The groundbreaking ceremony was brief and to the point. The imam in attendance referred to Veronica as honorary tsarina. She liked the sound of that, even if it was no longer accurate. He then mentioned Veronica and Laurent’s ties to the Romanov family. He did not specifically mention Laurent’s speech, or his support for Reb Volkov, but he did refer to Laurent and Veronica as “friends of the community.”
As the imam spoke, Veronica thought she saw a familiar face hovering in the back of the crowd. His image was fuzzy, as though somehow he was there and yet he was not.
She closed her eyes. Counted to three in her languages. Opened her eyes again.
He remained, smiling calmly in her direction. She knew him. She recognized his face immediately, along with the eighteenth-century attire and the medallion with Catherine’s portrait pinned to his jacket. The auburn hair. The slight tilt to his head, so she couldn’t see his bad eye. He may have been a figment of her imagination, but at that moment she didn’t care. She was glad he had made it and she returned his smile. Prince Grigory Potemkin knew his mosque would be built at last. He nodded at her and then slowly faded from view.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When considering historical subjects for a companion novel to The Secret Daughter of the Tsar, I knew I wanted to visit the time of Catherine the Great. Given what Veronica learns about her Romanov identity, I thought she would feel motivated by Catherine’s reign and her accomplishments. A chat with a good friend and fellow history buff led me to Prince Grigory Potemkin. Although Potemkin’s dogged pursuit of the mosque is my invention, it was inspired by the portrait of the prince drawn by Simon Sebag Montefiore in Prince of Princes: The Life of Potemkin. Potemkin strikes me as a man of the Enlightenment: cosmopolitan and fascinated by the multicultural landscape of his homeland. According to Montefiore’s work, the construction of a mosque in Moscow was at least a small part of Potemkin’s negotiations with the Turks in 1789–90. The friction between Potemkin and Catherine’s final favorite, Platon Zubov, though fictionalized, is based on historical records.
For the story set in the present, I wanted my fictional universe to deal indirectly with the 2012 arrest and imprisonment of members of the punk group Pussy Riot. I wanted to deal in a more direct manner with the escalating homophobia in contemporary Russia, particularly the passage of the so-called gay propaganda law by the Duma in 2013. It is my hope that in the coming years, the situation for the LGBT community in Russia will improve.
I wish to extend heartfelt thanks to my agent, Erin Harris of Folio Literary Management, and my editor, Vicki Lame of St. Martin’s Press. I would be lost without the moral support and thoughtful commentary of friends and fellow writers Melissa Jackson and Lou Ann Barnett, as well as my family, who worked so hard to spread the word about my first book. Finally, thank you to Barbara Hom-Escoto for introducing me to Prince Potemkin.
SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY
Anthony, Katherine (translator). Memoirs of Catherine the Great. New York City: Alfred A. Knopf, 1927.
De Madariaga, Isabel. Catherine the Great: A Short History. New York: Yale University Press, 1990.
Goscilo, Helen, and Vlad Strutkov (editors). Celebrity and Glamour in Contemporary Russia: Shocking Chic. New York: Routledge Taylor & Francis Group, 2011.
Massie, Robert. Catherine the Great: Portrait of a Woman. New York: Random House, 2011.
Montefiore, Simon Sebag. Prince of Princes: The Life of Potemkin. London: Phoenix Press, 2001.
Polovtsoff, Alexander. The Favorites of Catherine the Great. London: Herbert Jenkins Limited, 1940.
Rounding, Virginia. Catherine the Great: Love, Sex, and Power. London: Hutchinson, 2006.
Sergeant, Phillip. Courtships of Catherine the Great. New York: Brentano’s (year unknown).
Soloveytchik, George. Potemkin: Soldier, Statesman, Lover and Constant of Catherine of Russia. New York: W. W. Norton and Co. Inc., 1947.
Prologue
HVIDORE ESTATE, COPENHAGEN
OCTOBER 1927
The clanging of the old woman’s summoning bell echoed across the kitchen. Annika raised her voice higher with the other girls to drown out the sound. She wanted to hear the latest gossip free from interruption.
