The guard, an unkempt man with leathery skin, chewing on a large wad of tobacco, retorted, ‘Not for anything in the world.’
‘But, my dear fellow, why? What have you got against me?’
The guard did not answer and instead spat at the ground, his tobacco-stained saliva landing just short of Nicholas’s boot.
In May, the family received permission to start a kitchen garden in the palace grounds. Grateful for a project to occupy their time, Nicholas and his daughters threw themselves into the task of planting, weeding and tilling the land for their crops. Not far from them, embroidering in her wheelchair, Alexandra kept a protective eye on her family.
‘Where do you want this, Papa?’
Panting slightly, Olga and Tatiana carried turf, the load suspended at each end on parallel wooden bars, their skin glowing with the effort.
‘Put it over there.’ Nicholas pointed to a section of the garden where he planned to plant a row of cabbages.
As the girls struggled to lower the load, Tatiana’s hat fell off, revealing her bald scalp.
‘Look at her, stripped of all her charm and graces she’s as ugly as a crow,’ someone called.
Nicholas looked at the group of people, their heads pressed through the bars of the ground’s gates. Each day they gathered to shout abuse and insults. The guards did nothing to stop the jeering and at times even encouraged the crowds further by joining in with the taunts.
The girls’ hair had begun to fall out when they were ill, and Alexandra had ordered them shaved to help the regrowth.
Her cheeks crimson, Tatiana snatched up her hat, pulling it tight over her ears. As she walked past, Nicholas reached out a hand to comfort her.
‘I don’t understand, Papa. They always used to cheer when we went past in the carriages.’ Her green eyes glistened. ‘What happened for them to hate us so much?’
The former Tsar had no answer.
Sitting at the head of the dining table that evening, Nicholas led his family in giving thanks for the food they were about to receive. The maid moved slowly around the table, serving ladlefuls of potatoes and lentils. Accompanying the imperial family at the table were the last of their loyal supporters, who had joined them in house arrest.
Alexandra kept her head high, not making eye contact with anyone. Her lips tightened when the maid served her the food.
‘What … no meat again?’
‘I’m sorry, Your Highness. That’s all the guards allowed the cook.’
The meal passed mostly in silence, occasionally broken by stilted conversation and the soft clanking of cutlery against china. They had almost finished eating when the door to the dining room opened and the commandant entered. A soft-spoken man in his late thirties, Colonel Kobylinsky was a professional soldier who had served in the Imperial Guard regiment and was now working with the Provisional Government.
‘I’m here to inform you that you are to be transported to a new location in the morning.’
Stunned, the family looked to Nicholas for answers.
‘Where are we being sent?’ Nicholas asked, rising from the table.
‘I’m afraid I’m not privy to that information,’ the colonel replied. ‘But I would suggest you pack furs and warm clothing.’
After the colonel left, silence again stretched through the room. The girls began to weep quietly, their narrow shoulders shaking under their thin cotton blouses. Pacing the room, Nicholas stopped and held his head in his hands.
‘Papa,’ Anastasia’s pale eyes fixed on her father, ‘are we being sent to Siberia?’ The look in her eyes cut Nicholas so deep he thought his heart would splinter into pieces.
‘My darling girl.’ He embraced her. ‘We have no choice. We must place our trust in our captors.’
‘I’m frightened, Papa,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to leave our home.’
‘I know, but as long as we are together, I will not let anything happen to you.’
The imperial family and their entourage were ordered into waiting cars just before dawn. Alexandra had been up all night supervising the packing of their belongings. She sobbed bitterly for the entire fifteen-kilometre journey to Alexandra Station, where a carriage disguised as a hospital train was waiting for them.
Before leaving the car, Nicholas reached over and lightly touched Alexandra’s knee.
‘Alex dearest,’ he said, wishing he could find the words to comfort her, ‘I am sorry.’
‘You have nothing to apologise for.’ Alexandra straightened her back. ‘You are the Tsar of Russia and, as far as I’m concerned, you have performed your duties admirably.’
