‘It was you who spoke out of turn,’ I reminded him.
We heard Galena exchange a warm greeting as she opened the front door. ‘Tomas!’ she exclaimed. ‘I haven’t seen you since you graduated!’
Stefan dropped the plate he was holding and it shattered on the floor. ‘Tomas is here!’ he said to me in fright. ‘Something has happened at the Moika Palace. Please don’t let him know that I told you we witnessed Rasputin’s murder. He made me swear that we’d never share it with anyone else. For shame I broke my vow to him.’
‘Don’t be ashamed.’ I collected the broken pieces of crockery. ‘You were distressed and in shock.’
‘My upset is not important.’ Stefan put his hands on my shoulders. ‘It is you I am concerned about. If the Okhrana are questioning people, Nina, say you know nothing. I will deny I ever spoke to you.’
‘Come inside.’ Galena was bringing Tomas through the house. ‘Stefan is in the kitchen with Nina.’
‘It is not Stefan I came to see,’ we heard Tomas reply. ‘I was hoping to have some time with Dr K.’
‘You are lucky you’ve caught him at home,’ said Galena. ‘He spends most days and evenings at the hospital.’
‘Not luck,’ said Tomas. ‘I’ve been waiting for hours at the end of the street to ensure he was at home, and that you had finished dinner.’
‘Have a care the Okhrana don’t recruit you,’ Galena joked. ‘Come along with me to his study. Don’t look so scared. Dr K doesn’t bite.’
A few minutes later Dr K came to the kitchen door. ‘Nina.’ He beckoned, and led me to his study, where Tomas was standing, shifting nervously from foot to foot.
‘I will leave you young people,’ he said. ‘Please take as much time as you need for your discussion.’
‘What discussion?’ I asked when we were alone.
‘I will explain.’ Tomas’s face became sober. ‘As your parents are dead I spoke to Dr K – he is your nearest living relative.’
‘You were speaking about me?’ I asked, relief in my voice that it could have nothing to do with the death of Rasputin.
‘Yes. Nina …’ Tomas’s face went red. ‘I, em, I wondered if – if …’
‘Tomas!’ I smiled. ‘Whatever is the matter?’
‘I asked Dr K whether he would consent to us being married.’ The words came tumbling from his mouth in a rush.
‘I beg your pardon?’ I was completely taken aback.
‘Nina –’ Tomas took my hand in his – ‘I would be so happy if you would become my wife.’
In all the time we’d spent in each other’s company, not for one moment had it occurred to me that this was in Tomas’s mind.
‘We get along very amiably together,’ he went on. ‘There is no shortage of conversation between us, and when I am with you I feel light-hearted. I’ve spoken to my parents and they’ve made no objection. They know the reputation Dr K has and how well-respected he is in the city, and I’m sure they would like you personally.’
‘I … I …’ My thoughts scrambled in confusion.
‘Would you consider it, Nina? Could I make you as happy as you would me?’
It was the sweetest and loveliest proposal a girl could have. Tomas was right. We did make each other laugh, and had lots of things to talk about.
‘I will not press you for an answer,’ he continued. ‘But I will tell you my thoughts. I want to quit the city. I’m not suited to the work at the Moika Palace. The conditions there have become … untenable. My parents have a house in Moscow, where my father has a friend who has said that I could practise medicine with him, with a view to partnership. I’ll be arranging transport to go to Moscow and explore the options. Most likely we will not see each other until the spring. But if everything is suitable and you are agreeable, then we could be married, move to Moscow and begin a new life.’ He looked at me for a response.
‘This is unexpected,’ I managed to stammer out. ‘I … don’t know what to say.’
‘You have not immediately said “no”. So for the moment I am content.’ Tomas relaxed and grinned at me in the way he used to do when we were working together in the Winter Palace.
I too relaxed and smiled at him.
‘May I kiss you?’
I hesitated.
‘I understand if you would rather not.’
He looked so crestfallen that I stepped forward, raised my face to his and closed my eyes. His lips were light and soft on mine. I opened my eyes. His face was suffused with pleasure.
