somewhere in his forties now, but scarcely changed except for a few more lines around the eyes, and the fact that his sandy hair had turned iron grey. He greeted Misha with a friendly, if slightly guarded, smile and Misha’s only thought about him was: Ah, there’s another of those quiet, rather lonely fellows from the frontier forts. He was glad to see that Pinegin was making himself pleasant to Sergei’s wife Nadia, sitting with her and Tatiana on the verandah telling them anecdotes, or accompanying her if she wanted to walk in the alley. After all, that was what a house-guest was meant to do.
And therefore, on the second afternoon, as he strolled up to join them in the alley above the house, Misha was completely dumbfounded when he caught sight of them, standing in the glade just off the park, and saw that Nadia was folded in Pinegin’s arms.
Misha stood quite silently, hardly able to believe it. And still Nadia and Pinegin kissed.
How easy it had been. Perhaps in a way, Pinegin thought, it would have been better still if the girl had, at least a little, loved her husband. But it was not so, and so it was futile to concern oneself with that.
It was strange to be back at Russka. ‘You must come, my dear fellow. I’ll return in a few days to join you. Amuse the ladies at least, I beg you, until then.’ Those had been Alexis’s words. And as he bumped along the road, Pinegin shrugged. How strange that they should have met like that in the street, when he was on his way to take some leave in Moscow. But then, if one believed in fate, nothing was surprising.
Seventeen long years had passed: seventeen long years of distant campaigns, border fortresses and frontier posts. Often he had been in danger; always he had been cool, protected by fate. A man could be a hero though, but still be forgotten at the centre, where promotions were made. A rich man, the husband of Olga, would find himself promoted: but Pinegin was still a captain. Possibly, one day, he would be a major. But something about him, something distant and rather lonely, made that uncertain. He preferred, it seemed, to remain a law unto himself.
Seventeen long years. After the Turkish campaign of ’27, he had lost touch with Alexis. But even in distant places, he had received news. He knew when Olga had remarried. He heard of Sergei’s return from exile; read his works when they appeared. Word of Sergei’s marriage to a general’s daughter reached him and a fellow he knew even managed to send him a little miniature picture of the girl. He heard that they had lost a child. And always these little items about the family who had insulted him were filed quietly away in his memory, like a weapon in an armoury, locked up but kept always burnished in case of some future use.
For to Pinegin, believing as he did in fate, there was nothing to do but wait for the gods, in their proper time, to give him their signal. When it came, they would find him ready. And clearly now, the sign had come; and with icy calm Pinegin had gone about the business. It was very simple, quite inevitable. Tit for tat: humiliation. He would seduce Sergei’s wife.
For as Alexis had long ago observed, Pinegin was dangerous.
All the rest of that afternoon, Misha wondered what the devil he should do. He loved his Uncle Sergei. He couldn’t just let this terrible business go on. Besides, since Pinegin had only been here a few days, surely the affair could not have gone too far as yet.
That evening, therefore, while the others were sitting out on the verandah playing cards, he found an excuse to walk alone with Pinegin, and take a turn up the alley. He was very careful to be pleasant and polite. But when they reached the place opposite where Pinegin had kissed Nadia, Misha quietly observed: ‘I was here this afternoon, you know.’
Pinegin said nothing, but gave him a thoughtful sidelong glance and puffed on his pipe.
‘I hardly know my sister-in-law,’ Misha went on quietly. ‘She has been left alone here all summer, of course. And I probably misunderstood what I saw. But you will understand, I’m sure, that in the absence of my father and my Uncle, Captain Pinegin, I must ask you to make sure that nothing takes place which would bring dishonour to my family.’