Death With Dostoevsky Read online

  ‘I hope that doesn’t mean her latest prey – or intended prey – is here as well. I really don’t want to have to witness that again.’

  ‘I am afraid you may not be able to avoid it. She has cast her eye on one of your Russian students, I think, and I understand he will be here, slaving away on his thesis.’

  Emily set down her fork in sudden horror. ‘Not Daniel Razumov?’

  ‘If he is the one who resembles Raskolnikov, oui. It is he.’

  Emily dropped her head into her hands. She’d come here looking for peace, quiet, and undistracted study. With Taylor Curzon’s new target sitting right across from her, she would have been better off staying in Stony Beach.

  TWO

  The next morning, somewhat dazed due to a poor night’s sleep punctuated by the feet of restless cats on sensitive points of her body, Emily arrived at her desk to find Daniel’s side of the table empty. With a small and guilty rush of relief – for, although Daniel was quiet, she found interaction with him draining – she organized her piles of cards, books, and notebooks on the table. She frowned at the resultant clutter. If so little wood was visible now, before she had even begun, what would the space look like when she got going properly?

  Her mind flashed her an image of the Windy Corner library at Christmastime, when a group of writers – including two scholars – had gathered there to work. Each writer had a laptop, and that appeared to be sufficient to keep all their notes and research in order. Emily waved the treacherous thought away. She was determined to stick with her old-fashioned ways. How could she enter into Dostoevsky’s world of quills and quartos if her own work existed only in the intangible miasma of a computer screen?

  She steeled herself and set to her task. After an hour or so of good solid note-taking, she stretched and yawned, feeling the need for more coffee. One could bring coffee into the library but not obtain it there, and she hadn’t thought to bring a thermos.

  As she was debating whether it was worth interrupting her flow to go in search of caffeine, she heard footsteps, and Daniel came into view. Behind him followed a young woman who looked familiar as well. Indeed, that pale, ethereal face, its pure bones revealed by blond hair sleeked back into a flawless chignon, was too striking to forget – though her name escaped Emily for the moment. She watched as the couple approached – Daniel shuffling, head down, backpack on one shoulder and a cup of coffee in the opposite hand, and the girl gliding over the floor with the erect grace of a dancer, a cup in each hand. She must be thirsty.

  They paused by Emily’s desk. Daniel nodded a wordless greeting. The girl’s face opened in a shy smile. ‘Professor Cavanaugh? I don’t know if you remember me – Svetlana Goldstein. I was in your Intro to Comp Lit class last year.’

  ‘Of course. Nice to see you, Svetlana.’ She stood and moved to shake Svetlana’s hand, then stopped because both the girl’s hands were full.

  Svetlana held out one of the cups. ‘Daniel told me you were working here. We thought you might like some coffee.’

  The flush on Daniel’s downturned cheek told Emily that the ‘we’ was a polite fiction – the coffee had been solely Svetlana’s idea. She took the cup gratefully. ‘Thank you. That was very thoughtful.’

  ‘Cream and sugar?’ Svetlana produced a packet of each from a pocket.

  ‘Just cream, thanks. You think of everything.’

  Emily was about to ask the girl about her Paideia activities, but Daniel was leaning toward his own side of the table, his eyes hungry. Clearly he was eager to get to work.

  Svetlana noticed this as well. ‘We won’t keep you.’ She smiled again and moved to the chair next to Daniel’s while he settled himself. Emily returned to her work.

  At midday, her concentration wobbled when Daniel and Svetlana rose from the table and headed out. She glanced at her watch and realized she was hungry, as well as stiff from sitting for so long. She stood and reached for her purse and a book to read over lunch, then put on her coat and followed the students out of the room.

  She stopped by the restroom on her way out, so the others were well ahead of her by the time she emerged from the library. Just as well; she would avoid the awkwardness of seeming to want to force herself on their company. The way they walked together – Daniel trudging head down, Svetlana leaning slightly toward him as she matched her naturally buoyant pace to his – spoke volumes about their relationship. It would probably not be one in which a third party was welcome.

