by Ariel Lawhon
…The Tsar deposited five million rubles in the Bank of England for each of his children before the Great War in 1914…
…I have taken the liberty to secure you an attorney by the name of Edward Fallows. It is time you had an expert on hand to protect your financial interests. Mr. Fallows has written to say that there are reliable indications that said money will be paid to the tsar’s last known legal heirs at the end of July, the ten-year anniversary of his death, if your claim to the fortune is not officially presented to the court. Please, you must contact me the moment you receive this. I’ve tried ringing you on the telephone, but Xenia has given instructions to her butler that I am not to speak with you. She claims it upsets you, but I suspect she is stalling, trying to ensure that we run out of time…
He goes on like this for three pages, laying out in detail what he knows, and also his aggravation that solicitors for the Bank of England refuse to respond to his inquiry.
…They say information regarding those balances can only be granted to the account holder, he writes, and thus it is more imperative than ever that we prove your identity…
Anna is pondering the significance of this news when Xenia Leeds passes beneath her open window. She is in the company of a man who is not her husband, and Anna pulls back from the window in case Xenia looks up.
“But how can you be so sure?” Xenia’s companion asks casually, and in Russian. His voice echoes clearly through the courtyard.
Anna knows that voice.
“She has lived with me for six months. I’ve had ample opportunity to observe her,” Xenia replies in Russian.
“Our family history is widely published. Anyone could fake it.”
“No. Not anyone. She knows things. Things only a Romanov could know.”
He stretches his arm by swinging his racket in a wide circle. “Like what?”
“She knows about the otkritie navigatie.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. She could have looked it up in a book.”
“Not if she doesn’t speak or read Russian like they claim. Besides, a detail like that means quite a bit to a Romanov. The Opening of Navigation is tradition. Don’t you remember?” she asks.
“Of course I do.”
“Then you cannot discount a detail like that. Any daughter of the tsar would remember the Commandant of St. Petersburg bringing that glass of water after the final thaw. It was the beginning of trade each year. I drank from that cup twice myself as a child. I know you did too, Dmitri.”
“It is only one thing, Xenia. And it does not convince me. It won’t convince our aunts either.”
Dmitri Leuchtenberg. No. It can’t be. Not that hateful, conniving bastard. So Xenia has broken her promise not to involve the family. Anna can feel her rage begin to boil. She glares at the two figures below.
“It’s not just that,” Xenia continues. “There are dozens of other things. Small things only Anastasia would remember. But please, it can wait. William needs to be part of this discussion. He’s in the study working but will be ready in an hour. For now let’s play. You promised to let me win at least one game.”
They walk away, their voices swallowed by distance. The farther they get from the house the more relaxed Xenia appears, and then they step through the gate and onto the courts.
Anna does not leave her chair for that entire hour. She stays seated, back straight, feet crossed at the ankles, Gleb’s letter resting on her lap. Occasionally she can hear the deep whack of the racket as it connects with the ball, and every once in a while a bit of laughter or a word in Russian reaches her ears, but the conversation itself is entirely lost.
Xenia and Dmitri emerge sometime later, red-faced and laughing. Whatever tension was present before is gone now, and Anna can tell by the look on Xenia’s face that she prevailed on the courts. The look on Dmitri’s face suggests that she did so by her own skill and not because of any gentlemanly gesture on his part.
The moment they pass beneath her window again, Anna leaves her suite and makes her way to the study on the first floor.
* * *
—
It is easy to get lost in the house at Oyster Bay. Even after six months, Anna finds herself turned around in the hallways and often mistakes one room for another. Four sets of stairs. At least a dozen different hallways. Endless doors. So, although she hurries, it takes her several minutes to find the study, and by then the door is already closed, its occupants safely tucked inside.
“Damn it all,” Anna hisses and retreats several feet down the hall to stand behind an enormous potted fern that is nearly as tall as she is. She needs a moment to think. She needs to know what they’re saying. If the windows to the study were open she could risk going outside and sitting beneath them, but she would likely be discovered. If not by William himself—she’s seen him sitting on the window ledge more than once smoking his pipe—then certainly by the gardener, a man who tends the bushes by the house with nothing short of religious zeal.
She is lamenting her lost opportunity when the maid approaches from the other direction, balancing a silver tray laden with lemonade. Anna has seen the girl on multiple occasions. She’s neither pretty nor smart, but she is dutiful and efficient and never gets in the way. But her hands are full at the moment and she cannot open the study door. So she taps at it quietly with one foot, and it is opened from within. She emerges a few minutes later carrying the same tray, now loaded down with an empty coffee service.
Even from this distance Anna can see the consternation on the girl’s face. Unable to shut the door with her hands full, she pulls it toward her with the toe of one shoe, then walks away, leaving a crack some three inches wide. The moment she’s gone, Anna creeps back down the hallway and stands outside the study door. A lucky break.
“What game are you playing, Xenia?” William’s voice is neither a whisper nor a growl, but some other menacing sound that stops Anna short.