Stepping out of the car, she refused the offer of her wheelchair and, leaning on Nicholas’s arm, walked to the platform.
In the east, the sun rose, painting the clouds in rose and gold. But Nicholas saw no beauty in the morning, only its part in the desolation of his family.
Uglich, September
Sitting by the window, Alexei read the newspaper.
The Germans had pushed back the Russian army to Riga.
The United States of America had entered the war in April 1917 and, in order to prove Russia’s commitment, Kerensky staged a summer offensive. The result was a collapse of the Russian lines, and further plummeting of morale, sending even more Russians into the arms of the Bolsheviks.
Across the regiments, a spirit of revolt was sparked in war-weary men.
The speed of the Russian army’s collapse left Alexei bewildered and apprehensive about the future. He took to spending long hours locked away in his study, poring over newspaper reports with a permanent scowl.
In response to his growing agitation, a wariness descended over the household. When he entered a room, his family grew rigid, conscious that the slightest irritation could provoke his anger. Busying themselves with their chores, the staff stole nervous glances in his direction and took pains to move silently through the house, lowering their voices to whispers when they passed his room.
His days, shaped by a series of routines, grew tiresome for him. Waking early, he dressed and together with Grigory he went riding for an hour to exercise the horses. In the afternoons, he took walks, accompanied by Grigory or one of the two eldest daughters. His days grew interminable, adding to his irritation and restlessness.
‘I have decided to visit Petrograd.’ Alexei announced to Emily over supper one evening. ‘I’ll be leaving in the morning.’
‘You can’t be serious, Alexei.’ Emily looked surprised by the announcement. ‘You know better than I it is not safe for you there.’ Her eyes moved to their daughters, who had stopped eating and were watching the exchange between their parents. Leaning forward, she said in a low voice, ‘You cannot abandon us at such a time.’
‘You are perfectly safe here.’ Alexei avoided Emily’s gaze.
‘How can you say that?’ She lowered her voice further. ‘You have heard the rumours of soldiers deserting the front and arriving with their guns to seize the land from nobility.’
Alexei shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Of course I have.’
‘And you still wish to leave us unprotected?’
‘I will only be gone for a few days. I need to find out for myself what’s happening in the capital.’
Tonya’s small chin quivered. Unable to hold her emotions in check, she burst into tears. Next to her, Irena draped an arm over her sister’s shoulder, murmuring soothing words in her ear.
‘Where will you stay?’ Emily asked in a voice turned cold.
‘At our apartment. Irena.’ Alexei turned abruptly to his eldest daughter. ‘Take your sister to her room and calm her.’
Irena flashed her father a severe look. Motioning to one of the servants, she asked for their meals to be brought to their room.
‘May I be excused too, Papa?’ Vera asked.
‘Yes, yes, go join your sisters.’ Alexei waved her away.
‘Is there anything I can do to change your mind?’ Emily asked in a softer voice once the g
irls had left.
Alexei shook his head. ‘My decision is final.’
Emily leant back in her seat. ‘Alexei, I know you’ve been restless ever since your arrival and all this talk of mutiny must surely weigh heavy on your thoughts. But what good will it do to return to Petrograd now? What could your visit possibly achieve?’
Alexei slammed the table hard with his palm, knocking over his wine glass. ‘Enough! My decision is final!’
The room fell still, as if all the air had been sucked out of it. When Emily lifted her head to look at Alexei, her eyes had turned hard. She signalled to the butler, who promptly pulled her chair out for her. Rising to her feet, she left without another word, leaving Alexei alone at the table.
41
Petrograd, September 1917
With the growing unrest in the capital, Monsieur Mostovsky had decided to move his family south to the Caucasus. Marie descended the curved staircase, passing the large windows and gilded mirrors all covered with white sheets. Servants and valets hurried from room to room, their arms loaded with sheets, speaking in hushed voices. Directly before her, workers were busy covering the large chandelier. The crystals trembled like tiny bells under the white sheet before eventually falling silent.