  At the Commons, Emily got her food from the cafeteria line – a spartan salad, to compensate for overindulgence in Katie’s rich food over Christmas, and a cup of hot soup to warm her bones – and scanned the dining hall for a quiet corner, not difficult to find at this time of year. But before she could reach her chosen retreat, Svetlana called to her from the middle of the room.

  ‘Professor Cavanaugh? Would you like to sit with us?’

  The true answer would have been no. Among the things Emily did not miss about her old job was getting involved in the drama of students’ lives, and Daniel carried drama about with him like an incubus. But Svetlana’s musical contralto held a hint of something more than mere friendliness – of entreaty, perhaps. And Emily could never resist an innocent, vulnerable creature who needed her help.

  She put on a smile and changed course for the table where the two students sat. Daniel looked up from shoveling food into his mouth and managed a nod. Svetlana positively beamed.

  ‘How is your work going?’ she asked Emily.

  ‘Reasonably well. It’s a bit odd getting back in the saddle after all this time away. But I did a little work over Christmas, so it isn’t entirely foreign.’ The girl’s conversational gambit seemed to have exhausted itself already, so Emily forged ahead. ‘What brings you to campus for Paideia?’

  Svetlana shot a sidelong glance at Daniel – a glance full of both love and anguish. He put down his fork to squeeze her hand. Not the anguish of unrequited love, apparently, but requited love could bring plenty of anguish of its own.

  ‘Partly Daniel. He works better when I’m around. But also, I need to do some prep work for Russian Three Hundred. Professor Curzon gave me a D last semester, and I’ve got to bring it up.’

  ‘A D?’ Emily remembered Svetlana as both intelligent and conscientious, and her Russian first name suggested she had some background in the language, at least by blood. How she could have earned a D was baffling. As was the fact that she knew about it – Bede’s policy was that students were not automatically notified of their grades, though they could find out if they were persistent enough. ‘How do you know?’

  Svetlana’s fair, translucent skin reddened. ‘My father insists I check my grades every semester. He’s determined I get into law school.’

  Emily could not hide her surprise. Law seemed like the last profession to suit a gentle soul like Svetlana. ‘And you? Is that what you want?’

  Svetlana stared at her plate, her eyes glistening. Daniel spoke for her. ‘Law is what her father wants. Sveta wants to dance.’

  ‘My mother was a prima ballerina,’ she said, meeting Emily’s eyes. ‘Back in Russia, before she met my father. Now she teaches – she taught me. I’ve always loved ballet. It’s what I was born for.’

  ‘Why don’t you go for it, then? This is the twenty-first century. You can’t let your father control your whole life.’

  The sleek blond head shook mournfully. ‘You don’t know my father.’

  Emily tactfully let the subject drop. It was clearly a painful one with no easy resolution in sight. And since, in fact, she did not know Svetlana’s father, there was nothing she could do to help. Except, perhaps, find out why Curzon had given the girl a D.

  And, speak of the devil, there was Taylor Curzon now, emerging from the cafeteria line and scanning the room like a hawk searching for prey. Her eye fell on their table and sharpened as a triumphant smile spread across her face. Red spike heels clicked over the tiled floor toward them even as Emily willed the heels to turn aside
. But Taylor Curzon was not so easily deflected.

  She didn’t sit, though, but merely stood in the space between Emily and Svetlana, her gaze trained on Daniel as if the two women were not there. ‘Daniel,’ she said, her sultry voice making his name sound almost obscene. ‘You missed our meeting.’

  Eyes fixed on his plate, Daniel mumbled, ‘I was busy. Had to meet with Professor Uspensky about my thesis.’

  ‘Another time, then. We really must discuss your overdue paper for my class.’

  Daniel nodded, still not meeting her eyes. Hoping to deflect her attention, Emily said, ‘Hello, Taylor.’

  Tossing her long, highlighted curls over her shoulder, Curzon turned as if astonished to discover someone else at the table. ‘Well, well, if it isn’t our resident heiress. Or not so resident. What brings you back to our humble campus? Not bored with the high life so soon?’

  Emily gave a tight smile, determined not to rise to Curzon’s bait. ‘I’m working on my book on Dostoevsky. I need the Bede library for that.’

  ‘Oh, yes, that quaint little project you always go on about. Do you really think anyone wants to read about an author’s faith in this day and age? Isn’t it all rather passé?’

