Sacha shook her head. "She caught the train back to Petrograd an hour ago. That's one reason why I came here. The convent is closed, boarded up, you can't return there, but you are welcome to stay with my mother and me until you can find somewhere of your own."
It was a kind gesture, and I smiled gratefully, as I also relaxed in the knowledge that Sofiya was not there. "Thank you, I have been worrying about that since Yuri told me what is happening."
I paused for a moment, and reached out my hand to her. She took it and held it tightly with both of her own, returning my smile.
"Sacha," I continued, "I know you think Sofiya's plan would be good for me, but it's not what I want. I thought hard and long before stepping out of the church, it was not an easy decision to take. And yes, I knew the soldiers were there."
"I knew I was right!" she exclaimed, smiling tensely with satisfaction. "What exactly was going on in that strange place between your ears?"
I grinned; this was more like my old friend Sacha, the one I remembered from our brief time together at Alexander Palace. I stuck out my tongue, and she laughed and squeezed my hand.
"I was at the top of the bell-tower," I explained, "and saw the soldiers moving into position. I was sure they had to be there for me, perhaps alerted by my mother's visit; it didn't cross my mind that it could have been the Abbess Elizabeth they wanted. I decided that, if I was going to die, it would be on my terms, not trying to scuttle away like a mouse startled by the light. That's why I took off my robes; I didn't want them to kill a nun, or be restrained from shooting because they thought I was a nun."
"I think you were very brave, if misguided. But why did you want to die? It was a shock when I heard what you had done, especially after we had been talking about the future the previous day."
"It was the thought of the future we discussed that repelled me, Sacha. I cannot be Tsarina, it's not in me. I believe that people should be free to choose their own destiny, not have it foisted on them by some-one who knows nothing of their lives ~ who, in fact, owns them, like slaves. My intention was that the royal line should end with my death, never to rise again. It wasn't really bravery, more like a coward's way out of a difficult situation."
She shook her head. "I can't understand your thinking. You could have a fine life, and perhaps bring about changes for the better in Russia."
"It would be a false life, Sacha; against all my principles."
"Well, it's your choice, Natalie dear. What will you do next?"
"You have to remember to always call me Mia," I admonished. "There must be no slip-ups."
"Oh yes, Mia," she said thoughtfully, looking at me. "I suppose I can get used to that."
"As for what to do next," I continued, "that is a hard question to answer. It is a great help that I can stay with you until Max arrives. I hope that then we will be able to continue our escape. Somehow we have to get to England."
* * *
Sacha left, promising to return the next morning, and the rest of the day passed slowly. Lunch was served, soup and bread, then cleared away. I dozed for a while ~ my wound sent me a twinge occasionally, lest I should forget it, but I didn't feel too bad, and was enjoying my enforced rest.
Late in the afternoon, Yuri brought me a small bundle containing my identification papers, my robes and shoes. "Is this really all you have, now?" he asked, setting them on the narrow table between my bed and the next.
"Yes, that's it," I said. "What little else I own was left behind in Nizhny, including my diaries."
"Ah, your diaries, yes. You will need them if you are to write your book."
I smiled, wanly. "I don't suppose I will ever see them again, and perhaps that is just as well. Can you tell me about the Abbess, Yuri? What is to happen to her? Will she be murdered, like the rest of the family?"
He shook his head. "She is being held under arrest for the time being, but will probably be deported to Germany, her home country."
I stared across the room for a while, the beds arranged along the green-painted walls in neat rows, with white sheets and grey blankets. The people in them anonymous, like extras in a movie ~ a doctor attending one, a nurse drawing screens around another.
My memories flashed past like the pages of a book, flipped by phantom fingers. Images of the events that had brought me to this place. I could not help worrying about Max. How will we find each other when he arrives in the city?
"What about all the other nuns?" I eventually asked Yuri, to break the silence.
"They have been sent to their home towns," he replied.
