‘I don’t think nuns are allowed to have dogs.’ The nerves in Alicky’s stomach had tightened, for she knew why Ella had come from Moscow to speak to her. ‘But if Ella would like to see the puppies, then of course you can show them to her.’
‘Thank you, beautiful Mama!’ Anastasia hugged her fervently. ‘Thank you. Thank you! Thank you!’
Alicky’s heart filled with fierce maternal love. Anastasia was a force of nature. Everything was either wonderful or dreadful. There was no in-between. She was also a tomboy. Whereas her older sisters would never dream of climbing the imperial park’s tallest trees or, when at Livadia, swimming way out of their depth, Anastasia relished such challenges. She was rumbustious and naughty and endlessly entertaining, and if there was any light in Alicky’s life, a very great part of it was because of Anastasia.
When Anastasia had exited the room at her usual hurricane speed, Alicky steeled herself for Ella’s arrival. A week ago the girls’ governess, Sophie Tiutcheva, had made what Alicky judged to be an uncalled-for complaint about Father Grigory and the outcome had been her dismissal. The indignant governess had returned to her home in Moscow and given her version of events to Ella, and now here was Ella, paying her a sisterly visit – and it wasn’t hard to guess the reason for it.
That Ella was as disapproving of Father Grigory as Nicky’s family were mystified Alicky, for unlike them, Ella knew the nature of Alexei’s disease. How could she not, when so many of their relatives had either suffered or died from it?
If anyone should have been as grateful as she and Nicky were, for Rasputin’s ability to keep Alexei alive, that person was Ella. That she wasn’t lay quite beyond Alicky’s understanding. There were also other things about her once-favourite sister that had begun to irritate, not least Ella’s conspicuous display of devoutness and the way people had begun referring to her as a saint.
When Ella entered the room she did, though, give her sister a welcoming smile. Perhaps, with a little skill, the subject of Father Grigory could be avoided. Perhaps they could talk about Ernie, and how fast the two children he’d had with his second wife were growing. And if not Ernie, perhaps they could talk about Irène and Vicky. Or she could even, although she didn’t want to do so, talk about herself and how, under the constant strain she lived with, her health was now so bad as to render her an invalid at times.
‘I love coming into this room,’ Ella said as the doors were closed behind her. ‘It so reminds me of how Mama’s room used to look when we were children, and of Granny Queen’s rooms at Osborne, Windsor and Balmoral.’
As always, she was dressed in her specially designed pearl-grey habit and veil.
Alicky said, ‘There were no icons in Mama’s room, or Granny Queen’s rooms.’
‘No, but there was always lots of English chintz and, after Mama’s death, Granny Queen always had the same photograph of her that you have, and it hung on her boudoir wall in the same prominent position as it is here.’
The wall was covered in mauve rose-patterned silk, and opposite the photograph of their mother was a portrait of Queen Victoria. The many small occasional tables in the room were covered with silver-framed family photographs and objets d’art, just as their mother’s room and Granny Queen’s rooms always had been, and the overall effect was a mix of Russian and English cosiness that was a world removed from the ornate grandeur and splendour of the rest of the palace.
Alicky, who had risen to greet her sister, seated herself back down on a velvet-upholstered chaise longue, while Ella settled into a nearby chintz-covered armchair. There were no ladies-in-waiting present, and the two gigantic Nubian bodyguards whose sole function was to open and close the double doors to Alicky’s boudoir had, after opening them for Ella, remained outside the room.
They were on their own in complete privacy, two sisters who, for different reasons, both knew deep heartache and who, when younger, had meant the world to each other.
Wondering how she could lead into what she knew was going to be a difficult conversation, Ella said, ‘Ernie intends visiting Moscow later in the year. It would be nice if the three of us could get together.’
Despite the fact that it had also been her intention to start their conversation off with family matters – and family matters that revolved around Ernie – Alicky now had no patience with such prevarication.
‘You haven’t travelled all the way from Moscow to chat about Ernie, Ella. You are here because of the lies Sophie Tiutcheva has filled your head with.’
