There by the steps stood two troikas, the horses held by two of the best young drivers. Balaga got into the first one, and raised his elbows high, taking his time to sort out the reins. Anatole and Dolokhov got in behind him. Makarin, Khvostikov and the valet got into the other sledge.
‘All set?’ asked Balaga. ‘Away!’ he yelled, wrapping the reins round his hands, and the sledge hurtled off down Nikitsky Boulevard.
‘Wheee! . . . Garn! . . . Move! . . . Grrrh!’ yelled Balaga and the young driver on the box, the only sounds in the night.
In Arbatsky Square the sledge bumped into a carriage with a dreadful crunch and shouts rang out, but off they flew down the Arbat. After driving the full length of Podnovinsky Boulevard, reining in and turning back, Balaga stopped the horses at the crossing by Old Konyusheny Street.
The keen young man on the box jumped down to hold the horses by the bridle. Anatole and Dolokhov walked off down the footpath. When they got to the gates, Dolokhov whistled. An answering whistle echoed back and a maid-servant ran out.
‘Come on into the courtyard, or you’ll be seen. She’ll be here in a minute,’ she said.
Dolokhov stayed by the gate. Anatole followed the maid into the courtyard, turned a corner and ran up the steps.
He was met by Gavrilo, Marya Dmitriyevna’s giant of a footman.
‘This way, sir. The mistress wants to see you,’ said the groom in his deep bass voice, blocking the approach to the door.
‘Whose mistress? Who are you?’ Anatole asked in a breathless whisper.
‘This way, sir. My orders are to show you in.’
‘Kuragin! Get back here!’ shouted Dolokhov. ‘Traitors! Come on back!’
By the little back gate where he had stopped Dolokhov was wrestling with a porter, who was trying to shut the gate and lock Anatole in. Dolokhov bundled the porter away with a last desperate shove, grabbed Anatole, heaved him out through the gate and ran off with him back to the sledge.
CHAPTER 18
Marya Dmitriyevna had come across a very tearful Sonya in the corridor and forced a confession out of her. She had seized Natasha’s note from Anatole and read it, and now she marched in to see Natasha, still holding the letter.
‘You shameless little hussy!’ she said to her. ‘I don’t want to hear a word!’ Thrusting Natasha away while the girl gazed at her dry-eyed but speechless with amazement, she locked her in, ordered the porter to admit certain persons who were due to turn up that night, but not let them out again, and told her footman to show these persons up, and then she sat down in the drawing-room to wait for the abductors.
When Gavrilo came in to inform Marya Dmitriyevna that the persons had turned up but had got away, she rose to her feet with a scowl on her face, clasped her hands behind her back, and wandered from room to room, considering what to do. It was nearly midnight when she set off for Natasha’s room, feeling the key in her pocket. Sonya was in the corridor still sitting there sobbing. ‘Marya Dmitriyevna, please, for heaven’s sake, let me in to see her!’ she said.
Instead of replying Marya Dmitriyevna opened the door and went in. ‘Hateful, disgusting girl, in my house, the vile little hussy! It’s her father I’m sorry for,’ Marya Dmitriyevna had been thinking, trying to control her fury. ‘Hard as it may be, I shall silence the lot of them and hide it from the count.’ She now strode imperiously into the room.
Natasha was lying perfectly still on the sofa with her head buried in her hands. She had been lying in exactly the same position when Marya Dmitriyevna had left her.
‘You’re a very nice girl, aren’t you?’ said Marya Dmitriyevna. ‘Using my house to arrange meetings with your lovers! Let’s put our cards on the table. And you listen to me when I’m speaking.’ Marya Dmitriyevna touched her on the arm. ‘Listen to me when I’m speaking! You’ve shamed yourself like a common little slut. I know what I’d do with you, but I’m sorry for your poor father. I shall hide it from him.’
Natasha didn’t change position, but her whole body was racked with noiseless, convulsive sobs and a terrible choking. Marya Dmitriyevna glanced round at Sonya and sat down on the edge of the sofa next to Natasha.
‘He’s lucky I didn’t catch him, but I shall,’ she said, coarsening her voice. ‘Do you hear what I say, eh?’ She put a large hand under Natasha’s face and turned it towards her. Both Marya Dmitriyevna and Sonya were shocked by the sight of Natasha’s face. Her eyes were dry but gleaming, her lips were tightly compressed and her cheeks looked hollow.
‘Leave me . . . a-lone . . . I . . . just let me die . . .’ was all she could manage to say before wrenching herself viciously away from Marya Dmitriyevna and flopping back down into her former position.
