“What’s going on?” Pavel whispered again.

Ruzsky was staring up at Marie Antoinette. He turned to Pavel and put his finger to his lips. He mouthed: “Empress,” and pointed to the open door on the far side of the room.

They heard more footsteps in the corridor.

Shulgin entered, scowling. “You did not telephone.”

“Please accept my apologies, Your High Excellency,” Ruzsky said quietly, knowing that the colonel’s performance was not entirely for their benefit.

“That does not-”

Shulgin stopped as both Ruzsky and Pavel became aware of a figure standing in the shadows beyond the doorway.

“What do they want, Shulgin?” the Tsarina asked.

“They are investigating the death of Ella Kovyil, Your Majesty.”

“I asked, what do they want?”

“They wish to speak to some of the household staff who worked alongside her. I have told them already, on a previous occasion, that this is a matter that requires discussion with other senior members of staff…”

The Tsarina stepped forward into the doorway. She wore a black dress, with an oval mother-of-pearl brooch pinned to the neck.

“I saw you before,” she said to Ruzsky. “Two days ago.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Ruzsky stood and made a small bow, then gave a sidelong glance at Pavel, who was sitting with his mouth open. He snapped upright and did the same.

“What do you want now?” she asked.

“They fear a conspiracy,” Shulgin said, his tone dismissive. “Some political skulduggery.”

“Is this true?” the Tsarina demanded. She looked at them for the first time, concentrating her attentions on Pavel, but her gaze was neutral, neither censorious nor inquisitive.

“It is one possibility,” Ruzsky said.

“Then it should be a matter for the Okhrana.”

“If it pleases Your Highness.”

“Is it a matter for the Okhrana?” She made no attempt to conceal her impatience.

“Yes.”

“Then why are they not here instead of you?”

“I don’t know, Your Majesty. Perhaps they will be.”

The Tsarina hesitated. “You give swift answers, Detective, and yet I do not believe them.”

Ruzsky did not respond.

“Why have you not found Ella’s killer?”

Ruzsky looked at Shulgin, whose expression now appeared to carry more than a hint of apology for his mistress’s haughty manner. “We are working tirelessly, Your Highness,” Ruzsky said evenly. “But our resources are few. As I’m sure you are aware, the city has known better times.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Ruzsky immediately recognized his mistake. “The war, Your Majesty; a strain upon us all, but especially on your good self.”

“The Tsar is returning to the front,” she said. Perhaps realizing this had little relevance, she added: “We will prevail.” It was said with finality, but she did not move.

Shulgin coughed nervously. They all examined the highly polished floor.

“Why do you think Ella was murdered by a revolutionary?” the Tsarina asked.

“It is only a theory,” Ruzsky said, not wishing to contradict her.

“Tell me about it.”

Ruzsky glanced at Shulgin again, but was given no lead. The colonel was still staring discreetly at his boots.

“Your Majesty, Ella’s lover, the American, was a notorious agitator.”

“An American?”

“Yes.”

“What was he doing in Petrograd?”

“We don’t know.”

“You have spoken to the Okhrana. To Vasilyev, to that other tiresome, arrogant man…” She snorted in distaste.

“Ivan Alexandrovich, ma’am,” Shulgin said.

“Prokopiev. Yes. Have you spoken to them?”

“We have.” Ruzsky answered.

“What do they have to say on the matter?”

“I believe they were informed some weeks ago that the American would be returning to the capital.”

The Tsarina looked at him sharply. Her eyes had narrowed. Ruzsky knew that he was playing with fire, but had been unable to resist. “Who told you that?” she asked.

“The American embassy.”

“The American embassy? That ridiculous man…”

“A Mr. Morris, ma’am,” Shulgin offered.

The Tsarina stared at Ruzsky. “You don’t seem to have achieved very much, Investigator…”

“Ruzsky.”

“Ah, yes. Your father is the assistant minister of finance.”

The Empress seemed on the verge of making some dismissive remark, but thought better of it. “So am I to understand that a member of the imperial household was stabbed in the center of our city, and yet you know nothing of who killed her, or why?”

“We believe that the American may have had something to do with whatever it was that she stole from you.”

“Who told you that she stole from me?” The Tsarina glared at Shulgin.

“With respect, you did, Your Majesty,” Ruzsky said. He could no longer recall if this was true, or whether he had first learned of Ella’s alleged crime from Anna Vyrubova, but he wanted to see if he could catch the Empress off balance.

“You must try harder,” she said, before turning on Shulgin. “This is an absolute disgrace. Speak to Vasilyev and-”

“I was under the impression that it had already been done,” Ruzsky said.

In the uneasy silence that followed, he could see that the Tsarina was caught between fury at the interruption and curiosity as to what he had meant.

“We were led to believe,” Ruzsky went on, “that the palace considered it in the nation’s best interests that the matter be given…” Ruzsky caught Pavel’s eye. He looked as if he was about to faint. “We were under the impression,” he said carefully, “that the palace had dwelt upon this matter, and did not consider it an item of high priority.”

Shulgin again became the focus of the Tsarina’s infuriation. “What’s this?”

“I have no idea.”

“What do you mean?” She turned back to Ruzsky.

“Exactly as I said, Your Highness. But I must have been mistaken. I apologize. You wish the matter to be given the highest priority?”

“Of course. An attack on one of our members of staff? What could be more important than that?”

Shulgin breathed in deeply as the Empress retired. For a moment, they were all co-conspirators, but his reserve quickly reasserted itself. He took a step back, as if to distance himself from the exchange that had just taken place.

“Please wait here for a moment,” he said.

23

I t was almost an hour before he came back-during which time they had more or less sat in silence-and when he did so, his manner was offhand. It took Ruzsky a few moments to realize that this was from anxiety rather than irritation.

Shulgin, he decided, as they followed him down the corridor, was not a bad sort. He reminded him even more forcibly of his father.

Their coats were again returned and they were led back across to the library, where a silver tray with a samovar upon it awaited them, between two low chairs and a long settee, covered with crimson velvet and gold piping. “Please have a seat,” Shulgin said, before disappearing.

They did as they’d been instructed and looked around. It was a beautiful room, less ornate and therefore somehow more intimate than the antechamber they’d just left. A fire burned on the hearth between two enormous bookcases filled from floor to ceiling with leather-bound volumes. In the center of the room, there was a giant globe with a three-dimensional, topographical map of Russia similar to the ones he had been taught with at the Corps des Pages. It stood beside a grand piano. Ruzsky had an almost irresistible desire to go and play.

“Could you please explain what in hell is going on?” Pavel asked.

Ruzsky shook his head. “I have no idea.”

Shulgin reentered the room, accompanied by a man in a sailor’s uniform and a young girl of about Ella’s age. The man looked resentful, the girl shy and nervous. They both sat awkwardly on the chairs, while Shulgin took his position on the long settee. He leaned forward and poured tea, though only Ruzsky accepted the proffered cup.