Page 57 of The Unseen (Echoes from the Past #5)
FORTY-FIVE
London, England
On the day of the funeral, Valentina came down early.
She planned to leave the house before her mother and Tanya woke, so as to avoid any awkward questions.
Elena had no plans to attend the funeral, which suited Valentina just fine.
She put on the navy dress she’d brought from Russia.
It was the most somber garment she owned, since there hadn’t been time to order mourning clothes after her father and Alexei died, and she paired it with a navy hat she wore during the winter months.
She stared at her pale reflection in the mirror.
The dress brought back poignant memories of a time when the men she loved had still been very much alive and talk of escape from her homeland had been nothing more than a wild idea, never meant to become reality.
She’d been so young then, and so na?ve. How quickly life could change.
Normally, Dmitri drove them to church, but this morning Valentina had to take an omnibus and make two changes before she finally arrived at her destination.
The service was about to begin, so she stood off to the side, not wishing to intrude on the family.
There were about two dozen people in total, all dressed in black, heads bowed.
The open casket stood at the center. Agraphena Petrovna lay inside, her hands folded over her chest, a gold cross carefully inserted between her stiff fingers.
Her folded shroud lay on her stomach, to be used after the service when Father Mikhail would cover the corpse, and a white paper headband had been placed on her forehead.
It read Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, have mercy on us .
Father Mikhail began to sing and Valentina bowed her head in respect, but her eyes strayed to the church register, displayed on a small table beneath the high window just to Valentina’s right.
The ledger was open to the current page, the last entry a bit darker than the rest, since the ink was still drying.
The priest must have recorded the death just before taking his place next to the coffin, ready to begin the service.
After the prayers were finally over, family members and close friends came up to the coffin to prostrate themselves.
They kissed the cross and the headband, then crossed themselves before finally stepping aside to allow Father Mikhail to cover the deceased with the shroud and sprinkle some holy oil into the coffin before closing the lid in preparation for burial.
Four pallbearers lifted the coffin and followed Father Mikhail out the door, chanting “Holy God” as they went.
The rest of the mourners followed. They would make their way to the cemetery and meet at the graveside for the burial, then go to Agraphena Petrovna’s house for a final vodka-soaked sendoff.
Valentina wouldn’t go to the cemetery, nor would she go to the house for the pominki .
She hung back, letting the mourners file out the door.
A few moments later, the church was blessedly empty and strangely silent after all the singing and weeping.
She waited until she heard the sound of engines being started, then inched toward the register.
For convenience, a pen and a closed bottle of ink were stored inside the small drawer beneath the register, and Valentina took them out and unscrewed the cap on the ink.
She stared down at the register. She thought she’d have to go back several pages, but the previous page went all the way to the start of 1919.
In such a small congregation, months went by without any births, deaths, or weddings.
There were only five entries since the start of the year, and only because one couple had married on January 1, 1919, and another had welcomed twins at the beginning of February, accounting for three of the entries.
The other two entries were the death of Father Khariton on March 2 and the death of Agraphena Petrovna on May 11.
Valentina flipped back one more page and scanned the contents.
There was only one obvious place. An empty line had been left at the bottom of the previous page since two events were recorded for the same family on the same date.
She supposed Father Khariton had wished to keep the events grouped together for consistency.
A death and a birth were listed on December 17, 1918.
Anastasia Andreeva had been born, and her mother, Yulia Andreeva, had died bringing her into the world.
These were the last entries made by Father Khariton before his death.
Valentina said a quick prayer for the old priest before carefully adding a line at the bottom of the page, recording the date of her fictitious marriage to Dmitri as December 21.
She remembered the day well. Dmitri had asked her to help him pick out a present for Elena’s birthday, which was on December 27.
They’d spent several hours shopping in Oxford Street.
Once the news of the marriage came out, her mother and Tanya would both recall that Valentina and Dmitri had been conspicuously absent from the house that day, and realize that they’d snuck out to get married.
The fresh ink looked alarmingly dark against the creamy beige page, but it would fade in time.
Valentina’s handwriting wouldn’t draw any attention to the entry.
Russian children were taught penmanship as a matter of course, so everyone’s handwriting looked very similar, since individuality was not encouraged.
The entry blended right in. The only way she would get found out was if Father Mikhail had familiarized himself with all the entries upon starting his tenure as priest at the Church of St. Sophia. She could only pray that he hadn’t.
Valentina closed the register, put away the pen and ink, and slowly walked toward the door.
A few stragglers were still at the curb, getting into a motorcar.
An elderly woman was already installed in the front seat and a tall, gaunt gentleman with a pencil moustache was holding the door open for his wife, who was about to get in.
She looked at Valentina with interest. “We thought you’d gone to the cemetery with the others,” the woman said. Valentina knew the family, but her mind suddenly went blank and she couldn’t recall their surname .
“I, eh, had to go to the lavatory,” Valentina stammered. “There isn’t one at the cemetery.”
“Indeed there isn’t. Would you like a lift?” the man asked solicitously. “We have room for one more.”
“I would be most grateful,” Valentina replied. She hadn’t planned on going to the cemetery for the burial, but this opportunity was too good to miss. There was something she needed to check and a trip to the cemetery by omnibus would take up most of her day.
Valentina got into the car and settled in next to the woman, whose name she was finally able to recall. Angela Vitalyevna Danilova.
“How is your dear mama?” Angela Vitalyevna asked. “I do so hope to further our acquaintance.”
“She’s well. Thank you.”
“Do you think she’d accept my invitation if I asked her to tea?”
Valentina hated to be put on the spot. Elena didn’t like Angela Danilova. She thought her common and ill-mannered, but Valentina could hardly be rude. “I am sure she would,” she replied, hoping the woman wouldn’t get around to issuing the invitation.
“I’ll send her a note today, after we return from the pominki. I do hope they have some decent food. I’m starving. I overslept and had no time for breakfast,” she complained.
“I’m sure Agraphena’s daughter will have a good spread,” Angela’s mother-in-law replied from the front. “They have an excellent cook.”
“I hope they’ll have blini with caviar,” Angela said wistfully. “We don’t often have such delicacies anymore. The blini we can manage, but caviar is so dear. It’s worth its weight in gold. ”
“Really, Angela,” her husband said, sounding extremely annoyed. “One would think you only came to the funeral for the food.”
Angela Vitalyevna smiled guiltily. “I came to pay my respects to a woman I liked and admired. And I will eat my fill and drink to her memory along with everyone else.” She turned away from Valentina and looked sulkily out the window. “I hope it doesn’t rain,” she mumbled.
The rest of the ride passed in silence, which was just fine with Valentina.
Perhaps she would go to the pominki after all.
Now that the terrifying task of having to tamper with the register was behind her, she was suddenly ravenously hungry.
She could use a shot of vodka as well, to calm her nerves.
What she did today would either save her or point a finger in her direction once Dmitri’s disappearance became public knowledge.
She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes, desperate for a few moments to compose herself.