Ella sucked in her breath. How did Alicky know that Sophie Tiutcheva had spoken to her? Even as she thought the question, the answer came. Alicky knew because the secret police kept her and Nicky informed of everyone’s movements – especially the movements of discontented, dismissed staff. In Nicky and Alicky’s world, no one could be trusted; everyone was regarded as a potential assassin, or the aider and abettor of a potential assassin.
‘I do not think Sophie Tiutcheva has filled my head with lies, Alicky.’ Ella did her best to sound calm and reasonable. ‘She was deeply distressed when she came to see me.’
‘And she came to see you with false stories about Grishka.’
‘Grishka?’ Grishka was a pet diminutive of the name Grigory, and that Alicky was using it as if Rasputin was a much-loved relative appalled her.
‘And whatever she told you would be nothing but vicious lies.’ Angry colour flushed Alicky’s cheeks. ‘Grishka is a holy man of God. He is Nicky’s friend and my friend.’
Ella took a deep, steadying breath. ‘Sophie Tiutcheva has been a very diligent governess to the girls for several years, and I know from the way the girls have always spoken of her that she cares for them a great deal, as they do for her. Why, then, would she have come to you with such disturbing concerns, unless those concerns were valid?’
‘Her concerns?’ Alicky’s eyes flashed fire. ‘Her concerns were that she had seen Grishka in the girlies’ bedrooms – and if he was in the girlies’ bedrooms, it was with my knowledge. He is their friend, as well as our friend. Tatiana and Olga are fifteen and sixteen and are old enough to regard him as a confessor and a confidant, and he gives them good and true spiritual advice, as he does to Nicky and myself. And there – unless we are to fall out very seriously – is an end of it.’
Ella had known the conversation was going to be difficult, but she hadn’t realized quite how difficult. Determined not to leave until she had said everything she had come to say, she pressed the point, ‘Sophie Tiutcheva saw Rasputin in the girls’ rooms while they are getting ready for bed, Alicky. She has seen him sitting on their beds and behaving with indecent affection towards them.’
‘Just as you and I would sit on their beds and be affectionate towards them! The only difference being that he says their prayers with them. You, of all people, should understand and respect such devout holiness.’
Sick at heart, Ella knew there was nothing left but to be starkly blunt. ‘Other talk on the streets is that Nicky never appoints his ministers without first taking Rasputin’s advice, and the ultimate end of such a practice will be demands for Nicky to abdicate.’
For a second she thought Alicky was going to hit her. ‘Abdicate? Nothing will ever induce a God-appointed tsar to abdicate! How could he do so? Being Tsar is not something Nicky has chosen to be! It is something God has chosen him to be. And what better advice could Nicky ever take, in ruling Russia, but to take the advice of a holy man of God?’
Knowing she had failed miserably in what she had set out to do, Ella said, ‘Your blindness, where Rasputin is concerned, will be your downfall, Alicky. And not only your downfall, but the downfall of the entire monarchy. Everyone at court and in the government wants to see Rasputin banished – not only for the way he has brought the monarchy into disrepute, but for the influence he has over yourself and Nicky. A tsar taking advice from a theatrical upstart peasant? It’s insanity, Alicky. If you want the dynasty to survive, you must get rid of him.’
White with f
ury, Alicky sprang to her feet. ‘You may be the sister next to me in age, Ella, but never, ever speak to me again as you just have!’
Overcome by a sense of defeat, Ella stood up. ‘You have to listen to sense from someone, Alicky. Rasputin isn’t a man of God. He is the opposite. He is a charlatan who possesses the evil power to make you and Nicky believe anything – and, in doing so, he is even more of a threat to the country than the Marxist revolutionaries.’
‘I want you to leave.’ Alicky’s hands balled into fists. ‘I want you to leave now! Immediately! And until you can make apologies for the wicked words you have just said about a holy man of God, I don’t want to see you again.’
Ella walked towards the door. On reaching it, she turned and said, so distraught and despairing she could hardly breathe, ‘I love you, Alicky. All I want is your safety – and your family’s safety – and in continuing to receive Rasputin as openly as you do, you are putting that safety in the most terrible jeopardy.’
