by M. J. Rose
The chamber wasn’t well lit. The casement windows didn’t allow in much light. I couldn’t see the key on the stone floor. Had it fallen in between a crack? Getting on my hands and knees, I searched and finally, after a frantic five minutes, found it a few feet away, where it had bounced.
Picking up the key once again, I held it more cautiously, careful to keep a grip on it. I’d almost maneuvered it into the lock when I fumbled again. This time, I was prepared and tried to catch it. Instead, I watched in despair as it fell into one of the dreaded cracks and disappeared from sight.
Chapter 29
For a few minutes, I sat on the floor staring down into the crevice. Had I actually dropped the key? The enormity of my clumsiness weighed on me. Fishing around in my smock pockets, I found my jeweler’s tweezers. Gingerly, I pushed them down into the crack, hoping to reach the key, but the hole was far too deep.
Frustrated, I began to question what I was doing, wasting time trying to open the necklace. How could the enamel eggs matter now? Why was I focusing on them instead of how to get out of this maze and help the Dowager?
Because Grigori and Yasin wanted something from her. What if it was the necklace?
Rooting around in my pocket again, I searched for anything I could use as a key. I needed to know what hung around my neck. Why were the eggs locked? Why was the necklace so precious that Monsieur had lied to his son about it? Was it the clue to the scene I’d witnessed down below?
My fingers found a two-inch-long gold rod. A remnant of what I’d heated and stretched upstairs, planning to use as a binding around the Dowager’s talisman. It would work fine if I could heat it. I thought about the soldering torch in my bedroom. Just above me somewhere upstairs—near and yet impossibly far at the same time.
I tried to remember what I’d read in the grimoire my mother gave me. There’d been a spell for putting fires out. Another for drawing water to you. One for sending it rushing away. Had there been one for creating fire out of thin air? I thought so, but I couldn’t be sure. There must have been. The book contained dozens and dozens of spells, but I had been lax in learning the lessons of my heritage and how to harness my power.
Heat? How could I summon heat?
And then I thought of Jean Luc. He was a source of heat. I grasped his talisman and closed my eyes. Tried to connect and summon him.
I felt nothing.
I grasped the talisman tighter.
“I need you,” I whispered.
Still no answer.
Had he in fact left? Was our time over? He’d just warned me it was becoming more difficult for him to come to me and one day he’d be gone. But so suddenly?
“Jean Luc?” I heard the panic in my voice. “Jean Luc?”
And then, ah yes, I sensed him. That delicious warm breeze. Weaker than ever before, but there.
Not quite time yet, but soon.
“I need you to help me. I need your heat.”
You possess your own, Opaline. Just claim it.
“But how?”
You know. I think you’ve always known.
“I don’t. Tell me.”
Nothing. Silence. What did he mean?
In my desperation to understand what Jean Luc meant, to help the Dowager, I finally stopped trying to make sense. I had to save her. That’s all I knew.
Holding the small rod between my fingers, I focused on it and willed it to heat. I told it to, insisting it warm so I could use tweezers to bend it into a shape I could fit inside the lock.
My whole body went rigid. My eyes saw blood-red blackness. For a moment, it seemed as if I’d in fact stopped breathing. I put all of my weight and my energy and my life force into the two inches of gold pressed between my fingers.
The gold began to heat . . . In seconds it became so hot I could barely hold it. The only pain I’d ever welcomed. If anyone had told me I’d be able to do this, I would have sworn it was impossible. How had I— No, there was no time to think through this wonder. The Dowager was in danger and I needed to find out if the reason was contained in the chain of eggs I wore around my neck.
Working as fast as I could, using the two random tools I happened to be carrying in my pocket—the tweezers and a file—I fashioned the soft gold into a makeshift key with three notches mimicking Monsieur Orloff’s key for the ruby eggs—just a bit smaller. Calling on my memory of the original.
