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and was executed by Nicholas. She’s really a liberal.’ She pursed her lips in a show of disapproval that made her look even more beautiful.
    ‘Frederick used to join our discussion group in Zurich,’ she said, turning to her companions. ‘He spoke to us about his time at Cambridge University and of his friend Professor Maurice’s ideas about Christianity and socialism. But he’s read Marx too.’
    ‘Are you a believer, Dr Hadfield?’
    ‘This is my younger sister, Evgenia,’ said Vera, introducing the questioner.
    Evgenia had her sister’s fine features and chestnut hair but her face was a little fuller, and, if not as classically beautiful, it was less severe. Hadfield had enjoyed the company of another of the Figner sisters in Zurich: Lydia had studied medicine tooand rented rooms with Vera and her unfortunate husband. He had been closer to Lydia than her older, more formidable sibling. She was not as pretty, but warmer, with a bold sense of fun, quite careless of society’s good opinion. They had been lovers for a time. The memory of it made him feel uncomfortable.
    ‘A believer? Only in Christ’s teachings.’
    ‘Frederick does not accept the need for revolutionary methods,’ said Vera acerbically.
    ‘Terror? No. That sort of talk was fashionable in Switzerland. Some of our comrades were intoxicated with the idea that a revolutionary should be free to murder and steal on our behalf to bring about a more civilised society. Dangerous romantics, and very naive too.’
    ‘You’ve spent too long away from Russia, Doctor,’ said Evgenia sharply. ‘Our experience has taught us to view things differently.’
    ‘A lot has changed since I saw you last,’ said Vera. ‘Things are worse here.’ And she told Hadfield of the months she and Evgenia had spent ‘among the people’, working in the villages and hamlets of Samara.
    ‘You know, I was twenty-five years old and I’d never spoken to a common person before, not properly. We travelled the countryside visiting what the peasants call their “stopping huts”. Within minutes there would be thirty or forty patients – sores, wounds, skin diseases, incurable catarrhs of the intestines and syphilis. Filthy, unhygienic – in some places the pigs lived better.’
    The Figners had held political classes to persuade the peasants the tsar was not their champion but their oppressor. Only a revolution could bring a more equal society, better health and education to Russia.
    ‘But what is the point in trying to convince people whose only concern is survival that they should protest, resist – they were completely crushed, Frederick.’
    In the end, Vera and Evgenia were forced to flee. All over the country young radicals were being rounded up and charged with political crimes. Most were guilty of no more than calling for an end to despotism.
    ‘It was hopeless. We were going to change nothing, it was the same story everywhere – protests broken up, arrests, persecutions . . . but it was at this time . . .’ Vera’s voice tailed off as if she were in two minds about saying more. Then, after looking carefully about: ‘Alexander Soloviev came to visit us to talk to us about his plans . . .’
    A frisson of anxiety tingled down Hadfield’s spine. Vera leaned closer: ‘Are you afraid?’
    ‘Only for you – and your sisters.’
    She gave a short humourless laugh: ‘Don’t be.’ Then, lowering her voice until it was barely more than a whisper: ‘We’d already agreed there should be a direct campaign of violence against landlords and the police but it was impossible to recruit people to carry it out. Alexander Soloviev felt the death of the tsar – one man – would purify the atmosphere, that it would help persuade the intelligentsia of the need for a campaign among the masses.’
    ‘Purify? Oh, please,’ said Hadfield. ‘Tell me you weren’t foolish enough to be part of it.’
    ‘Alexander is a martyr.’ Evgenia’s voice was shaking with barely