The Lost Daughter

by Gill Paul

  He had his hands on her skirt now and she struggled harder but could barely move against the weight of him pinning her to the wall. Please let this be over quickly, she prayed. She screwed her eyes tight shut and tried to ignore the feeling of his rough finger touching her most private parts, where no one had touched her before. It was humiliating, awful, by far the worst thing that had ever happened to her. There was a sharp pain and she gasped in agony, the sound muffled by his lips, his tongue in her mouth. She began to murmur the Orthodox prayer to the Mother of God: “Pour the mercy of thy son and our God upon my impassionate soul, and with thine interventions set me unto good deeds, that I may pass the rest of my life without blemish . . .”

  At last he stopped and unhooked the door, glancing outside to check the coast was clear before slipping back to his guard post. Maria straightened her skirts, noticing that her petticoat was torn, then looked in the mirror. Her hair was wild, her lips red and chafed around the edges. She splashed her face with cold water and dried it with a towel, rushing in case he decided to return. If only there were another way back to their room. She would have to walk past him again and couldn’t bear to see the expression on his face. He was an ugly, loathsome man.

  She summoned her courage, opened the door, and ran down the corridor.

  “Good night, sweet princess,” Bolotov called after her, and she heard mockery in his tone.

  She hurried into the bedroom she shared with her sisters. Only Olga was there; the others must be in their parents’ room. Olga leaped to her feet.

  “What happened, Mashka? Are you hurt?”

  Tears flooded Maria’s eyes. She longed to confess, but couldn’t. Olga would tell Tatiana, and Tatiana would say, “I warned you. It’s your own fault since you ignored me.”

  “Did a guard molest you?” Olga asked, putting an arm around her shoulders and peering into her eyes. “You can tell me and I will understand. I know what these men are like.” A shadow crossed her face and suddenly Maria understood that something similar had happened to her sister. She should confess. Olga would comfort her.

  But she found she couldn’t speak. Her throat was still tight, as it had been at the crucial moment in the bathroom. She shook her head. If she told Olga, that would make it real. There would be consequences. But if she didn’t tell, she could pretend it had never happened and that way, eventually, she hoped she would be able to forget.

  Chapter 5

  Ekaterinburg, July 1918

  NEXT MORNING, MARIA LAY HUDDLED IN BED. SHE couldn’t face getting up for breakfast and told the others she hadn’t slept well, which was the truth. It was sore between her legs, her lips were raw, and she felt a deep sense of shame. She saw now that she should have shouted for help; of course she should. Ivan had been jailed for merely kissing her, so this guard would have been jailed too, then she would not have to see him anymore. Instead, she must walk past him every day, because she could not avoid using the bathroom.

  She decided to wait until one of her sisters was going and accompany her, so she was never alone in that corridor again. She must not give Bolotov a chance to repeat his assault.

  That first day she was relieved to find he was not at his post, but the following morning, when she went to the bathroom with Tatiana, he was there with his sly wolf features. She shuddered, sick to her stomach at the sight of him.

  “Good morning, Maria,” he called, his voice low.

  Tatiana reprimanded him. “How dare you address her with such disrespect! Do that again and I shall report you to Commissar Yurovsky.”

  She swept past full of scorn. Maria turned to see his response and he winked at her behind Tatiana’s back, grinning as if they shared a secret. It was hideous. He was insufferable. She couldn’t believe those lips had pressed against hers, his fingers had touched her beneath her skirt, his stubbly chin had rubbed her cheek. Every time she thought of it she wanted to retch.

  She had no confidence that Yurovsky would take action if Tatiana reported him. Her father had thought he would treat them more favorably than his predecessor, but every day it seemed new rules were introduced: less time in the yard, even though they were sweltering in their airless rooms; more frequent searches of their possessions; he even decided that they should pull a rope attached to a system of bells whenever they wished to leave their rooms to go to the bathroom. That way, guards throughout the house would know their movements.

  “I absolutely refuse,” Maria’s mother declared. “I will not have my intimate habits scrutinized by a bunch of uneducated commoners. It’s absurd.”

  Maria thought it might help to protect her from Bolotov if bells rang whenever she left the family rooms. She looked away when she was forced to pass him in the hall but could feel his slanting eyes upon her, burning into her flesh. If only they could hurry up and leave this place. She longed to be sent somewhere she would never have to see him or think about him again.

  * * *

  They were disturbed one evening by gunfire in the city and Tatiana hurried to Yurovsky’s office to ask what was going on.

  “He says that some Czech troops are advancing on Ekaterinburg,” she told them on her return to the drawing room. “If they come any closer we are to be moved elsewhere for safety.”

  Nicholas frowned. “It must be the Czech Legion,” he said. “Czech and Slovak volunteers who were attached to our Third Army from 1914. They hoped for independence for their country after the war.”

  “If they are so close that we hear gunfire, perhaps we should leave now?” Alexandra suggested.

  Maria hugged her knees to her chest, scared by the thought of these strange soldiers. Who knew what they might be capable of?

  Tatiana went to the drawing-room door to check no one was listening outside, then returned to the group. “Papa, you know that rescue plan I told you about?”

  Maria frowned. She had not heard of any such thing and worried it would not be safe.

  “You mean Dmitri Malama’s plan?” he asked.

  Tatiana nodded. “I think it will be soon. The Czech soldiers are favorable toward us so it is an ideal opportunity.”

  “No!” Olga gasped. “It’s too risky. The guards in the turrets have machine guns. We would all be killed.”

  Tatiana hurried to reassure her. “There are several people involved in this plan, including the British consul. Malama wants me to slip out tomorrow evening to hear the details so I can brief you all on what we must do.”