In a moment that Ella was never to forget, Alicky turned her back on her.
‘You did the right thing in speaking to Ella as you did, sweetheart.’ Nicky held Alicky so close it was as if their two hearts were beating as one, ‘but she may be right in that we should put some distance between ourselves and Our Friend.’
She sucked in her breath, pressing her hands against his chest so that their eyes could meet.
He said reluctantly, ‘I received a deputation of ministers today. The newspapers have accused you of being Our Friend’s mistress, and they have done so in the grossest and most degrading way. It was the deputation’s view that the only way to stop such hideous lies being printed is if we are seen to disassociate ourselves from him. The suggestion was made that I banish him to his home village in Siberia.’
‘But you cannot give in to such demands!’ The horror in her eyes nearly undid him. ‘What if Alexei has a fall and needs him? How can Father Grigory put an end to any bleeding if he is in Siberia?’
‘Alexei hasn’t had a devastating bleed for some time now. The doctors think he could be growing out of them. And the banishment would only be for a few months; just until these appalling accusations about you and Our Friend are a thing of the past.’
Vehemently she shook her head. ‘No, Nicky. It would be giving in to the demands of people who know nothing of the true situation.’
‘And who can’t – without us making the situation even worse than it presently is – be told of it. The revolutionaries are jumping on this latest untruth and, unless we do something to end the lies, there is no telling what the outcome will be. Our Friend will understand, when the situation is explained to him. And in a few months’ time he will return and, when he does, we will meet him in one of Tsarskoe Selo’s minor palaces; not here, at the Alexander Palace.’
Alicky’s heart was hammering so hard she thought it was going to burst, but when she thought of the unspeakable vileness of what was now being printed in the press about her and Father Grigory, and of how much Nicky must be hurting on her behalf because of it, she understood why he was suggesting that Father Grigory leave St Petersburg for a little while.
‘All right, lovey,’ she said at last. ‘Just for a few months – but only for a few months. Do you promise?’
‘I promise.’ The relief in his voice was vast.
And fighting down her fears, wanting to give him comfort, she slid her arms up and around his neck, her lips parting for the reassurance of his kisses.
In the weeks after Rasputin had left for his home village of Pokrovskoe in western Siberia, Alicky was even more vigilant than usual concerning what she allowed Alexei to do. He wanted to swing on the rope that one of his sailor-attendants had, at Anastasia’s request, tied to the branch of a tree, so that she could hurl herself through the air while hanging onto it. When she had learned of the existence of the rope swing, she had immediately ordered it to be removed.
Alexei wanted to play tennis, something he was usually allowed to do, but which she didn’t dare risk when, if he fell and a bleed resulted, there would be no Father Grigory to bring it to a swift end.
A high-spirited child, Alexei grew fractious, kicking his sailor-attendants in frustration, shouting that he wanted to be a normal little boy; that he wanted to do the things normal little boys did; that he was bored, bored, bored.
‘You won’t be bored for much longer, for we go to Spala in a week’s time,’ Nicky said to him encouragingly, ‘and you know how much you enjoy being there.’ Spala, the family’s favourite hunting lodge, was a large wooden-built palace set in the middle of a forest in a remote area of Russian Poland, and was somewhere the family always enjoyed holidaying.
‘It’s September,’ Nicky continued, pleased to see that Alexei’s face had already brightened. ‘There will be blackberries to pick and lots of wildlife to see. Do you remember how last time we saw both wolves and wild boar?’
The following week Alicky began to visibly relax as the imperial train made its way on its long journey towards Spala. Her health had never been robust, for even as a girl she’d had sciatic pains in her legs and she was regularly plagued by migraines and shortness of breath. On holiday trips away from St Petersburg, at Livadia or on the royal yacht, or at Spala, these ailments rarely troubled her.
‘It is anxiety that is the root cause of Her Majesty’s ill health,’ Dr Botkin, the royal family’s doctor, had said to Nicky. ‘If the anxiety could be removed, Her Majesty would, I think, enjoy perfect health.’
