by Sara Judge
For Sarah
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Copyright
Chapter One
Autumn 1913 – Tsarskoe Selo
Valerie Marsh was met at Tsarskoe Selo railway station by a tall cavalry officer.
‘Pyotr Silakov,’ he introduced himself, bowing smartly then jerking his head at the man-servant to take Valerie’s two suitcases.
‘The motor car awaits us in the yard, Miss Marsh, and I am to escort you to the Empress immediately,’ he said.
Valerie was very surprised. She had thought that she would be met by Anna Vyrubova. She was even more surprised when the officer turned and strode away, forcing her to scurry after his retreating back. Were all Russian gentlemen so impolite?
But in that short introduction she had noticed that his hair was a very dark brown beneath his flat-topped hat, his eyes were a vivid blue in his lean sun-tanned face, and he spoke very good English.
Pyotr Silakov’s white cavalry jacket was decorated with gold epaulettes on his broad shoulders, and gold buttons on his chest, and his deep blue breeches were thrust into long black riding boots that sported silver spurs.
Being the only child of a hard-working vicar in south London, Valerie tried not to be overawed by her magnificent companion. But when she saw the shiny black motor car standing in the yard with a chauffer at the wheel, she could not contain her excitement.
‘I have never sat in a motor car before!’ she exclaimed, as the man-servant opened the door and she climbed into the gleaming leather interior.
‘Have you not?’ Pyotr Silakov seemed bored by her delight and took his seat beside her without further comment.
‘Tell me about Tsarskoe Selo, please.’ Valerie was determined to enjoy her drive to the Imperial palace, and hoped that her companion’s cool behaviour would warm a little when she showed genuine interest in her new surroundings.
Looking down at the small, dowdily dressed female beside him, Pyotr heaved a sigh of silent distaste. Miss Marsh was not only a foreigner, but an English one, at that, and now she wanted to talk, which only added to his annoyance.
Pyotr had learned English at school and was good at the language, but once his regiment moved out to Tsarskoe Selo and he found favour with the Tsar, he heard the alien tongue spoken far too often for his liking.
Due to Empress Alexandra, who was a granddaughter of Queen Victoria, everything English was admired these days. There were English chintzes in the Imperial apartments, English furniture in all the rooms and, more irritating than anything else, English was spoken continually between the Tsar and his wife.
Thank heavens the grand duchesses and their brother spoke together in their native tongue, but Pyotr was not at all happy about this intrusion by an English girl.
Miss Marsh had no title, she was obviously without means judging by the appalling way in which she dressed, and she was now to be planted in the midst of the young Romanovs to encourage them to speak more English.
‘Tsarskoe Selo translates as “the Tsar’s village”,’ said Pyotr crisply, ‘and there are two Imperial palaces at the centre of the park. One is the huge Catherine Palace and the smaller one is Alexander Palace, where we are going now.’
‘And where I will meet Grand Duchess Olga,’ said Valerie, with a smile. ‘Do you have much contact with the Imperial family?’ She did not know what to call him. Mister didn’t sound right. Should she call him sir? She turned her head to look up at him. ‘I hear they are a most devoted family. There are four daughters, are there not? And the one boy is the youngest?’
Pyotr nodded. ‘Alexis Nicolaievich is Sovereign Heir Tsarevich, Grand Duke of Russia, and nine years old.’
Valerie pondered. ‘What is the simplest name I can call him?’ she asked. These Russian names seemed incredibly long to her.
‘You may speak of him as the tsarevich, but must always address him as Your Imperial Highness, if he speaks to you.’
She inclined her head. ‘Grand Duchess Olga is eighteen, the same age as me. How old are the other girls?’
‘Tatiana is sixteen, Marie is fourteen, and Anastasia is twelve,’ he said. ‘Now look out of the window, Miss Marsh, we are entering the Imperial park.’
