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Authors: Kim Wright
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not directed toward them,
it is not a crime at all.
The
stretchers were moved in. The girl was lifted to one, the boy to the other.
Carried away, Tatiana supposed, to some cool place, most likely a part of the
kitchen, to await the arrival of their families, come in grief from a great
distance to claim their children’s bodies. And then what? She did not suppose
Katya and Yulian qualified for burial in the Winter Palace cemetery, even the
section reserved for loyal servants, those who had dedicated their lives to the
court within. More likely Katya and Yulian would be carted away, each to their
separate village, moldering more with each slow, rutted mile, until even the
most devoted of parents would begin to question the wisdom of such a journey.
And
meanwhile, Tatiana had troubles of her own. Konstantin had not come and they
were running out of time. On how many more occasions might they tryst – two or
three? No summer could be held back forever. Soon she and Filip would on
their way to the coast and she would likely not see Konstantin again until autumn.
During the last two summers, her annual exile had proven a burden, leaving her
with entirely too much time on her hands and entirely too much proximity to her
husband, but she suspected that this year it would prove especially tedious. For
there is nothing like a glimpse of joy to make the previously tolerable intolerable.
Over time, she had learned how to forgive Filip for being Filip. She had not
yet learned how to forgive him for not being Konstantin.
Tatiana
once again studied each of the three main doors leading into the theater but
her lover was standing in none of them. Even the guard had departed – the men
bearing the stretchers, the bald and arrogant one in the lead. She was left in
this brightly lit and enormous room totally alone.
She
closed her eyes and said a quick prayer for the dead. Her lips moved
automatically through the Russian Orthodox blessing, leaving her mind free to wonder
again if and why and how someone might have killed them. Innocents. Ballet
dancers. A fabricated Romeo, a substitute Juliet. Tatiana opened her eyes and
shivered slightly. A smear of blood remained on the stage beneath her, still
in the shape of a heart.
Chapter
Four
London
– Scotland Yard
June
14, 1889
10:10
AM
Trevor
waited until the two men were alone in his makeshift office to break the news.
As he suspected, Rayley was not at all pleased to hear that Trevor would be
accompanying the Queen and her granddaughter on an overseas trip and thereby leaving
him in charge of the forensics unit for an unspecified span of time.
“Do
you honestly feel I’m up to the task?” Rayley asked, and then, as if to
illustrate his personal doubt of the issue, he blew his nose loudly into a
handkerchief. Trevor patiently waited through the extended sniveling and
wiping process that followed, making it sound as if a flock of geese had
descended on Scotland Yard. On many levels Rayley seemed fully recovered from
his period of captivity in Paris – the sharpness of his mind, at least, had
returned to normal and he even was regaining his sardonic sense of humor. But
the man seemed to have suffered from one small ailment after another since
leaving Paris, the latest being a summer cold which resulted in an impressive
variety of coughs, sniffles, and sneezes. The big solemn eyes behind his spectacles
were rimmed in red and Trevor wondered if Rayley were sleeping properly. Exhaustion
seemed to hover around him like mist. Granted, it was probably not the sort that
could be dispensed with a single night of rest, but one had to start somewhere,
and it had always been Trevor’s opinion that there were few problems in life which
could not be greatly mitigated by a generous slab of beef and a good night’s sleep.
“Of
course you’re up to the task,” Trevor said heartily, thinking that the
heightened responsibility
it is not a crime at all.
The
stretchers were moved in. The girl was lifted to one, the boy to the other.
Carried away, Tatiana supposed, to some cool place, most likely a part of the
kitchen, to await the arrival of their families, come in grief from a great
distance to claim their children’s bodies. And then what? She did not suppose
Katya and Yulian qualified for burial in the Winter Palace cemetery, even the
section reserved for loyal servants, those who had dedicated their lives to the
court within. More likely Katya and Yulian would be carted away, each to their
separate village, moldering more with each slow, rutted mile, until even the
most devoted of parents would begin to question the wisdom of such a journey.
And
meanwhile, Tatiana had troubles of her own. Konstantin had not come and they
were running out of time. On how many more occasions might they tryst – two or
three? No summer could be held back forever. Soon she and Filip would on
their way to the coast and she would likely not see Konstantin again until autumn.
During the last two summers, her annual exile had proven a burden, leaving her
with entirely too much time on her hands and entirely too much proximity to her
husband, but she suspected that this year it would prove especially tedious. For
there is nothing like a glimpse of joy to make the previously tolerable intolerable.
Over time, she had learned how to forgive Filip for being Filip. She had not
yet learned how to forgive him for not being Konstantin.
Tatiana
once again studied each of the three main doors leading into the theater but
her lover was standing in none of them. Even the guard had departed – the men
bearing the stretchers, the bald and arrogant one in the lead. She was left in
this brightly lit and enormous room totally alone.
She
closed her eyes and said a quick prayer for the dead. Her lips moved
automatically through the Russian Orthodox blessing, leaving her mind free to wonder
again if and why and how someone might have killed them. Innocents. Ballet
dancers. A fabricated Romeo, a substitute Juliet. Tatiana opened her eyes and
shivered slightly. A smear of blood remained on the stage beneath her, still
in the shape of a heart.
Chapter
Four
London
– Scotland Yard
June
14, 1889
10:10
AM
Trevor
waited until the two men were alone in his makeshift office to break the news.
As he suspected, Rayley was not at all pleased to hear that Trevor would be
accompanying the Queen and her granddaughter on an overseas trip and thereby leaving
him in charge of the forensics unit for an unspecified span of time.
“Do
you honestly feel I’m up to the task?” Rayley asked, and then, as if to
illustrate his personal doubt of the issue, he blew his nose loudly into a
handkerchief. Trevor patiently waited through the extended sniveling and
wiping process that followed, making it sound as if a flock of geese had
descended on Scotland Yard. On many levels Rayley seemed fully recovered from
his period of captivity in Paris – the sharpness of his mind, at least, had
returned to normal and he even was regaining his sardonic sense of humor. But
the man seemed to have suffered from one small ailment after another since
leaving Paris, the latest being a summer cold which resulted in an impressive
variety of coughs, sniffles, and sneezes. The big solemn eyes behind his spectacles
were rimmed in red and Trevor wondered if Rayley were sleeping properly. Exhaustion
seemed to hover around him like mist. Granted, it was probably not the sort that
could be dispensed with a single night of rest, but one had to start somewhere,
and it had always been Trevor’s opinion that there were few problems in life which
could not be greatly mitigated by a generous slab of beef and a good night’s sleep.
“Of
course you’re up to the task,” Trevor said heartily, thinking that the
heightened responsibility
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