Anastasia Romanov: The Last Grand Duchess #10

by Ann Hood

  Felix was happily spooning something black onto his plate beside cucumbers and radishes.

  When he saw Maisie, he smiled. “Caviar,” he said, pointing to the black stuff. “Can you believe it? It’s delicious.”

  What’s next? Maisie wondered as she took some slices of ham. Now her brother, the pickiest eater in the world, was eating fish eggs. And liking it.

  She took a bite of ham, and then another. Most of the food was fish—sardines and salmon and herring. At least they had some good ham.

  Alex Andropov sidled over to her, his plate full of everything the buffet offered.

  “I’m surprised you like that,” he said, impressed.

  Maisie chewed more ham and shrugged.

  Alex laughed. “Well, not many Americans like the idea of eating reindeer tongue, that’s all.”

  Maisie stopped chewing.

  “Reindeer tongue?” she said, spitting what she had in her mouth into her hand.

  Alex laughed harder.

  “That’s disgusting!” Maisie said.

  Felix looked over at her.

  Maisie mouthed: Find that egg. Fast.

  The preparations for Olga’s birthday ball took up all the time back at Livadia. With so many people in the palace, it was easy for Felix to move around unnoticed. Everyone was more interested in getting fit for their gowns, having their hair cut and curled and pinned, festooning the rooms with decorations, tending the gardens, and dozens of other tasks than noticing what Felix was up to.

  Almost immediately upon arriving, he went to the room where the eggs had been displayed on the large marble mantel.

  The room had already been transformed for the ball. The chandelier sparkled even more than usual. The floor gleamed with polish. The scent of white roses in enormous crystal vases hung in the air.

  Felix paused in the doorway to take in the beauty of the decorations before he began to cross the gleaming floor.

  But halfway into the room he stopped and stared.

  The eggs were all gone.

  In their place sat a large black-and-white photograph of Olga, her hair piled high on her head, and the smallest hint of a smile on her face. The picture had been placed in a gold frame decorated with shiny rubies. It was smack in the center of the mantel, with vases of white roses on either side of it, and not one Fabergé egg anywhere in sight.

  As if he were seeing a mirage, Felix went over to the mantel just to be sure.

  He stood, staring up into Olga’s face, his heart sinking.

  How could he tell Maisie that the egg was gone?

  Maisie was certain that Felix was avoiding her. Caught up in the excitement of the ball, he’d probably forgotten to retrieve the egg. She had to admit that the excitement was contagious—Maisie was looking forward to the ball, too. She’d even wrapped the invitation in tissue paper to preserve it, tracing the scrolls and curlicues of the letters. Even though they’d written her name as Maisie Pickworth, Maisie still loved the way the invitation looked and read:

  Their Imperial Majesties invite you to dinner and a dancing party to be held on Thursday November 3rd, 1911, at 6:45 in the evening,

  at the Livadia Palace

  Maisie Pickworth

  Military cavaliers in frock coat with epaulets.

  Civilians in evening dress with white tie.

  Still, she wanted to be home and sit on her pink pouf and eat potato chips with James Ferocious beside her.

  For Olga’s birthday, her parents gave her a diamond ring and necklace with more pearls and diamonds than Maisie could count. All the Grand Duchesses wore white gowns, except for Olga. Hers was pink, and with the sparkling necklace and her hair swept up in curls, she looked lovelier than anyone Maisie had ever seen.

  Before the ball began, dinner was served with everyone seated at small round tables set with heavy ornate silver, flickering white candles, and flowers from the Empress’s garden at Livadia. The Tsar and his wife sat the head table with Grand Dukes and Duchesses and ministers of this and that. Maisie, stuck at a table with a bunch of kids, including the Prince of Greece, who ate with his mouth open and whined all during dinner, couldn’t stop watching Olga and her table. Olga’s cheeks were pink from excitement, and she kept whispering to her escort, a dark-haired handsome boy with intense brown eyes. Tatiana was at that table, too, and so was the Emir of Bukhara, whatever that was. It all looked much more interesting than the kids’ table, that was for sure. Of course Felix got to sit with Anastasia and Maria at a table where everyone seemed to be having much more fun than Maisie.