Xenia’s answer, when it comes, sounds more bored than defensive. “Tennis, darling. Isn’t it obvious?”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” She hears the thump of something heavy being set on wood and guesses that William Leeds is done with his lemonade. “First you bring that strange woman into our home—”
“How else was I supposed to determine her true identity?”
“And have you?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“And now this man,” William finishes.
Dmitri speaks in English, with a heavy Russian accent. “I invited myself. Multiple times, in fact. Your wife was reluctant to see me.”
William’s voice is dry. “I can’t imagine why.”
“He has brought an offer,” Xenia says. “From the family.”
William curses loudly and without apology to their guest. “The family. Of course. I should have known. Of all the families on God’s green earth to marry into, I go and choose the Romanovs. I ought to be damned for my stupidity.” He sighs. “What do they want?”
“To make your guest an offer,” Dmitri answers.
“What sort?”
“The sort that will make everyone happy.”
“Why do I have the feeling it is designed to keep her quiet and to shut her out?” William asks.
Dmitri clears his throat and speaks to Xenia. “I fear you have been duped, cousin. Unforgivable, considering how much is at stake. A motivated impostor could learn many things about our family.”
“I do not believe she is an impostor.”
“What of Ekaterinburg? Does she speak of that? Does she have an explanation?”
“She will not talk of the murders, and I cannot blame her.”
Dmitri snorts. “Have you pressed her?”
“Of course not!”
“You should. It would be very telling,” he says. “What of her escape?”
“Only that
it was a ‘long, long journey,’ and that she remained unconscious for most of it.”
“Convenient. It prevents her from giving geographical details. It also prevents us from finding witnesses.”
“You are a terrible cynic.”
“This woman poses a great threat to us. It is my duty to be cynical. I’m surprised you haven’t embraced your own duties.”
“It would be nice if she started with her own immediate family,” William says, “and cared less for the one abroad.”
“You knew what you were getting when you married me. As I recall, you liked it at the time,” Xenia snaps, and then, to Dmitri, “I embrace the truth. Nothing less.”
Anna wishes she could see their faces and read their body language. Words are important, but they only tell part of the story. It’s impossible to know their full meaning without seeing how they glance at one another, pull at their sleeves, or hold the glass in their hands. A thousand truths are written across the body during any given conversation, and they often say more than the words spoken aloud.
“You exaggerate your nobility, Xenia,” Dmitri says. “This is a game to you and you want to win. Though I don’t agree with the others that it’s the money you’re after. You seem to have enough of that.”
Anna can hear the dangerous note in Xenia’s voice. “They think I’m after the money?”
“Not all of them. Just our aunts. It’s a considerable amount after all.”
“There is no proof the funds even exist.”
“I am told the accounts are not in the tsar’s name but in his children’s. And only the account holder can request a receipt. Or,” he pauses for effect, “a recognized claimant.”
William Leeds sounds truly interested for the first time. Money is a language he understands very well. “Recognized, meaning—”
“The courts would have to officially declare her to be Anastasia Romanov before she could even request a balance much less have access to any funds.”
“But the family—”
“Receives everything in the absence of a more direct next of kin.”
“Bloody ruthless bastards,” William says with a note of appreciation.
Anna takes a step back and leans against the wall, her ear near the hinges, still listening, but now pondering her situation as well. So Gleb was right about everything. No wonder he’s been so frantic to get in touch with her.
Dmitri sips loudly from his glass. “So you can see why the family is loathe to declare her, why any action must be taken with the utmost care and only in the face of undeniable evidence. It is unthinkable that such a fortune be placed in the hands of a fraud.”
“And they think I am being swayed in her favor?” Xenia pauses briefly and then her voice goes flat in disbelief. “You are here to ask that I expel her from my home.”
Dmitri doesn’t deny it. “They fear she has a strong hold on you. That you are beginning to take her part. They sent me simply to express their concern.”
“They sent you to get rid of her.”
“No,” he says vehemently. “They sent me to interrogate her. To help them make a case should this end up in court.”
“I will not allow it. Not in my home.” Xenia shakes her head. “And I cannot believe this is coming up again. I know what they’re getting at. But I am certain she is not that Polish peasant our aunts claim that she is.”
“Be careful with that assertion, Xenia. And for God’s sake don’t let that get into the papers. The family is getting ready to make a public statement about the Schanzkowskas. We must keep a united front.”
It is at these words that Anna stiffens. She had hoped that the name Schanzkowska would never be uttered in her hearing again. She thought the matter was taken care of, but apparently this is one issue she cannot put to rest. The Romanov descendants have an unshakable grip on that name. And now the accusations are surfacing again. But she will not be caught off guard this time.
There is a single telephone in the house. It’s on the first floor, in the main entrance, and is zealously guarded by the Leedses’ butler—a man so ill-humored and dour-faced he could put any imperial servant to shame. Anna breezes past him in the foyer and raises one hand as if warding off an evil spirit. She lifts the receiver without asking permission and dials Gleb’s home number.
When he finally answers he’s out of breath and sounds as though he has just run up a flight of stairs. “Botkin residence, Gleb speaking,” he gasps.