Obediently Valerie gazed out at the high iron fence that surrounded the park. Two Cossack horsemen in scarlet tunics, black fur caps and boots, with shining sabres at their sides, were riding around the outside of the fence.
‘Are they on guard?’ she asked.
‘The Cossacks are on continual patrol around the park,’ said Pyotr. ‘And within the grounds are hundreds of infantrymen, who make up the Imperial Guard, as well as some cavalry detachments. One of which is mine.’
Looking again at the animated face beside him, he noticed for the first time the luminosity of her grey eyes and the softness of her upturned mouth. She was not beautiful, but very feminine despite her dreary grey-blue coat and schoolgirl’s hat. Fleetingly he wondered what colour hair she possessed for not a strand was visible beneath the thick felt on her head.
Pyotr Silakov began to appear almost human now. ‘Where is your home?’ she asked. ‘Have you any brothers or sisters?’
Valerie liked people, and had often helped her father with the poor and needy in his parish of Putney. She enjoyed talking to them and hearing about their lives.
‘My home is in the Ukraine,’ said Pyotr, his voice showing affection for the first time, ‘on our estate near Kamenka. It is called Mavara.’
‘Mavara? What a lovely name.’
Miss Marsh might be a foreigner, but she appeared to be reasonably intelligent.
‘And I have one sister,’ he went on, ‘called Tassya. She was hurt in a riding accident three years ago and is paralysed from the waist down.’
‘Oh no!’ Valerie bit at her bottom lip. ‘Can nothing be done to heal her?’
Pyotr shook his head. ‘A little wooden chair has been made for her and her maid-servant pushes her wherever she wishes to go.’
‘Poor Tassya. I cannot imagine how dreadful it must be not to walk.’
‘Or ride,’ he said. ‘She was a wonderful horsewoman in the old days and would often beat me when we raced together.’
But that was Life, thought Pyotr. Tragedies had to be accepted. It was the Will of God. Even the Imperial family with all their fame and fortune were not free from grief.
‘Here we are, Miss Marsh.’
Thankfully they had arrived at their destination, and as the man-servant went round to open Valerie’s door, Pyotr climbed out on the other side.
In a few short minutes the little stranger had discovered far too much about him, and had even made him forget his dislike of her. If they had travelled together for very much longer he might have shown interest in her, and that would have been insane.
Count Pyotr Silakov had to marry a wealthy woman. A great deal of money was needed for his crumbling estate, and to care for his crippled sister in the future.
As Valerie stood gazing up at the palace with its brickwork of yellow and white designed in simple classical style, Pyotr collected his thoughts
.
‘We are going to the right wing, Miss Marsh,’ he said. ‘Which houses the private apartments of the Imperial family.’
With her heart beating a little faster, Valerie followed him through a polished hallway and along a richly carpeted corridor. There were footmen everywhere, standing before closed doors, and opening others as she and the cavalry officer advanced. But not a word was spoken and some were standing at such rigid attention they could have been mistaken for statues.
Then another door was flung open and she was there.
Valerie entered a big room that was filled with comfortable armchairs and several sofas. Low, white draped tables were set in front of various chairs, and on them were glasses in long silver holders and plates of biscuits.
When a tall figure moved forward from the far end of the room, Valerie found herself curtseying to Empress Alexandra as Pyotr Silakov bowed beside her.
‘Valerie Marsh,’ said a quiet voice, ‘I hope you are not too weary from your travels. Please be seated. We will have tea when my family join us and then Olga will take you upstairs. Thank you, Count Silakov,’ she inclined her head at the young officer, ‘you may now return to your duties.’
He was a count! Thank heavens she hadn’t called him Mister, thought Valerie. Then she turned her attention to the Empress of all the Russias and her companion, Anna Vyrubova.
The Empress was wearing a loose, flowing white robe trimmed at her throat and waist with lace. And as she spoke to Anna, Valerie admired her thick shiny hair, which was coiled into a bun at the back of her neck.
