The Rasputin Dagger

by Theresa Breslin

  Galena bent her head to weep as Stefan left the room and we heard him climb the stairs to the attic. I too felt tears stinging my eyes. And I realized it wasn’t just for my own sadness; I was upset for the grief that Stefan was suffering. Galena placed Stefan’s dinner on the stove and we forced ourselves to finish our meal. I heated some water and filled the hot-water bottles. Before Galena went to her pantry bedroom she indicated Stefan’s plate. ‘I doubt if he’ll come back down tonight and my legs are too old to climb to the third floor of the house. Yet he needs to eat …’

  ‘I’ll take it up to him.’ I picked up the plate, went upstairs to the attic and knocked on his door.

  ‘Yes?’ The voice from inside was thin and dejected.

  Stefan was lying on top of his bedcovers, still wearing his clothes and house shoes. No lamp burned in the room but the moon shone bright through the uncurtained window.

  ‘Oh. It’s you,’ he said.

  ‘Indeed, it is me,’ I replied. I thought how, months ago, I might have been offended by his tone, but I realized the flatness in his voice came from his lack of interest in life. ‘Galena asked me to bring you this food.’

  He turned his face to look out of the window. ‘How can I eat when I have lost the only father I ever knew?’

  ‘Denying yourself sustenance serves no purpose.’ I recalled the words Dmitri had used to comfort me after the death of my father. ‘The passing of a person you love leaves a hole in your life. But we must allow that space to be filled with the memory of their wisdom, and act in a manner that shows we are living in the light of their spirit.’

  ‘You are quoting someone,’ he said.

  ‘Dmitri,’ I replied. ‘My father’s steward. He comforted me after Papa died.’

  ‘What else did he say?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ My voice was wobbling, for I was reliving the days of dark despair after Papa passed away. ‘Dmitri encouraged me to focus on what the person might have wanted you to do. Which,’ I added, ‘would have included being sensible and eating, even if you do not feel hungry.’

  ‘You are blackmailing me.’ Stefan struggled half upright in the bed.

  ‘I also think that it’s good to take time to talk about the person, remember times of laughter and of arguments too.’

  ‘We had plenty of those,’ said Stefan. ‘Arguments, I mean.’

  ‘I believe Dr K enjoyed the arguments. In a world of lies the truth was spoken around our dinner table.’ I thought of the first meal I’d eaten in this house. ‘I found it very … refreshing.’

  ‘Is that your honest opinion?’ Stefan gave me a quizzical smile. ‘That our arguments are “refreshing”?’

  ‘Of course!’ I smiled in return.

  As Stefan reached out to take the plate from me, his hand covered my own. And he left it there for more than a moment. I felt its warmth. I saw the depth of feeling in his eyes.

  And, like a physical blow, love filled my heart and soul.

  Chapter 47

  I’d never totally believed that Dr Konstantin had forgotten the name of the church where my parents were married.

  After Viktor Ilyich had left the house that day, the only other information which Dr K had let slip was that it was small, more of a chapel than a church. Since that conversation I’d traversed the city, visiting every chapel I could find. And in every one I would say a special prayer, in the hope that it might be the one where Papa and Mama had pledged their lives to each other.

  Until now I’d had no real hope of identifying the actual church. But a few days after the funeral I smoothed out the sheet of paper I’d taken from an old file of the doctor’s and I read the address that was written upon it. And so it was that I opened the door of a tiny chapel near the university.

  The interior was dark but there was enough light from the sanctuary lamp for me to see that directly in front of me hung an icon of the Strastnaya.

  ‘Mama!’ I whispered. The image was identical to the icon in my father’s study in Siberia – my mother’s favourite religious painting, before which I’d knelt to pray on the day I’d left my childhood home.

  Heart hammering inside my chest, I went forward. The background of gold leaf glowed upon the surface of walnut wood. And I knew, for certain, that my mother had stood before this image. There was the crimson robe of Mary covered by the veil of a dark blue and gold maphorion. My fingers reached to touch the child’s foot – his little sandal with the loose strap which was falling—

  ‘Daughter, may I help you?’