The laughter soon gave way to intermittent giggles and then ceased altogether. A moon-faced sous chef regarded her with a sly smile, as though Annika’s every move was destined for failure. Annika stuffed another bite of herring in her mouth and let the greasy skin slide across her tongue. The glacial stares sank her spirit like a stone. If Annika proved derelict in her duties, she’d be released without pay. Someone else would inherit the unenviable task of gratifying Marie Romanov’s every last whim. She passed a linen napkin over her lips and excused herself.
Upstairs, Annika found Marie perched in her favorite flowered armchair. Despite the frigid autumn chill, the exiled dowager empress had ordered her chair moved from its place in the sun to a less conspicuous corner of the room. Annika suspected Marie didn’t want the young visitor to count her wrinkles in the fading light.
The visitor was bent over a tarnished silver samovar now, pressing the wolf’s head–shaped spout to refresh Marie’s tea. “Nicholas and Alexandra encouraged your granddaughters to pursue sports, did they not?” He spoke impeccable Danish, though his thick German accent struck each consonant like a mallet. “I understand that even at the end, while the royal family was held captive in Siberia…” When he spotted Annika at the door, he hesitated mid-pour and forced a tight smile.
“There you are,” Marie snapped. “What took so long?” She drew her ratty ermine stole closer around her neck and made a flicking motion with two fingers. “Show Herr Krause to the door. His audience with me has quite come to a close.”
Annika lowered herself into one of the quick curtsies that sufficiently pleased Marie without making her calf muscles ache terribly. The German visitor scowled at her and Annika responded with a small shrug. Despite his fine-looking features, she found nothing appealing about this grim young man.
Herr Krause turned the crushing weight of his attention back to Marie. “Dowager Empress, I can’t leave yet. You haven’t finished telling me of your family’s holidays along the Baltic Coast, before the troubles began.”
Underneath her thick layer of facial powder, Marie’s expression softened. She caressed the gilt edges of the leather album on her lap. Her gaze flashed over a discolored photograph of her four granddaughters standing in a row, shortest to tallest, hands clasped together. The girls wore identical white cotton dresses and giant sunhats with long ribbons. Their heads were tilted coyly to the side, flirting with the camera, untroubled by any hint of the difficulties to come.
“Nicky and Alix are excessively fond of tennis.” Marie reached for the delicate porcelain cup perched underneath the samovar. Herr Krause pressed the hot water spout once more. The tea emitted a fragrant aroma of cloves and cinnamon. “They have taught the older girls to play, and lament Grand Duchess Tatiana’s weak serve.”
“I understand your son Tsar Nicholas was an avid athlete,” Herr Krause said. “And even in his final days sought comfort in his daily walks and calisthenics.”
Marie snatched her cup back. Boiling water splashed Herr Krause’s hand. He yelped and fell back into a chair. Annika found Marie’s speed astonishing, given her age. Then again the dowager empress always greeted reality with nasty swipes, like a bear disturbed during winter hibernation. “See him to the door,” Marie said crisply.
Herr Krause grabbed a linen napkin from atop Marie’s china cabinet and pressed it to his hand. His slender backside melded into the faded upholstery of the guest chair until he appeared intractable. “I don’t understand.”
“The tsar has not suffered through his last days yet.” Marie’s husky voice rose in pitch. The thin blue veins in her neck strained against her papery skin. Annika shifted her weight and prepared to stand silently for a quarter of an hour at least, while Marie delved into another bewildering account of how the tsar and his family migh
t have escaped the Bolshevik firing squad to live in hiding in Paris or San Francisco or the Siberian wastelands. Annika had heard a hundred scenarios, each more outlandish than the last.
This evening, however, Marie merely patted the fringed bangs cut high on her forehead. “We will rescue Nicky, Alix, and the children. We will find my missing granddaughter.” Her voice cracked and dropped an octave. “Alix will forgive me then.”
Herr Krause extended his hand toward Marie. She shot him a withering look and he quickly dropped his hand back into his lap. “Forgive you for what?”
