Page 53 of The Unseen (Echoes from the Past #5)

Valentina finished cleaning the floor, hung up the towels on hooks, and let herself out of the bathroom, locking the bedroom door with Mrs. Stern’s keys.

She retreated to her bedroom, stripped off her wet garments and hung them up on the back of a chair.

They’d be dry by morning. She then changed into her nightgown, sat on her bed, and wrapped her arms about her legs, resting her chin on her knees.

She was exhausted but wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. She had to come up with a plan.

Tomorrow morning, her mother and Tanya would assume that Dmitri had left for his trip just as he’d said he would.

But what would happen when he didn’t show up at the factory?

Would someone ring to inquire about his absence?

Would they involve the police? They’d find him in a matter of minutes if they came to the house, and then Valentina’s life would be forfeit.

She’d hang. She began to tremble violently, her teeth chattering with fear.

She didn’t want to die. She wasn’t a cold-blooded murderess; she was a young woman who’d been pushed past the point of endurance.

Prisons are full of people who’ve been pushed past the point of endurance , her mind replied.

They are called murderers . And even if by some miracle the authorities believed Dmitri’s death had been an accident, what then?

How would her family live? How would they support themselves in the days to come?

They had no claim on his fortune, no claim to the house.

They’d have to leave, move to the cheapest lodgings they could find, pull Kolya out of school, and find work.

In the end, she might end up having to sell her body just to survive.

Now that the men had returned from the front, they wanted their jobs back.

The demand for female labor had dropped, and the only type of work women could find was laundering, cleaning, sewing, or minding children.

No respectable English family would hire her to mind their children.

People were wary of foreigners, especially ones without references of past employment.

Why hire an immigrant with nothing to recommend her when they could find a good, respectable Englishwoman?

And what would happen to Dmitri’s estate?

Whom would it go to? He’d mentioned making Kolya his heir, but she had no idea if he’d ever made out a will or changed an existing one.

As far as Valentina knew, Dmitri had no living family except for the Kalinins, but that didn’t mean his property would automatically revert to them.

Dmitri kept a tidy sum in the safe, along with Valentina’s jewels, but she didn’t know the combination, so they would be starting out with nothing, not even the items that lawfully belonged to her.

Valentina angrily wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.

What was the use in crying? She should have thought this through.

She should have asked herself all these questions ahead of time.

She’d acted on impulse, terrified she’d be too late to save Tanya, and possibly herself.

She could still find her way back to some sort of respectability, given the chance, but a few more years of prostitution and she’d be nothing more than an empty husk, used up and broken, her self-respect and self-worth permanently eradicated.

She’d been drowning and grabbed onto the first bit of flotsam she could see, not realizing that this chunk of wood might carry her further out to sea.

The clock in the corridor struck midnight.

In approximately six hours, the sun would rise on a new day, and it’d be too late to do anything.

She had to decide what to do. She could either summon the authorities in the morning and claim the drowning had been an accident, or come up with a plan that would ensure her freedom and some sort of financial restitution for what Dmitri had done.

He owed her that much. Valentina pushed her palms into her eyes.

She was so tired. She wished she could go to sleep and never wake up.

It’d be easier for everyone. Well, not her mother, sister, and brother.

They’d be lost without her. Elena was useless at making any sort of decisions or earning a living, Tanya was young and unskilled, and Kolya was just a child.

Valentina’s gaze fell on her bedside table.

The Woman in White was there, a bookmark sticking out of one of the last chapters of the book.

She’d almost finished it. It had been an amazing story, a fantastical one, but what an imagination the author had.

She had the utmost respect for him. This wasn’t a tale of a woman throwing herself under a train; this was a story of good triumphing over evil, of determination and faith righting a wrong.

“Dear God,” Valentina breathed. “That’s it.

” The answer was right there in front of her.

One of the characters in the book, Sir Percival Glyde, had tampered with the parish register to record a marriage that had never taken place, therefore erasing his bastard status and legitimizing his claim to the baronetcy and his father’s estate.

He’d managed to get away with it too, for many years, until his secret was discovered by someone driven by love and a desire for justice.

Valentina sat up and bit her lip as she considered this idea.

How difficult would it be to add a line to the church register?

Would anyone notice? Father Mikhail was new to the Church of St. Sophia, having replaced Father Khariton, who’d died of pneumonia six weeks ago.

He’d just assume the marriage had been performed by the old priest and have no reason to suspect foul play unless someone specifically questioned it.

But would they, and how difficult would it be to tamper with the register?

In a bigger church, the register would most likely be kept locked in the vestry, but St. Sophia was small, having until 1917 served a much smaller community, and the register was displayed in full view of the congregation.

There likely wouldn’t be any empty spaces between entries, but at the bottom of a page there was bound to be room.

The trick was not to add the false marriage to the current page, so as not to draw attention to it.

All she’d need was a few minutes alone in the church, which shouldn’t be too difficult to orchestrate given that the female parishioners of St. Sophia loved to gossip.

It was practically a Russian national pastime, and no one escaped their notice.

Valentina rarely paid attention and chose to exchange a few words with Stanislav after the service, but she knew the goings on at the church through Elena, who liked to keep abreast of everything that went on in their small community.

Unlike Father Khariton, who’d been elderly and kept the church open only during certain hours, Father Mikhail was in attendance from eight in the morning till eight at night, locking the doors only when he left for the day to protect the priceless icons and solid gold cross that graced the altar.

He made himself available to his parishioners, whether they simply wanted to come in and pray, ask for guidance, or unburden themselves.

The only time Father Mikhail left the church was when he went out to visit the sick or to perform a graveside funeral service.

The church grounds weren’t very extensive, so the parishioners who died were buried in a small Orthodox cemetery on the outskirts of London.

On the occasions when Father Mikhail left the church, an elderly caretaker called Kirill looked after the building, but he rarely remained inside.

He tended the patch of garden around the church, swept the walkway, or enjoyed a cup of tea while sitting on a bench outside.

Kirill’s wife cleaned the church every Saturday morning.

All Valentina had to do was wait for the next funeral, which would be held in three days’ time, on Wednesday.

At the Sunday service, Father Mikhail had prayed for the soul of Agraphena Petrovna, who had died just that morning.

He’d recited the first Panikhida , which he’d also said over the body of the deceased at her bedside.

The body would be laid out on the dining table, covered in a shroud with its head positioned beneath the icon corner for three days, until the funeral.

Valentina wouldn’t go to the house to pay her respects, but no one would think it strange if she attended the church service.

Valentina sighed loudly and propped up her chin with her hand, deep in thought.

She still had to decide what to do about Dmitri’s body.

Leaving things as they were was too dangerous, even for one day.

Someone might call from the factory when Dmitri failed to arrive, or even initiate a missing person’s report with the police, which could bring someone to their door as soon as tomorrow.

And the new housekeeper would be starting in a few days.

She would ask for the household keys and go into every room, including Dmitri’s bedroom.

Valentina couldn’t take the chance of her walking into the bathroom and coming face-to-face with a bloated corpse.