Natalie Tereshchenko - The Other Side

by Elizabeth Audrey Mills

  Next his index finger was gripped: "In view of her past, how can we trust her? For all of Comrade Sverdlov's confidence, she could still prove to be a White spy in our midst." Again, that hostile stare.

  Second finger: "What experience does she have? Nothing but the privilege of the royal household. We were all part of the revolution, risking our lives, while she sat in luxury in Alexander Palace, serving every whim of the decadent Romanovs."

  Ring finger: "She's a slip of a girl. Who can take her seriously? Certainly not me!" He glared at me with a self-satisfied twitch of his shoulders.

  Little finger: "And she's another woman! This chamber will soon be crawling with women! How many more?" He grinned up and down the table. "Are we being infiltrated by the gentle sex?" There were sniggers from one or two of the men. Stalin spread his arms wide. "Soon there will be no room for the men to get on with the real business of the country!"

  Beaming at his own humour, he sat down, accompanied by loud laughter from around the room. I remembered Aleksandra telling me that Joe hated the idea of women being involved in government, and had always made life as difficult as possible for her.

  Aleksandra raised her hand, and Trotsky acknowledged it with a nod. "Comrade Kollontai, your reply," he said loudly into the babble of voices.

  Aleksandra stood.

  "Another woman?" She fixed Stalin with one of her glares. He held it, unblinking. "Well, women constitute half the population," she continued, "so why should it be a problem that there are now two of us on the Women's Commissariat? Two! It is hardly an invasion, is it? And, in case it escaped your attention, comrades, you men did not fight the revolution alone ~ women marched beside you from the start, played a vital role. Women from the factories and the shops. Women died beside you for the cause. It could not have happened without us. I, too, have spent time in the Tsar's prisons, as have many unsung heroines of the fight for freedom."

  She paused to let her words sink in, then shocked me. "I would like Comrade Tereshchenko to reply on her own behalf," she said, and sat down again. The room fell into stunned silence.

  Me? I looked at her, and she nodded. Nervously I rose to my feet.

  Aware that my voice had to carry to the far ends of the table, I tried to add power to it, and heard a strident tone to my first words. "Comrade Stalin is right, on all counts," I began. "I am small, and young, and inexperienced." I softened the tone as best I could, while still trying to project to the farthest seats. "And why should you trust me? As far as you can see, I have done little so far to earn that trust. I would like to carry on, to prove myself, but for that I need you to take a risk and give me a chance."

  I smiled, trying to lighten the atmosphere, but it was a weak, tight smile, and was not returned by the hard faces that lined the table like a jury waiting to pass sentence. I paused for a second to lock eyes with Stalin, forced myself to look at him, though my legs were shaking like reeds in a gale. He met my gaze, but did not respond; his face was a mask.

  Flustered and lost for words, I again looked around the room. A drone of male voices had started. Many of them did not appear to be listening for what I had to say, they were leaning towards each other in twos and threes, talking, discussing me. I needed their attention, my life depended on it. I sought Trotsky's eyes; he at least was following me. He banged the table with his little wooden hammer to get their attention. "Comrades!" he called loudly. "The chair recognises this speaker, please have the courtesy to listen." He nodded encouragingly to me.

  I sent him a smile of thanks while I gathered my wits.

  "I served the Romanovs because it was the only life I knew," I resumed into the relative silence. "But that does not mean that I was oblivious to their faults, though I was ignorant of the events taking place beyond the palace walls, and not privy to their secrets. Since working with my colleagues here, I have learnt something of the crimes committed by the Tsar, and I can tell you that I hate them for what they did. I do not deserve to be blamed for the actions of those who dominated me as they dominated Russia, and I sincerely want to help this council in whatever little way I am able."

  Finally, I gave in to my trembling legs, and almost fell back into my chair, aware that I had just addressed the most important men in the country. Again I felt Aleksandra's hand reach for mine under the table.

  Of course, I was not permitted to remain for the rest of the meeting, when my fate would be decided, and Aleksandra was no longer a council member, so she led me to the door. Though she kept a serious expression as we crossed the room, when we reached the door and her face was hidden from all except me, she gave me a big wink. "Well done," she mouthed.