  “I don’t like beets,” the Prince of Greece whined.

  “Then don’t eat them,” Maisie grumbled.

  The Crimean regimental band began playing loud music, as if they were at a parade. At least she wouldn’t have to listen to the Prince of Greece anymore, Maisie decided, eyeing Olga as she beamed at her escort.

  Finally, dinner ended. But that only began the endless presentations of the guests to the Tsar and his wife. Maisie thought they would never end. But of course they did, and when she returned to the dining room, all the tables were gone and the whole room had been transformed for dancing. Still more flowers filled the room, and an orchestra began to play a waltz as soon as the guests walked in. In a flash, couples waltzed past Maisie and Alex Andropov, who stood awkwardly, afraid they’d be forced to dance, too. But no one even noticed them.

  Alex elbowed Maisie lightly.

  “Look at the Empress,” he whispered, indicating across the room where the Empress sat in an armchair beside a column with Alexei, who was dressed in a white sailor suit and watching the party. She looked miserable.

  “Why doesn’t she join in?” Maisie asked Alex.

  “She doesn’t like parties,” Alex explained with a shrug.

  It was clear even from where they stood that the Tsarevich wanted to stay at the party, his eyes shining as he watched the dancers and the musicians. But the Empress was urging him to leave with her.

  The orchestra began a lively song.

  “The mazurka!” Alex said, clapping his hands in time.

  Maisie saw the Tsar march over to his son, lift him up, and carry him out, the Empress right behind them.

  That poor kid never gets to have any fun, Maisie thought. But she kept it to herself.

  The Grand Duchesses floated past on the arms of handsome soldiers. Except Anastasia, of course. She was doing the mazurka with Felix. He didn’t even notice Maisie as he twirled past her.

  At some point, the glass doors were opened onto the rose gardens, and the entire palace smelled floral and sweet.

  “I never want to leave,” Alex whispered, his eyes moist.

  “Not you, too,” Maisie moaned.

  Alex tipped his chin in the direction of Felix, who stood across the room beside a giggling Anastasia.

  “I’m guessing you’re referring to your bewitched brother,” Alex said.

  Maisie nodded.

  “I haven’t asked you yet,” Alex began, then stopped himself.

  “Let’s step outside,” he said. “I don’t want anyone to overhear us.”

  Maisie followed him into the gardens, the scent of roses even heavier there. A full moon hung in the starry sky.

  “What do you want to ask me?” Maisie said to Alex.

  “How do you get back?” he asked her.

  “I don’t really know how it works,” Maisie admitted. “But we need an object to travel in the first place—”

  “The Fabergé egg?”

  “That’s how we got here, yes.”

  Maisie told him about all the other objects—the letter for Clara Barton, the coin for Alexander Hamilton, the jade box of dirt for Pearl Buck, the handcuffs for Harry Houdini, the feather for Crazy Horse, the crown for Queen Liliuokalani, the device for Alexander Graham Bell, the fligh
t instrument for Amelia Earhart, the Florentine seal for Leonardo da Vinci.

  “They have to give us something, too,” Maisie explained. “But not an object.”

  “What then?”

  “Advice. Kind of a lesson that will help us in our real lives.”

  “So if a person wanted to stay,” Alex said slowly, “he would have to get rid of the object.”

  “Alex! No!” Maisie blurted.

  She thought about Great-Aunt Maisie staying with Harry Houdini and what that meant in the present.

  “But it would be impossible to avoid hearing advice,” Alex continued, talking more to himself than to Maisie. He nodded. “Yes, the only way to stay is to destroy the object,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “You can’t do that, Alex,” Maisie pleaded. “Then none of us would get home, and that’s not fair.”

  In the light of the full moon, Maisie could see his eyes clearly. And in them she saw the glint of determination, of a mind made up.

  “Of course,” Alex said, starting back toward the house, “nothing can be done until we get to Tsarskoe Selo.”

