Chapter Text
Zatonsk Police Station.
June 25, 1889.
Chief Inspector Shtolman.
Dear Yakov Platonovich,
It has been a fortnight since we last spoke or communicated in any manner. I will not claim that I have not seen you. I have spied you and Miss Neginskaya at the cafe. It was not an unexpected sight. You will recall that I intercepted the two of you enjoying tea at the same establishment only a few months ago. I have also been subjected to the retelling of rumors at the dress shop, the millinery, and from the unlikeliest of sources, my father. I had dismissed them. No, that is not true. I had regarded them with suspicion but also with a nagging sense that they conveyed facts that I did not wish to acknowledge.
You have renewed your relationship with Nina Arkadievna. I suppose that it should not have surprised me. You have recently been very conscientious regarding our association, strictly maintaining a professional and decorous manner. I wish you well and accept that this shall be our final communication. Your association with the empress’s maid of honor must be the reason for your disinterest in maintaining our correspondence. Or is there something else that keeps you from writing?
As I alluded to in my previous letter, I am sorry for the loss of our easy companionship. I surely would have denied caring at all if I had been pressed on the subject, but the truth is that I feel acutely the loss of your presence as I stroll through the park on these long summer days. Uncle has been my companion on several excursions, and while he is most congenial and frequently amusing company, he cannot replace you.
My heart pains me as well, Yakov Platonovich. I know you are aware of my affection for you, despite my bristly behavior as of late. I admit to jealousy, even. And I understand now how this combination of hurt and jealousy, compounded by anxiety, confounds one’s ability to act sensibly. What I am trying to convey in my convoluted way is that I understand your actions on the day we discovered Mr. Busse’s death. While I have long ago forgiven you, truly. It is only now that I comprehend it all.
I believe jealousy played a part in provoking my rude and horrid speeches to you during our most recent encounters. I know that you have forgiven me, but I wish to explain myself. On the day that the news of Countess Uvarova’s death made its way to our breakfast table, my family was in the midst of a lively discussion, or more aptly, a denouncement, of her companion, based entirely on Ulla’s claim of mystical associations and the like. I was her lone advocate. And as I had no prior knowledge of Ulla’s abilities, I was simply admonishing my family for judging what they didn’t understand before any evidence of evil intent had been presented.
I have become accustomed to the sideways glances, confused countenances, and shushing of my parents in regards to any discussion of the metaphysical. It was my uncle’s harsh rhetoric and derision that surprised me and stung the most. Until that morning, I had never doubted Uncle’s support for my peculiar connection to the spirit world. In that instance, however, I felt that I could someday be in Ulla’s place - bombarded by accusations of engaging in fiendish practices from those I care about the most. Frightened and angry, although failing to recognize that the conflict had had any such effect on me, I swept into your investigation fully prepared for and expecting a battle. As became evident, all I needed was the slightest provocation for me to pounce.
Yakov Platonovich, it is a poor way for us to part company. I do not suggest that we have not reconciled. We have forgiven each other for our foolish and thoughtless insults and accusations. Still, our relationship feels unresolved. Perhaps it is only I who feels this way. There are certain dreams and visions that I have had, that I still have. And they, along with professions that Ulla made imbibe me with a stubborn, hopeful belief that you and I shall not forever be parted.
Yours truly,
Anna.