Lena had never seen the dowager in person before, but knew her well by reputation. Marie was over fifty years old, ancient by provincial standards. Lena had expected an older, graying woman, hunched over a cane. Yet despite her advanced years, Marie remained petite, trim, and pretty as a schoolgirl. A black fringe of bangs curled high on her forehead.
“Good afternoon, Mama.” Alexandra’s voice was a shrill squeak. Remembering herself, Lena dropped into a low curtsy.
A pair of female attendants trailed Marie into the study. They wore matching light green dresses with diaphanous outer skirts that reminded Lena of sea foam, at least the way it was rendered in the mermaid stories Olga enjoyed. The attendants approached Alexandra and gave perfunctory curtsies. One of them wore long ostrich feathers in her hat. The feathers swept across Alexandra’s face and the empress stifled a sneeze.
The attendants then set to work on Marie, removing her feather-strewn hat and shaking a light dusting of snow from her wrap. Underneath, Marie wore a dark red gown with tiny cloth roses sewn into the bodice. Alexandra’s conservatively tailored afternoon dress, so striking a moment before, looked prudish in comparison.
Marie turned to her servants. “Leave us.” Her voice sounded oddly husky, given her small frame. “I’ll ring presently.”
Heads bowed, the ladies withdrew. Lena lingered in the corner, wondering if she should follow them out of the room. Olga sat on a cushion, struggling with the whimpering puppy and scowling. Marie headed for her granddaughter and Alexandra stepped to the side, a clumsy bear trying to outmaneuver a fox.
Marie took Olga’s broad face in her hands. “She’s not chubby yet,” Marie declared, her long dark brows slanting. “But if you’re not careful she will be.”
Lena tried not to gasp. She’d never heard anyone so much as raise their voice to a grand duchess.
Alexandra withdrew a linen handkerchief from a drawer of her desk and laced it between her fingers. “Would you care for tea, Mama?”
“Only if it’s not that dreadful English concoction you insist on serving.” Marie turned to Lena and fluttered her small hands. “And she will leave us.”
Lena glanced at Olga, whose happy features had twisted. Lena stepped closer to Alexandra. “Perhaps the grand duchess might be excused as well,” she said quietly.
Alexandra nodded. “Olga, you may go. But Lena will stay.”
Olga shot Lena a grateful glance before scooting off the cushion. She hugged her mother and scurried away, the yelping puppy at her heels. Lena wished she could follow Olga. Instead, she retreated to the side table. She located Ceylon in the carefully organized wooden tea box and prepared a cup for Marie.
“You’ve cultivated such reliance on your servants, Alix.” Marie eased herself into a wicker armchair. “If you paid as much attention to the ladies of Saint Petersburg you’d find your time at court less trying. Didn’t you call Princess Zenaida Yusopov by her mother’s name last season?”
Blotches of color spread across Alexandra’s cheekbones. “Nicky told you that?”
“Why shouldn’t he confide in his mother? He needs to talk to someone who understands the pressures of his position and can advise him properly.”
Lena approached Marie cautiously, taking care no liquid should splash out of the china cup. She caught a whiff of Marie’s heavy floral perfume, so different than Alexandra’s light rose water. “I know how you detest chitchat so I’ll get straight to the point.” Marie took a cautious sip of tea and curled her lips. “I understand you convinced my Nicky to try for another child already.”
Lena’s lips parted in shock.
“Get that simple look off your face.” Lena wondered how Marie had seen her expression, for Marie’s gaze had not yet strayed from Alexandra’s face. “These matters concern the empire and the stability of this government. If you find the topic disturbing, take your leave of us.”
Alexandra clenched her handkerchief. “We continue to pray for an heir.”
“You’re no longer a young woman,” Marie said. “Successive births take a toll.”
“I put faith in God. He will see us through. And Lena Ivanovna has helped me.”
“This silly girl? When the best doctors will tell you it’s no use?”
“Lenichka is a good Russian woman,” Alexandra stammered, “from the northern heart of our empire. Her mother was a midwife. She has advised me.”
