Zoya

by Danielle Steel

  Konstantin got word of it that night, and disappeared for hours, attempting to find out what was happening elsewhere and secretly wanting to reassure himself that Nicolai was all right. Suddenly, he felt panic sweep him knowing that his son was in danger. But all he could find out was that the Pavlov-sky Guards had been disarmed with very little loss of life. “Very little” seemed suddenly too much, and he returned home to wait for news. On his way back, he saw the lights at the Radziwills and wondered at the madness of a city that went on dancing while people were being murdered. Suddenly, he wondered if Nicolai had been right all along to be so worried about what might be coming. Konstantin was anxious to talk to Paléologue himself now, and decided to call on him the next morning. But it was only when he turned into Fontanka and saw the horses outside his own home that his heart froze and he wanted to stop and run away. He suddenly felt terror seize his heart and pressed his own horses forward. There were at least a dozen of the Preobrajensky Guard outside, there was running and shouting and they were carrying something as he heard a shout fly from his own mouth and he abandoned Feodor and his troika almost before it stopped, shouting to himself, “Oh my God … oh my God …” and then he saw him. He was being carried by two men and there was blood everywhere on the snow. It was Nicolai. “Oh my God …” There were tears streaming down Konstantin's cheeks as he stared at them and rushed forward. “Is he alive?”

  One of the men looked at him and nodded, speaking softly to Konstantin. “Barely.” He had been shot seven times by one of the Pavlovsky Life Guards, one of their own … one of the Tsar's men … but he had been fearless and he had felled the other man. “Bring him inside … quickly …” He shouted for Feodor, who appeared at his side. “Get my wife's doctor nowl” he roared as the young Guards looked at him helplessly. They knew that nothing could be done, it was why they had brought him home, and Nicolai looked up at his father with glassy eyes, but he recognized him and he smiled, looking like a child again as Konstantin took him in his own powerful arms, and carried him inside. He set him down on the tapestry-covered couch in the main hall, and all of the servants came running. “Bring bandages … sheets … quickly, get me warm water.” He had no idea what he was going to do with all of it, but something had to be done. Something … anything … they had to save him. It was his little boy, they had brought him home to die, and he wasn't going to let him slip away. He had to stop him before it was too late, and suddenly he felt a firm hand push him aside, and he saw his own mother cradle the boy's head in her hands and gently kiss his forehead as she crooned to him.

  “It's all right, Nicolai, Grandmama is here … and your mama and papa. …” The three women had gone ahead with dinner without waiting for Konstantin, and Evgenia had instantly sensed what had happened as she heard the men come in. The rest of the Guards were standing awkwardly in the main hallway, and there was a terrifying scream as Natalya saw her son and fainted in the doorway. “Zoya!” Evgenia called out, and the young girl ran to her as Konstantin stood helplessly by watching his son's blood ooze across the marble floor and seep slowly into the rug. He could see Zoya tremble as she ran to her grandmother and knelt at her brother's side. Her face was white as chalk, and she gently took his hand.

  “Nicolai …” she whispered. “I love you … it's Zoya “

  “What are you doing here?” His voice was barely a whisper now and Evgenia could tell from looking at him that he no longer saw them.

  “Zoya,” she commanded, a general in charge of her men, “tear my petticoat in strips … quickly … hurry….” With gentle hands at first Zoya began to tug beneath her grandmother's skirts, but at the sound of her grandmother's commands, she gave a fierce tug as her grandmother stepped out of her petticoat and Zoya tore it into strips and watched her grandmother tie them about his wounds. She was trying to stop the bleeding but it was almost too late as Konstantin wept and knelt to kiss him.

