Sherlock Holmes gestured for the countess to stop and asked, ‘Tell me, please, where exactly did the letters come from?’
‘I was too little then to be interested in such things, but later I discovered that the greatest number came from India, and two letters were stamped in Tonkin,’ she answered.
‘Thank you,’ Holmes bowed. ‘Pray, continue.’
‘Returning to Russia, he saw me,’ the countess continued. ‘At the time we were living on his estate. He was always affectionate towards me, was very satisfied with the progress I made in my studies, and at times examined me himself. But he never let me leave his side. This time he stayed a year in Russia, and I became very attached to him. Once, it was at the end of summer, he came to me pale and full of anxiety. ‘Irra,’ he said to me, ‘there’s a madman in the vicinity. He attacks people, bites and kills them. That’s why you mustn’t leave the house without me. I forbid it.’ I was terribly frightened. After that we always stayed together, even going out in the garden. Nurse told me that Father was afraid for me. He hired four watchmen and guard dogs were chained in the yard. Nurse told me he frequently got up at night and went round the estate with a gun. Once, as evening was approaching, I wanted to pick some fresh roses. I went to look for Father, but not finding him, decided I’d go by myself. I put on a kerchief and went out through the yard and into the garden. I don’t know what made me do this, probably because I was frightened by the count’s warning, but I didn’t open the gate straight away. So first I peeked through a chink in the fence. And there, behind a shrub, was a human head. I screamed and ran back without so much as a look at the face of the man in hiding. Hearing my outcry, the count rushed out of the stables. I told him what had happened. He went for his gun and, as if crazed, rushed into the garden. I hid in my room, frightened to death. He didn’t find anyone and came back very upset and angry. For a whole hour he upbraided the watchmen, and the very same day hired four more and armed them. That evening he told me that we were leaving. He collected his personal belongings and papers himself, and ordered me to pack only three dresses, six changes of underwear and my favourite knick-knacks. Till the very last minute, none of the staff knew we were leaving. At eleven he ordered the best troika to be harnessed to the largest carriage and spare horses to be tied to the back.’
The countess paused and asked for a drink. With the agility of a young man, Sherlock Holmes jumped from his armchair and poured a glass of very good wine with water.
‘Thank you,’ said the countess, taking the glass.
She drank a little and smiled sadly, ‘I hope I’m not boring you.’
‘On the contrary,’ Sherlock Holmes exclaimed with animation. ‘It is utterly romantic and intrigues me more and more. If I were a writer, I would turn it into a novel. It would create a sensation.’
‘In that case, I shall go on,’ said the countess sadly.
V
‘And so, by eleven o’clock that night, all was ready,’ the countess began again. ‘But first, the count called together all the watchmen. He ordered them to make a circle around the estate and move out in a radius. Half a kilometre away, they were to fire a shot.
‘When the watchmen had gone off, the count summoned his steward, gave him a packet with instructions and announced to all that he was leaving. At this moment, we heard shots fired in the distance. That was the watchmen scaring off whoever it was, on the orders of their master. Our belongings were loaded and secured. With the staff looking at us in bewilderment, we drove through the gate and tore along the road as if we were crazed. The count personally indicated the route to be taken. We turned at the first crossroads and sped ahead, turning right and left by the minute, as if to cover our tracks. We covered about seventy kilometres, allowing the horses only a brief respite. When the horses were too weak to go on, the count ordered the spare horses to be harnessed and we sped off again. As the morning wore on, the coachman begged several times for the horses to be allowed to rest (the first troika we had set out with had simply been abandoned along the road), but the count was adamant. We sped on till the shaft-horse collapsed. The count ordered the coachman to mount one of the others and find, for any amount of money, the best possible horses. The loyal coachman (he’d served the count’s father) galloped off and an hour and a half later was back with three horses of lesser quality and their owner. He was happy to accept two of our exhausted horses with three hundred roubles in exchange for his. Our dead horse was left on the road. The horses were changed and we flew like the wind. At about five we heard a whistle and soon got to some railway station. You should have seen the count’s look of joy when he saw a train. I remember neither the line nor the name of the station. The count jumped out of the carriage, ordered the porters to unload and then wrote something on a piece of paper to which he affixed his seal. Then, I remember, he called the coachman and said, “Listen, Dimitri! Go where you wish, but remember, this girl’s life depends on your silence. Rest here for a while, feed the horses, and go anywhere, where you can sell the carriage and horses. This note and your passport formally attest that they are yours. And here’s another two hundred roubles. Go to your native province of Orlov. I know your village and I’ll get in touch with you there. Should anyone ask after me or the girl, don’t say where you dropped us off. Say nothing about us. Farewell.” ‘
