if we are being bricked up in ‘The Cask of Amontillado,’ ” Agnessa said, looking pleased she’d made a literary reference.
Thoughts of Afon plagued me after he left, for our bed still smelled of him. Max squirmed in my arms, a fussy toddler with a new tooth, and I felt the loneliness descend like a shroud. How would I raise Max alone?
* * *
—
THE FOLLOWING NIGHT I woke with a start from a dream about Afon to the sound of heavy footfalls downstairs and the hum of an idling motorcar. I sat up, heart pounding. Was it Afon, back on an unexpected leave? I rushed down the front stair, wrapping my dressing gown around me, with Agnessa, Father, and Luba close behind. Raisa, perfectly dressed, answered the door.
Every part of me sagged as Count von Orloff entered the vestibule and Bogdan and two pantry boys followed, heaving in his trunks, along with an enormous silver cage containing two peacocks, and set them on the tiled entry floor.
One bird screamed and my thoughts drifted to another peacock, the one at the tsar’s Winter Palace, in the magnificent peacock clock. I’d come to the palace for my debut, lost interest in the pomp of it all, and stepped away to visit the oversized timepiece. It was the tsar’s pride and joy, and we stood entranced by the golden woodland scene, as each metal forest creature, life-sized peacock, fox, rooster, and owl came to life.
As the clock began its show with an eerie chime and the little owl turned his head, a young man walked up behind me. As he passed I caught a wave of his scent, of motor oil and shave cream.
“You’ve found my favorite way to tell time,” he said.
“Too bad it wouldn’t fit on your wrist.”
The golden peacock turned its head and slowly lifted its tail.
“I am Afon,” he said.
I extended my hand. “Sofya Streshnayva.”
He kissed my hand and lingered there, his lips soft on my skin.
“I must admit I saw you come in here,” he said.
“How brave you are. Now you’ll be stuck here talking with me even if you find no pleasure in it.”
We turned our attention to the charming mechanized show and I gasped as the peacock turned and fanned out his golden plumes.
“What a burden such beauty would be,” Afon said, his gaze fixed on the bird.
“You’re handsome enough to be the peacock, you know, as I’m sure every female since birth has told you.”
“And that makes you?”
“Please, not the squirrel.”
“Choose the quick fox. No animal is more beautiful to my mind. It suits you well.”
“Might the fox not devour the peacock?”
Afon smiled, with a trace of sadness that pinched my heart. “I fear the poor fellow may already be slain.”
I felt a rush of—
Count von Orloff rushed about the vestibule tapping his cane on the floor.
“Take this thing off me,” he called to Raisa as he shrugged off his traveling coat. Barely taller than Luba, his booming voice made up for his lack of stature. The last time I’d seen him he was wearing a turban, trembling on a St. Petersburg tram.
The Count rushed to Agnessa and clasped her hands in his. “Countess, I have most unfortunate news.”
“Come in, Count. We can get Cook to—”
“Eat? Never, after what I’ve been through.” His eyes had a wild look to them. He wore a patent leather–brimmed sailor’s cap and double-breasted jacket.
Agnessa clenched the throat of her dressing gown. “I’m afraid the guest rooms are not aired out. We can put you in Luba’s room.”
He waved the suggestion away. “Sleep? Who can sleep when the whole world is going to hell with those dirty Bolsheviks? I carry three guns now.”
Luba leaned toward me. “One to shoot with and the other two for the bandits to steal.”
“I barely made it out alive tonight. We’d just finished packing up the car, hoping to join my wife in Moscow, and heard a terrible commotion outside. It was rabble come to invade the house. From upstairs I saw them running through the place, most with bottles in hand. They held my valet out the window by his feet. Though he begged for his life they dropped the poor man three stories.”
Agnessa gasped. “Despicable.”
“I escaped out the back door, thankfully the driver had stayed at the wheel, and we came here, with no hope of making Moscow safely. Things are beyond repair in the cities. A man was shot dead on our corner a week ago when he refused to give up his