“Just a bit tired.”
Nicholas pulled a chair up next to the bed. “You should see the children. They are becoming quite accomplished thespians.”
“They are growing so.”
The girls were young women now. Olga had turned twenty-two just before Christmas. Tatiana was twenty, while Marie was eighteen. All three by rights could well be married by now. Anastasia, at sixteen, was still blossoming. But they were all four lovely girls, and Alexandra had no doubt that were they still at Court, they would be breaking many hearts. Even Alexis, though his parents continued to refer to him as Baby, was hardly that at thirteen.
“Marie and Tatiana,” Alexandra went on, happy for some trivial conversation, “are worried they are getting fat with the lack of exercise.”
“At least their hair is growing back.”
The girls had lost handfuls of hair during the attack of the measles, and their heads had been shaved. They had been terribly self-conscious over this for some time. With all the troubles and upheavals in their lives, they were still young with all the normal angsts of youth.
Husband and wife chatted for a few more minutes, then Nicholas rose to leave. “It will be time for my lines soon. Do come and join us soon, Sunny.”
“I will, dear Nicky.”
He was about to bend down to give her a parting kiss when the door burst open.
“Mama! Papa!” It was Anastasia. “Baby has fallen down the stairs.”
Apparently Alexis had become bored with the play rehearsal and, searching for something a bit more stimulating, had come across a small boat in a closet that he decided would be an excellent indoor sleigh. He carried it to the top of the stairs and had an exhilarating ride down until the boat hit the floor at the wrong angle and tipped over, sending him flying.
The injury to his groin was very similar to the one incurred at Spala six years ago. Only now it seemed far worse to Alexis. It had been such a long time since he’d had any serious flare-ups of his disease that he had been lulled into thinking perhaps it had been cured.
It seemed worse too for his mother, because there was no Father Grigori to offer help. Although in the last year hardly a day passed in which she did not miss her dear friend, now she was absolutely devastated by the loss. It was nearly as bad as that horrible day on which she had heard of his death.
As Alexis wept in pain and begged for death, Alexandra prayed for deliverance, begging God to show mercy upon them.
30
“I say, can you direct me to—”
But Lord Bruce was quickly rebuffed by the man who flashed him a suspicious glance before hurrying on his way. Even in spite of the fact that he was speaking English, Bruce had expected some sympathetic response. He knew Russians were more hospitable than this.
He stopped another passerby, a woman this time. “Madam, I am looking for—”
“Bourgeois! Bah!” she said before striding past.
If he’d known, really known, the true state of affairs in Petrograd, Bruce would have donned some manner of disguise. He could see now that the cut of his clothing—cashmere overcoat, expensive bowler, silk cravat—might be rather intimidating, or infuriating, depending on one’s politics. Still, he had to find Daniel Trent’s newspaper office. By phone they had arranged to meet this morning, and when Daniel had offered to come to his hotel, Bruce had declined. He wanted a chance to see a bit of the city and thought the ride to Daniel’s office would be just the ticket. He hadn’t counted on his cab driver leaving him at the wrong place, then driving away before Bruce could catch him. And he’d had no success at procuring another cab. They were apparently far more plentiful near hotels. His only hope now was to find someone who spoke English. But he felt rather like a panhandler standing on a street corner soliciting passersby. A gendarme was likely to arrest him soon, but perhaps that would be a blessing.
Bruce thought about his last visit to Russia some fifteen years earlier. It had been one of the last trips he took with his parents before they were killed in a boating accident. He had been a green boy of eighteen then, straining to be free—not knowing he would be free soon enough, and what a toll it would take on his life. But at eighteen he had resented his parents’ control. He had been so rebellious that his father had often dubbed him “that little Jacobite.”
His parents had gone to Russia both for pleasure and for business. His father was considering expanding some business interests to St. Petersburg. With Lord and Lady Findochty quite distracted with a vigorous round of social events at night, after consuming business negotiations all day, Bruce often found himself left to his own resources.
That’s when Ella had come along. About Bruce’s age, she was the daughter of one of the men who were attempting to woo Lord Findochty into investing in their firms. Although a countess, she was probably on a somewhat lower social level than Bruce. Bruce was not bothered at all by this. She was bright and beautiful and charming—and married. That did not prevent her from offering to escort Bruce about town and act as an interpreter. It was all innocent enough. Even her husband supported the idea. In fact, the man seemed hardly to care what she did with her time. Ella confessed it had been a marriage purely of convenience, arranged by their parents, and that there was no love in it at all.
It did not take long for Bruce and Ella to fall madly in love. They talked about her getting a divorce, or of simply running away together to some remote place, perhaps a tropical paradise. But down deep they both knew there was no future for them. Two weeks after the affair had begun, Bruce returned to England. He never heard from her again, and he never attempted to contact her, though for a time he had pined terribly for her. Then he met Louise, fell in love again, and married happily. But for some reason, he never told Louise about Ella—perhaps the only secret he had from her.
And he never did forget Ella. She had, after all, been his first love.