Marie pursed her lips and leaned against the windowsill. She drew the silken curtains back and stared at the gravel beach outside. Marie’s sorrowful, searching gaze once again reminded Annika of the precarious nature of the old woman’s circumstances. Hvidore belonged to Marie, yet since the Russian Revolution she had lived here only at the pleasure of her nephew, King Christian of Denmark.
“You are fatigued. I have stayed too long.” Herr Krause tossed his soiled napkin back on the cabinet, rose to his feet, and started across the room. He stopped abruptly at the door, bony knuckles splayed on the loose knob.
“Don’t abandon hope, Dowager Empress. Remain steadfast and true.” Herr Krause drew back his right leg and placed his left palm over his heart. A welt blistered beet red on the back of his hand. “We will restore your family’s throne. I promise you that.” He bowed deeply in Marie’s direction, and then followed Annika out to the hall.
Most visitors to Hvidore couldn’t keep their gaze from wandering to the domed ceiling, the statuary lining the walls, or the silvery crests of Baltic waves visible from the high windows. This opulence seemed misplaced in the otherwise sensible residence, like the furs and pearls Marie wore with her practical housedress and sturdy black shoes. Yet Herr Krause’s gaze remained fixed on each step before him. He removed a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wrapped it around the welt on his hand. “Does the dowager empress not understand what happened to the tsar’s family?”
“The poor creature lost everyone in the Revolution.” Annika trailed her fingers along the wrought-iron railing as she led him down the central staircase. “She won’t speak of them in the past tense and refuses to indulge those who do so.”
Herr Krause winced. “Should I return and apologize?”
“I doubt it will do any good. It looks like she’s lost to the world for the evening.”
He tilted his head to the side. “Did you understand what she said about a missing granddaughter?”
Annika suppressed a shiver. She didn’t care for this topic. On the other hand, once Herr Krause left, she would spend the rest of the night in Marie’s room with a needle and colored thread, embroidering flowers on dish towels while the old woman rambled on about the old country and the old ways. “She mentioned a missing granddaughter before. Some of the girls think she’s talking about Anna Anderson.”
He gave an abrupt laugh. Annika didn’t care for the harsh sound of it. “The lunatic who claims she’s Grand Duchess Anastasia?”
“No one knows. No one dares remind the dowager what happened. Why should we? The truth is too horrible to bear.” Annika imagined the Romanov family on that final night, crowded together in the basement of the house in Siberia where they were kept prisoners. By now, she knew the story too well. She could hear the girls’ high-pitched screams, the blast of gunfire, and the sickening sound of flesh ripping underneath the curved tip of a bayonet. Sometimes, she felt as though she’d been in the room herself.
“Besides, the dowager empress dismissed Anna Anderson’s petition immediately.” Annika quickened her pace. “She called her a silly imposter out for money. Of course, the dowager is eighty years old. She can’t distinguish the living from the dead anymore, poor woman.” Annika stopped just short of the main doors and opened the hall closet. She stood on her tiptoes to retrieve Herr Krause’s overcoat and black fedora from the top hooks. “I wouldn’t put much stock in anything she says about a missing granddaughter.”
Herr Krause grabbed her arm. Annika tried to wriggle out of his grip. It wasn’t painful, but he held her fast. “What does she say? What have you heard?”
His icy blue eyes bored into her, reminding Annika of the Romanian hypnotist who sometimes performed at Tivoli Gardens in the summer. She understood now why Marie had allowed this young man into her chambers when she’d shunned so many visitors before. “Late in the afternoon, when her mind is least clear, I hear her calling out: ‘Alix. Forgive me. We’ll keep her safe. We’ll protect your fifth daughter.’”
“I don’t understand.” Herr Krause dug his fingers deeper into Annika’s flesh. “Tsar Nicholas and Empress Alexandra had only four daughters and a son.”
“Yet another figment of the dowager’s imagination, I’m sure.”
“Of course. Clearly, she is an ill woman.” Herr Krause released Annika’s arm and allowed her to retrieve his hat and coat. “Perhaps I might speak with Dowager Empress Marie again in the morning, when her thoughts are more lucid.”