Lena bowed her head as she maneuvered a tiny ham sandwich onto Marie’s plate, trying to conceal her distress. At times Alexandra’s blind faith felt too intense.
“Did you tell her to cast a spell?” Marie asked. “Something about the moon? Have you drawn up an astrological chart? Speak up, young lady.”
Lena almost dropped the serving plate. Marie spotted her for what she was, a scared and inexperienced girl. “I only wish to help.”
“Help? To what end?” Marie narrowed her eyes. “What were you promised?”
Lena’s mouth went dry. Her brother needed her help. She couldn’t let him go to jail for some foolishness with his friends. To protect him, she needed Alexandra. Now the empress was wilting before her eyes. Lena’s foot tapped the floor and she could not will it to stop.
“This is the person you entrust with your future?” Marie said.
Alexandra straightened her back and for the first time Lena noticed how the empress towered over her mother-in-law. “I requested her advice.”
“Anyone with a modicum of sense would have fled the room the moment you did so. It’s too great a pressure. Either this girl has no brains or she wants something.” Marie leaned forward and Lena caught another stifling gasp of her perfume. “Surely you’ve heard of her welcoming attitude toward charlatans. You took advantage.”
Alexandra’s hands balled into fists. “She’s not like the women in Saint Petersburg.”
“If you believe every bit of nonsense passed on by a peasant, we’re all doomed.”
“If I believed every bit of nonsense bandied about by aristocrats, I’d think myself already doomed,” Alexandra snapped. “They say now that Grandmamma Victoria has passed to the other world, I lack protection. That the throne is in danger.”
Lena lowered her gaze once more, but saw Marie flinch, the first crack in the dowager empress’s composure. “Sounds like nonsense to me,” she heard Marie say.
Lena raised her head. Alexandra had angled her chin upward, so the difference in height between her and Marie seemed even more pronounced. Marie arched one of her long black brows.
“I do not believe the Queen of England would have countenanced such talk in her own palace,” Alexandra said. “Why should I?”
“If you must confront such talk, do so,” Marie replied. “If you must try again for an heir, do so. Only don’t raise Nicky’s hopes. Don’t disappoint him.”
“Nicky’s not disappointed. He’s exuberant. I am with child again. And this time we are having a boy.”
Lena’s heart pitched like a bucking horse. She stared at Alexandra, whose hands had come to rest gently on her stomach. The empress’s shoulders rose and fell with each deep breath, betraying her anxiety, but her lips curved into a smile. Lena supposed it was possible her advice had helped Alexandra conceive. It was even possible the empress had conceived a boy.
“I see…” Marie deigned to take a dainty bite from the sandwich Lena had served. “And how do you know it’s a son?”
“A mother always knows.”
Lena waited for another snarky comment from Marie. Instead, she saw a hint of a smile on the dowager’s face. “I suppose congratulations are in order then.”
Lena’s spirits soared. The empress had done it. At last, she’d stood up to her mother-in-law. Lena wished she could hug her mistress.
Alexandra took Lena’s hand and squeezed it softly. “Congratulations are in order, yes. And gratitude as well. For Lena. For the wisdom and goodness of her family.”
Lena shifted her weight and rocked back on her heels. Archangel was blocked in by ice
nearly half the year. During that time, Lena’s father used to behave like a caged wolf. He paced the length of their small central room, taking swallows from a flask of cheap vodka, staring blankly at sheets of snow while the wind screamed outside.
“Useless,” Lena’s mother would say as potatoes boiled on the stovetop. “And to think of the life I might have had.”
After supper, Lena’s mother would bundle up in her warmest furs, grab her bulging black bag, and take off into the freezing night to attend to a woman in labor. Lena once admired her mother’s dedication. Now she realized her mother had only been eager to escape that stifling cottage.
On those cold winter nights, when their mother ran off and their father drank, Anton used to play chess with Lena in front of the fire, on a set he’d constructed from scraps of discarded wood. “Get out of here as soon as you can,” he told her, as she twisted her hair in her hand and tried to determine how best to protect her lopsided queen. Though the words were dead serious, Anton smiled when he said them. She remembered his dimples. “Don’t end up like one of them. I’ll teach you English. That will take you anywhere in the world you want to go.”