  Maisie grabbed his arm, hard.

  “What do you mean?”

  “That’s where it is,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to wiggle free of her grasp.

  “Where what is?” Maisie insisted.

  Alex lifted his chin defiantly and didn’t reply.

  “The egg?” Maisie realized. “The egg isn’t here?”

  He shook his head.

  “All of them were packed up and sent to St. Petersburg,” he said, finally getting free of her.

  “You’re lying,” Maisie said, hoping that he was indeed not telling her the truth.

  “Ask any one of the royal family,” Alex said. “They’ll tell you the eggs are all at the palace there. Unlike you, I thought to ask them.”

  “Oh no,” Maisie moaned.

  “I’m sorry,” Alex said softly. “But as soon as we get to Tsarskoe Selo, I’m destroying that egg.”

  “Please—” she began.

  But Alex cut her off.

  “I belong here,” he said. “And I’m not going back.”

  Chapter Nine

  TSARSKOE SELO

  Felix was in the middle of the most wonderful dream about swimming in the Black Sea with Anastasia when he got roughly shaken awake. It took him a minute to realize he wasn’t in the sea at all, but instead was in bed with Maisie staring at him with a panicked look on her face.

  “What’s wrong?” Felix asked.

  “Alex Andropov, that’s what’s wrong,” Maisie said.

  And she began to cry.

  “What did he do?” Felix said, putting his arm around his sister’s shoulders.

  “It’s what he’s about to do,” Maisie said through her tears.

  “Maisie, you’re talking in riddles. Tell me.”

  Maisie wiped her eyes and cheeks, and sniffled.

  “He doesn’t want to go home,” she began.

  Felix looked away from her. He didn’t want her to see that he wasn’t ready to leave, either.

  “So he asked me how we get back, and when I told him, he said he was going to destroy the Fabergé egg before we could give it to whomever we’re supposed to give it to,” Maisie said, her words coming out in a rush.

  Then she burst into tears again.

  “Don’t worry,” Felix told her. “I looked for the egg when we got here and it had been moved. They all had. Probably to decorate for the party. But I’ll ask Anastasia where it is and—”

  “It’s not here!” Maisie said through a fresh round of tears.

  “I’m sure it is,” Felix said, although he wasn’t sure at all.

  Maisie shook her head adamantly.

  “They’ve packed up all the eggs and sent them to St. Petersburg.”

  “Why would they do that?” Felix wondered out loud.

  “I don’t know,” Maisie said, “but they did. And Alex threatened to find it as soon as we arrive at Tsarskoe Selo and to destroy it, and then we’ll never be able to leave!”

  Felix gulped. As much as he wanted to stay longer, the thought of not being able to leave at all, of never seeing his parents again, of facing the Bolsheviks . . . It was all too much for him, and he burst into tears, too.

  “You can’t cry!” Maisie told him. “You need to help me figure out how to stop Alex Andropov!”

  But Felix had no idea how they were going to do that.

  It took two days to get to St. Petersburg by the Imperial train, a mostly boring journey past lots of nothing—no villages or farms or people, just endless Russia. Felix purposely sat next to Alex as the train bumped slowly along, which made Anastasia furious. But Felix could not think of how to find the egg before Alex did, and his only hope was to try to talk him out of destroying it.

  “You can save your breath,” Alex said as soon as Felix sat down. He was reading a fat novel in Russian and didn’t even bother to look up.

  “Alex,” Felix began, anyway, “I know it seems like a good idea to stay, but your life here isn’t going to be any better than at home. Think about it.”

  Alex turned the page.

  “I have,” he said. “My mind’s made up.”

  “But what about your . . . your sickness,” Felix said cautiously.

  Although Alex still stared down at the book, Felix could tell he had his attention.

  “We’re in 1911,” Felix continued. “I’m pretty sure they’ve made a lot of progress with treating hemophilia in a century. If you should get sick here—”

  “Actually,” Alex said, “they haven’t made very much progress.”

