TURNING THE SCREW
Embarrassing as my position must have been in any case, it was made
much worse by the manner of my reception at the Drakonas’.
Volna’s half-sister, Katinka, received us; and the moment my name
was mentioned, she left me no room to doubt that so far as she was
concerned I was a most unwelcome visitor.
She was a complete contrast in appearance to Volna. A slight, wiry,
straight-backed, acid-faced, little woman of about thirty, with a pair
of lustrous dark eyes so disproportionately large that the rest of the
features, except her thin straight lips, seemed to pass unnoticed. She
gave me a very frigid bow. “We have of course heard of you from Volna,
Mr. Anstruther,” she said; her tone implying that what she had heard
was by no means to my credit; and before I could reply, she turned to
Ladislas. “Has anything happened that you are here?”
It was plain to see that he was not at ease with her. “Where is Volna?”
he asked.
“She is out. You have not brought Mr. Anstruther to see her?” That he
would be mad to think of such a thing was her meaning.
“I have decided that she cannot safely remain in the city.”
“Indeed. Why? Or perhaps I should ask this gentleman. You had no such
thought when I saw you last.”
“I have had grave news from Petersburg this morning, Katinka.”
“Oh, are you going to run away?”
“Of course not.”
“Then how can Volna go?” She was a past master in the art of
insinuation.
“I have induced my friend here to consent to take her.”
Her large eyes opened as if in profound astonishment as she looked
first at him and then turned them slowly upon me, and coughed most
suggestively. “_You_ have done this?” Had she put the thought in blunt
words she could not have expressed more plainly her conviction that I
had concocted the plan for my own ends and that Ladislas must be blind
and mad to consent to it.
“Yes, I have; Mr. Anstruther understands precisely the relationship
that exists between Volna and me.”
“You mean which should but does not exist between you,” she corrected,
significantly.
“Anstruther is my loyal friend, Katinka.”
“Have I expressed any doubt on that point?”
“Miss Drakona is prejudiced against the English, Robert,” said
Ladislas, turning to me. He flushed with vexation and appeared anxious
to apologize for my reception.
“That is surely my country’s misfortune,” said I.
“That is insincere; but being English you of course cannot help it,”
was the reply, very unpleasantly spoken.
Ladislas very foolishly took this up. “Anstruther is my friend,
Katinka,” he said warmly.
“I don’t see that that affects the sincerity or insincerity of what he
says. Mr. Anstruther may as well know that he has caused a great deal
of trouble in our family, and that so far as my brother and myself are
concerned, we do not thank him for it.”
“My remark just now was merely intended as one of common politeness,
madam,” I said. “I am not glad when I find any one prejudiced against
my countrymen. And I am quite sincere in expressing regret if I have
caused trouble to any of your family.”
Her large eyes were fixed coldly upon me while I spoke and at the end
she paused and said--“Indeed!” with a most disconcerting effect.
An awkward pause followed, broken by the entrance of the brother, to
whom she introduced me in these terms. “This is Mr. Anstruther, Paul,
who has come with Ladislas to induce Volna to run away from Warsaw at a
moment when the flight of any one from this house would be a disgrace
to the cause of the Fraternity.”
As might be expected, the introduction did not please him. “I am not
aware that we need the interference of any outsiders, sir.”
“That is the word--interference,” agreed the sister.
“It is nothing of the sort, Katinka,” declared Ladislas, brusquely.
“I have brought my friend, Paul, to help in getting your mother and
Volna into some place of safety until the troubles here are over. He
knows all about the Bremenhof entanglement and all about--er--Volna and
myself. He acts entirely at my suggestion and on my behalf as my friend
in this matter. You know that if any violence breaks out, the city will
be no safe place for Volna or her mother--or any woman.”
“I am not going to run away,” said Katinka, with placid malice. “But
of course Volna will jump at such a chance. Until this last deplorable
affair, she was accustomed to listen to _our_ advice.”
“I see no necessity for it, Ladislas,” was Paul’s verdict.
“We are of _no_ account, Paul. It is not what _we_ think, of course.”
“Where is your mother?” asked Ladislas.
The question was answered by the entrance of one of the sweetest old
ladies I have ever seen. Just Volna, thirty-five or forty years older;
but Volna without the spirit and capacity and plucky resource I had
seen her shew.