Everyone else in Archangel accepted poverty, drunkenness, and cruelty without question. Anton had encouraged her to seek a better life. In return, she would protect him.
Nothing could hurt Anton, certainly not the careless accusations of local boys. The Empress of all the Russias had promised his safety. This knowledge made Lena feel buoyant, like a life ring bobbing in the waves, safely distant from a sinking ship.
PARIS
OCTOBER 1941
By the time they reached her husband’s building, Charlotte’s arms ached. Her hair, so carefully rolled that morning, lay wet and flat against her cheeks. She hesitated before the door, every muscle taut, and lowered Laurent to the ground.
“I’m not supposed to see Papa yet,” he complained.
“What does it matter? Papa will be glad to see you.” Stress hardened Charlotte’s voice. She kissed the top of Laurent’s head and took his hand in hers. She tried to soften her tone. “Let’s see if he’s home.”
The gold numbers on Luc’s door were ornately cut, but rusted and crooked. Just as she remembered. It had been easy enough to get inside the building. The bell was always broken. She couldn’t even blame the Germans for that. With her free hand, Charlotte rapped on the door. The thick wood hurt her knuckles.
Nothing happened. Charlotte felt faint. She was about to tell Laurent they would need to take another ride on the Métro, when she heard movement on the other side. Metal clicked against metal as the lock unlatched. Charlotte tightened her grip on Laurent’s hand.
Luc opened the door. Her breath caught. He wore loose trousers and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. For a moment, it was all too familiar, as though she’d suddenly traveled backward in time. She recognized his shirt. She’d always thought it brought out his eyes. She recognized his expression as well. He’d come to the door annoyed, prepared to launch into a speech about how he’d been disrupted.
Charlotte pushed past him, pulling their son behind her. “See,” she told Laurent brightly. “I told you Papa would be happy to see us.”
Once safely inside, she stopped. She eased Laurent down and took a moment to appraise the flat. Their flat. Luc’s flat. He had always kept things sparse, but now she noticed the bare patches on the walls and shelves where her things had once been. Oil stains blotted the carpet near the kitchen. She’d stood in this very spot once, watching the movement of Luc’s shoulders as he prepared supper, wondering how to tell him she’d missed her period when he’d been so adamant about his career and not having children. At the time, she’d thought her situation so hopeless. How petty it all seemed now.
Reluctantly, she turned to face Luc. He glanced furtively down the hall and then shut the door behind them. Now that she was closer to him, she saw his features were harsher than she remembered. He’d lost weight. But loose strands of light brown hair fell into his eyes, much like before.
Laurent ran to Luc, hugging his knees. Luc’s anger melted as he swung his son into his arms. He may not have planned on Laurent, but he never held that against him. So close, their resemblance was pronounced, though Laurent was fairer in coloring. They shared the same high cheekbones and lush brows, even the slight hooding around their lids, like they both needed a nap.
She tried to smile, but seeing them together, Charlotte felt a deep pang of regret. She saw for a moment the way it all might have been.
He carried Laurent to the window. Rain dripped off the sloping eaves of his building, where doves nested and cooed. Luc still wouldn’t look at her. He acted as though she weren’t there, as though she didn’t exist. She remembered that all too well. She hated it when he behaved this way, as though she weren’t even worth the effort it took to speak. He constantly forced her to guess what she’d done wrong.
“Laurent’s not supposed to be here for another two weeks,” Luc said.
“I didn’t have time to prepare you. It’s an emergency.” Charlotte straightened her spine. There was a subtle difference in their height and she intended to use it to her advantage. “A German soldier came to my flat looking for me.”
“What?” Luc’s voice rose, and she heard the accusation in it, as though she’d asked for any of this. “Why would a German soldier want to see you? What did he say?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want him near Laurent.” The words lodged in the back of Charlotte’s throat.
At last, Luc turned back to her, Laurent still in his arms. His gaze was intense, but in a different way than she remembered, hardly the smoldering Valentino stare he used to cultivate. She had a strange notion if she touched him she might turn to stone. “Why didn’t you find out what he wanted?” Luc demanded.