Done, I put the new key on the stone floor to let it cool and harden before trying it out. If I used it while it was still soft, I might break it. Only then did I realize how badly I’d burned my fingertips. Closing my eyes, I tried to cast the pain off in the same way I’d brought on the heat and felt the intensity lessen. Not a lot, but enough for me to pick up the key and fit it into the egg. Feeling the lock catch, I turned it.
The lock sprung open. I pried apart the egg’s shell and peered inside.
I stared down at a brilliant blue diamond that must have weighed at least ten carats. Teardrop-shaped, and as flawless as any I’d ever seen. A sliver of ice, shimmering, frozen, dazzling.
Opening the next egg, I found a heart-shaped pink diamond. Sparkling like a rainbow on fire.
Inside the next egg sat an oval canary diamond. In the next, a pale green diamond. In each of the thirty green enamel eggs, I found an extraordinary colored diamond. A king’s ransom—a tsar’s ransom’s worth of jewels. Each glittered and shone and twinkled in my lap like a droplet of colored water in sunshine. These were worth enough to bribe an army, to rescue a royal family, to rebuild an empire. It wasn’t a rumor. The stories were true. I was staring at part of the treasure the tsar, worried about rumors of a revolution, had entrusted to Monsieur Orloff to take out of the country and secrete away for a time when his family needed them.
And now, the tsar’s mother did need them and Monsieur had entrusted them to me to give to her and I was going to fail. Unless . . .
Was this what Grigori and Yasin wanted? The Bolsheviks required money. Could I trade the diamonds for the Dowager’s life? For mine? Could I trust Grigori to take the stones and leave us alive? What if their plan had been to steal the jewels and destroy the great Romanov matriarch as well?
Carefully, I replaced every stone into its hiding place, locked each egg, and then slipped the treasure-laden necklace back over my head and under my chemise.
Then I opened the ruby egg that had held the original key. Once more, I unfolded the note, this time wrapping it around the new key. I now guessed the note explained about the hidden stones in the emerald egg necklace. Or perhaps it was a message meant to be found to throw someone off the track of the other necklace. Knowing Monsieur as well as I did, I guessed the latter.
After putting my tools and my glasses back in my pocket, I stood. I needed to find help from someone I could trust.
As quietly as I could, I crept out of the stone archway, nervous to be leaving the safety of my shadowed hiding place. But I wasn’t going to waste any time trying to find my way through the maze of rooms. I was just looking for a way out. And I found it. A window large enough for me to crawl out of. Opening it was relatively easy, and in moments, I was outside in the dripping rain, standing on the soggy grass.
I took several deep breaths. Dampness filled my lungs. The fog hung heavy over the cliff, so misty I could only see a few feet in front of me. My urge to run almost overwhelmed me. What did I care about the woman bound and gagged, deep inside the castle? She wasn’t my sovereign; I wasn’t her liege, but only a jeweler who made watches . . . who heard voices. Incapable of being a heroine in an adventure story.
Except how could I leave her? A terrified woman who’d lost her son, her country, perhaps even her grandchildren.
But this wasn’t my battle, wasn’t my family. I took my first steps away from the castle wall. Started to run. I would find the road. Someone would stop. I could go to the police, send help for the
Dowager, then go back to Paris. No, to Cannes. I never needed to go back to Paris.
But I could still see the Dowager’s eyes boring into mine. I couldn’t just leave her. Especially when around my neck I wore what might be all it would take to save her.
Turning, I stared at the impossible building, trying to figure out where exactly the ancient wing was, but the fog and the last renovation hid the clues. I was just as lost looking at it from the outside as on the inside.
I circled around it, knowing I’d come to the front or back entrance soon. My plan was to find Briggs. While I could have been wrong, I believed what he’d intimated to Grigori—that he worked for the British royal family and had been lent to the castle for the occasion. I’d tell him what I’d seen and he’d be able to get help.