  ‘Not to me. And honestly, I don’t much care how many people read it. I’m doing it for my own satisfaction as much as anything.’

  Curzon raised one well-trained eyebrow. ‘I suppose you can afford not to care. You don’t need the money or the career boost, do you? I understand you’re retiring completely after this year?’

  ‘Where did you hear that?’ Emily had more or less decided to retire since her engagement to Luke, but she hadn’t communicated that decision to anyone at Bede except Marguerite – who was not the type to gossip about her best friend’s private affairs.

  Curzon shrugged one shoulder, managing to infuse the simple gesture with a languid sensuality. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Around.’ She gave a false smile. ‘Is it true?’

  ‘I haven’t decided yet,’ Emily prevaricated. And when I do decide absolutely, you’ll be the last to know.

  With a smirk, Curzon turned back to Daniel. ‘I’ll expect you this afternoon, Daniel. You know my hours.’ She fixed her gaze on him until he was compelled to look up, if only long enough to nod. ‘Ta-ta for now.’ She twiddled her fingers at him and turned away.

  Not once had she so much as glanced at Svetlana, whose face was now rosy red. The look she shot at Curzon’s retreating back would have felled a woman of less unassailable self-confidence, but Curzon’s hip-swinging gait did not falter.

  The three of them stared at their plates for a moment, their internal waters churned up in her wake. Emily recovered first and was about to make some innocuous remark when they were interrupted again, this time by a young man who looked the age of a student but was dressed more like a professor – and by Bede standards an exceptionally formal professor at that – in the stereotypical round wire-rimmed glasses, tweed jacket with leather elbow patches, loose corduroy slacks, and nondescript bow tie. His brown hair was slicked back with some sort of product that gave it a greasy shine.

  ‘Svetlana, Daniel, how lovely to see you,’ he said in a nasal, singsongy voice that grated on Emily’s nerves. He set his tray on the table and sat down, as nonchalantly as if he had been invited, then turned to her with an outstretched hand. ‘Sidney Sharpe. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.’

  ‘Emily Cavanaugh.’ She took his hand and had to repress a shudder – it lay in hers as damp and limp as a slug. She dropped the hand and wiped her own surreptitiously on her skirt.

  ‘Are you a professor here? I don’t recall seeing you before.’

  She nodded. ‘Comp lit. I’m on sabbatical this year but came back to work on a research project over Paideia.’

  ‘That explains it. I just transferred in last semester. I’m studying Russian lit along with my friends here. With a minor in computer science to pacify the hungry career gods.’ He smiled at Svetlana and Daniel. Svetlana’s mouth twitched in response, though her eyes darted like a cornered animal’s; Daniel did not even look up.

  Sidney took a large bite of sandwich and spoke again before he had quite finished chewing. ‘What are you researching?’

  ‘Dostoevsky. The way his faith plays out in his fiction.’

  ‘Ah, the immortal Fy-oh-dore Mee-hey-lovich.’ His atrocious accent hit Emily like a slap in the face. She was glad she would never have him in a language class. Her ears would be scarred for life.

  ‘Daniel’s working on the great F.M. too, aren’t you, Dan?’

  Emily cringed again. She’d never heard anyone call Daniel Razumov ‘Dan’. The diminutive sat so ill on him, Sidney might as well have called him Frank or Bill. The look of loathing Daniel directed at Sidney confirmed he shared Emily’s opinion. But still he did not speak.

  Sidney was unfazed. ‘I’m rather fond of the old gent myself. I may do my thesis on him as well. That is, if you two geniuses leave anything unsaid.’ He gave an unmusical guffaw that belied the exaggerated compliment.

  ‘I don’t believe anyone could exhaust all there is to say about Dostoevsky. Certainly not myself,’ Emily said repressively. She took a last spoonful of soup and realized she’d lost her appetite. She gathered her dishes back onto her tray and stood. ‘If you all will excuse me, I think I’ll get back to work.’

  Svetlana shot her a glance of horrified entreaty and hastily gathered her things as well. ‘I’ll walk with you, if you don’t mind.’ Daniel followed suit, and the three of them left the table together. Sidney smiled them on their way as if he’d had nothing to do with their hasty departure and was not in the least offended by it.