  “Papa? … are you there, Papa? …” He sounded so young again. “Papa … I love you … Zoya … be a good girl….” And then he smiled up at them, and was gone, their efforts too little, too late. He died in his father's arms. Konstantin kissed his eyes and gently closed them, sobbing uncontrollably as he held the son he had so dearly loved, his blood seeping into his father's vest while he held him close. Zoya stood crying beside him and Evgenia's hands shook terribly, as she stroked his hand, and then slowly turned away and signaled to the men to leave them alone with their pain. The doctor had arrived by then and was attempting to revive Natalya, still lying inert in the doorway. They carried her upstairs to her rooms, and Feodor stood weeping openly as a wail seemed to fill the entire hallway. All of the servants had come to stand there … too late … everyone too late to help him.

  “Come, Konstantin. You must let them take him upstairs.” She gently pulled her son away from him, and guiding him unseeing into the library, she pushed him gently into a chair and poured him a brandy. There was nothing she could say to ease the pain, and she didn't try. She signaled to Zoya to stand near, and when she saw how pale she was, she forced her to take a sip of brandy from the glass she poured herself.

  “No, Grandmama … no … please….” She choked on the fumes, but her grandmother forced her to drink it and then turned to Konstantin again.

  “He was so young … my God … my God … they've killed him. …” She held him as he rocked mindlessly back and forth in his chair, keening for his only son, and then suddenly Zoya exploded into his arms, clinging to him as though he were the only rock left in the world, and all she could think of was that only that afternoon she had called him “stupid Nicolai” … stupid Nicolai … and now he was dead … her brother was dead … she stared at her father in horror.

  “Papa, what's happening?”

  “I don't know, little one … they've killed my baby….” He held her close then as she sobbed in his arms, and a little while later he stood and left her in her grandmother's care. “Take her home with you, Mama. I must go to Natalya.”

  “She's all right.” Evgenia was far more worried about her son than his foolish wife. She feared that the loss of Nicolai might break him. She reached out and touched his hand again, and he saw her eyes, they were the eyes of wisdom and time and immeasurable sorrow.

  “Oh, Mama,” he cried, and held her close to him for a long, long time, while she held out a hand and drew Zoya to them. And then slowly he pulled away from them, and went up the stairs to his wife's rooms, as Zoya stood in the hallway and watched him. Nico-lai's blood had been washed away from the marble floor, and the rug had been removed, and he already lay silent and cold in the room he had lived in since his boyhood. He had been born there, and died there, in twenty-three short years, and with him went a world they all knew and loved. It was as though none of them would ever be safe again. Evgenia knew it as she took Zoya back to her own pavilion with her, trembling violently beneath her cloak, her eyes filled with shock and horror.

  “You must be strong, little one,” her grandmother said to her as Sava ran up to them in her living room and Zoya began to cry again. “Your father will need you doubly now. And perhaps … perhaps … nothing will ever be quite the same again … for any of us. But whatever comes”—her voice quavered as she thought of her grandson dying in her arms, but as her thin hand trembled violently she took Zoya in her arms and kissed the smoothness of her cheek— “only remember, little one, how much he loved

  CHAPTER

  4

  The following day was a nightmare. Nicolai lay washed and clean in his boyhood room, dressed in his uniform and surrounded by candles. The Volinsky Regiment mutinied, the Semonovsky, the Ismailovsky, the Litovsky, the Oranienbaum, and finally the proudest of all, Nicolai's own regiment, the Preobrajensky Guard. All of them defected to the revolution. Everywhere were red banners being carried high, and soldiers in tattered uniforms no longer the men they once were … St. Petersburg no longer the city it once was. Nothing was ever to be the same again as the revolutionaries set fire to the
law courts early that morning. Soon the arsenal on the Liteiny was in flames and then the ministry of the interior, the military government building, the headquarters of the Okhrana, the secret police, and several police stations were destroyed. All of the prisoners had been let out of the jails, and by noon the Fortress of Peter and Paul was in rebel hands too. It was obvious that something desperate had to be done, and the Tsar had to return immediately to appoint a provisional government that would take control again. But even that seemed an unlikely scheme, and when Grand Duke Michael called him at headquarters in Mogilev that afternoon, he promised to come home immediately. It was impossible for him to absorb what had happened in St. Petersburg in the few days since he had left and he insisted on returning and seeing it all himself before appointing any new ministers to deal with the crisis at hand. Only when the chairman of the Duma sent him a message that night that his family's lives were in danger did he realize what was happening. The Empress herself didn't understand it. But by then it was too late. Much, much too late for all of them.