“You are Mr. Anstruther, I am sure,” she said, as she gave me her hand
with a sweet gracious smile. “I know you by my Volna’s description; and
thank you from my heart for all you did.”
The brother and sister exchanged looks and shrugs.
“I did no more, madame, than any one would have done in a similar case.”
“You saved my dearest child, sir; and a mother’s heart knows how to be
grateful.”
“He wishes to do more now, Madame Drakona; and take you and Volna away
from the city until these troubles have blown over,” said Ladislas.
An expression of perplexity clouded her face and she glanced doubtfully
and nervously toward the other two. “I don’t think I understand,” she
said, weakly. “I should like to go, but----” she stopped, and it struck
me she was looking for Katinka’s sanction.
“These things are to be settled without regard to what we Drakonas
think,” said Katinka. “Of course I regard it as indecorous,
impracticable, unnecessary and cowardly. But my opinion is not even
asked;” and she folded her hands and tapped her foot and assumed the
air of an injured martyr.
“It is not my suggestion, madame, but that of my friend, Ladislas
here,” I said to the old lady.
“I am sure I don’t know what to do. I wish Volna were here. Could
we go?” she replied; and then a long and at times bitter discussion
followed in which I took no part. The dear old soul was swayed first
one way by Ladislas and then another by Katinka. Paul’s part was
chiefly that of echo to his sister, who, I noticed, first settled
things for herself and then put the responsibility upon him; and held
up his opinion as final and decisive.
How long the discussion would have lasted and how many bitter
insinuations Katinka would have thrown out about me it is impossible to
say; but the end came in a fashion that was both dramatic and startling.
Paul was called away to the telephone and when he returned to the room
he was ashen pale and intensely agitated.
“There has been a massacre at Petersburg. The troops have fired on the
people and thousands have been killed.”
A dead silence fell on us all, broken only by a groan of anguish from
Ladislas. We looked at one another in silent horror as the realization
of what it might mean to all in Warsaw began to force itself upon us.
Even Katinka was awe-stricken and aghast.
We were still under the spell of this strained silence when a maid
servant scared and white of face rushed in.
“The police are here, madame, and ask for you,” she cried.
An officer followed the girl, and out in the hallway I saw a file of
men drawn up.
“Madame Drakona?” he asked.
“I am Madame Drakona. What do you want with me?” asked the old lady,
rising.
I noticed that Paul instead of stepping forward to the mother’s side
remained by his sister.
“I have to ask you to accompany me to the offices of the Department,
madame,” said the agent.
“To ask me? I don’t understand,” she replied feebly. “Katinka, Paul,
what can this mean? When do you wish me to go, sir?”
“My instructions are that you accompany me immediately.”
“But there must be a mistake. I am sure there must be. I cannot go
until I have seen my daughter. She is out. Can I not wait until she
returns?”
“Are you sure there is no mistake?” asked Paul; as Katinka crossed to
Madame Drakona.
“My instructions are too precise to admit of that.”
“By whose instructions do you act?” I asked.
“I cannot answer that,” was the reply.
“Do you mean that any charge is preferred against this lady?”
“I have only to do my duty, sir.”
I turned to Paul. “Could you not telephone to Colonel Bremenhof?”
Katinka took this to herself. “You hear your orders, Paul,” she
snapped. Even in that moment her spite predominated.
“I do not need your advice, sir,” he said; and this perfectly obvious
step was not taken, for no reason apparently except that I had
suggested it.
“Can I wait for my daughter to return, sir?” asked Madame Drakona.
“Volna can do nothing,” declared Katinka.
“I regret, madame, that I have no power to permit that.”
“Can you tell us nothing about the reasons for this?” asked Paul.
“Nothing whatever. I know no more than yourself. I wish indeed that the
unpleasant duty had been given to some one else to perform.”
“I do not blame you, sir,” said Madame Drakona, very graciously,
despite her agitation. “I will get ready.”
“I must ask you not to be longer than five minutes.”
He held the door open for her to leave. Katinka went with her and at
a sign from the leader, one of the men followed them up the stairs
and remained at the door of the room into which they went. The leader
stayed with the rest in the hall.
“What can this mean?” asked Ladislas, aghast.
“A good thing that no one else is on the list,” said Paul.
