Free Midnight in St. Petersburg by Vanora Bennett

don’t need help,’ sang out like a slap in the face.
    Yasha had never been able to be cautious for long. Now he opened the door and walked in.
    â€˜Or perhaps she could help out in the workshop for a few days – just till the end of the week, say,’ he suggested boldly, catching Leman’s eye. ‘Sweeping up. Running errands. There’s plenty she can do to make herself useful.’
    Leman looked back at him in relief, and raised his eyebrows hopefully at his wife.
    But Madame Leman was looking hard at Yasha. ‘You’ve changed your tune,’ she said.
    Yasha blushed. He had, and for reasons he couldn’t quite understand. But Inna was family, and, as he was telling himself now, families must stand together.
    *   *   *
    It was Madame Leman who gave Yasha a bowl of soup and some bread to take up to Inna in her room.
    He knocked on her door, but he was inside before she answered. He only stopped when he saw the red-rimmed eyes in the tight white face she turned towards him. The brittle pride she’d displayed downstairs hadn’t lasted once she was alone. She’d been crying.
    Appalled, he muttered, ‘Oh…’
    She was sitting on the bed, with her back to him. Only her neck and head moved. She had a flowery shawl wrapped around her shoulders, over a night robe. The tears were in the past, at least, though only the very recent past. When he’d come in, he realized, she’d had her dark head down, concentrating on something in her lap.
    As soon as she’d understood who was standing there, having broken into her privacy, her face had gone cold, though her eyes were flashing.
    â€˜Oh … you ,’ she said, quickly looking away. She put all the scorn she could into the formal word vy – his choice, earlier, he recalled, ashamed. He heard something small drop as she got up, carefully, standing cautiously behind the bed, with her hands behind her back. With exaggerated unconcern, she bent and quickly picked up whatever the small item was that she’d dropped, putting it, and the hand holding it, quickly into the pocket of her gown.
    She was hiding something.
    â€˜I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he said. Calling her ty now was the closest he could get to an apology.
    His cheeks were hot again. She must think he’d come to gloat. It wasn’t an unreasonable thing for her to think, either, given how he’d been. Shame at his outburst earlier made his heart thump so hard he couldn’t bring himself to speak. All the flood of other things he’d so wanted to say, while he was hastening upstairs – to tell her he’d guessed about the letter, and about how his parents must have left her – just faded away.
    â€˜I’ve brought you some food,’ he tried again in a penitent tone.
    â€˜Thanks,’ she said, shortly, looking down.
    â€˜And I wanted to say that Madame L. says it’s all right for you…’ He corrected himself. ‘… that she’d be happy for you to stay till the end of the week. You can help us out in the workshop to earn your keep.’
    For a moment, he thought he caught the green gleam of relief he’d hoped for in her eyes, but then her face tightened again. She wasn’t grateful to him . She still didn’t want him near her.
    â€˜That’s kind of them,’ she told her feet. ‘I’d like that.’ She paused. ‘Just put the food on the floor. I’ll come for it in a minute. I was just…’ She didn’t want to pick up the food, he now realized, because she didn’t want him to see that hand.
    He put down the bowl on the floor, as she’d told him to, but as he straightened up he looked more closely.
    She’d put her other hand to the shawl at her throat.
    It had a handkerchief wrapped around it, which hadn’t been there when she was playing downstairs.
    â€˜You’ve hurt yourself,’ he