Dmitri and the Milk-Drinkers. Michael Pearce

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘What do I care about “formally”? Don’t come the petty bureaucrat with me, you young puppy! What’s your name?’ he demanded threateningly.

      ‘Kameron. As I have just told you,’ said Dmitri, seething.

      ‘Well, Mr Examining Magistrate Kameron, you can run back to the Court House and tell them I want to see somebody different on the case, someone a bit more senior! I call this an insult. I can see I’m going to have to have a word with someone higher up, not just in Kursk, either. Prince Dolgorukov – ’

      ‘Kameron?’ said his wife, ‘Did you say Kameron?’

      ‘I did.’

      ‘That is not a Russian name.’

      ‘My God!’ said Semeonov. ‘Are they sending us foreigners now?’

      ‘They are not,’ said Dmitri, stung. ‘My family has been Russian for two hundred years. My great-great-grandfather served the Tsar – ’

      ‘Kameron?’ interrupted Olga Feodorovna. ‘What sort of name is that?’

      ‘Scottish. My great-great-grandfather – ’

      ‘Served the Tsar, you say? In what capacity?’ interrupted Semeonov.

      ‘He built the Tsarina’s palace.’

      ‘Yes, but what rank?’

      ‘For his services he was admitted to the dvorianstvo.’

      ‘Really?’ said Olga Feodorovna.

      ‘A rank which my family has been proud to retain!’ said Dmitri, fired up.

      And would have been prouder still if anything, money for instance, had gone with it.

      ‘Well, now, look – ’ began Semeonov.

      ‘Dmitri Alexandrovich!’ said Olga Feodorovna, putting out her hand and smiling sweetly. ‘How kind of you to call! Charmant!’ she said to her husband. ‘But why haven’t you been to see us before?’ she said to Dmitri. ‘My daughter would so like – oh, my daughter!’ she cried, collapsing in tears.

      ‘Now, now, my dear – ’

      ‘Madam! Madam!’ cried Dmitri, supporting her to a sofa. ‘You must not give way! Don’t assume the worst! I’m sure she’s all right.’

      ‘You think so?’ whispered Olga Feodorovna, looking up at him through her tears.

      ‘I am sure!’ cried Dmitri, carried away.

      ‘And you will find her?’

      ‘I will find her! I promise you!’

      ‘You will? Oh, Dmitri Alexandrovich!’

      ‘I will search the park myself.’

      ‘Oh, Dmitri Alexandrovich! You will stay to lunch, won’t you?’

      It would have been unsociable to refuse. And over lunch he learned some more about the strange girl who had sought his help in the Court House.

      A sweet girl, charming. Dmitri could believe that. Tender, passionate. Good qualities, in Dmitri’s view, especially in women. Serious – serious about what?

      ‘She used to read,’ said Olga Feodorovna.

      And not your French romances, either! Or, at least, not just your French romances.

      ‘Real books!’ said Semeonov, nodding significantly. ‘Thick ones!’

      ‘On …?’

      Hospitals, said Semeonov. Children, said Olga Feodorovna. The poor.

      ‘Oh, yes,’ said Semeonov. ‘The poor.’

      For some reason Dmitri began to feel depressed.

      ‘And church,’ said Olga Feodorovna. ‘She used to go to church.’

      ‘But stopped,’ said Semeonov.

      Stopped?

      ‘A girlish whim!’ said Olga Feodorovna.

      When was this?

      ‘About three months ago,’ said Semeonov.

      ‘I pleaded with her,’ said Olga Feodorovna. ‘I asked her to think how it would look.’

      But she wouldn’t be persuaded?

      ‘Well,’ said Olga Feodorovna, ‘you know girls.’

      Any reason?

      ‘Doubts,’ said Semeonov.

      Doubts? What sort of doubts? Religious ones?

      The Semeonovs wouldn’t say that.

      ‘She was having a difficult time,’ said Olga Feodorovna. ‘You know; girls.’

      Dmitri hadn’t the faintest idea what she was talking about.

      ‘Moody,’ said Semeonov.

      ‘Well, yes,’ Olga Feodorovna had to admit, you could say that. A passing phase, though. And didn’t Dmitri Alexandrovich think that made young women more interesting?

      Oh, yes, Dmitri was sure of that.

      ‘I knew you would understand,’ said Olga Feodorovna softly.

      It was a pity Dmitri Alexandrovich had never met her.

      Dmitri was sure about that, too. In fact, he couldn’t think how it was that he had come to miss her.

      ‘Well, she didn’t get about much,’ said Olga Feodorovna. ‘I tried to encourage her to, but she preferred to stay at home.’

      ‘Reading,’ supplemented Semeonov.

      ‘You see!’ said Olga Feodorovna, making what had once been a pretty moue. ‘Serious!’

      Not many friends, then?

      ‘Only a few,’ Olga Feodorovna conceded. ‘In the best families, of course.’

      Men friends?

      ‘Oh, Dmitri Alexandrovich! We’re not like St Petersburg, you know!’

      Nevertheless –

      ‘Frankly,’ said Semeonov, ‘there’s no one here you’d encourage her to meet.’

      ‘Except yourself, Dmitri Alexandrovich,’ said Olga Feodorovna, smiling.

      ‘When you get on a bit,’ said Semeonov. ‘In your career, I mean.’

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