I don’t know what made me glance up in the middle of the second song, but I did, and I saw Dmitri staring at us with an intensity that made me miss a couple of notes. He wasn’t singing with the others.
Miles kicked me. “Concentrate,” he muttered.
I glared at him but went back to paying attention to the music, or at least trying to. I didn’t dare look in Dmitri’s direction. When we finished the third song, I saw that Celeste had come back into the room, so I pushed the bench back.
“We’ve got some other songs,” Miles said.
“I need to talk to Celeste. Go ahead and play them without me.”
I ignored Miles’s protests. Celeste saw me and waved toward the hall. It was a relief to leave the apartment and breathe in some fresh air. Too many people were smoking inside the apartment and I didn’t like the smell.
“What do you want to talk about? You sounded so serious earlier.” Celeste asked.
I took the paper out of my bag and handed it to her. As she was reading it, I plunged right into an explanation. “Someone gave me this and warned me to be careful associating with you because I’d draw the attention of the Okhrana. That sounds like you’ve come to their notice.” My voice faltered. I saw Samuel’s bloody face in my mind. “I’m scared for you. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened. Do you know who wrote this?”
Her eyes shifted away from mine just for an instant. The corners of her mouth turned up, but it wasn’t a real smile. She hugged me and then took a step back, crumpling up the paper. “I’ll get rid of this. Lottie, you don’t sound like yourself at all. I’ve never known you to jump at shadows. Theater people talk and talk and talk. You know we like the sounds of our own voices. It means nothing. The Okhrana are suspicious of everyone. I don’t want you to worry about us. You have enough of your own worries.”
She sounded so reasonable. It was true that artists and writers were always viewed with suspicion. Neither Celeste nor Kalev would do anything to jeopardize the theater. They’d worked too hard. The baron was trying to unsettle me by making insinuations. I couldn’t let him do that.
More voices came from below as a group of people clattered up the steps. A man’s voice rose over the noise, someone speaking English with an American accent.
“Him again!” Celeste pushed her hair off her face. “If you want to help, you can talk to the American.” She nodded in the direction of the stairs. “He’s just arrived in the country. I don’t even know who brought him here last week, but he’s been here almost every night since then because he says he’s ‘mad about theater.’ He doesn’t speak Russian and his French is atrocious, so he can’t talk to that many people.”
The group reached the top of the stairs and Celeste introduced everyone, but I didn’t quite catch the man’s name. He certainly looked like an American: extremely tall with a lanky build, fair-haired and already balding, though he appeared to be only a few years older than me. I don’t know why the young Americans I met would never be mistaken for Russians. I suppose it was because they smiled too much. This one was grinning away as if he’d never been happier.
We were swept back into the apartment by more new arrivals coming in behind us. I saw a few people leaving, otherwise we literally would not have found space for any more.
The American and I ended up back near the zakuski table, which at this point was nearly empty. I noticed Dmitri across the room. He was leaning down, listening to one of the actresses. She was very pretty, and whatever she was saying made Dmitri smile.
“I’m so glad I’ve met another American!” the American yelled in my ear, making me jump.
I struggled to find a way to respond to that. “How long have you been in Russia?” I asked.
“A week. It’s sure something! The people are so friendly. A fellow brought me here last week and I felt so welcome, I just had to come back. I’m mad about the theater. Did a bit of acting in college.”
“What kind of work do you do?” I thought perhaps he worked in a bank. There were scores of young men sent to work in the foreign banks in Petrograd.
“I’m a newspaperman. The St. Louis Chronicle Dispatch’s first-ever foreign correspondent.” He pointed at himself. “That’s me. Had a tricky time getting into Russia, and once I got here, I had an even worse time finding somewhere to stay, even with a cousin working at the embassy! All the foreigners who want to go home are too scared the Germans will torpedo their ships, so the hotels are jam-packed. Guess where I’m sleeping?” He grinned.
The conversation was taking a bit of an odd turn, but I decided I’d play along. “I can’t guess. Where?”
“The billiard table at the Hotel de France!” He seemed so pleased with this bit of hardship that I had to smile.
His next words were drowned out when a man across the room began to speak in a loud, deep voice. The speaker was a big, burly man a head taller than the rest of the crowd. He shook his finger at a man next to him. “You can’t stick your head in the sand!” the man bellowed in Russian.
“Not that fellow again!” The American threw up his hands. “He’ll shut down the party if he carries on. I met him here a few days ago and he wouldn’t stop yelling. He’s some sort of playwright who writes political plays.”
Political plays. That didn’t sound good. The Tamms didn’t put on political plays. I’d heard that the only theater people who did so staged them in random spots without any advertising. It was too dangerous to do it any other way.
The playwright’s voice grew louder. “We can’t wait much longer! We need peace before the country is destroyed. We must have a new government!”
“What in the devil is he saying?” the American asked.
The man continued, practically roaring, and I translated. “‘The traitoress empress should be locked up in a convent or sent away. Who knows what all she’s done to help the Germans? She’s going to let them have our country if she’s not stopped.’”
Even though I was just translating, I felt like I should not be saying the words. I couldn’t believe the man was talking in front of so many people, most of whom he probably didn’t know. Such words could get him arrested.
I looked around to find Dmitri. I didn’t see him anywhere. I didn’t see the actress, either. It was so hot, I couldn’t get enough air, and the scent of the greasy sausage plate mixed with the cigarette smoke made me queasy.
“I have to go,” I said to the man. Without waiting to see if he replied, I pushed my way through the crowd, trying to spot Hap and Miles.
I got to Hap first. “Have you seen Dmitri?”
Hap shrugged. “Not for a while. I suppose he left.”
“We need to go too. It’s getting late.” If Dmitri was still around somewhere, he could find his own way home.
Both Hap and Miles protested, but when I said they’d have to walk home in the cold if they wouldn’t go with me, they gave in. I noticed that the package Miles had been carrying was still sitting on the floor next to the piano.
“We can wait long enough for you to give Peet his present,” I said, pointing at it.
Miles mumbled something.