An entire morning free of the dowager’s prattling? Annika smiled to herself. “I could tell her you were misinformed about the fate of the tsar and his family. She might agree to see you again then.”
Herr Krause bent forward to take her hand. He kissed her fingertips with surprisingly soft lips. “I would like that very much.”
Annika opened the front door to a freezing coastal gale. Undeterred, Herr Krause placed his hat on his head, tightened his coat around his chest, and took the steps down to the courtyard two at a time. He looked back one last time and tipped his hat in her direction. She found his sudden burst of energy odd, considering he’d spent the better part of his afternoon dealing with Marie’s delusions. Then again Marie often commented on the strange quirks of the German race. Perhaps the old woman was more perceptive than Annika realized.
Reading Group Guide
1. At the beginning of the story, Grisha Potemkin struggles with the appeals of a spiritual life versus a career at Catherine’s court. Later, Platon Zubov declares Grisha’s devotion to God “merely a different type of ambition.” Do you agree with this assessment? Why would a cosmopolitan man of the court simultaneously feel drawn to the life of a monk?
2. Clearly, Grisha views the construction of a mosque as atonement. Are there additional reasons the project appeals to him? What is the nature of Grisha’s relationship with other cultures and the pasha who continually appears to him? Is Grisha an imperialist conqueror or is his worldview more nuanced?
3. When Grisha returns to St. Petersburg, Catherine is in the thrall of a much younger lover, Platon Zubov. Grisha then romantically challenges this rival for Catherine’s affection. Are we more accustomed to seeing women use their sexuality to curry a monarch’s favor? In what ways do Platon and Grisha retain their masculinity while serving under and loving a female ruler?
4. Grisha’s attempts to rekindle his romance with Catherine lead to conflict and quarrels between them. Do you think Grisha was more useful to Catherine politically when he kept his distance from her physically? Is this why he remained a trusted friend and advisor even after he ceased to be her lover? Or is it possible he was simply more talented than her other favorites?
5. At one point, Grisha notes that Catherine must hide her emotions from her subjects, even a subject as close to her as himself. As a female monarch, did Catherine need to take special care to control her emotions? What other challenges might she have faced as a result of her gender?
6. In the present day, Veronica comes to Russia to help protest antigay legislation and suppression of free speech. Is the Russian “gay propaganda” law well-known in other countries? Are incidents of violence against LGBT individuals in Russia covered in the West? How do you feel about the news coverage?
7. Veronica finds her connection to the last royal family has already made her something of a celebrity in Russia. Do you think this is realistic, and if so, why are we still fascinated with the last Roman
ovs? With royalty in general? In what ways can celebrities sway public opinion and affect change?
8. Veronica is continually drawn to both Catherine the Great and Grisha Potemkin, and wonders how they would react to intolerance in present-day Russia. Given what we know of their personalities, how might Catherine and Grisha operate as modern-day politicians? Is it possible to draw inspiration from historical figures to address problems in the present day?
9. Both Veronica and Grisha are childless, but not necessarily by choice. How does this impact each of them? How does it affect the way they are perceived by others? Is it more difficult to navigate the world as a childless woman as opposed to a childless man?
10. Toward the end of the book, Dmitry decides to “come out” in the hope that if Russians know more LGBT individuals personally, it will help turn public opinion against homophobic legislation. In Russia, public figures have been outed without their consent as a means of promoting tolerance. Is the decision to “come out” solely an individual perogative or is it an action that should be taken for the good of an entire community? What are the circumstances under which coming out might become a moral obligation?
St. Martin’s Griffin
ALSO BY JENNIFER LAAM
The Secret Daughter of the Tsar
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JENNIFER LAAM is the author of The Secret Daughter of the Tsar. She earned her master’s degree in history from Oakland University in Michigan and her bachelor’s degree from the University of the Pacific in Stockton, California. She has lived in Los Angeles and the suburbs of Detroit, traveled in Russia and Europe, and worked in education and nonprofit development. She currently resides in Northern California. You can sign up for email updates here.
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