‘That poor coachman. It was such an unexpected gift. He threw himself at the count’s feet. But at this moment the train drew into the station. We bought tickets, handed in our luggage and got into a separate compartment. We travelled for two, maybe two and a half days. The count calmed down at once and became gentle and cheerful. In this way, we arrived in Kharkov. We put up in a hotel for two days, at the end of which the count announced to me that I was enrolled in a really good boarding school where he would take me. The next day he took me to Madam Beckman’s boarding school, where he bade me farewell, asking me to behave and study well, so that he shouldn’t have to blush for me. And then he left. Nobody knew where. I didn’t see him till I was in the seventh grade. Nobody visited me. I had no relatives. During school holidays I stayed with one of my schoolmates. The count paid the school fees meticulously. He sent me affectionate letters and so much pocket money I was thought to be one of the richest pupils in the school. Up until the fifth grade I thought he was my father. But once, suddenly, when I was already in the fifth grade, he revealed in a letter what I have told you about my origins. Except he added that, God grant, my fate would soon be changed and I would find my real parents. He also enclosed his portrait. The letter disturbed me considerably and I wept over it night after night. I was astounded by the thought that the count, in effect, was a total stranger where I was concerned. We southern girls develop too early and it was possible that even then I began to think as a woman. But at the time, I was not aware of it. I kept on looking at the portrait the count had sent me. The count was a very handsome man. Another two years passed. I was a good student and already in the seventh grade. Once, I was summoned to reception. There was the count! My first instinct was to throw myself round his neck, but suddenly it came to me, he is a man and a stranger. I stopped in confusion. But he looked at me in rapture, as if astonished by what he saw before him. Even then I understood that glance. After that, his visits became more frequent. He behaved like a relative, and yet, like a stranger also. At Christmas he came to fetch me and we went to Paris. We travelled about for a month and he brought me back. I finished seventh grade. Some decision had to be made as to what to do with me. The count avoided his own estate and never even mentioned it. As for me, I was at a loss; what was I to do? But just before I graduated, my fate was decided. After the final exam, I was allowed leave. I remember that day as if it were now … we took a picnic basket and went out into the country. In a little forest glade we spread a carpet, lit a fire, and cheerfully set about preparing lunch. After lunch, seeing that there was just the two of us, the count sat down beside me and said seriously, “I have to talk to you, Irra.” My heart began to beat faster and, involuntarily, I dropped my eyes. He began, “I don’t want to keep you in a state of uncertainty, Irra. Soon we have to part forever.” I screamed and fell unconscious. When I opened my eyes, the count was bending over me. Oh! His eyes gazed at me with such silent love, that everything within me began to quiver with joy. I threw my arms round his neck and covered him with kisses, begging him not to leave me, swearing I was ready for anything! He asked very solemnly, “Do you love me, Irra?” “Yes,” I said. “And I love you too,” he said passionately. “That means we will be man and wife. But so that you shouldn’t reproach me in the future, I must tell you everything and the reasons why I wanted to part from you. I am being dishonourable. First, I should have returned you to your parents. Nor am I as good as you think I am. I have one sin on my conscience, a very considerable one—” But here I placed my hand over his mouth and asked him never to bring such matters up again. In the end, we decided to get married first and then, some time, to visit my parents. “Believe me, there is nothing mercenary in my seeking to marry you,” said the count to me. I burst out laughing. Two months later we were wed and lived happily in total harmony. That’s the story of my life. Not long before his death, the count got a letter from somewhere. It plunged him into such a fit of anxiety that for some time he went about as if he had been driven mad. Then suddenly he announced that he had to go to Kazan to sell the house and estate. “Whatever happens to me, don’t worry,” he said to me on parting, “Whatever happens will be for the best.” And away he went. That’s all I can tell you, Mr Holmes.’