Marie found Darya and her parents in the grand hall, going over last-minute details. This was where she had attended her first ball, she thought sadly. Covered in sheets, the room had none of its former dazzling appearance and instead had taken on a melancholy feel.
Dressed in a navy blue travelling suit and matching hat, Darya watched the goings-on forlornly from a corner. Her face brightened when she saw Marie.
‘I’ve come to say goodbye,’ Marie said.
‘Come with us,’ begged Darya.
‘I can’t.’ She took her cousin’s hand between her own. ‘I will never be able to repay you for all your kindness.’
‘Where will you go from here?’
‘I received a telegram from my parents urging me to return to Narva. I’ll be leaving as soon as I can.’
‘But Narva is no longer safe.’
‘The Germans are still over two hundred kilometres away.’
‘I suppose.’ Then, struck by a new thought, Darya asked, ‘What will you do about your studies?’
Marie gave a defeated shrug. ‘There’s nothing I can do. I just have to hope I’ll be able to return to them once the political situation is resolved.’
‘Promise you will write to me, Marie.’ Darya squeezed her hand, then impulsively threw her arms around her.
‘I will,’ Marie said, her voice raspy with unshed tears.
The stifling atmosphere in the train carriage made Marie long for fresh air. The featureless landscape stretched endlessly on all sides. Standing, she opened the window slightly and pressed her face against the cold rush of air. Passing a village, the cinder from the outdoor stoves and the dry dung of domestic animals mingled into an aroma that assaulted her senses. Shutting the window, she sat back down.
There was a time I used to look forward to travelling through this countryside, she thought, wrinkling her nose. Now everything is dull and devoid of charm.
Her grim mood was not abated by her arrival in Narva. Marie was acutely aware of the heaviness that hung over the family, especially at mealtimes. She avoided looking at Nikolai’s empty seat at the dining table, while across from her, dressed in her mourning black, Marie’s mother ate with little enthusiasm.
Passing her mother’s room earlier, Marie had looked through the half-open door to see her curled on top of the bed, clasping Nikolai’s photo to her breast, crying into her pillow with loud hiccupping sobs. Frightened by her mother’s anguish, Marie stepped back into the hallway, closing the door behind her.
Now she searched her mother’s face for signs of her earlier tears. Pauline Kulbas had made a feeble attempt to mask her pallor by applying a dusting of rouge over her cheekbones. Her puffy eyes, however, betrayed her grief.
Reaching across the table, Marie touched her mother’s hand and a look of understanding passed between them. Taking Marie’s hand, her mother gave it a gentle squeeze.
Marie caught her father watching them from over the top of his round glasses. Despite his best efforts, he was ill-equipped to deal with his wife’s grief. His attempts to offer words of comfort, no matter how well-intentioned, often came across as clumsy and did little to ease her pain. Marie gave him a small smile to let him know she understood how he felt and did not judge his shortcomings. He smiled back.
‘We’ve heard rumours,’ he said, breaking the silence, ‘the situation in Petrograd is becoming perilous. Many of the palaces have been confiscated and several grand dukes are imprisoned in Peter and Paul Fortress.’
‘The rumours are true, Papa. Since the abdication, the soldiers have been ransacking palaces while the owners look on, helpless,’ Marie confirmed.
‘Barbaric!’ Monsieur Kulbas shook his head.
‘The whole of Petrograd is in a frenzy to rid itself of its imperial past,’ Marie continued. ‘Students tear down eagle crests from the top of shops, and fly revolutionary flags from every post.’
‘Why don’t they call the guards?’ her mother asked.
Marie turned to her. ‘They did, Mama, but the garrison soldiers sent to restore order mutinied and turned on their commanding officers.’ Marie shuddered, remembering the long nights she’d been kept awake by the chatter of guns. ‘There is no order anywhere. Along Nevsky Prospect almost every shop has been vandalised and looted.’
‘I heard that red cloth is draped over the Romanov eagles at the gates of the Winter Palace,’ Valentin said.