  Chapter 14

  ~ Lenin ~

  Aleksandra and I went to the canteen, a huge dining hall on the ground floor, and collected a pot of tea, then carried it upstairs and waited in her office for Sverdlov to return with the result of the council vote.

  "Thank you for supporting me," I said as I closed the door.

  "I hope I am not making a big mistake," she replied. "Yakov and I are sticking our necks out, here, and we really know nothing about you. I am relying purely on my instinct; it has never let me down before, but this has happened too quickly for my comfort."

  "Your instinct is right, I am sincere," I said.

  We sat, and I took a sip of my drink, noticing as I did so that my hands were still trembling. "What will happen to me if the council votes against us?" I asked.

  "I don't like to think about that," she said. "Joseph will probably demand that we hand you over to him."

  I knew what that meant. Stalin and Avadeyev were two of a kind. I could not expect clemency.

  "Natalie, how did you come to be working for the Empress?" she suddenly asked. The question I had been dreading.

  "My father died when I was little; I never knew him," I told her. That was true, though it would not do to mention who my father was. "My mother could not cope alone, and, as she worked for the Empress as a seamstress, she asked for her help. Alexandra took me in, fed and clothed me, and put me to work as a maid."

  "But you rose to become a Lady In Waiting. Not many servants get that kind of opportunity ~ it is usually reserved for members of the royal family."

  I nodded. "Yes, but it was a small household at Alexander palace, and I was always willing to work hard. Most of my time was with Tatiana. She was pleased with what I did, and when she needed an assistant, she asked for me."

  "What became of your mother?"

  "She never came to see me, the whole of my childhood. I was told that she moved away."

  "And how did you come to be with the family in exile?"

  I shrugged. "I had nowhere else to go, no other family. My only real friends, two of the maids I grew up with, were going with the family, so I went too."

  At that moment, Sverdlov burst in through the door. "Ah, there you are," he said, flopping down on Aleksandra's settee. He looked happier, though still tense. "We carried it ... just ... thirteen to twelve, with the chairman's vote. Stalin is livid!"

  He seemed to be more pleased about scoring a win over Stalin than about saving my life.

  * * *

  Later that same day, I was carrying messages down to the telegraph office when a crowd of security men rushed past me, shouting at me to get out of their way. When I reached the clerk at the desk, I asked what was going on. "Lenin has returned early from his diplomatic trip to Germany," he informed me.

  On my return to the office, I passed the information on to Yakov. Since the council vote, I had felt an easing in the atmosphere between us, but the warmth was gone.

  "You can bet that Yurovsky and Stalin will make a point of informing him about you," he said, grimly.

  And so it was. Within an hour, I found myself walking across the square and along a tree-lined avenue to the Kremlin Palace, the stunning building that had once been the occasional home of generations of Tsars. I had been summoned to visit Lenin in his quarters, and was accompanied by his secretar
y, Vladimir Dmitriyevich Bonch-Bruevich, and two soldiers.

  "He wants to meet you personally," Bonch-Bruevich explained as we walked. "Normally, he would not be concerned with minor appointments such as this within the various Commissariats, but your background makes you special ~ something of a threat, and something of an enigma."

  "My life is an enigma, comrade Bonch-Bruevich," I said with a shrug as we marched briskly beneath trees bright with pink and white blossoms. "The accident of my previous employment hangs around my neck like a sign saying 'Unclean!'"

  He smiled, mirthlessly, as I imagined the angel of death might smile. A tall, stocky man, with a heavy beard, and dressed all in black, Bonch-Bruevich looked more like a rabbi than secretary to the leader of Russia.

  "It is his purpose to ensure that you are not bringing The Plague into our midst," he commented. It was almost a joke ~ almost ~ but was, perhaps more likely, an accusation.

  We entered the palace by the main doors, Bonch-Bruevich receiving a salute from the soldiers guarding the entrance, and began to mount the elegant staircase.

  "You will address him as 'Comrade Ilyich'," he informed me as he strode up the wide, marble steps.

  It sounded so much like a royal command that I stopped climbing and looked at him in amazement.

  "What?" he asked, irritably, also pausing astride two steps and looking back down at me.

