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then travelling would stop at a number of small towns, virtually indistinguishable from many that we
had visited. As a result I was looking forward to a fairly long, uninterrupted passage, during which I
might catch up with my writing. We had a large and comfortable apartment on the train, with a sitting
room and even its own kitchen, and Gregori told me that he had taken on a Russian woman to see to
my comforts, so that I might get the maximum benefit from this part of our journey.
She drew a long breath before continuing.
 We had boarded that train in the late morning. All afternoon we traversed wild and lonely country,
high moorland and forest. Only very occasionally did I see any sign of habitation near the track.
Gregori s Russian woman had boarded with us, but kept herself to the kitchen. She served meals in my
sitting room, but it appeared that she had no English, and my Russian, though I worked on it at every
opportunity, was not sufficient to exchange more than the simplest courtesies with her. Nevertheless,
she kept us well fed and, by nightfall, I was enjoying the peace of this interlude in my crowded and
erratic progress across Russia.
 Dark had fallen and Gregori and I were discussing certain items about which I intended to write, when
our train came to a sudden and violent halt. After the squeal of the train s brakes being deployed and
above the sound of steam venting, I thought that I detected cries and what sounded like shots from the
darkness outside the train. I knew of no banditti in Russia who waylaid trains as they still do in the
United States, and I exclaimed in alarm.
 Gregori jumped from his seat, looking thoroughly alarmed himself.  Stay here, he said.  I will go and
see what this is about. Do not leave your compartment.
  But who would stop the train? I asked.  Only the authorities, I think, but I do not know why. Let me
go and find out, he replied and with that he left the compartment.
Seventeen
An Incident at Night
 Iwas not, at first, frightened. I think I was more annoyed that our train had been delayed once more. I
assured myself that holding up trains is an American habit, not a Russian one, and that the sounds
which I took to be shots were probably fired in exuberance.
She drew another deep breath and stared at the table top.
 I remained in that state of happy ignorance for a few minutes. Then I heard again what I imagined to
be shots from outside. I parted the curtains of my compartment and peered out into the night. At first I
could see nothing, because of the light from my compartment, but I lowered the gas lamps and looked
again. Close to the railway line there seemed to be a group of mounted men, who were milling about,
emitting occasional cries. The sounds which I had taken to be shots were, in fact, the crack of whips.
 I still did not perceive any real danger. These men seemed to be drunk and noisy, and though I thought
that I saw rifles slung at their saddles, there appeared to be no hostile intent.
 I had watched them for a minute or two, more in curiosity than trepidation, when the compartment
door opened and Gregori returned. He was white-faced and evidently deeply disturbed.  What is
happening? I asked him. He was so distressed that he began to answer me in Russian and had to begin
again.  It is the local landowner. He has stopped the train.  Why on earth would he do that? I asked.
Gregori was so upset that he stammered.  There is - there is - someone - a young woman, a girl, that
they think is on the train. She was employed on the estate here and has run away. He has come with his
men to take her back. They are searching the train for her. You must give me your passport and travel
papers. I will try to stop them searching here. 
The muscles of our client s face tightened at the recollection.
 I was outraged, she said.  I told Gregori,  But serfdom is ended. Why should she not go if she does
not wish to stay? He looked at me helplessly.  It makes no matter, he said.  Out here in the country,
the landowners own the people as well. You must give me your papers.
 He was evidently deeply frightened and worried, so I put my passport and travel permits into his hand
and he left the compartment. I seated myself and sat drumming my fingers with rage and frustration. I
could almost have wished that Gregori s attempts to safeguard my privacy might fail, so that I should
have the opportunity of meeting this Russian hunter of young women and giving him a piece of my
mind. While I sat, I could hear the sounds of disturbance as the search parties moved along the train
from each end, nearing the middle where our carriage lay. After a while I could stand the wondering no
longer and rose, intending to go and see what was going forward.
 I had reached the door of my compartment when it burst open and Gregori plunged in, shooing me
away and back to my seat. He was clutching my papers and tears were streaming down his face. I fell
back into my seat and he took a seat opposite me.
  What is it, Gregori? What is it? He looked up at me, and his dark eyes were swimming in tears.
 They will find her, he said.  They will find her.
 He had hardly spoken the words when I heard a door flung open near the end of our carriage and a
burst of shouting. Above it rang the unmistakable cry of a terrified woman. I could stand no more. I
sprang up, fully intending to see what was toward, but Gregori leapt up also and thrust me bodily back
into my seat.  You must not, Mrs Fordeland. You must not. I beg you, for your own safety, do not try to
intervene.  But I am a foreign national - a journalist, I protested.  Surely, they must take note of my
presence and my views!
 He stared at me like a madman.  You must not, he repeated.  You are not in America or in Britain
now. You are on the steppes of Russia where the law is what the rich say it is. Believe me, madam, if
you intervene they will think nothing of killing you.
  They would not dare, I said. He shook his head.  There is no dare, he said.  They take no risk. You
are a very long way from any embassy or consulate which might intervene on your behalf. If you stand
in their way they will destroy you, and when your embassy enquires, they will be given circumstantial
details of a tragic accident, accompanied, no doubt, by affidavits of those who tried to save you.
 I stared at him in horror. Despite his pale face and his tears, his words had been spoken in such a
matter-of-fact manner that I could not but believe him. Now I was truly frightened. Gregori had made [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]