‘I am ecstatic,’ he whispered.
‘Tomas—’ I began.
‘That one kiss will sustain me for the months we are apart.’
‘I need time to think.’ I said this reluctantly, unwilling to crush him.
‘Of course. Of course.’ Tomas nodded as we walked towards the door. ‘But you have given me hope.’
I left Dr K’s study in a daze. Stefan was on the stairs. Swaddled in a warm blanket and armed with hot-water bottles, he was on his way to his own rooms.
‘I have asked Nina to marry me!’ Tomas burst out with his news.
‘Oh!’ Stefan looked down at us. ‘Oh! Oh, indeed,’ he said. ‘Congratulations. Yes. You are … suited to each other. I hope you will be happy.’
I looked at him. His face was pulled in an expression I could not read. Annoyance or disappointment?
We stood like that, saying nothing, until Galena came hurrying from the kitchen – for Tomas had gone ahead to tell her of his proposal. ‘Is it true?’ she asked me. ‘Are you to marry Tomas?’
‘I-I-I said I would think about it.’
‘Oh, you must think about it very carefully,’ she said, and swept her glance over me to linger on Stefan. ‘Everyone should think about it very carefully.’
Chapter 32
In the streets of the city and throughout Russia there was rejoicing over the death of Rasputin.
When the house was quieter I went to my room and unlocked the carved casket. The dagger seemed unnaturally still. But the stillness was not a quietness of spirit. It was more a shadow, waiting. A malignant thing, creeping in the darkness. I looked to the corners of room where Stefan had glanced nervously on the night of Rasputin’s murder.
Rasputin … The dagger he owned had not saved his life.
Therefore it was a fraud.
And if it were a fraud, then so too was this dagger.
Thus I need not fear it.
Yet I did.
Galena’s footstep was in the hall. She would be bringing me my hot-water bottle. I snapped down the casket lid.
I dreamed of wolves that night. Howling at the moon. Packs of them ravaging the land, leaving a trail of blood over the snow.
When I awoke unrested, I resolved to pray for the soul of Father Grigory. In my mind was the holy image of the Mother of God with the Christ child on her knee which hung in my father’s study. And I thought of the candle I’d lit before I left my home.
I knew that in the Alexander Palace a thousand candles would burn in memory of their dear friend. The Imperial Family would be heartbroken. The girls would weep for days, but at least they had the comfort of their sisterhood. I imagined Alexei becoming sullen and rebelling even more against the rules imposed by poor Dr Botkin. But it was the health of the Tsarina which would take the biggest blow. By her own admission this woman could barely function with Rasputin gone for only a few days. The news of his permanent passing could cause a total breakdown of her mental faculties.
She was to be pitied, and I said as much when the others were once again discussing his death.
‘Rasputin may have been a scoundrel,’ said Galena, ‘but one would not wish such a death on anyone. The Tsarina and her children will mourn him deeply.’
‘I mourn Rasputin too.’ I felt compelled to speak up, for I believed that Father Grigory Rasputin did have deep empathy with suffering. It was what caused him to try to ease Alexei’s pain and to donate sums of money to feed the starving refugees. He was deeply
flawed and egotistical. Yet I could understand why he craved alcohol to blot out reality.
‘You genuinely mourn the passing of Rasputin?’ Stefan said in surprise.
‘He thought that sending our soldiers to the battlefields was causing the annihilation of the Russian people. Rasputin said it was a crime against humanity, and that the war should be stopped, regardless of the price to be paid.’
‘Halting the war without considered negotiation is not a viable solution,’ said Dr K.
‘Rasputin didn’t think deeply on any subject. In many ways he was a shallow man who lived from day to day. It was his undoing and’ – I paused as I considered the possible further consequences of his death – ‘perhaps that of the Romanovs too.’
‘That would be a good result from his death,’ said Stefan. ‘To have the Romanovs removed.’