  I turned. An old priest, heavily bearded, stood beside me.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I whispered.

  ‘It is a sad image.’ He indicated the two angels on either side of the main figures. ‘They hold the instruments of the Christ’s Passion; hence the name given to the icon.’

  ‘I never saw it as such,’ I replied. ‘When I was growing up I liked the fact that the little boy’s sandal was falling off.’ I explained how I used to run barefoot among meadow flowers.

  ‘Where did you grow up?’

  ‘Siberia, near Yekaterinburg.’

  ‘That is very far from here.’ His voice was guarded. ‘May I ask why you have come to the city?’

  I looked at him as he looked at me, both of us searching the other’s face for the real reason for this meeting. From my lips came tumbling my life story and my ignorance of my parents’ history.

  The priest led me to a private room. There he sat me down and told me what I needed to know.

  ‘Your mother’s father would never have allowed her to wed your papa, or indeed anyone. But I recognized the depth of their love, the goodness in the woman and the honesty of the man, so I agreed to perform the ceremony. I will bring you proof that your parents were married.’

  I unrolled the marriage certificate he gave me. There, in plain scholarly script, my father had signed his name:

  Given name:

  Family name:

  Alongside it I saw my mother’s elegant handwriting:

  Given name:

  Family name:

  Chapter 48

  Romanov.

  I am a Romanov.

  My name is Romanov.

  My name is Romanov.

  Beating in my head.

  The hated name. Romanov. Detested by Stefan. Despised in the city I’d come to love.

  Romanov. Romanov.

  I ran home and flung myself, weeping, onto my bed.

  Galena was by my side in seconds. ‘What’s amiss? Were you attacked in the street? Tell me.’

  ‘I know who I really am,’ I sobbed. ‘I found the church where Mama and Papa were married. The priest showed me their marriage certificate.’

  ‘Ah, that …’

  ‘You knew?’ I sat up in bed to look at her.

  ‘No secrets can be kept from a housekeeper,’ she said. ‘But I knew your parents from when we were young together. My mother was a washerwoman. We lived near the apartments where the university students lodged and the lads would tease me as I took the laundry baskets backwards and forwards to the houses of the dons and the professors. Your papa and Konstantin were never rude to me as they passed the time of day. An unusual friendship developed – in that they were students and I could scarcely read or write.’

  Galena paused and her lips curved in a smile at some private memory. ‘But I could bake, and they both liked cake. So it went on until, in the week of their graduation, for a dare, they decided they would try to infiltrate a grand ball that was being held in the Winter Palace.’

  ‘I thought Papa was delirious when he told me that!’ I exclaimed. ‘He said he’d danced in the ballroom of the Winter Palace.’

  ‘They both did.’ Galena smiled again. ‘My part in their plan was to “borrow” appropriate suits from my mother’s customers. So handsome they both looked,’ she sighed, ‘so very handsome.

  ‘They walked in, as bold as bears, and larked about. Then your papa saw a girl in an alcove who was reading a book. At first
she refused to dance with him, so he sat down beside her and they discussed the story. Konstantin was bored and went home. The next day Ivan told us he was in love with Valentina.’ Galena snapped her fingers. ‘Like that.’

  ‘And she loved him too?’

  ‘She did. But her father was a wicked man, corrupt and cruel. He was a cousin of the Tsar’s own father, but was banned from the royal palaces because precious objects went missing whenever he visited. He always said he’d kill his daughter if she ever tried to leave him.

  ‘They found a sympathetic priest and were married and met up secretly. For a long while that went well, until everything changed.’

  ‘My mother became pregnant?’

  Galena nodded. ‘Valentina’s father knew that she was hiding something from him. He locked her in her room and said he would beat her every day until she told him. Ivan thought her father might accept him if he explained how much they loved each other. Your papa was not without means – he’d inherited money from his parents, and had hopes of a professorship and a prestigious academic career.