  Lili Dehn had come to visit Alexandra at Tsarskoe Selo only that afternoon and found her totally occupied with caring for her sick children. The tales that Lili told were of disorders in the streets, and it still wasn't clear to her that this was more than ordinary rioting, that it was in fact a revolution.

  In the midst of a blizzard General Khabalov sent the Tsarina a message the next morning. He insisted that she and the children leave at once. He was holding siege at the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg with fifteen hundred loyal men, but by noon they had all deserted him. And still the Empress did not understand it. She refused to leave Tsarskoe Selo before Nicholas returned. She felt safe with her most loyal sailors, the Garde Equipage, standing by, and besides, the children were still far too ill to travel. By then Marie had also developed pneumonia.

  That same day, mansions around the city were being looted and burned, and Konstantin had all the servants burying silver, and gold and icons in the garden. Zoya was locked in her grandmother's pavilion with all the maids, and they were frantically sewing jewels into the linings of their heaviest winter clothing. Natalya was running shrieking through the main house, running frantically in and out of Nico-lai's room where his body remained. Any attempts to bury him were impossible with revolution blazing everywhere around them.

  “Grandmama,” Zoya whispered, as she forced a small diamond earring inside a button she was going to sew back on a dress, “Grandmama … what are we going to do now?” As she attempted to sew in spite of shaking fingers, her eyes were wide with terror and they could hear gunfire in the distance.

  “We cannot do anything until we finish this … hurry, Zoya … there … sew the pearls into my bluejacket.” The old woman was working furiously, strangely calm, and Konstantin was at the Winter Palace with Khabalov and the last of the loyal men. He had left them early that morning to go there.

  “What will we do with …” She couldn't bring herself to say her brother's name, but it seemed so awful to leave him lying there as they sewed jewels into the hems of her grandmother's dresses.

  “We will take care of everything in due time. Now be quiet, child. We must wait for word from your father.” Sava lay whimpering at Zoya's feet as though she knew that even her life was in danger. Earlier that morning the old Countess had attempted to bring Natalya to the pavilion with her, but she refused to leave the main house. She seemed half mad as she kept speaking to her dead son and assuring him that everything was all right and his father would be home soon. Evgenia had left her there, and taken all of the servants to her own home to do as much as they could, before the rioters broke in and took everything. Evgenia had already heard that Kschessinska's mansion had been looted by the mobs, and she was going to save as much as she could before they came to them. And as she sewed, she wondered if they could reach Tsarskoe Selo.

  At Tsarskoe Selo, the Empress had her own hands full. The children were still feverish, with Marie the worst of all, and Anna was still sick too. The mutinous soldiers arrived in the village by late that afternoon, but fearing the palace guard, they satisfied themselves with looting in the village, and shooting anyone and everyone at random.

  The children could hear the shots from the sickroom, and Alexandra told them repeatedly that it was only their own soldiers on maneuvers. But that night, she sent word to Nicholas, begging him to come home. Still not understanding how truly desperate they all were, he chose to return by the longest route, not wishing to interfere with the routes used by the troop trains. It was inconceivable to him then that he no longer had a loyal army. Both the Garde Equipage and the imperial guard, mostly composed of personal friends, whose mission had always been to guard the Tsar and Tsarina and their children, had left their posts. Even the soldiers from the garrison at Tsarskoe Selo had deserted and betrayed them. And St. Petersburg had fallen. It was Wednesday, March 14, and an entire world had changed overnight. It was almost impossible to conceive of the overall implications.