Stefan said this so often that it had become his mantra. His bitterness hung around his neck like the giant stone collar that former serfs were made to wear as punishment for trying to escape. And, like them, for Stefan there was no escape. He claimed that with the Romanovs as leaders Russia could neither prosper nor move on. But a country needs someone to rule it. The Imperial Family were pleasant, well-meaning people. Who would replace them if the Tsar was forced to abdicate?
A major complaint against the Tsar and Tsarina concerned their inability to make decisions and lack of clear action. But in the matter of Rasputin’s death, the Tsarina was not just deranged – she was vengeful, and determined. Following rapid investigation, the forces of the law made their way to the door of the Moika Palace.
Prince Yusupov’s clumsy attempts at concealment failed. Bloodstains were found on the doorstep and firearms confiscated. The police gathered witness statements from the gatekeeper and others who had seen Rasputin enter the courtyard and never leave. And the Prince had boasted to his friends about what he termed his ‘noble deed’. The evidence mounted up so that it could not be ignored.
It gave me two reasons to be glad that Tomas had left for Moscow. Firstly and most importantly, it meant that he was safely out of the city and away from the wrath of the Imperial Family should his connection to the murder ever be discovered. Prince Yusupov and his fellow conspirators were banished from the city. While publicly denying the charge, privately Prince Yusupov was unrepentant – claiming that he’d done the monarchy and the country a favour. If Tomas’s role in fetching the poison had come out, then, being of a lower class, he might have received a harsher sentence.
The other reason why I was happy to see Tomas go was that it gave me time to think about his marriage proposal. I had no doubt that with little effort on my part he would be a contented husband. But would I be a contented wife? He would love me and indulge me and make me smile. Was that enough to enable two people to spend the rest of their lives together? I had no experience of a happy marriage. I knew that my parents had adored each other, but I’d not witnessed how they lived and got along day by day.
As the year ended and a new one began, Tomas’s letters arrived. When he wrote of how he was settling into his medical position in Moscow and into the appropriate society for someone of his rank and status, I realized that there was an overriding reason why I couldn’t agree to be his wife. I was the child of an unwed couple. If we were officially engaged, his parents would investigate my background. They would soon find out that my present name as the familial niece of Dr K was false, and that my original name had no legitimacy. They would never accept a union with me for their son. I could not marry Tomas – even if I wanted to.
Father Grigory Rasputin was buried on the estate at Tsarskoe Selo in a funeral service arranged by the Imperial Family. I wasn’t totally surprised when, some weeks into the new year, I received an invitation from the Alexander Palace to attend a private service in his memory.
‘They will use this opportunity to emotionally blackmail you into staying on with them,’ Dr K said. He and Galena were adamant that I should refuse.
But what Sergei delivered was not just the official invitation on embossed card; it included a handwritten note from Olga – the eldest daughter, with whom I’d been most friendly.
Prince Yusupov has left the city, Olga wrote, to be with his wife, our cousin Irina, in the Crimea. We are starved of company, Nina, and would like to see you and talk of happier times.
‘It’s about what they want.’ Stefan shook his head as I read it out. He looked at me intently. ‘You should not go there.’
Of course I went – to the disapproval of everyone in the house, and also of Sergei, who collected me.
‘Young lady,’ he said, ‘the royal estate at Tsarskoe Selo is not a place where you should dally for long.’
The girls were there to welcome me, and after the memorial service Olga linked my arm with hers and said, ‘You must stay with us until tomorrow at least. The sun goes down so early at this time of the year and the coachmen hate driving the roads at night.’
And so I stayed, and that night became two, and three … No letter came from Dr K to ask how I was, or to urge me to come home, and I slipped easily back into that semi-dream world, coddled in a cocoon of royal privilege.
Each evening as they ate supper they talked incessantly of Father Grigory.
‘We knew that there was something wrong,’ said Maria. ‘I had a nightmare and awoke the next day with a feeling of dread.’
‘His habit was to telephone every morning and speak to Mama and ask how Alexei had slept,’ said Tatiana. ‘He’d reassure them that he kept them in his prayers and so, if he was unable to call in on any day, they were content that he was always watching over them.’