Dr Botkin was part of the large number of people accompanying them to Spala, for wherever they travelled, all key members of the royal court travelled with them. As did many guests, invited to make up the required numbers for hunting parties. As Alicky didn’t hunt, she had invited Irène, and Irène’s son, Sigismund, to join them. Irène would be a companion for her while Nicky was out hunting and the girls were enjoying exhilarating horseback rides down forest paths, and Sigismund would be a playmate for Alexei.
While they were all happily en route to Spala, and while playing catch with his sisters down the corridors of the train Alexei fell, banging his thigh hard. Dr Botkin examined him and found a slight swelling just below his groin, but there was no discoloration that indicated internal bleeding and only slight soreness, and none of the usual agonizing pain that followed such a knock.
By the time they arrived at Spala, Alexei seemed to be in full recovery, and Nicky was buoyant, convinced that his son was beginning to grow out of his disease. When he arranged a mushroom-foraging expedition for the next morning, Alexei and Sigismund were included in his plans. Or they were until Alicky heard of them.
‘No, my sweetheart,’ she said to a deeply disappointed Alexei. ‘Wait another few days before scrambling about on your hands and knees. Instead, come with me on a carriage drive into the forest. We can take our cameras and get some wonderful nature shots of animals.’
Mollified, for he liked taking photographs, Alexei agreed, but only on condition that when they returned, he and Sigismund could go boating on a nearby lake.
Alicky was happier than she had been for a very long time as they set out together on their carriage ride. It was a beautiful September day and the novelty of being out alone with Alexei, with no one else within sight but the carriage driver, was such a rarity to her as to be a gift from heaven. She loved the sounds and scents of the forest: the rustle of the leaves; the birdsong; the fragrance of wild mint and marjoram; the tranquillity. She loved knowing that the great ancient swathes of oak, hornbeam and lime stretched not for a few miles on either side of them, but for untrammelled scores of miles. And she loved sharing in Alexei’s pleasure as, in sun-dappled forest clearings, they caught glimpses of majestic, huge-antlered bison or clusters of deer.
As they bowled down the narrow sandy paths she was reminded of long-ago carriage rides with her Granny Queen whenever, as a small child and then as a young girl, she had visited her at Balmoral or Osborne. For Granny Queen, an afternoon carriage ride had
been obligatory, no matter what the weather; and the colder it had been, the better Granny Queen had liked it.
Alicky was so deep in happy memories of the past that when Alexei said suddenly and with a catch in his voice, ‘I’m getting a tummy-ache, Mama,’ she didn’t at first take much notice of it. Absent-mindedly she patted his hand, her thoughts full of Balmoral and its nearby mountains at sunset. He squeezed hold of her hand tightly. ‘I’m getting a tummy-ache fast, Mama.’
This time he had her attention and, when she turned her head towards him, her heart nearly failed her. He was as white as a sheet and trembling.
‘Oh, dear God,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, dear, dear God!’ And then, to the driver, ‘The Tsesarevich has been taken ill. We must return to the lodge immediately.’
The carriage slewed around so abruptly that Alexei fell against her. ‘I have a pain at the top of my leg, Mama,’ he said, clinging to her. ‘At the top of my leg, where I banged it.’
Both of them knew what it signified – and the only doctor at Spala was Botkin, who was efficiency itself when it came to coughs, colds and childish ailments, but totally out of his depth when it came to haemophiliac bleeds.
The forest pathways were bumpy and uneven, jolting the carriage almost continually. With every abrupt rocking movement, Alexei screamed in pain. Despite the urgency of reach-ing the lodge in the quickest time possible, Alicky kept calling out for the driver to slow down and then, whenever the sandy path grew a little smoother, demanding that he speed up.
As she held Alexei in her arms, all she could think of was the distance that still had to be covered until they reached the hunting lodge – and when they did reach it, what then? The only person who had ever brought Alexei relief from his pain, and put an end to his internal bleeding, had been Father Grigory, and they were in Poland while Father Grigory was thousands of miles away in Siberia.
By the time the hunting lodge came in sight, Alexei was moaning in agony and only semi-conscious. Wrapped in a blanket, he was carried inside and up to his bedroom and Dr Botkin was summoned.
The Summer Queen Page 38