I’d reached the east end of the castle and turned. Around the corner, I saw Grigori and Yasin walking toward me. Consternation on their faces.
“We’ve been looking for you, ” Grigori said. “Where did you get to?”
I hadn’t realized how much time had passed. I searched his face. Did he know something, or was I projecting my fear?
“I was working when one of my headaches started . . .” I’d decided to tell him as much of the truth as I could. Not at all sure I was calm enough to lie well. “Sometimes fresh air helps. I’ve been walking.”
He eyed my smock.
I shrugged. “I didn’t think to take it off. When I feel a headache coming on, the sooner I can get outside, the faster it goes away.” Surely he remembered me talking about my headaches and would believe me. “Why were you looking for me? Do you need something?”
He smiled. I was confused. His eyes were as gentle as his touch when he took my arm. “The empress is indisposed, and I went to your room to see if you’d like to join us for a light supper.”
Yet again, I questioned what I’d seen. Had it been my imagination? Perhaps my mother had been wrong. What if I was ill? What if I saw and heard things like the crazy owl lady after all? And she simply sensed what I saw and believed it to be real. This man holding my arm, whom I’d kissed and made love to, wasn’t capable of anything sinister. He was an antiques salesman. Yes, he was bitter he’d gone to war for France and been handicapped for life. But Grigori wasn’t evil.
“I’m sorry the Dowager’s ill again,” I said to Yasin.
“It’s often difficult for Her Highness to deal with the upheaval and sadness she’s had to endure,” he said. “She said to tell you she’d very much be looking forward to meeting with you in the morning instead of tonight. If, in fact, you will be finished.”
“I will.”
“Good. Now let us enjoy our supper,” Grigori said as he led me to the entrance to the castle and away from help.
Chapter 30
As I took a seat and waited for the staff to serve us, we made small talk. The effort of pretending all was well proved almost as painful as the burns on my fingertips, which I tried to keep hidden in my lap. Briggs came in with the food and offered us a choice of cold chicken or meat pie. There was also wine, but I was afraid to take more than a few sips lest it affect my alertness. I sensed I needed to keep my wits.
“How is the talisman coming?” Grigori asked me.
“Almost finished,” I said. “There’s some burnishing and polishing to do.”
“Did you get any information on the fate of the family?” Yasin asked.
“I can’t tell anything until I’m with the person connected to it. Do you think they are alive?”
Yasin shook his head. “I don’t think they are.”
“Why is that?” I was looking for a clue, wanting him to say something to give me some insight into their plans. And at the same time, I tried to appear naïve. My only chance of saving the Dowager was to keep these men from thinking I knew anything. I had to be able to walk away from them when tea was over and summon help. If I seemed nervous or asked the wrong questions, if I made them suspicious, they might trap me too.
“Why would they kill the tsar and keep his family alive?” Yasin asked, rhetorically.
“The children and the empress were, after the tsar, the manifestation of the corrupt royal system,” Grigori added. “The Bolsheviks would have no use for them, other than the pleasure of destroying them.”
Was he saying it with relish? Whenever we’d spoken of this before, I’d always thought he repeated the Bolshevik propaganda in order to explain the atrocities that were occurring in his homeland. But I’d been wrong. It was clear to me now that Grigori Orloff believed in the Bolshevik cause.
The conversation drifted to other topics. The men demolished the pie and the chicken. When we were done, Briggs came in to ask if we needed anything else.
I eyed him. Was he as safe as I thought? Or had he been lying too? Was he in on the plan to kidnap or murder the Dowager? And what of me?
Back in my room, I walked back and forth in front of the windows. And then, reminded of Grigori’s incessant pacing, I stopped. I sat down and worked. And worked. The basket weave I’d chosen was taking much longer than expected. The complicated pattern of gold threads lacing over and under one another occupied my mind and at the same time allowed it to wander, to try to come up with a plan I could execute on my own.