“I was with Matilda Kshesinskaya. She told me to go. It seemed like the right thing to do.”
“That woman always did have a hold on you.” Luc shook his head. His shoulders sagged. “I can manage Laurent, but we agreed it was better for us to remain apart.”
Charlotte had expected these words. They stung nonetheless. “I don’t have any friends left in the city.” Except Kshesinskaya. The guilt pressed at her chest again. What had happened to her after the soldier discovered Charlotte wasn’t there? Charlotte tried to put it out of her mind. She rummaged in her handbag for the flat, square card she used for bread. “I’ll sleep on the floor. I’ll get more ration cards. I’ll wait in line. I’ll tell them I’m pregnant to get extra milk.”
“Then the soldiers will find you. I thought that’s what you’re trying to avoid.”
“Two nights. Even one. Then I’ll leave you alone.” Charlotte desperately pressed on. She remembered the diamonds. She removed them and extended her hand. “And you can take these.”
“That’s all you left with?” Luc said.
“Please take them. I’ll feel better.”
Luc looked away again. He kissed Laurent’s cheek and then stared at his son’s face, frowning. “Laurent’s bleeding. What happened?”
Charlotte reached over and wiped a few drops of blood from Laurent’s nose.
“Did the German hurt him?”
Charlotte decided to say nothing and let Luc draw his own conclusions. That might strengthen her case.
Luc’s lip twitched. He never made decisions quickly. If she wanted his help she needed to give him space. Charlotte tried to swallow her impatience.
“Put the diamonds away, Charlotte.” Luc spoke softly now. He lowered Laurent to the floor. “You know where the toys are,” he told him. “Why don’t you play for a little while so I can talk to your mama.”
Laurent nodded and headed upstairs. Charlotte started to follow.
“Let him go,” Luc said.
“Up those stairs by himself?”
“The stairs were repaired. Do you think I would let my son get hurt?”
Charlotte clenched her fists. She r
emembered the terrible night when she told Luc she was pregnant. He’d looked at her like he wanted her to sink into a hole in the earth and disappear. Now he played the protective father. Somehow, it didn’t seem fair.
“He’s looking thin,” Luc added.
“I’m doing my best.”
“Like you did with our marriage?”
“You made me leave. It was unbearable.” Charlotte’s teeth sliced into her tongue. She was becoming the shrew he’d made her feel like toward the end. But she’d promised herself she would hold her anger inside for Laurent’s sake. “Anyway, that was a long time ago. I’m desperate now. We need you.”
“Even if I let you stay a night or two, what then?”
“I’m taking Laurent away from the city. We’ll stay with my parents. Kshesinskaya told me they could explain everything.”
“Charlotte, what’s wrong with you?” Luc grabbed an open pack of cigarettes on his table and shook one out of the box. “You materialize out of nowhere thinking I’ll welcome you with open arms. Now you want to take my son away? Your parents live in the Dordogne. The south isn’t under Nazi control, but the Vichy government is as bad.”
“It’s safer there than here.”
“You don’t know that. Besides, the Germans set up checkpoints around the perimeter of the city and in every train station.” Luc shoved a cigarette in his mouth and raised his eyebrows, as though such a thought never would have occurred to Charlotte.
His lack of faith scared her, but the memory of the soldier pounding at her door scared her even more. “I don’t know what else to do.”
“Forget it. If you want to run off, fine, but leave Laurent here with me.”
“I am not abandoning my son.”
“Leaving him with his father is not abandonment.”
“The soldier knew my name. My married name. Your last name. He knew I was a dancer. He knew I worked for Kshesinskaya.”
Luc froze, the cigarette still between his lips, his lighter hovering in midair. “Why would a German soldier care about any of that?”
“I don’t know.” Charlotte paced the room, past the worn cushions on his sofa. The movement relaxed her. She heard Laurent drag something that sounded like wooden blocks out of the closet upstairs. “But you know what they do to people. They make them disappear. God knows what they could do to Laurent.”
The Secret Daughter of the Tsar Page 7
