‘Now that we are here. .’ began Virginsky sullenly.
It was like a trap springing open. Porfiry was away before Virginsky could finish speaking. He called something over his shoulder that could have been, ‘That’s the spirit!’ But it was lost in the speed of his flight up the steps.
*
The Dolgoruky apartments were, naturally, at the front of the building, looking out on Liteiny Prospect. They were on a grand scale, and seemed to be inhabited, at first sight, exclusively by servants.
As far as Porfiry was able to discover, the extensive household existed to serve the needs of one tiny individual, to whom he and Virginsky were eventually presented. The dowager Princess Yevgenia Alexeevna Dolgorukaya was like the hard kernel of the woman she had once been. Her face was the shape of an almond, and as deeply lined. Her lips were held in a permanent pucker of disapproval — or perhaps it was pain, caused by the severity with which her hair had been parted and pinned. She did not blink. As soon as Porfiry noticed this, he was greatly disconcerted by it. He immediately thought her capable of anything.
Her extremely diminutive stature, which was in inverse proportion to her importance in the household, was exaggerated by the voluminous skirt of her purple satin dress. The widow’s colour seemed to be a vortex of grief into which she was in danger of sinking. She was also dwarfed by a pair of enormous oriental vases balanced precariously on narrow stands and positioned at either side of the golden velvet sofa on which she was perched.
Seated next to her, though at the furthest possible distance on the same sofa, was a young woman working at an embroidery hoop. She was a pretty enough girl, thought Porfiry, though her expression was timid, almost cowed. It did not seem that she was the older woman’s daughter — more that her relationship to her was one of subservience, or indebtedness. At any rate, there was no clear family resemblance, and the companionship with which she provided the Princess did not seem to be freely given. Neither party gave any impression of deriving enjoyment from it.
Porfiry bowed as he introduced himself and Virginsky. The Princess invited them to be seated on a sofa that was positioned at right angles to her own. Somewhat inhibited by the semicircle of attendant maids and footmen, as well as the giant vases, Porfiry cleared his throat to state his business. ‘I regret the necessity of disturbing your peace, Madame. In point of fact, we wish to speak to Prince Konstantin Arsenevich Dolgoruky. Your son, perhaps? Is he by any chance at home?’
‘I know of no one by that name.’
When Porfiry had thought her capable of anything, his imagination had not encompassed this. ‘I beg your pardon? We were assured that this was the Dolgoruky family home, the same Dolgoruky family to which Prince Konstantin Arsenevich belongs. Is that not correct?’
She repeated her unblinking chant, as if it were the response in an often-repeated liturgy: ‘I know of no one by that name.’
The young woman next to her threw herself from the sofa as if it had suddenly come to life and bitten her. Her embroidery hoop fell to the floor. As she rushed from the room, her skirt, which was almost as voluminous as the Princess’s, brushed the stand of one of the oriental vases and set it rocking. The attendant servants watched mesmerised, as did Porfiry and Virginsky, as the vase tottered and at last toppled. The smash was devastating and magnificent.
No one moved, though all eyes turned on the dowager princess.
Surely now she must blink! thought Porfiry.
But as far as he could discern, she did not.
*
They were shown to the door by an elderly butler by the name of Alexey Yegorovich.
‘You have been with the family for a long time?’ ventured Porfiry.
‘All my life. I was a house serf, freed in the Great Reforms.’
‘And do you know of anyone by the name of Prince Konstantin Arsenevich Dolgoruky?’
‘Of course.’
‘Am I right in thinking he is Princess Dolgorukaya’s son?’
‘Yes.’
‘But she no longer acknowledges him?’
‘Clearly.’
‘And the reason for this has something to do with the young lady who ran most precipitously from the room?’
The butler’s face masked whatever feelings he may have had on the subject. ‘Marfa Timofyevna? I cannot say.’
‘You are very discreet. I commend you for that.’
‘I cannot say because I do not know. I am not privy to the confidences of either Princess Dolgorukaya or Marfa Timofyevna.’
‘But servants talk.’
‘Is it your business to gather the tittle-tattle of parlour maids? I for one pay no heed to it. I advise you to do the same.’
Porfiry acknowledged the rebuke with a series of blinks. ‘What about Prince Dolgoruky? Are you privy to his confidences?’
‘I have known the Prince since he was a babe in arms. I dandled him on my knee. My wife, God rest her soul, was his wet nurse.’
‘He confided in you?’
‘The Prince does not confide in anyone, wholly. Is he in any trouble?’
‘Would it surprise you if he were?’
The old servant did not reply, but his face fell eloquently.
Porfiry smiled. ‘I merely wish to speak to him about a gentleman who is known to be one of his associates.’
‘It is his associates who are to blame!’ said Alexey Yegorovich, forcefully.
‘Yes, of course. He has fallen in with a bad crowd. It often happens. It is this bad crowd that I am interested in. What we must do is separate Prince Dolgoruky from the bad crowd, so that his goodness can be allowed to flourish. Is that not so?’
‘He was not a bad little boy. Very sweet-natured and loving. He doted on my wife. As she did on him.’
‘Then there is certainly hope for Prince Dolgoruky now. What can you tell me about these associates?’
‘He did not generally receive his friends here. They are not such that you would admit into a respectable home.’
‘I see. And he never mentioned any names to you?’
Alexey Yegorovich shook his head doubtfully. ‘He may have. But the names meant nothing to me.’
‘Do you at least know where he is now?’
‘He is not far from here. In fact, he has merely crossed two courtyards.’ The butler looked up and down the hallway conspiratorially. ‘I sometimes take him things. Food. Books. Whatever he asks for that will not be missed.’
Porfiry thought for a moment. ‘I would like to show you some photographs.’
Alexey Yegorovich shook his head blankly at the image of the man taken from the Winter Canal, and in fact looked at Porfiry as if he were mad for showing it to him. The photograph of the staff of Affair provoked a more promising reaction, at least when Porfiry pointed out Kozodavlev.
‘I have seen him once or twice with that man. He may have even brought him to the house. I rather think the Prince considered him to be one of his more respectable friends.’
‘Do you know who he is?’
‘I believe the Prince referred to him as Demyan Antonovich.’
‘Thank you. The man is indeed Demyan Antonovich Kozodavlev.’
The click of a door handle turning drew their attention. The door in question creaked open a few inches, then closed again quickly. Porfiry thought that he had seen two moist, timid eyes peer out.
‘Marfa Timofyevna?’ he whispered to Alexey Yegorovich.
The butler nodded.
‘I would very much like to speak to her. It may help the Prince.’
The butler bowed and crossed to Marfa Timofyevna’s door, knocking gently. The door opened a crack, through which a whispered exchange was passed. At a nod from Alexey Yegorovich, Porfiry and Virginsky were admitted.
The room was tiny, the walls crowded with reproductions of mostly sentimental genre paintings.
Marfa Timofyevna indicated the bed for them to sit upon, but Porfiry declared that the interview need not take long. At that, the young lady swayed uncertainly on her feet.