  "Not 'Your majesty'?" I mocked.

  His beard twitched. "Don't be ridiculous," he grunted, turning and strutting to the top of the stairs, then marching ahead without waiting for me.

  I refused to run to keep up with him, and walked steadily, the yards building up between us, until he stopped at a door, where he had to wait for me. Looking impatiently over his shoulder until I arrived, he eventually knocked, and after a voice spoke from beyond, opened the door and held it for me. "Comrade Natalie Tereshchenko," he announced.

  * * *

  'Ah, Comrade Ilyich, how good of you to see me.'

  I didn't say that, of course, but the rogue thought raced through my mind, and I had to fight back a nervous grin as I walked into his office. He looked up and gestured wordlessly to the chair before his desk, then continued writing. As I crossed the room on the thick blue carpet, I looked around me at the luxurious décor, similar to that with which I had grown up in Alexander Palace but, if anything, even grander. When I reached the chair, I sat in it and waited for him to acknowledge me.

  He sat upright as he worked, immaculately dressed in a dark suit, with a waistcoat and tie, his beard neatly groomed, his bald head shining. When he felt that he had kept me waiting long enough, he put down his pen and skewered me with a piercing stare.

  "Socialism is not something you can just take up as a hobby," he began, cuttingly. "It is not a passing tram, on which to jump when your motor car has broken down. Why do you think we should take you in, now that you no longer have royal masters to serve?"

  I watched him speaking, I noticed that, though his mouth moved to release the sounds, there was no expression on his face. It was odd ~ his eyes were sharp, watchful, yet telling nothing; I could not sense the soul behind them.

  I thought carefully before answering:

  "Like every child, Comrade, I did not choose where I was brought up or who my parents were. I was placed with the royals as a charity case, when my own mother could not support me. My status in the royal household was no better than any of the other servants. Your analogy falls down on one thing: the motor car was never mine, I did not even ride in it. My place was to run beside it, pandering to the passengers. They kept us ignorant or misinformed about the true state of the nation, and it is only since I have been working with Comrade Kollontai that I have discovered what was really happening."

  I stopped, consciously holding back from saying any more, aware that I could fall into the trap of pleading my case, and determined not to be intimidated into doing so. I knew that they did not all agree on my role within the party ~ Stalin had already shown his hostility unambiguously ~ but I was no longer the timid servant girl, I would argue but not beg. His eyebrows twitched a little.

  "These are dangerous times," he said. "Are you prepared to die for the cause?"

  "I believe I have already proved that," I replied, simply, removing my knitted hat and pointing to the scar on my forehead.

  "Ah yes, your ... um ... exposure at the convent." Was that a hint of a smile? "I have Captain Sergeyev's report here." He held it up as if to prove the point. "Very well, Miss Tereshchenko, go, with my approval. I will be interested to see if our experiment bears any fruit."

  He stood, and extended his hand across the desk. It was a surprising gesture, and I accepted the handshake with a smile and a small curtsey. He did not smile back, but I thought I detected a slight twinkle in his eyes as I turned to leave.

  He still had one more surprise for me. As I reached the door and turned the golden knob, I heard him add, quietly, but loud enough for me to know that I was meant to hear: "Watch out for Stalin."

  I turned to look back at him, but his head was down, his eyes on his work, not on me. It was as though I had imagined that he had said it, though I knew I had not.

  Chapter 15

  ~ Tuesday 13th August 1918 ~

  A large, red sun was disappearing behind the ragged skyline of roofs and spires of Moscow when I walked home after another long, busy day. One of my escorts for the night, Leo, walked beside me, chatting, as though we were old friends (it was an act, of course) while the other, Stanislav, ambled watchfully a few feet behind ~ to all appearances, just another pedestrian, looking in shop windows.

  When we had climbed the stairs and reached my apartment, I was about to put my key in the lock when Leo stopped me with a hand on my arm. Wordlessly, he twitched his nose, and I obediently sniffed the air. Cigarette smoke, faint but certain. Stanislav took my key from my trembling fingers, and with a gesture of his head indicated that I should move away. I retreated down the corridor while the two men took position, one on each side of the door.