  “But modern hospitals can take better care of you,” Felix insisted. “Conditions in 1911—”

  Alex sighed. “Forget it, Felix,” he said, returning his full attention to Tolstoy.

  As they approached the Imperial park near St. Petersburg in a series of Imperial carriages, Felix finally realized how to keep the egg safe from Alex Andropov. He had an ally besides Maisie: Anastasia. Surely she would help him keep the egg safe. The park was bordered by an iron fence and guarded by men on horseback dressed in bright red uniforms and tall fur hats, with swords at their sides. Anastasia had been cold toward Felix ever since he sat with Alex on the train, but suddenly she appeared next to him, pointing as they entered the gates and moved toward Tsarskoe Selo.

  The snow-covered ground twinkled under the gray sky.

  “That’s the Turkish bath,” Anastasia announced as they passed a pale pink building.

  When Felix saw a Chinese pagoda set among tall snow-laden trees, he said, “Wow! Look at that!”

  Anastasia smiled at him. “I knew you would love it here,” she said happily.

  “You’re not mad at me anymore?” Felix asked hopefully.

  “Well,” Anastasia admitted, “a little.”

  Felix knew it was time to put his plan in motion.

  “I had to talk to Alex,” he said, his voice low. “I know that he’s your cousin, but . . . well . . .”

  Anastasia looked worried.

  “My sister gave your mother an egg,” Felix began. “A Fabergé egg?”

  “Yes,” Anastasia said. “With a peacock inside.”

  “For some reason,” Felix said, “Alex wants to destroy it.”

  “Destroy one of Carl Fabergé’s masterpieces?” Anastasia said, covering her mouth in shock. “But why?”

  This was the moment Felix was dreading, even when he’d hatched the plan. He was not a good liar, and he didn’t like to do it. But he couldn’t risk having Alex find the egg first.

  “I think he’s jealous,” Felix said.

  “Of what?”

  “Of your family,” Felix said, his throat dry. “He doesn’t usually live in such grand surroundings, a
nd I don’t think he can help himself from getting a little jealous.”

  Anastasia considered this.

  Then she nodded slowly. “I can understand that, I think,” she said. “There are people . . .” She paused, swallowing hard. “People who say terrible things about Papa, and maybe Alex has been influenced by such talk.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Felix said, nervously. “But I do know what he’s planning to do when we arrive at the Alexander Palace.”

  Anastasia and Felix stared out the window of the coach just as the Alexander Palace came into view.

  Before they’d left Livadia, the Tsar had explained to Maisie, Felix, and Alex how Catherine I, back in 1717, had wanted a country retreat from St. Petersburg. Tsarskoe Selo, only fifteen miles away, was chosen as the location for the new palace. Catherine’s daughter Elizabeth tore down the original palace and built a new one to rival Versailles in France. But the Tsar and his family chose to live in the smaller one that Catherine had built for her grandson, the Tsar’s father, Alexander III.

  Felix had imagined that the smaller palace, called the Alexander Palace, would resemble Elm Medona. But he saw that it was only small in comparison to the Catherine Palace that stood beside it. The Catherine Palace was an enormous blue-and-white building.

  “Over two hundred rooms,” Anastasia told Felix when she saw him gaping at it. “Have you heard of the Amber Room?”

  Felix shook his head.

  “Oh, you must see it! I’ll take you over. It has amber mosaics and amber panels and . . . well, it’s just beautiful! Over four hundred and fifty kilograms of amber!” she explained.

  “Whoa!” he said, happy that he’d gotten an A on that conversion test last week. “That’s half a ton!”

  The carriage was slowing now at the entrance to the Alexander Palace.

  “Wait until you see Mama’s boudoir,” Anastasia said proudly. “It’s the most beautiful room in all of Russia. Maybe in all of the world!”

  “Anastasia?” Felix asked.

  She turned to look at him.

  “You’ll get to that egg first, won’t you?”

  “Of course!” she said. “I know exactly where all of the Fabergé eggs are kept, and I’ll take the one from you and Maisie and hide it.”