‘Mama is bereft without him,’ Olga confided in me. ‘Most days she keeps to her room and doesn’t speak to us directly – only Alexei is allowed in. We can hear her praying and constantly calling out for Father Grigory to guide her thoughts. He used to advise her on many things, Nina, even matters of State. She’d tell him which minister was doing what and ask his advice …’
There was doubt in her tone. And I saw that Olga was old enough to appreciate that this might not have been a good idea. She was the eldest child, and although she cared for her mother she was closer to her father. I suspected that she longed for the uncomplicated days of her youth – before her brother was born, before the workers began to make demands; when the Russian people did not blame their Tsar for their misery and her father had more time to dote on his children.
For now the Tsar was fenced in with increasing problems. The Prime Minister, who’d been only appointed last November, was gone by the new year, and in January 1917 yet another took up the position. In a show of bravado the Tsar declared that the Spring Offensive would provide victory in the war. I knew that Eugene had written to Stefan to tell him that what was happening at the Front was a massacre. Many of the soldiers had no guns! But I didn’t mention this. Instead, I sank into their dumb complicity of denial.
Then a telegram arrived to say that Tsar Nicholas would come for a short visit. Servants spent the day scurrying about to prepare for his arrival. The Tsarina roused herself to order the dusting of already immaculate furniture, and the preparation of special dishes to tempt his appetite. Alexei insisted on wearing his sailor suit, while the girls and the Tsarina spent hours dressing and having their hair arranged. I’d no expectation of meeting the Tsar, but thought it best to change into a fresh nursing uniform. It was fortunate that I did, for members of the Imperial Family’s personal staff were summoned to the hall as his carriage approached.
Arms outstretched, the Tsarina greeted her husband as he entered the palace – as though they might actually embrace in public! The Tsar was shorter in height than I’d expected and looked tired. Upon seeing his wife, the slight figure in military uniform straightened up and seemed to grow in stature.
‘Imperial Highness.’ The Tsarina spoke formally to her husband and took his arm.
His face glowed with affection and he allowed himself to be led through the hall to
his children and then past the personal staff. He greeted each person courteously by name, and the next moment he was before me. I bowed my head as the others had done.
‘This is Nurse Nina,’ said Alexei. ‘I wrote to you about her.’
‘The storyteller’ – the Tsar’s eyes twinkled and he stroked his moustache – ‘of whom my son speaks so highly?’
I stuttered a reply. I didn’t hate the Romanovs as Stefan did, but nor did I consider myself a dedicated monarchist like Galena. Yet my breath quickened in the presence of the man millions believed to be God’s representative in Russia.
However, in the relaxed seclusion of his family home, the Tsar of all the Russias behaved with his children like every doting papa. He chatted and played with them, but signs of nervous exhaustion became apparent when matters of State were brought to his attention. Reports of differing opinions among his ministers appeared daily. These caused him to fret and pace the rooms of the apartments, endlessly talking to himself – as if he could not come to a conclusion, far less a decision, regarding the direction of his government.
The Tsarina, still shattered by the loss of Rasputin, did her best to soothe and protect him. When he reminded his family that he would have to go back to the Front, they swarmed around him, hugging and kissing him so much that the Tsar himself was reduced to tears. He broke away to walk to the window and compose himself.
He breathed upon the glass and, with a finger, drew the outline of his face, his hair, his eyes and his fine moustaches.
‘You are as handsome as when we first met.’ The Tsarina, admiring his impromptu portrait, stepped near to her husband. ‘Must you leave us so soon?’
With a hopeless gesture the Tsar replied, ‘It is my duty to be with our troops.’ He took her hand, and together they turned towards where their children sat.
Behind them, on the window, the condensation melted, causing the lines of the drawing to disintegrate. The Tsar’s image trickled down the pane; the moustaches drooped on either side of his mouth, the contours about his eyes morphing to heavy bags, his face instantly ageing.
The Rasputin Dagger Page 16