I thought about Alice, already on a train back to Nizhny Novgorod, I supposed. She and the others had risked their lives for me; I hoped they were safe.
~ A Kind of Prayer ~
Oh Max, my darling. Where are you now? Can you hear me?
It is seven days since we were separated at Nizhny, when you last held me and kissed me, and I watched you walk away between those two men. It seems longer. I miss you so much.
Every time I close my eyes, like now, I can see you ~ standing in the garden at Yekaterinburg, nervously introducing yourself, or sitting in your sister's kitchen, laughing with her as you told me about your childhood. And when all is quiet, like now, late at night, I hear your voice, singing to me that lilting song from Ukraine as you made love to me for the first time. Even my skin remembers your touch, and tingles again.
But now I am alone in a strange bed, and instead of escaping, my love, I am trapped here in Moscow, longing for you. The complex plan to get us to safety has floundered. The Abbess has been arrested, the convent is now closed, and I am in hospital for tonight. Thankfully, Sacha will make sure that I have somewhere to sleep until you arrive.
My mother has appeared, like an unwelcome ghost. She has become something in the Whites, telling everyone about my royal blood, so now they think I am their next queen; I dread to think what the Reds will do if they find out. If only it could have been Myriam who visited me, with her wise words, but I suppose her job is done now.
Take care, my love. I yearn for the moment when we are together again.
Goodnight, darling.
I love you.
Chapter 3
~ Moscow, Sunday 28 July 1918 ~
The doctors, satisfied that I was not suffering from anything worse than the surface wound to my forehead and the mild concussion the impact had caused to my brain, released me from the hospital the following morning, with instructions to rest. My head was tender, under the bandages, but the fierce ache of the previous day had subsided, at least partly, and I was declared fit to face the world. Clearly, since I was naked when I left the convent, I didn't have any of my own clothes, so the nurses gave me some (that had been donated, ironically, by the convent). Yuri had brought my nun's habit, but he had warned me not to wear it, as the new regime did not approve of religions, and some of the soldiers were ready to abuse anyone in monastic clothing. My only real possession, still around my neck, was the silver chain and birthstone pendant that had been given to me for my seventeenth birthday by Alexandra and Nicholas when we were in exile in Tobolsk together.
Sacha arrived in the ward to collect me; I was sitting in the chair beside the bed that was no longer 'mine'. She led me from the building and into the sunshine of another warm day. Then she confused me by opening the passenger door of a gleaming green motor car that was parked near the hospital doors. "Come on, jump in," she said, grinning at my amazed expression.
"This is yours? You can drive these things?"
"It's not so hard. I bought it to take my mother around, and the nice people at the garage showed me what to do."
I climbed carefully in, feeling the cold leather seat through my thin clothes and smelling the strange mixture of petrol, oil and paint that seemed to accompany every motorised vehicle. Sacha deftly swung the starting handle, then jumped in, slamming the door shut, making me wince as the vibration rattled my head. She manouvered us out of the hospital grounds, and soon we were windi
ng through the city, the sickly fumes from the engine gradually building up and overpowering my delicate senses. Sacha chattered on, pointing out landmarks, oblivious to my growing nausea. In better circumstances, I would have enjoyed the experience, but in my tender state I was grateful when we stopped outside an apartment building and Sacha cut the engine.
* * *
Sacha and her mother lived on the third floor of what had once been quite a smart block of flats, though it was beginning to show signs of age and neglect. As we climbed the stairs together I felt a growing tension. Although I loved my friend, and was grateful that they were putting me up, I was dreading the expected inquisition when we were alone, about my motives and plans for the future. I resolved to avoid answering any questions.
However, it was nothing like that. I found that her mother was a very different woman from the one I had met at Alexander Palace, eighteen months earlier. The Countess Evgeniya Dolgorukov had aged visibly. Gone were the sharp eyes and insightful spirit; in their place was a woman who peered out at the world in fear and pain. She spoke little, and contributed nothing to the stilted exchanges between Sacha and me. The day passed slowly, and conversations with her were short.