By ten o’clock, I was desperate to take action, but still not sure what I should do. If I could get to a telephone and not be overheard, I could call the local police. But I hadn’t seen a phone and I didn’t know how to go looking for one without arousing suspicion when, for all I knew, everyone in the household was part of the plot.
Still weaving, I must have fallen asleep at the table. When I woke, long past midnight, the moon shone through the windows, illuminating the finished talisman. The crystal looked alive; the gold glimmered. I picked it up. I couldn’t hear any voices but sensed they were indeed there, waiting until a connection could be made via a loved one before imparting their terribly sad information.
It was the first time I’d ever made a piece of jewelry in search of proof of death, and I hated having done it. If I ever saw the Dowager again, if in the morning I figured out a way to help her, to free her, she was sure to ask. How could I be the one to deliver this horrible news?
I barely slept and went down to breakfast early, hoping I might find Briggs alone and talk to him, try to get a sense if he was indeed innocent or part of Grigori and Yasin’s band of thugs.
But both men were already at the dining table, half done with their breakfasts, and I couldn’t figure out how to get the butler alone.
“Did you sleep well?” Grigori asked.
“No, I didn’t. Too anxious about today. About giving the empress the talisman. About what it will tell us.”
“I’m afraid it won’t be possible for you to spend a long time with her,” Yasin said. “We’ve received a message from London and they want her to leave as soon as possible.”
I nodded as if everything made complete sense, but I was confused. Was I really going to meet with her?
“I’ll come and get you as soon as Madame is ready.”
What game was this? How were they going to bring me to the Dowager? How were they going to get her to pretend she was all right when she’d spent the night in a dungeon tied to a chair? Or had she? Was the scene I’d witnessed some kind of torture to get information from her? Had they decided to let her go? But they couldn’t—she’d seen their faces.
At ten o’clock, Grigori knocked on my door and told me the Dowager was ready for me. Together we walked to her rooms. Yasin opened the door and led me inside, through her sitting room into her bedroom. The heavy forest green damask drapes were drawn. Only a small lamp was lit. The room and the woman sitting by the window were shrouded in shadows. Dressed for travel, the Dowager was all in black, with a hat and veil covering her face, black gloves on her hands.
I walked toward her, but Yasin stopped me befo
re I came too close.
“Can I have the talisman?” he asked. “I will give it to Her Highness.”
I handed it to him. He crossed the room and handed it to the Dowager.
She held it in her palm and looked down at it.
“What should she do?” he asked.
“I need to show her,” I explained. “I need to hold it as well.”
He seemed concerned but then nodded and gestured.
I approached and stood close to her. I tried to peer through the veil and into her eyes, but her glance was cast down, looking, it seemed, at my handiwork.
“If Your Highness would hold on to the talisman, I need to put my hands around yours.”
She nodded and did as I asked.
I put my hands around her gloved ones.
I’d expected children’s voices to come all at once. Was sure of it. But I heard only the distant ticking of a clock and waves hitting the rocks. Maybe I’d been wrong. Perhaps I hadn’t sensed the children’s souls waiting for their chance to speak to their grandmother.
“They . . . your family . . . your grandchildren . . . they aren’t talking to me, Your Highness. They are still alive.”
I expected her to say something. Just a few words of thanks. Someone of her breeding would have acknowledged my efforts. But she remained silent.
I released her hands. She dropped the talisman on the table.
How odd, I thought. Wasn’t she going to take it with her? Her grandchildren’s memorabilia was contained within the crystal. How could she leave it behind?
Yasin appeared at her side, helping her up.
“The car is waiting,” he said to her, and then turned to me.
“I believe you have something for Her Highness?”
Pavel had told me only to give her the second necklace, the necklace with the emerald eggs, if she was alone. But we weren’t alone. And moment by moment I was becoming less and less certain she was the Dowager at all, but an imposter. Could the real Dowager have left the talisman behind? Wouldn’t she have clutched it to her chest, cherishing it and the hope it had offered?