Marie nodded. ‘A revolutionary flag now flies in the palace square.’ Dropping her gaze to her wine glass, she continued. ‘Strikes keep everything at a standstill. There are days where no post is delivered and the garbage piles up at the side of the streets.’
‘If it weren’t for Rasputin, Russia would not be in this mess,’ Valentin declared hotly. ‘That so-called holy man had the Tsarina under his spell and together they destroyed any chance Russia had of winning the war.’
‘That is enough, Valentin,’ his father warned. ‘That is no way to speak about the Empress.’
‘We’ve all heard the rumours,’ Valentin persisted. ‘Marie, tell Papa what everyone is saying in Petrograd.’ He did not wait for a response and continued, undeterred. ‘And now, with the Russian army in disarray and the Germans in Riga, there’s little to stop them from making it all the way to the capital.’
‘Valentin Kulbas!’ Pauline Kulbas’s face flushed with fury. ‘I will not hear another word about Russia losing this war. Your dear brother, God bless his departed soul, never questioned his duty and paid for it with his life. That Lenin –’ she spat out the name as if ridding herself of a terrible taste ‘– is a snake and a traitor to his country, conspiring with the Germans who smuggled him back into Russia so he can spread his poison. As for Kerensky …’ Pushing her chair back, she stood abruptly. ‘The government is made up of opportunistic thieving thugs bent on an orgy of blood and alcohol.’
Valentin opened his mouth to respond but a warning look from his father made him close it again.
‘If you’ll excuse me, I have a headache and wish to retire.’ Without waiting for a response, Madame Kulbas left the room, leaving the rest of the family to finish their meal in silence.
Following lunch, Marie joined her father in the study.
‘Papa, is it not true that only a stretch of open country separates Narva from the German line?’
‘I know what you are thinking, Marie, but you have nothing to fear. The Germans are still a long way away and the Russian troops will stop them before they get anywhere close to Narva.’
‘What happens if they do reach us?’
‘Pray they don’t,’ Herman Kulbas said, lighting his pipe. ‘Conquerers have never been kind to the conquered.’
Arriving in Petrograd late in the evening, Alexei walked into the drawing
room of his residence and headed straight for the cabinet where he stored his vodka. Taking a crystal glass, he half filled it. None of the reports had prepared him for the scenes that had greeted him as he travelled through the city. At the Winter Palace drunken sentries stood around bonfires, or shot at targets set up near the colonnades. Some of the bridges were blocked by barricades. As his carriage negotiated its way around upturned carts and wooden boxes, the soldiers and civilians standing guard stared in at him. None of the soldiers flinched at the sight of Alexei in his military uniform and they waved him through without the proper salute.
‘I have taken care of your luggage,’ Grigory said, entering the room. ‘Do you need me to do anything else, Excellency?’
‘You can join me in a drink,’ Alexei said, pouring a second glass of vodka. He held it out. ‘We have known each other for a long time, but have never drunk together.’
Grigory hesitated for the briefest moment before accepting. ‘Thank you, Excellency.’ Taking a couple of sips, he placed his glass on the side table. ‘Forgive me, Excellency, but I am not much of a drinker.’
Alexei laughed dryly. ‘It seems the formal deference to superior officers is a thing of the past.’ He raised his glass to Grigory. ‘You are the last of your kind.’ Taking a sip, he grimaced and touched the scar on his neck. ‘Damn this wound!’ Swirling the liquid once in the glass, he swallowed it in a single gulp. Wincing, he reached for the bottle again.
‘What will become of us?’ He emptied his glass a second time. ‘Our country, the people?’ He placed his empty glass on the table. ‘The Provisional Government doesn’t seem to have any control over the army or the masses. It all seems so lost.’
‘The Lord works in mysterious ways, Excellency.’
‘That, my dear man, sounds very much like something my wife would say.’
Grigory gave a wry smile but offered no comment.
‘You know my marriage has all but ended. Oh, do not look so shocked, Grigory. I was never faithful to her.’ Alexei’s voice grew reflective. ‘I never loved her the way a man should love a woman. Soldiering was all I was ever good at.’
The Russian Tapestry Page 23