Far tidier than mine, she decided, and wished she could have a wash and brush-up. But her coat and hat had been taken by one of the footmen, and the Empress had not given permission for her to leave the room. She wouldn’t have known where to go, anyway.
Gritting her teeth and hoping it would not be long to tea-time as she was feeling extremely hungry, Valerie went on studying her companions.
Empress Alexandra was very tall and straight-backed, wearing white pointed shoes with low heels. She had a pleasant voice and moved gracefully, seating herself on the sofa between Valerie’s chair and Anna’s. But she did not smile and Valerie was surprised by her sad expression.
Anna Vyrubova was very different and Valerie would have liked to speak to her. It was Anna’s original idea that had started this exciting adventure from England. But the Empress claimed Anna’s full attention so Valerie could only look at the large soft lady dressed in navy blue, and listen as she answered the Empress in her breathless, little girl’s voice.
When Grand Duchess Olga came in, it was quite a relief. Valerie felt instantly relaxed in the company of a young and amiable person.
‘I am so glad to meet you, Valerie,’ said Olga, coming to sit beside her on another upright chair. ‘And I want you to tell me all about your life in Putney.’ She had thick chestnut brown hair and blue eyes, and a warm smile, which lit up her broad Russian face. ‘I expect all this will seem very strange to you at first, but you’ll soon get used to our large family and feel at home here.’
‘I’m sure I will be happy here,’ said Valerie, smiling back, ‘and I hope to learn Russian very quickly. Your knowledge of my language puts me to shame!’
Olga laughed and then introduced her to the rest of the family as they came in.
Tatiana was tall and elegant like her mother. Marie had the largest blue eyes that Valerie had ever seen. And Anastasia was short and cheerful and brown-haired.
When Tsar Nicholas came to join them, Valerie rose and curtsied again. His smile was as warm as Olga’s, and his English was perfect.
It soon became clear that he and the Empress were devoted to each other and the whole family adored the handsome, auburn haired tsarevich, Alexis, who came in last of all.
Valerie wasn’t sure if such adoration was good for the blue-eyed boy, who seemed a little wild and wilful to her; after her upbringing of self-restraint in the quiet vicarage, such behaviour seemed indulgent.
But perhaps such affection was to be expected towards the heir to the throne, and they were certainly a very happy family.
During the surprisingly modest repast, with tea being poured into the long glasses, no milk, and biscuits being the only form of nourishment, Valerie remembered Mrs Duffy’s fruit cakes and scones with longing.
Although there was only money for necessities at home, Mrs Duffy, who had been their housekeeper for as long as Valerie could remember, always made sure that their stomachs were full.
Here, at Alexander Palace, she accepted two glasses of hot tea and nibbled on a biscuit, hoping it wouldn’t be too long before supper.
When the Tsar left the room, the young people also stood up and departed for their own rooms on the floor above.
‘Now that we are older Tatiana and I have our own bedrooms,’ Olga said, leading Valerie along a wide corridor. ‘But until recently we shared a room, as the two youngest do now.’
‘And the tsarevich has his own room up here?’
‘Of course!’ Olga stared at Valerie. ‘Alexis will be the next tsar of Russia and has a complete suite of rooms at the end of this passage. Our brother must be treated with special consideration as well as—’ she paused, then changed the subject. ‘Now, here is my room, Valerie.’
She led the way into a charming bedroom, with icons and paintings on the walls, and a magnificent white bearskin rug on the bare floorboards.
‘Your room is next door,’ said Olga, ‘and please tell me if there is anything you want. My maid will look after us both.’
Valerie was delighted with her room. Although simply furnish ed it was far more comfortable and feminine than her cold, stark room at home. The bed was covered with a white quilt embroider ed with vine leaves. The dressing-table was frilled with the same green and white. And on the floor she, too, had a bearskin close to the bed.
How good it would feel on a cold winter’s morning to put her feet on that fur and curl her toes into its softness. The food here might not be as good as Mrs Duffy’s, but her bedroom was pure luxury.