  Once they were outside, Daniel said to Svetlana, ‘Have to get something from my room. See you over there.’ He squeezed her hand and headed across the quad to the Old Dorm Block.

  Svetlana watched him go, her eyes troubled, then turned to walk with Emily toward the library. Once they had left the Commons well behind, she said as if she’d steeled herself for the effort, ‘I was hoping to have a minute alone with you.’

  Emily gave the girl an encouraging smile. In her years of teaching she’d grown accustomed to students confiding in her. She had the rare ability to listen attentively and to empathize.

  ‘I’m so worried about Daniel,’ Svetlana burst out. ‘He needs peace in order to work. I was hoping Paideia would provide that, but between Professor Curzon and Sidney …’

  There was no need for Svetlana to finish her sentence. ‘I take it Professor Curzon has … taken a special interest in Daniel?’ Emily couldn’t bring herself to speak the plain truth – Curzon was trying to seduce him. Marguerite had warned her, and she had now seen the clear signs for herself.

  ‘You know what she’s like. Don’t you? Once she … targets a guy – it’s over. Either she gets him into her clutches and then discards him, or if he resists, she ruins him academically. There’s no way out.’

  Emily nodded. She’d seen it happen too many times. ‘And Daniel is resisting?’

  ‘She disgusts him. He’d rather kiss Baba Yaga.’ Baba Yaga was the repulsive hag villainess of many a Russian fairy tale. ‘Besides, he’s …’ She paused, her translucent cheek flushing.

  ‘He’s in love with you.’ Emily put a hand on Svetlana’s shoulder. ‘That’s perfectly obvious, even though he’s not the demonstrative type.’

  ‘Well, yes.’ Svetlana gave a shy smile. ‘We’d be engaged by now if—’ She faltered.

  Emily took a stab in the dark. ‘If not for your father?’

  The girl nodded, now blushing deeply. ‘He wants me to wait until after law school and then find someone … “suitable”. Which means another lawyer or a doctor, from a wealthy family, and preferably Jewish. Even though I’m not.’

  ‘You follow your mother’s faith?’

  She nodded. ‘We’re both Orthodox.’

  ‘As am I.’

  Svetlana looked up at her. ‘Are you Russian by blood? I never thought – I mea
n, you don’t look … and your name …’

  Emily smiled. ‘No, I’m not Russian. I visited a Russian church years ago to get the feeling of it, so I could understand the literature, and I fell in love with the Orthodox faith. I go to St Sergius, across the river. When I’m in town.’ Regular access to her home parish was one of the perks of living in Portland that Emily was looking forward to during her stay here.

  ‘Oh, of course. I go to Annunciation.’ Emily knew that name as that of a more recently established parish in the southeastern suburb of Milwaukee. ‘That is, when I can get there. The bus service on Sundays is pretty bad.’

  ‘You’re welcome to catch a ride to St Sergius with me while I’m here. Or perhaps we could take turns between the two.’

  ‘That would be such a comfort.’ Svetlana impulsively squeezed Emily’s arm. ‘I wish I could get Daniel to go. I’m sure it would help him find peace.’

  ‘Daniel strikes me as an intrinsically spiritual person. Surely one day he’ll come around.’

  Svetlana nodded. ‘He is baptized. I’m sure he’ll be drawn back eventually. I just hope it doesn’t take a complete disaster to make it happen.’ Her look of entreaty returned. ‘Is there anything you can do, Professor Cavanaugh? About Curzon?’

  ‘Please, call me Emily. I don’t know if it’s appropriate for me to get involved. Daniel could just report her.’

  ‘But she’d only deny it. It would be her word against his, and as a professor, she’d be sure to win.’

  ‘That may be true if it’s only his word. It would help if other victims of hers came forward as well.’

  ‘I think they’re all too intimidated. They need an advocate. Someone in authority who’s sympathetic. Someone like you.’ Svetlana accompanied these leading statements with a winning smile.

  ‘I don’t know what I can do, Svetlana. The administration tends to look the other way unless provable harassment is involved. But this is certainly a case of harassment, provable or not. I’ll do what I can. That woman is a menace. It’s time she was stopped.’