“You must find that a great consolation,” I could not help saying. Paul
turned on me angrily, and Ladislas held up his hand.
“It will do no good to quarrel,” he said. “What is to be done? Do let
us try to be practical.”
“The man who can tell you what it means is Bremenhof.”
“Of course you will go with your mother, Paul?” said Ladislas.
“I see no object to be gained.”
“Better ask Miss Drakona,” I suggested, drily.
“Your tone is very singular, sir,” declared Paul angrily.
“Far less singular than your unreasoning hostility to me, in which you
appear to echo your sister’s prejudice.”
“Robert!” protested Ladislas.
“You are not here by our wish,” cried Paul.
Madame Drakona came in then, and I saw that Katinka had made no
preparations to go with the mother.
“Ladislas, you and Mr. Anstruther will stay to see Volna, won’t
you?” asked the old lady, who was much less distressed than I had
anticipated. “She will be so troubled; and she thinks so much of your
advice, Mr. Anstruther. You will stay?”
“Certainly at your wish,” I agreed.
“I don’t see that this gentleman can do any good,” murmured the sister.
“We will both stay, if possible--but one of us certainly,” said
Ladislas.
“Tell her you don’t think this is a serious thing; it can’t be really;
and I daresay I shall be back again almost before she is home.”
“I will tell her,” replied my friend.
She kissed Paul and Katinka--both of whom were as unmoved as though she
had been going for an afternoon drive--and then shook hands with us.
“Volna will rely on you, I know, Mr. Anstruther. Now, sir, I am ready.
Be sure and make Volna understand I am not in the least frightened,
Ladislas.”
That was her last word spoken with a brave smile as she drove away.
As soon as we re-entered the house Katinka opened fire at me. “I think
we can do what has to be done alone, Paul.”
“Madame Drakona asked us to remain, Katinka,” said Ladislas.
“I wish you could believe, madam, that I have no desire except for the
good of you all,” I put in.
She fixed her eyes upon me and replied slowly, “I wish I could, sir;
but you have influenced my sister so much against us that I find it
impossible.”
“How can you think of such pettiness, Katinka, in face of that awful
news from Petersburg,” cried Ladislas. “Great God, it passes my
comprehension.”
“Are you going, sir?” asked Paul.
“No. I am not. I promised Madame Drakona to remain until her daughter
returned, and shall do so.”
“Of course,” agreed Ladislas, pausing a second as he strode up and
down the room in great distress. His excitement mounted fast, and his
fears of coming trouble in the city, caused by the ill news from St.
Petersburg and brought close home by the arrest of Madame Drakona,
oppressed him till the burden became almost unbearable.
An hour and more passed in this way. Now and again he would break into
fitful heated discussion with Paul and his sister; sometimes he turned
to me with feverish speculations about what would happen; anything in
the effort to relieve the weight of his trouble-laden thoughts.
Two or three times the telephone bell summoned Paul; and each time he
returned the three would hold whispered counsel together; to end in the
same way, by Ladislas resuming his anxious pacing of the room from end
to end.
At last some message more disturbing than the rest came.
“Paul and I must go. I dare not stay,” he declared. “You will do what
must be done here, Robert. They are waiting for us, and God knows
what may happen if we do not go;” and paying no heed to my protests,
scarcely hearing them, indeed, he and Paul hurried away.
Katinka and I sat on in grim silence.
I had caught some of the infection of Ladislas’ alarm at coming
trouble; and my one concern now was for Volna’s safety. Even the
embarrassment at the thought of meeting her again was dominated by my
fear for her; and I waited a prey to very gloomy doubt and anxiety.
She came in not knowing that I was there. She saw only Katinka as she
entered with the question, “Where is mother?”
Then she saw me and started back in sheer astonishment. Her eyes
lighted, she paled slightly and then the colour rushed to her face and
with both hands outstretched she came to me as a week before at the
priest’s house in Kervatje. “Is it really you?”
I took her hands. “It is really I.”
Then Katinka got up and coughed. “Of course I am not surprised; but it
is none the less scandalous, sir, considering Volna’s mother has just
been taken to prison.”
The piteous look of pain and alarm on Volna’s face as her hands fell
from mine made me wish for the moment that Katinka had been a man. I
could then have told her plainly some of the things I thought about
her.