  The ministers and generals were urging Nicholas to abdicate in favor of his son, keeping Grand Duke Michael as regent. But the frantic telegrams being sent to Nicholas on his way back from the front, explaining the situation to him, were getting no answer. And in the midst of his silence, Zoya and her grandmother were equally without news. Konstantin had not been home in two days and there was no way to get news of him. It was only when Feodor finally braved the streets, that he came home to tell them the dreadful news Evgenia had feared for days. Konstantin was dead. He had died at the Winter Palace with the last of the loyal troops, killed by his own men. There wasn't even a body to bring home to them. He had been disposed of along with countless others. Feodor returned with tears streaming down his face and sobbed openly as he told Evgenia what had happened to Konstantin. Zoya stared at him in horror, as they listened to him, and her grandmother spun around and ordered the maids to sew more quickly. All of her jewels had been hidden by then and Natalya's too, and the rest of it would have to be left behind, as she made another rapid decision. They were going to bury Nicolai in the garden. Evgenia and Feodor and three of the younger men went back to the main house, and stood silently in his room. He had been dead for three days and they could not wait any longer. Evgenia was solemn and dry-eyed as she stared at him, thinking of her own son now. It was too late for tears, she wanted to cry for all of them, but she had to think of Zoya now, and for Konstantin's sake, Natalya.

  As they prepared to move the body, Natalya appeared like a ghost, drifting through the halls wearing a long white robe, with uncombed hair and mad eyes as she stared at them. “Where are you going with my baby?” She looked imperiously at her mother-in-law, and it was clear to all that she had lost her mind. She seemed not even to recognize Zoya. “What are you doing, you fool?” She reached out a clawlike hand to stop the men from taking him, but the old Countess held her back, and looked into her eyes.

  “You must come with us, Natalya.”

  “But where are you taking my baby?”

  Evgenia refused to answer her, it would only confuse her more or make her hysterical again. She had always had a weak mind, and without Konstantin to indulge her and shield her from the truth, she could no longer cope. She was totally mad, and Zoya knew it as she watched her.

  “Put on your clothes, Natalya. We are going out.”

  “Where?”

  Zoya was stunned when she heard the words. “To Tsarskoe Selo.”

  “But we can't possibly go there. It's summertime, and everyone is at Livadia.”

  “We'll go there eventually. But we must go to Tsarskoe Selo first. Now, we are going to get dressed, aren't we?” She grasped her firmly by the arm, and signaled to Zoya to take the other.

  “Who are you?” She pulled her arm away from the frightened girl, and only her grandmother's sharp eyes on her kept Zoya from fleeing in terror from the woman who had once been her mother. “Who are you?” she asked again and again of both of them, and the old woman answered her calmly. In
four days she had lost both her son and grandson to a revolution none of them fully understood. But there was no time to question it now. She knew they had to leave St. Petersburg before it was too late. And if nowhere else, she knew they would be safe at Tsarskoe Selo. But Natalya was refusing to cooperate with them. She insisted that she was staying, her husband would be home at any time, and they were giving a party.

  “Your husband is waiting for you at Tsarskoe Selo,” Evgenia lied, and Zoya shuddered at all that was happening around them. With a force she never knew her grandmother had, she wrapped Natalya in a cloak and forced her down the stairs and out the back door into the garden, just as they heard a resounding crash. The looters had arrived, and were forcing their way into the Fontanka Palace. “Quickly,” Evgenia whispered to the girl who had only yesterday been a child. “Find Feodor. Tell him to get the horses ready … your father's old troika!” And then the old woman ran toward her pavilion, panting heavily and clutching Natalya's arm. She was shouting to her maids, telling them to gather up all the clothes in which the jewels were sewn, and throw them into bags. They had no time to pack anything. Everything they could take would have to go in the troika. And as she gave orders, she kept an eye on the palace across the garden. She knew it was only a matter of time before they would abandon the palace and come to the pavilion. But suddenly she realized that Natalya was no longer beside her and as she spun around she saw a white figure racing across the garden. She began to run after her daughter-in-law, but it was too late. Natalya had gone back into the palace. Almost at the same time, the old woman saw flames leaping from the upper windows and heard Zoya gasp behind her.