A Night at the Circus, St Petersburg

‘The circus? We’re really going to the circus?’ gasped Elena, her eyes as wide as the dinner plates. ‘But how?’

‘One of our clients is the owner of the Ciniselli Circus building,’ Boris exclaimed, tremendously pleased with himself. ‘I did a special favour for him – a present for his wife’s birthday. As a thank-you, he has given me these – complimentary tickets to the Imperial Gala. So, we shall be going to the circus in the company of His Imperial Majesty himself! How about that, Vera my dear?’ He set the stack of tickets down on the table amongst the dishes, with a dramatic flourish.

‘The circus?’ tutted Vera at once. ‘Do you really think that I have time to go gadding about to the circus of an evening? I have work to do – a house to run. You should go, and take the children.’ But in spite of her protests, Sophie could already see that her eyes were sparking with excitement.

‘Babushka, you cannot miss seeing the Tsar!’ insisted Luka.

‘Pah! Do you think I care anything for him?’ said Vera. ‘I would not wish to see all those people, bowing and scraping and making fools of themselves.’

But it didn’t take very much persuading from Luka, Elena and their grandfather before Vera had agreed that for once the dishes could wait – and had begun scolding them all to hurry up and finish their supper, so that they wouldn’t miss the beginning.

‘And the rest of you?’ said Boris, looking around the table. ‘I have plenty of tickets – you will all come, won’t you?’

Alina looked terrified at the thought; and the Count only smiled and shook his head. But although Sophie’s mind was still whirling with thoughts about the Bureau, she could see no reason to refuse a ticket. Boris was so eager to share his good fortune, and after all, she remembered, this would likely be her last night in St Petersburg. It would be pleasant to spend it enjoying an exciting circus performance with Boris and Vera, and the children. She was pleased when Nakamura accepted a ticket too: they could go along and enjoy the circus together, and then finish their talk when they got back.

‘But Mitya isn’t here!’ said Luka suddenly. ‘He’s going to miss it.’

‘Well, he is spending his evening at a lecture,’ said Vera proudly. ‘That’s more useful to him than a circus. It’s good that he’s paying attention to his studies.’ Anyway, Sophie thought, Mitya wasn’t likely to enjoy a grand Imperial celebration very much, given his views on the Tsar’s extravagance, and the pomp of the Imperial Court.

Vera hurried them up to their rooms, to dress for the evening. ‘You must wear your very best clothes,’ she explained. ‘This is an Imperial Gala, after all.’

Sophie didn’t have many grand outfits to choose from, but she was glad of the chance to go back to her room and check everything after Viktor’s snooping. Feeling that she couldn’t risk leaving either the notebook or the spyglass behind at home, she decided to bring them with her. As an extra precaution she opened her attaché case and took out one or two of the most important papers from the Bureau – papers that would certainly give away her true purpose here in St Petersburg – and slipped them safely inside the notebook, before putting the attaché case carefully away in a new hiding place, under a loose floorboard.

Just as she’d replaced the floorboard and pushed the braided rug back over it, there came a tap at the door. She thought it would be Nakamura, telling her it was time to go, but instead she saw Vera was standing on the threshold.

‘I thought you might like to borrow something special to wear tonight,’ she said, holding out a pretty blue embroidered scarf. ‘This will suit you perfectly, I think.’

Sophie took it. ‘Thank you – that’s very kind. What a beautiful scarf!’

Vera arranged it gently around her shoulders. ‘It belonged to my daughter, Natasha,’ she said, in a low voice. ‘Luka and Elena’s mother. She had hair just like yours – such a pretty golden colour!’ She touched Sophie’s hair with a gentle finger. Sophie knew that Vera’s daughter Natasha had died a few years ago and that, although she rarely mentioned it, Vera missed her very much.

‘Here, let me plait it for you,’ said Vera now, reaching for Sophie’s brush and comb. It was a very long time since anyone else had combed Sophie’s hair, but she found herself sitting down and allowing Vera to carefully brush it out in long, gentle strokes. It was like being a child again. Her own mother must have done this for her once, Sophie realised – though she had been far too young to remember it. As Vera’s fingers carefully wove her hair into two long braids, she felt tears coming suddenly into her eyes and she had to blink them away.

Vera carefully pinned the long braids around her head, into a crown. ‘There! Now you look like a good Russian girl,’ she said. ‘We’ll show the Tsar that his daughters aren’t the only ones who can look splendid at the Imperial Gala, hmm?’ She gave Sophie’s shoulder a little squeeze, and then hurried out of the room.

The ground was already glittering with frost when they set out, well wrapped up in coats and hoods. The canal was still and dark as they hurried over the little bridge, but as they came towards the Nevsky, they saw that they were not the only ones headed to the circus. Grand carriages rattled past, carrying elegantly dressed people; several expensive motor cars sped by them. There was a sparkle of excitement and merriment in the air: Elena skipped ahead, holding Boris’s hand, pointing eagerly to the brightly coloured posters advertising the circus, whilst Luka strolled just behind them, his hands in his pocket, sniffing the scent of caramel apples and candied nuts that hung in the air, and pretending he wasn’t just as thrilled as his smaller sister.

‘Do you know, I haven’t been to the circus since I was a girl!’ exclaimed Vera, who had her arm tucked into Sophie’s. ‘What a place it is – just as splendid as I remember.’

The circus building was a dazzle of golden light in the dark evening. Stylishly dressed ladies in glittering diamond necklaces, and gentlemen in rich furs, could be seen clambering out of their carriages, whilst ordinary folk had gathered close by to stare in at the immense building, hung with great red and gold banners reading The Circus of Marvels. At the entrance, Boris presented their tickets with a flourish to an usher in a frock coat; guards were checking people’s bags and pockets as they entered. ‘That’s because of the Tsar, of course,’ Vera observed with a sniff. At last they were allowed inside the grand foyer, where they were each presented with a large programme in a silk cover and directed towards their seats.