"It is sad to see how she has declined," I commented to Sacha in the evening, when her mother had retired to bed.
"She has been slowly fading away since the news of daddy's death. He was her whole world, and she lived every day in fear of what was sure to happen eventually. She hates the new order, and wanted you to accept your mother's plan. She was amazed when the news came that you had tried to sacrifice yourself."
I studied her face, to see if there was any sign of recrimination, but saw none. "You and Sofiya made a good case," I replied, "but I could not face the prospect of becoming a figure-head for more violence."
"I still think that you could be the best ruler for this country."
"But Sacha, that's just where I have the biggest problem. The people don't need a ruler, they need a leader, and they have chosen one."
"Lenin?" she prompted.
I nodded. "Yes, and whether you or I agree with their choice or not is unimportant. Even if it is the wrong choice, it is for them to make that decision and to live with the consequences."
"You agree with them, though, don't you?" She looked me in the eyes, probing.
"As a matter of fact, I do. Somehow, the idea of the people controlling their own lives seems right to me. I hate the fact that, up to now, the citizens have been handed down from one Tsar to the next like the crown jewels."
"But how much control can the people have?" she said, forcefully. "It seems to me that all they have done is replace a monarchy with a dictatorship. They are being ruled by a committee now, led by one man ~ what is so different?"
I was surprised at her summary, and unable to think of a response. "I admit it looks that way," was all I could manage, allowing the subject to drop.
"Anyway," she suddenly said, brightly, "it's getting late, I expect you are tired."
"Yes," I agreed, nodding tentatively. The dull pain pressing inside my temples had been building through the afternoon. I touched the bandage gently at the spot where the bullet had been deflected. Was it Myriam's doing? Had she saved my life by misdirecting the shot? "My headache has returned," I added, lamely.
She stood, and held out a hand to me. "Then you must rest. I'm afraid you are sleeping with me, we don't have a spare bed. When Sofiya stayed, I shared with my mother so Sofiya could have my bed ~ it was not satisfactory." She grinned. "You could sleep with her, if you prefer."
"Thank you, I think I like the first option better," I grinned, accepting the hand and rising slowly to my feet.
"Good! I've been wanting to share a bed with you since we first met," she said, then quickly turned away and headed towards the door, where she paused to wait for me, not meeting my eyes.
For a moment, I wasn't sure I had heard correctly, but her embarrassed reaction was clear; she meant what she had said. I reached her side, and squeezed her hand. "Come on then, lead the way," I said, smiling.
She took me to a small bedroom, pretty with floral covers and curtains, and a window that looked out over the glittering lights of the city. There she left me to undress and put on the nightgown that she had laid on the bed for me. When she returned, wearing her own nightie, I was between the covers.
She slipped in beside me, and we lay on our sides, looking at each other, holding hands. When I was younger, growing up as a servant at Alexander Palace, the twins and I had shared a room and a bed; we had slept together, like this, and sometimes not slept. Now I found comfort in the closeness of my friend.
Sacha read the tiredness in my eyes and smiled. "Goodnight," she said, softly.
"Goodnight, Sacha. Thank you."
We kissed, gently, then she turned her back to me, pressing her bottom into my tummy and hips. I snaked my hand between her waist and the arm that rested on it, and snuggled closer. I found a breast and, lightly stroking her skin, drifted into sleep.
Chapter 4
~ Moscow, Monday 29 July 1918 ~
My first thought when I awoke the next morning was about Max. The travelling circus, in which he had been concealed from Avadeyev and his murdering cohorts, was due to pull into Moscow station on its own train sometime that day. At last the waiting would be over, and we would be together again.
With excitement building inside me, I opened my eyes. Beside me, Sacha was already awake, looking at me with a smile on her lips. We kissed lightly and held each other for a little while, stroking each other's skin with our fingers.