“I need you to come get me,” Anna says without so much as a hello.
“Thank God! You got my letter. I’ve been trying desperately to reach—”
“Xenia has broken her promise,” Anna interrupts. “She’s let Dmitri onto the property to interview me.”
He curses loudly and then says, “I thought we were rid of him.”
“Oh no. He’s back and has already brought up the Schanzkowska affair. He says the family is preparing to make a statement.”
“Go pack your bags,” Gleb says without a pause. “Immediately. I will be there before nightfall.”
* * *
—
The shouting match is extraordinary. Gleb and Xenia have been at it for nearly half an hour. Anna has remained silent the entire time. She is perched at the edge of a divan, hands folded in her lap, face expressionless. William Leeds sits on the window ledge behind his wife, ready to step in the moment things get out of control. Gleb and Xenia stand toe-to-toe in the middle of the study, like two boxers getting ready to tap gloves. All of this is witnessed by a third man who looks uncomfortable at best and, at moments, stricken by terror. His name is Edward Fallows and he is, apparently, Anna’s attorney. But they’ve not even had the chance to shake hands or greet each other properly because the screaming began the moment Gleb marched up the front steps and into the foyer. The butler at least had the good sense to herd them into the study and away from the eager ears of the staff. If Dmitri is still on the grounds he has long since made himself scarce. It’s the only intelligent thing the man has done all day.
“I cannot believe you brought a lawyer onto my property,” Xenia growls between clenched teeth.
“I cannot believe you broke your promise. You swore not to trap her the way they did at Wasserburg.”
“Dmitri is my cousin. I have the right to visit with him if I choose.”
“You should have done it elsewhere.”
It would appear that William Leeds is actually enjoying the altercation. He smiles and draws on the lit pipe in his hand. He’s been puffing at the thing for the last thirty minutes, from the moment his wife called Gleb a disgrace to all Russians.
“I believe this estate is ours,” William says. “And we’re rather entitled to entertain whoever we like.”
Gleb glares at him but doesn’t respond. His fight is with Xenia alone. “Why was Dmitri here? The truth.”
“He was sent by the family.”
“For what purpose?”
“To interview her. Something,” Xenia raises one long, elegant finger and points it at Gleb’s nose, “I obviously didn’t allow.”
“Only because Anna got wind of it first. Tell me about his offer.”
“It is an olive branch.”
“How so?”
“This is a very complex matter for my family,” Xenia says. “One with many moving parts. But they are aware of Anna’s suffering and do not want to inflict more upon her. They are not as indifferent as they appear.”
“They appear cruel,” Gleb interjects.
“Let me finish. Please. You barged in here and forced my hand. At least have the courtesy to hear me out.”
Gleb snorts. “Hear you? I get the distinct impression that I am, in fact, listening to the tsar’s sisters right now.”
“You are listening to us. The family as a whole. We have a proposition—a compromise if you will.�
��
“Oh, so now it’s the royal we? This ought to be good.”
“It is better than good. It is generous. Gracious, even.” Xenia turns from Gleb and crosses the room to sit beside Anna on the divan. She takes both of her hands and squeezes them reassuringly. “I am sorry about today. I never meant to betray your trust. I am your friend. You have to believe that.”
Anna says nothing, allowing Xenia to feel the full weight of her embarrassment.
“Your offer?” Gleb prompts.
“The tsar’s sisters are prepared to support you financially for the rest of your life.”
“In exchange for what?” Anna asks. They’re the first words she has uttered directly to Xenia since this afternoon.
“They will find you a secluded spot in Europe,” Xenia says, avoiding the question. “A place of your choosing. Perhaps Crimea. I know how much you love it there. Or the South of France. Tuscany, if you like. Bavaria. Switzerland. Maybe a lovely chalet in the mountains. You’ll have enough to buy a home, keep a handful of servants. Live comfortably and in peace for the rest of your days. A home of your own. I know that’s what you desire.”
It sounds too good to be true. There must be strings attached, Anna is sure of it. “And what exactly must I give in exchange for such a privilege?”
The sound that Xenia makes is not so much a sigh or a groan but a sort of gasp. The kind of noise you make when you know you’re about to be struck across the face. A pre-emptive admission of guilt. To Anna’s credit, she keeps her hands limp inside Xenia’s firm grasp. Anna does not flinch much less strike her when the answer finally comes.
“All that the family asks in return is that you renounce all claim to the name and title of Anastasia Romanov.”
“Oh!” Gleb screams with such ferocity that William Leeds finally takes a step forward in concern. “Is that all? How fucking generous of them!”
The profanity falls like a glass bowl, shattering the room into silence. Xenia is aghast, her royal sensibilities more offended by the word than by the degrading offer she’s just made. Gleb, for his part, is choking on his anger and cannot summon another word. William Leeds is giddy with the entertainment of it all. Anna half expects him to roll up his shirtsleeves and exclaim that he hasn’t had this much fun in months. Edward Fallows, however, has the look of a wolf sniffing blood. He’s leaning forward in his chair, fingers steepled, brow furrowed, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