Next morning Valerie and Olga sat sewing together in the girls’ private sitting-room. Tatiana and the others were still at their lessons but Olga, being the eldest, didn’t have to study so much and could spend time practising her English with Valerie.
She wanted to know about Valerie’s connection with Mrs Lees, the banker’s wife, who had accompanied her from England as far as St Petersburg.
‘My mother and Mrs Lees were childhood friends,’ said Valerie. ‘And when my mother died, Mrs Lees wanted me to visit her, but I wouldn’t leave Father at such a time.’
However, nine months later came a letter from Anna Vyrubova. Anna had long had dealings with Mr Lees at the bank and she was, moreover, the Empress’s best friend.
Anna explained that the young duchesses led very secluded lives out at Tsarskoe Selo, and she had suggested to the Empress that the friendship of an English girl, of good family and education, would be an excellent idea for a year, or so. The Empress had agreed.
‘My father persuaded me that such an opportunity should not be missed,’ Valerie said. ‘And he has Mrs Duffy to take care of him, so I said yes.’
‘I am so glad that Mrs Duffy is there and you are here with us,’ said Olga.
The grand duchess was so pretty and warm-hearted, Valerie wondered if she had any male friends.
‘Do you meet many young noblemen?’ she asked, hoping Olga would not be offended by the question.
Olga looked across at Valerie with intense blue eyes.
‘There has been some talk of Crown Prince Carol of Romania,’ she said. ‘But Papa thinks I am too young to worry about such matters and I won’t leave Russia, Valerie.’ It was the first time she had spoken so passionately. ‘I have told Papa I am a Russian and will remain a Russian.’
‘What about the handsome soldiers I see guarding the palace? They are all Russian, aren’t they? Though I suppose even high-ranking officers are not the right
quality for a grand duchess?’
She was thinking of Count Pyotr Silakov.
Olga shook her head. ‘They would not be suitable for any of us,’ she said. ‘But what about you, Valerie? Is there a gentleman waiting for you back in England? Or would you like to be introduced to some of our splendid Russian men?’
Valerie blushed. ‘I don’t know anyone special at home,’ she said, ‘but a very handsome officer met me at the railway station and escorted me here. His name was Count Pyotr Silakov.’
‘Excellent!’ cried Olga, putting down her sewing and clapping her hands. ‘A titled gentleman to escort you to the Grand Ball at the Winter Palace.’
‘What is the Grand Ball?’ Valerie was surprised by Olga’s enthusiasm. ‘And I don’t have the right clothes for a very special occasion. Besides, the count may be married. He wasn’t very friendly when we got talking in the motor car.’
‘I shall ask Papa to find out if this count has a wife. Then, if not, Papa must command him to partner you at the Ball. The Grand Ball is held in the Winter Palace in St Petersburg,’ she explained, ‘and marks the beginning of the season. And do not worry about clothes, dear Valerie. If you cannot borrow something suitable from me, one of our seamstresses will make you a beautiful gown.’
Valerie closed her eyes. To be invited to the Grand Ball in St Petersburg was exciting enough. But to go on the arm of a young and handsome count would be the most romantic thing that had ever happened to her. Just wait till her father and Mrs Duffy heard about that!
She opened her eyes and looked across at Olga.
‘I still cannot believe I am here,’ she said.
‘You are really and truly here,’ said Olga, with a contented little nod, ‘and your new life has only just begun, Valerie Marsh. You have still to meet our beloved holy man.’
‘Holy man?’ said Valerie. ‘Do you mean a priest? Or a monk?’
‘Just a very ordinary man,’ said Olga, ‘a peasant, really. But one with God-given powers. Now, no more surprises or your poor head will burst!’ She stood up and moved across to take Valerie’s hand. ‘Come on, English girl, let’s go out for a walk in the fresh air and see if you can point out your handsome count to me!’
