“No, Monsieur, not more than half a verst on the far side of the highway. One could walk there in fifteen minutes.”
“Would there be any folk living there now?”
“Ah, no. A great part of it was burnt. It is said that Monsieur de Prince himself set it on fire when the Bolsheviks came. I remember it well, that night; it was the day after my tenth birthday. I cried and cried because all my presents were destroyed. I was not old enough to be frightened for my mother or Monsieur de Prince. I thought nothing about all the beautiful and valuable things which were burning up in great columns of red flame. We stood there, on the lawn, watching the peasants throw the furniture out of the windows, saving what they could. That was until they thought of the cellars. Then, when they began to loot the sweet wine and brandy, we had to go away.”
“So what was left of it has stood empty ever since?” said Simon.
“In the bad times the brigands used it as a headquarters; they terrorized the countryside. Sometimes there were as many as two hundred there at one time, but in the end they were massacred by the Whites. After that it was empty for a long time until the Stiekomens came to live there.”
“The Stiekomens?” Simon looked puzzled.
“A religious, and his disciples. He was a leader of one of the mystic religious brotherhoods which are always springing up in Russia. They were a harmless people, wanderers in the forest before they settled here. They lived a simple, communistic life in the great ruin for perhaps a year, then, one day, a detachment of real communists — the Red Guards — marched through the village. For a reason that no one knew they butchered the poor Stiekomens against the Château wall. Since then there has been no one.”
“They are evil times that you have lived in, Mademoiselle — it is marvellous that you should have come through unscathed,” said De Richleau, regarding her thoughtfully. With her pointed chin, incredibly blue eyes, well-marked eyebrows and close-cropped curls, she reminded him of a prize Persian kitten as she sat, curled up, with her legs tucked under her on a corner of the divan, but his shrewd glance showed him that the blue eyes were very direct, the pointed chin very firm, and the red mouth could take on a determined curve as well as the slight wistful smile which was habitual to it.
She smiled. “There is one good thing about Communism, Monsieur. If you give your labour to the State no one can harm you or compel you in marriage. I earn my living by teaching in the school. I am free to come and go. That is better, surely, than to be married off as a young girl to some man whom you have hardly seen, as in the old days. That must have been horrible!”
“Perhaps,” the Duke agreed. “But I imagine that for a long time there was no safety for anyone.”