  ‘When he went to the house, though, Valentina’s father attacked him, and her too. And, well … we never knew every detail, because when they came to us for help she was distraught and Ivan would not speak of it. Only to say that there had been struggle and Valentina’s father had died after being stabbed by a dagger. But, Nina, I swear on my soul that your papa was an honourable man, and if he did the deed, it was to protect his wife and unborn child.’

  ‘This is why they made their home in Siberia?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. Valentina and Ivan had to flee at once. It was a blood feud. Valentina’s brothers were as vicious as their father and, whether she was pregnant or not, they would have killed their sister and her husband.’

  This was why Papa had warned me on his deathbed: Do not ever leave our family home, Nina. If you do, then your life will be in peril!

  ‘Your father found a remote place many days’ journey from Valentina’s brothers and the affluent lives they lived,’ Galena went on. ‘He was able to purchase a house and a small estate which would support his family. Somewhere they could live happily together.’

  ‘And they did,’ I said. ‘Dmitri says they were besotted with one another.’

  ‘When they went away Konstantin and I were bereft.’

  ‘Did you love Konstantin?’ I asked her.

  ‘How could anyone not love Konstantin? He had the courage of a lion and the compassion of a saint. So, yes, I did love him,’ said Galena, ‘but as a true friend – not in the way he loved me. Of course, a woman is flattered when a man declares his love and asks her to marry him. If he is a good man and easy to live with, then it’s tempting to accept the proposal. You know that you would be comforted and indulged, and, to begin with, you would make him happy. But I think that man’s happiness would shrivel when he eventually realized that you hadn’t the same kind of love for him that he had for you.’ Galena wiped her face with the edge of her apron and said, ‘I couldn’t do that to Konstantin. But he refused to seek another bride and no one else appealed to me, so we agreed on this arrangement and I think our lives were more contented like this.’

  Galena made me drink some hot milk laced with brandy and left me to rest.

  I couldn’t sleep. My parents’ life story and a thousand other thoughts revolved round and round in my head. I thought of Tomas, and knew that Galena’s wisdom in not marrying Dr K was good guidance for me. I resolved to write to Tomas and honestly tell him why I could not accept his proposal. I loved him as a friend, not as a future husband. My letter would let him get on with his life.

  I would not mention the main reason why I could not marry him.

  I loved Stefan.

  And then the enormity of the discovery I’d made today struck me, and I was heartbroken. I curled myself into a ball and cried and cried. I knew that the happiness of love was beyond my reach. Stefan detested the Romanovs. For the death of his mother and for the ruin of Russia. Along with the Bolsheviks, he blamed them for the murder of Dr K, for had they ruled Russia wisely, then anarchy would not now be stalking through the land.

  I was a Romanov and Stefan hated all Romanovs.

  For ever.

  Dmitri’s reply arrived. He wrote to say that he was overjoyed that I was coming home. Inside the envelope were four train passes.

  I had collected the letter from the post office at the end of my shift and opened it on my way home. Excited that I was the bearer of such good tidings, I hastened along the street, only to be brought up short when I saw the door of our house standing open and pieces of crockery strewn down the front steps. From the direction of Dr K’s study came a racket: raised voices and furniture being smashed.

  I ran inside.

  Three grim-faced men were rampaging through the room, throwing precious ornaments onto the floor and tearing photographs and paintings from the walls.

  ‘Don’t you dare touch his university degree!’ Galena screeched as one of them laid his hands on the framed certificate.

  For answer the man broke the glass across the corner of the desk and threw it at her.

  As Galena bent to pick it up, he knocked her aside, saying, ‘We should visit this famous clinic where your traitor doctor tended to enemies of the Revolution.’

  ‘Vandals!’ Galena made to follow them.

  Fearing for her life, I tried to restrain her. She struggled against me, and I was losing my grip when a pair of stronger arms fastened themselves around both of us.