Nevertheless, it had been years since he’d thought about her—until the trouble in Russia had refreshed that dear but painful memory. Because her father and husband had been prominent, bourgeois types, it was possible they had suffered in the political upheavals. But Bruce refrained from contacting her. She had gotten on without him for fifteen years, so there seemed no sense in stirring up the past. However, when the general had voiced his own personal concerns about the fate of Russia, and the tsar whom he had met and admired, Bruce was easily recruited to take up the cause.
Now, here he was, back in Russia. He was tempted to look up Ella, but he resisted it. Despite the fact that he loved Louise, he still feared what might happen should the flames of youthful passion be stirred. On the other hand, it was quite possible Ella had aged into a fat old hag. Anyway, best to keep the memories sweet rather than destroy them with reality. Still, he could use Ella right about now to help him out of his present predicament.
He approached a few more persons until finally one took pity on him. At that point, all he could think to say that might be helpful was, “English! English!”
The young man, a student by appearance, took him in tow and led him around a corner to a book shop. Smiling, the fellow said, “English, eh?”
Bruce looked up to find painted on the shop window, “English Book Sellers.” In short order, Bruce was set on his way. In fact the student, after getting directions from the proprietress, insisted on taking Bruce to his destination himself. Bruce’s faith in the Russian character was restored.
Daniel wanted Yuri to be part of the meeting, so from the Register office, he and Bruce took a tram to Yuri’s hospital, where they held their conclave in the hospital dining hall. Since it was between the breakfast and lunch hours, the place was practically deserted.
Daniel began the conversation by telling Bruce about his experiences in Tiumen.
“Rather an adventure, what?” said Bruce drolly.
“I believe I’m getting a bit too old for adventures like that,” said Daniel. “I’m only glad I didn’t know at the time just how close a call I had.”
“What do you mean?”
“The two officers arrested by the Bolsheviks—they were executed.”
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Bruce.
Misreading the Brit’s expression, Daniel asked, “Do you still want to continue with this? It’s more obvious than ever that the stakes are high.”
“I am only more determined than ever to get on with it,” assured Bruce. “I might have come sooner had I realized just how ruthless these Bolsheviks are. Anything could happen to the royal family at this point.”
“I agree that we ought to move forward as quickly as possible. But one thing I learned from my trip east was that there is little we can do until spring. The tsar insists the family must stay together, and that makes travel in winter all the more impossible.”
“I have also heard from Tatiana Botkin that the tsarevich has suffered a serious injury and is unable to walk,” put in Yuri.
“How dreadful,” said Bruce. “Even under the best of circumstances, I would think an escape of any sort, especially from the wilds of Siberia, would be physically demanding. Will they be able to do it when the time comes?”
“I think we ought to put the wheels in motion and worry about that later,” said Daniel.
“The nature of the boy’s illness would make him always at risk,” said Yuri. “But at least he would have a doctor with him at all times.”
“So, it is your medical opinion that we move ahead?” questioned Bruce.
“Yes.”
Daniel jumped in eagerly. “I propose we set up a headquarters of sorts in Tobolsk—Tiumen, at the very least. But if we can get to Tobolsk, that would be the best locale because thus far it has no Bolshevik authority in place. And that is another reason to move quickly, because until the new government wakes up to that glaring gap in the chain of command, escape from the town will be far more manageable.”
“What about the existing organization—you called it the Brotherhood of St. John of Tobolsk?”
“It is clear in my mind that Soloviev cannot be trusted,” Daniel replied with conviction. “I have no conclusive proof, but I am certain it was more than mere coincidence that the Bolsheviks raided our hotel rooms the very night after we met with the man.”
“So, you think he is in the pay of the Reds?”
“I’m not sure what his game is. He could merely have turned us in so he could have the ‘corner’ on all rescue attempts—and finances. But I would never risk trusting him. We have, however, gained a couple of valuable associates in this. The two officers I mentioned, Sedov and Melink, are behind us and will offer any assistance they can. And Dr. Botkin’s daughter is in close contact with Yuri, which has proven a great help.”
“You’ve laid excellent groundwork,” said Bruce. “I only wish we had some insider in the Bolshevik organization itself. With the political situation so unstable and volatile, it could mean the difference between success and failure.”
Daniel and Yuri exchanged looks, for this was a topic they had only recently discussed.
“Is there a problem?” asked Bruce.
“Not at all,” said Daniel. “In fact, I believe we have just the man for the job.”
But Yuri added, “I think I ought to temper that with my less than optimistic opinion. We know of a man who might be suitable, but it is still doubtful if he would agree to do this.”
“Who is it? Have you spoken to him?”
“It’s my brother,” said Yuri. “He is a member of the Bolshevik Party—”
“You don’t say! How extraordinary! I hope you don’t mind my asking, since he is your brother and all, but . . . well, can he be . . .”
“Trusted?” Yuri finished for Bruce, saving him the awkwardness of the question. “He’s had some rather extraordinary experiences himself in the last year and as a result has been having serious doubts about his affiliation. Nevertheless, I’ve been reluctant to broach the idea with him.”
“If he does come on board,” put in Daniel, “I have no doubt we will be able to trust him implicitly.”