  Pressed against the wall, Stanislav stretched out an arm and inserted my key in the lock and turned it. I saw Leo remove his jacket as Stanislav pushed the door open, then … nothing happened. After a nod from Stanislav, Leo threw his jacket across the open face of the doorway towards his partner, and the silence was shattered by a burst of gunshots, deafening in the confines of the corridor. The jacket jerked in mid-flight, landing on the floor between the two men, and plaster spurted from the wall opposite. At the same instant, I saw Stanislav's arm swing in a short arc as he tossed something in through the open doorway. Both men took a step backwards, and instinctively I too moved further away.

  I reached the stairs, and jumped when I found that there was a man standing on the top step. He held a finger up to his lips, and flapped his other hand, telling me to pass him and go down the stairs. I had three escorts, not two! As I obeyed, I heard a loud thud from behind me, and stopped, looking over my shoulder.

  "Smoke grenade," the man said. "We want to take him alive, whoever he is."

  He stepped out into the corridor, a pistol in his hand, to give his companions support, but no more shots were fired. I heard violent coughing as, presumably, the intruder or intruders staggered out of my flat into the arms of my escorts.

  I joined the third man on the landing, and saw my protectors dragging someone along the corridor towards me, away from the fumes that were billowing from my door. He was middle-aged, balding, with a brown moustache and wearing rough, working clothes. He was still coughing and struggling in great gulps to regain his breath.

  As they handcuffed him, Leo told me that I would not be able to enter my apartment until the air had cleared and the place had been checked for clues. So, after Stanislav had locked the door, I accompanied them and their captive through the evening gloom, back to the Kremlin, with their mysterious colleague again trailing behind. Now that I knew there was a third man protecting me, I could see how he had kept station not far away,
while remaining inconspicuous.

  The man they had apprehended was not the youth who had tried to crush me with his motor car a few days earlier ~ this man was older and bigger, with heavy eyebrows, like a gorilla. We received some strange looks from passers-by as my companions marched on either side of him, his wrists bound behind his back with handcuffs. We parted company at the garrison, they taking their prisoner upstairs to their mysterious Department Thirteen for interrogation, I to return to my office.

  I found Aleksandra still at work, and told her what had happened. She helped me to arrange for some workmen with gas-masks to open up my flat the next day, then she gave me some blankets, and I fashioned a bed in the corner of my office for the night.

  "Where is Department Thirteen?" I asked her afterwards.

  "That's Stalin's baby, on the top floor," she replied. "You're not thinking of going there, are you?"

  I nodded. "I want to find out who's trying to kill me," I answered grimly.

  "You won't be allowed up there without a special pass," she said. "And knowing what dear Joseph thinks of you, I wouldn't fancy your chances of him signing one."

  She picked up her phone.

  "Hello Natasha," she said into the mouthpiece after a brief pause. "Are you still on duty?" She laughed at the reply, then asked for Department Thirteen, gesturing for me to stand beside her, and tilting the earpiece so I could hear what was said.

  "Yes?" came a tinny voice, like a gramophone record.

  "Kollontai," she said. "Comrade Tereshchenko's agents brought in a suspect this evening. Do you have any news?"

  "Hold on," said the disembodied voice.

  We waited, and eventually a new voice came crackling from the machine. "Agent Solovyov. Tell her that he is refusing to give any information and had no identification with him. I doubt we will have anything to report before morning."

  Aleksandra thanked him and replaced the earpiece in its little cradle, ending the call.

  "I wouldn't want to be their prisoner," she said quietly, sending a shiver up my spine.

  * * *

  After a restless night on the floor of my office, in which my mind kept replaying the dramatic events outside my flat, and comparing them with the earlier attempt on my life, I woke with the dawn and folded up my blankets, dressed, then stood for a few minutes at my window looking pensively down at the stable-hands working in the yard below. The grooms led each horse out in turn, and brushed them down while boys cleaned out the pen. Steam rose into the cool dawn air from the heap of soiled straw growing in their wheelbarrow. When it was full, the lad ran with it across the yard and transferred the muck into a cart that was waiting to spirit it away, as though there was no such thing as smelly manure to offend the gentle people of the Kremlin.