Chapter Text
Zatonsk Police Station.
November 15, 1888.
Chief Inspector Shtolman.
Dear Yakov Platonovich,
The continuous snowfall and gusty bursts brought on by this wintery storm have confined me to the warmth and quiet of my home these last few days. Sometimes when the wind has quit its howling, I venture out to the veranda. I find the complete stillness and silence both serene and discomforting, every sound amplified. The rustling of my own dress is clamorous. Still, observing how delicate snowflakes amass into great mounds capable of thwarting the plans of man and beast invites contemplation and amazement.
As it is quite impossible for me to interfere in any investigations under these circumstances, (a prospect that you must surely find satisfying) and Mama will no longer tolerate my playing the flute, I ask you to provide me with some distraction. Perhaps there has been a crime, unsolved yet, with puzzling clues and witnesses, or a solved one involving a particular act of cleverness on your part. Even the most mundane of criminal cases would be of interest.
We have not, as of yet, found a proper location for training, but Uncle has promised to instruct me in the art of knife-throwing - a skill he acquired while in France, or so he claims. I am sure that you, too, have traveled - to Europe, or at least to Moscow. I try to imagine what it would be like to live in a big city like Paris, or St. Petersburg. Uncle describes St. Petersburg with such romantic flourish, and Mama has only ever spoken of it as dirty, noisy, and foul-smelling with far too many people. But the grand palaces and gardens - even the bustling of the crowds along Nevsky Prospekt - all entice me.
Two days ago, dear Lisa Zholdenia suffered through this foul weather to express her gratitude for my recent assistance, which I assured her was completely unwarranted. I know you will laugh at me, but I do admire how these young women can still embody such innocence and fortitude despite their frightful situation. Perhaps they shroud themselves in childlike attitudes and displays of silliness to protect themselves from the horrors of their reality. But truly, they offer kindness and loyalty to each other; they wish for friendship, love, gentleness, as much as you and I do, Yakov Platonovich.
Over the short time of our conversation - Lisa’s and mine - the weather became impossibly brutal. The wind whipped about and the snow fell so heavy that one could not see the stairs that lead to our front door. I insisted that she stay until the road became passable again. You can imagine my mother’s face when she came into the dining room for tea that day. The memory of it still amuses me. Fortunately Papa and Uncle were polite and gentlemanly; without their presence, I fear that afternoon would have ended most disastrously.
I eagerly await news of any excitement and pray the weather soon softens.
Yours truly,
Anna.