31
The months since his return home had been glorious ones for Andrei. For the first week he’d been pampered terribly. He found himself with three mothers who wanted to take care of him—not only his mother and Raisa, but he had also brought Sonja to live with them. Anna quipped that the big bedroom, already housing Raisa, Countess Zhenechka, Teddie, and herself, was becoming a regular girls’ dormitory. Nevertheless, Anna was loving and accepting of the woman who had saved her son’s life and did not seem to mind the fact that Sonja still called Andrei “Ivan” and thought him to be her son.
Andrei managed to distance himself from the Bolshevik Party with a simple lie. Rudy told Stephan Kaminsky that the time in prison had wrecked Andrei’s health and he’d had a relapse. None of his former Party comrades saw fit to visit his “sickbed” or even to verify his story. No doubt they were busy enough just trying to keep the government they had usurped from falling apart. Andrei did not mind their neglect in the least. It gave him a chance to fully sort out his feelings.
Never one to revel in long, drawn-out contemplation—he’d had plenty of that for the months in prison—Andrei quickly grew restless with his new and rather decadent lifestyle. He found a job loading freight in a factory. It was tough, physical labor, something he’d been sorely lacking in, but he enjoyed the work and the renewed physical fitness it gave him. He also liked being able to contribute to the household coffers, though he earned precious few rubles. He still had time to think and consider his future but not enough to unduly weigh him down.
His future . . .
There was so much confusion and uncertainty in his life at the moment, he hardly knew where to begin sorting it all out. First and foremost there was Talia, but before any commitments could be made with her, he had to work out many of the other things. They definitely wanted to marry, but he was in no position to support a wife and family. And he wasn’t sure when he might be. He wanted to continue with his art, but few artists made enough of a living to support themselves, much less a family. Could he sacrifice his passion for art for Talia? He’d sacrificed it for the Party and had been miserable. Still he felt selfish even discussing it with her. Yet Talia made it clear she did not want him to sacrifice it. There must be a way to have their dreams and each other at the same time. In the meantime they contented themselves with being officially engaged. They saw each other nearly every day. Andrei arranged to work the night shift at the factory when Talia was usually performing, so their schedules did not conflict.
Then there was the matter of Andrei’s political affiliations. He spent a great deal of his time with Talia mulling over those issues.
“Sometimes I feel so guilty lying to them as I have,” he told her one day. The temperatures had warmed to about twenty-four degrees, and they were taking advantage of the sunny day by walking in the snow-covered Summer Gardens.
“I’m sure it’s not easy to sever ties that have been so much a part of you for so long.” Her arm was linked around his and it felt wonderful with her beside him.
“It’s not that I agree with them anymore. I’m not sure I ever really did. I see now that I probably joined them merely as a rebellion against my family. I wanted to go as far in the opposite direction from Yuri as possible.”
“But that wasn’t the only reason for your beliefs, Andrei. They were always real and deep. When you expressed in your art the things you truly believed—not so much the Pravda cartoons, but the drawings of life, of oppressed peasants and workers—the passion you felt for freedom was so very clear.”
“Yes, I don’t deny that. But, Talia—” He stopped and turned to face her, his eyes afire with enthusiasm. “I’ve discovered something lately. I haven’t talked to you about it yet because it is so revolutionary, I think it makes my former ideas seem tame.” He gripped her arm closer to him and started walking again.
“Well, what is it?”
“I think my whole concept of freedom
is—I won’t say exactly wrong, but at least mixed up. You know I’ve been reading Papa’s journals?”
“Yes, and you’ve said little about it.”
“For once in my life I want to take it easy, not just jump in and ask questions later. I think this is going to be very important and I want to approach it with proper care.” Talia smiled her support and he continued, “It’s kind of ironic. The moment Yuri read the journals he said it changed his life immediately. He didn’t have to think about it much at all. We’ve really changed places in this. He’s frustrated that now I choose not to be impulsive.” Andrei chuckled as he recalled his and Yuri’s last discussion on the matter.
“You love driving your brother crazy,” she said lightly.
“Yes, I suppose I do. But that’s not my only motive. I truly want to do it right this time. I’ve made too many mistakes in the past with my impulsive nature.”
“And so, what about your concept of freedom?”
“My father made mention of it when he escaped from Siberia and found himself in the mission in China. He was free in a physical sense but not in a spiritual sense. I began to examine my ideas of freedom. I believed the Russian people were in bondage to the tsar and that I must fight for their freedom. I believed that when the tsar was deposed, freedom would come at last. Finally, the tsar is gone, but are the Russian people free? It’s just not as clear as I thought it would be—as I thought it should be. A grand utopia has not been realized. And I’m not sure it ever will be, not here or anywhere. I am beginning to think that political freedom, if it is valid at all, is merely a drop of water in a desert. Freedom means nothing if you are not free within yourself—”
“Spiritual freedom?” Talia said with a slight smile.
“You’ve known about these things all along haven’t you?”
“Well . . .”
“I guess a person has to figure it out for himself. And, yes, spiritual freedom is definitely one of the things I am searching—and not making an impulsive decision about.”
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