  ‘Best not to watch.’ Stefan’s voice spoke with authority. ‘Hush, hush,’ he murmured as Galena and I broke down in tears. ‘Hush now; we are strong enough to withstand this.’

  And we held onto each other then as if we would never let go.

  ‘We should leave it as it is.’ When the men had gone it was Stefan who made the most sensible suggestion regarding the chaotic state of the study and the clinic. ‘Otherwise they’ll only come back and do it all over again.’

  ‘Nobody will attend the clinic now anyway,’ I said. ‘People are terrified that if they do they’ll be reported to the Cheka.’

  ‘I am glad Konstantin is not alive to witness this,’ Galena stated resolutely. ‘But I know that he would be glad that we are alive to start afresh elsewhere.’

  The day before we were due to set out for Yekaterinburg, while I was in the scullery packing food for our journey, Galena came to speak to me.

  ‘There’s a woman at the front door who wishes to see the person known as Nina who lives at this address,’ said Galena. ‘You must go to her for she has refused to enter the house.’

  The woman had on a coat with a patterned shawl about her shoulders, crossed over her chest and wrapped around her waist. By the distinctive design and the way it was worn I knew she was Siberian.

  ‘You are Nina?’ she asked me.

  ‘I am. Please come inside. It’s a cold day.’

  ‘I have a gift for you.’ She handed me a parcel bundled up in old newspaper and tied with rough string, then turned to leave.

  ‘Wait!’ I said. ‘What is this gift and who is it from?’

  ‘I do not know what is inside the parcel,’ she replied. ‘I am following the instructions of my father. He left a note among his possessions to say that when he died this should be delivered to the one whose life is worth saving. I was charged with taking it to the house of Dr Konstantin and giving it to the person called Nina who looked after the boy child of Tsar Nicholas Romanov. I am sorry it has taken me so long to bring this to you, but during last year my family have been hounded and imprisoned by the Bolsheviks. The chest containing my father’s personal things was hidden by a friend and only just returned to us. I have no other information to give you.’

  By this time the woman was on the bottom step of the staircase.

  ‘Did I know your father?’ I called out.

  ‘Everyone knew of my father,’ she said, before hurrying off down the street. ‘His name was Grigory Ra
sputin.’

  I went to my room and with trembling hands I untied the knots of the string. I peeled back the sheets of paper to reveal the embroidered white sash which Rasputin had worn on the day we met. My brain closed down. I didn’t want to unwrap this parcel any further. I didn’t want to see the object I knew lay hidden among its folds.

  My unwilling fingers probed deeper. I felt the curve of the blade, the shape of the handle, the beads of the pearls, and the outline of the jewel within their centre.

  I drew the dagger to my breast.

  The ruby’s light exploded in my mind.

  Fiery red.

  And instantly there was sound there too. Bursts of firecracker noises.

  Voices – insistent … pleading … A rattling, clattering … The howling of a wolf which changed eerily into a thin, distant, high-pitched scream.

  ‘Nina?’ Galena was standing at the door of my room. ‘I was watching from the window. What did that woman give you?’

  ‘This!’ I hastily pushed the dagger under my pillow and lifted just the sash to show her.

  ‘That’s fine embroidery work,’ said Galena. ‘Was she delivering it as a present from an admirer?’

  ‘Not really.’ I swallowed and wiped away the hot tears that had formed in my eyes. ‘It once belonged to her father … Rasputin.’

  ‘I thought I recognized her face! After he died there were photographs of his children in the newspapers. Why would she give this to you?’

  ‘When we met at the Alexander Palace Rasputin referred to me as a “fellow healer”. He said that I was worthy of respect.’

  ‘Worthy of more respect than he was,’ said Galena stoutly.

  I thought about this enigmatic man, Grigory Rasputin, and his tales of the twin daggers. One dagger to take a life. One dagger to save a life. He’d believed there was some hidden meaning in our meeting each other. That our paths had crossed for a purpose. The ancient sage had said that the life Rasputin’s dagger would save must be a life worth saving. I knew that Rasputin considered himself to be unworthy.