"I have to help mother in the kitchen," she said, eventually, slipping from my arms and out of the bed. I watched as she dressed, as slim and lithe as a deer. She left her wardrobe door open; "Take your pick from here," she said, waving a hand at the row of clothes hanging inside. "Most of my things should fit you."
I thanked her and, as she left the room, I climbed out of bed and looked through the clothes she had indicated, choosing a simple, long plain dress with patch pockets on the breast. While putting it on, I found that I was quietly singing again that Ukranian folk song, 'Oy u Hayu' ~ which translates as 'In A Forest Glade' ~ with which Max had serenaded me on the night we first made love.
* * *
After making the bed, I joined Sacha and Evgeniya in the kitchen for breakfast, a simple meal of bread and a boiled egg each.
"Do you have any idea where the circus will set up?" I asked as we ate.
Sacha shrugged, and looked to her mother to answer. "The only place I ever saw one was in Sokolniki Park," the older woman replied.
"Is that far from here?" I enquired.
"It's north of the river, you could probably get a tram," suggested Sacha.
"Aren't there usually posters announcing things like this, telling people where to go?" I looked from Sacha to her mother.
The old lady seemed unsure. "I haven't seen any, have you, Sacha?"
My friend shook her head.
It was a weird, disjointed conversation.
"I don't know what time their train will arrive," I added despondently, "or even which station."
Sacha reached out a hand to touch mine in a gesture of sympathy. I placed my own hand over it, and managed a wan smile, but I was distracted by a strange look on her mother's face, a twisting of the mouth, a lowering of the eyes. It was not something I could give a name to, or comment on, but it was odd. She would not meet my eyes, but picked at the remains of her meal on the plate before her. I registered it, recorded it as perhaps being significant, before turning back to my friend and smiling my thanks.
When we had cleared away the breakfast things, Evgeniya retired again to her room, and I sat still while Sacha removed the hospital dressing from my head wound. I saw her grinning as she unwound the bandage, and demanded to know what was so funny. She went to the bedroom and brought back a hand mirror which she held it out to me. When I looked into it, the first time I had seen myself for days, I
saw that the hospital had completely shaved my head; all that remained of my lovely dark hair was a kind of blue shadow.
"I look like a Buddhist monk!" I spluttered. "They didn't have to shave it all off!"
"It would have looked worse if they left half behind, silly," she said, smiling broadly. "Then you would have looked like a clown!"
By that time, though, she was examining my wound. "You are really lucky to be alive," she admonished. "Another inch, and the bullet would have smashed right through your skull. It might even have gone into your brain, if it could find it."
Ignoring her dig, I studied the wound via its reflection in the mirror. It was a groove, about four inches long in total, running diagonally from a point near my hairline, above my right eye, ending above my right ear. The doctors had pulled the flesh neatly together with a line of stitches, and it was no longer bleeding, although Sacha showed me the yellow/brown stain on the dressing she had removed.
After she had applied a clean pad, and fixed it in place with a shortened bandage, we set about plundering her hat drawer for something I could wear to cover my bald head, eventually settling on a modern knitted bonnet with flaps that fell over my ears. It was the wrong time of year for it, really, but it was better than the bandage-and-shaved-head look.
* * *
"Would you like me to come with you to look for the circus?" Sacha asked as we washed the breakfast things.
I hesitated to impose on her further, but my need to find Max rose above every other thought. and she knew her way around the huge city. "Thank you," I replied, gratefully. "I must try to catch him before he leaves the circus; if he goes to the convent to find me he could run into trouble, and he will have no idea what has happened to me."
She dried her hands and picked up the dishes, opening a cupboard door and putting them away. "I could give you a guided tour of the city in the process. We can leave the car at home and take the tram."
I grinned. "Perfect!"
Half an hour later we were sitting in an electric tram, clattering our way towards the city centre. It was a bright morning, and Sacha occasionally pointed through the window at some places of interest, but I was distracted, trying to spot any posters for the circus, without success.
Natalie Tereshchenko - The Other Side Page 2
