graciously to Ysidro, then thrust Asher in his direction with a force that – had Asher not been determined and ready for something of the kind – would have thrown him to his knees.
The Count turned back to the culprits, Asher already forgotten – a side issue in what was clearly an ongoing contest of wills. ‘Whatever the Prince has told you, you three are mine. And if you need that proved again –’ he stepped forward to chuck the furious Marya under the chin, to flick his claw-like nails over Ippo’s torn and gory face – ‘I will be most happy to oblige.’
Asher woke – suddenly and with the sensation of having fainted, though he knew this was not the case – standing outdoors in the bitter night alone.
FIVE
To Professor James C. Asher
c/o Hoare’s Bank
English Embankment
St Petersburg, Russia
Oxford,
April 5, 1911
Dearest Jamie,
Did you arrive in St Petersburg safely? Was the journey frightful? Does this railroad (or is it a factory?) that Uncle William wanted you to look at actually seem to be a safe investment? One hears such horrid reports of Russian inefficiency, and it is a tremendous lot of money – and besides, you know how Uncle William is.
While you are in St Petersburg, would it be possible for you to look up a few of my colleagues there? I’ve enclosed letters of introduction, but I’m sure at least Dr Harbach should remember me from when he was last in England; what I am chiefly interested in is opening a correspondence with specialists in blood disorders, as I am rather puzzled by some of my own findings here. (I won’t trouble you with the details, but they seem anomalous to say the least.) These gentlemen would be:
Dr Immanuel Grün, on the Nevsky Prospect,
Dr Wilhelm Harbach, on the Admiralty Prospect,
Dr Emrich Spurzheim, on Karavannaia Street near the Fontanka Canal (or is it a river?),
Dr Benedict Theiss, on Samsonievsky Street,
Dr Richard Bierstadt, on Italianskaia Street, and Dr Johann Leutze, also on the Nevsky Prospect.
A Dr Ludwig Spohr has offices on the Tverskaia in Moscow (such names they have!); also in Moscow are Dr Kaspar Manteuffel (on Nikitskaia), Dr Klaus Holderlin (also on Tverskaia), and Dr Reinhold Preuze (whose direction I could not find, but I believe it is in Moscow also.) Two others – Dr Richard Franck and Dr Emil Bodenschatz – are listed as having worked in Russia in the past, but I can find no mention of whether or not they are in St Petersburg now.
All are specialists in blood chemistry. I hope you can find one of them, at least, who shares your interests in folklore!
And good luck with Uncle William’s factory (or is it a railroad?).
All my love,
Lydia
Rain whipped with gray violence against the study windows. Lydia sealed the envelope, dug through the frothy chaos of her desk drawer for a stamp ( so THAT’S where I put those notes about nervous lesions! ), then settled back in her chair, looking out at the wet-dark wall of the New College, at two young men (students unwilling to get their gowns soaked?) scudding along Holywell Street like outsize black leaves.
Thinking about Don Simon Ysidro.
She knew she ought to go up to her bedroom and sort all those issues of Lancet , the British Journal of Medicine, Le Journal Francais Physiochemique and several German and American periodicals back into their respective boxes for Mick to return to the attic. Knew she should re-copy into a more readable form the notes she’d been making for the past three days, almost non-stop, on all those articles by German blood-doctors working in Russia. But she didn’t. She didn’t move.
A poulterer’s wagon passed along the street: clip-clip-clip . A woman held onto her hat against a gust of wind, her other hand firmly gripping that of a wrapped and cloaked and scarved and booted little boy. Lydia closed her eyes, took off her spectacles, wondered if the child she had lost last year would have been a girl or a boy.
Don’t think of that. It wasn’t meant to
The Count turned back to the culprits, Asher already forgotten – a side issue in what was clearly an ongoing contest of wills. ‘Whatever the Prince has told you, you three are mine. And if you need that proved again –’ he stepped forward to chuck the furious Marya under the chin, to flick his claw-like nails over Ippo’s torn and gory face – ‘I will be most happy to oblige.’
Asher woke – suddenly and with the sensation of having fainted, though he knew this was not the case – standing outdoors in the bitter night alone.
FIVE
To Professor James C. Asher
c/o Hoare’s Bank
English Embankment
St Petersburg, Russia
Oxford,
April 5, 1911
Dearest Jamie,
Did you arrive in St Petersburg safely? Was the journey frightful? Does this railroad (or is it a factory?) that Uncle William wanted you to look at actually seem to be a safe investment? One hears such horrid reports of Russian inefficiency, and it is a tremendous lot of money – and besides, you know how Uncle William is.
While you are in St Petersburg, would it be possible for you to look up a few of my colleagues there? I’ve enclosed letters of introduction, but I’m sure at least Dr Harbach should remember me from when he was last in England; what I am chiefly interested in is opening a correspondence with specialists in blood disorders, as I am rather puzzled by some of my own findings here. (I won’t trouble you with the details, but they seem anomalous to say the least.) These gentlemen would be:
Dr Immanuel Grün, on the Nevsky Prospect,
Dr Wilhelm Harbach, on the Admiralty Prospect,
Dr Emrich Spurzheim, on Karavannaia Street near the Fontanka Canal (or is it a river?),
Dr Benedict Theiss, on Samsonievsky Street,
Dr Richard Bierstadt, on Italianskaia Street, and Dr Johann Leutze, also on the Nevsky Prospect.
A Dr Ludwig Spohr has offices on the Tverskaia in Moscow (such names they have!); also in Moscow are Dr Kaspar Manteuffel (on Nikitskaia), Dr Klaus Holderlin (also on Tverskaia), and Dr Reinhold Preuze (whose direction I could not find, but I believe it is in Moscow also.) Two others – Dr Richard Franck and Dr Emil Bodenschatz – are listed as having worked in Russia in the past, but I can find no mention of whether or not they are in St Petersburg now.
All are specialists in blood chemistry. I hope you can find one of them, at least, who shares your interests in folklore!
And good luck with Uncle William’s factory (or is it a railroad?).
All my love,
Lydia
Rain whipped with gray violence against the study windows. Lydia sealed the envelope, dug through the frothy chaos of her desk drawer for a stamp ( so THAT’S where I put those notes about nervous lesions! ), then settled back in her chair, looking out at the wet-dark wall of the New College, at two young men (students unwilling to get their gowns soaked?) scudding along Holywell Street like outsize black leaves.
Thinking about Don Simon Ysidro.
She knew she ought to go up to her bedroom and sort all those issues of Lancet , the British Journal of Medicine, Le Journal Francais Physiochemique and several German and American periodicals back into their respective boxes for Mick to return to the attic. Knew she should re-copy into a more readable form the notes she’d been making for the past three days, almost non-stop, on all those articles by German blood-doctors working in Russia. But she didn’t. She didn’t move.
A poulterer’s wagon passed along the street: clip-clip-clip . A woman held onto her hat against a gust of wind, her other hand firmly gripping that of a wrapped and cloaked and scarved and booted little boy. Lydia closed her eyes, took off her spectacles, wondered if the child she had lost last year would have been a girl or a boy.
Don’t think of that. It wasn’t meant to
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