  Maria’s heart lurched. Tatiana’s beau was a loyal friend to the family but his plan sounded terrifying. She wasn’t brave enough for this kind of intrigue.

  “How will you slip out of here without being missed?” Nicholas asked.

  Tatiana spoke calmly. “A group of cleaners will come in tomorrow and Malama says one of them is my height and coloring. She and I will swap clothes and she will stay here while I leave with the others. The next morning, when the cleaners return, I will come back, and by then I will know how we are to be rescued. We have no choice, Papa. You know that.”

  Maria intercepted a look between Tatiana and her father that made her shiver. She had been trying to ignore the tension in the house while she recovered from her ordeal at the hands of Bolotov, but there was no doubt everyone was on edge. The firing in the distance didn’t help.

  “What must we do?” she asked, her voice faint.

  Tatiana replied, “When the cleaner is here in my place, crowd round her so no one gets a close look. Fortunately these new guards scarcely know us. If Yurovsky comes in, shield her from his gaze by some ruse.” She looked around at them all. “I’m sure you will manage. It is our best chance.”

  What did she mean? Maria wondered. Best chance of escape? But why not just remain as Yurovsky wanted them to, while the arrangements for their exile were finalized? She sensed there were things the others knew that they had not told her, Anastasia, or Alexei. Usually she resented being left out of the adult conversation, but this time she was glad not to know. She was an
xious enough as it was.

  * * *

  The cleaner looked nothing like Tatiana, Maria thought, and she was trembling as they exchanged gowns and shawls. Tatiana left the house with the rest of the cleaning women and the poor girl hid in their bedroom, scarcely saying a word, clearly terrified out of her wits. Maria wondered how Malama had talked her into it. No doubt she was being paid.

  All went according to plan that evening, with none of the guards spotting the deception, but next morning when the cleaners returned to continue their work, Tatiana was not with them. She had been supposed to return. What could they do?

  “I must leave with the other cleaners,” the girl begged Maria’s father over breakfast. “My parents are waiting for me.”

  “Now, now,” Nicholas soothed. “You can’t leave until Tatiana is back or the guards will notice. If they see one more cleaner leaving than arrived this morning, you would most likely be arrested.”

  The girl looked pale and kept wringing her hands together, on the verge of all-out panic. “My father made me do this. We need the money. I wish I had said no.”

  Olga put an arm around her. “Stay calm, dear. Tatiana will be back before you know it.”

  Maria saw her sister glance across the table at Nicholas and frown. This had not been part of the plan.

  When Yurovsky came to take the morning roll call, the cleaning girl leaned her head into her hands so he could not see her face.

  “She has a headache, poor soul,” Nicholas told him. “She has taken powders but must lie down and rest as soon as you are finished with us.”

  Yurovsky’s gaze traveled around the room before he spoke. “The kitchen boy, Leonid Sednev, is being sent away today. He must visit his family.”

  Alexei cried out, “But who shall I play with? Please don’t make him go.”

  “I believe there is an emergency,” Yurovsky continued. “He will return soon.” He left the room abruptly, seeming distracted, as if on urgent business.

  Alexei was on the verge of tears, his lip trembling. “I don’t want Leonid to go. Tell him not to.”

  “We’ll play with you,” Maria said. “Nastya and I will build a den for you. It will be fun.”

  “It’s not the same,” he pouted. “Girls don’t know how to play.”

  Everyone was anxious and out of sorts. Maria’s mother took to her bed, her father smoked incessantly, and the cleaning girl hid in the bedroom while the rest of them tried to distract Alexei. The minutes ticked by even slower than before.

  * * *

  When they went to bed that night, Maria wondered if the rescue might be imminent. That could be why Tatiana had not returned. She packed a bag of items she did not want to be without: her photo album, her sketch pad and pencils, a couple of favorite icons, and the gold Fabergé box, then she put her camera beside it. If anyone came in the night to save them, she could grab her bag and take it with her.

  The firing sounded closer now and there seemed to be more traffic in the street. She heard the murmur of men’s voices rising through the summer air but could not make out what they said. From the breathing of her sisters and the cleaning girl, she could tell none of them were sleeping, but they did not talk either. Perhaps, like her, they were listening and waiting, trying to work out what might happen next.

  Maria woke with a start to a knock on the door and realized she must have nodded off after all. Dr. Botkin turned the handle and looked in.

  “You must get dressed. We are being moved elsewhere, for our safety, as the Czechs are approaching. Yurovsky said not to worry about luggage as it will be sent on later.”

  Maria’s spirits sank. When Botkin had started speaking, she had hoped Tatiana and Malama’s rescue plan was under way, but instead it seemed they were being moved by Yurovsky. She supposed they were being sent to Moscow, as Peter Vasnetsov had said they would be. But how could they go without Tatiana? The cleaning girl was whimpering like an injured dog.

  Maria got up and pulled on the undergarments and skirt into which she had sewn jewels, and saw her sisters doing the same. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, the weight of the fabric making it harder to fasten the buttons. She pulled on her boots and laced them, then picked up her camera and her travel bag.

  When they were all ready, they walked out to the drawing room to meet Maria’s parents and Alexei. The four servants—Dr. Botkin, Demidova, Trupp, and Kharitonov—were there too, and Yurovsky was waiting. He bent back his fingers with a loud crack, then opened the door and led them to the hall.

  “At least we are getting out of this place,” her father remarked, and Maria could tell he was straining to be jovial.

  As they passed the stuffed bear, her mother crossed herself, and each of the girls did the same.

  Chapter 6

  Ekaterinburg, July 17, 1918

  YUROVSKY LED THEM OUT INTO THE COURTYARD. Maria looked around and was puzzled to see there were no cars waiting. The sound of gunfire was louder now they were outside, and she shivered. Yurovsky opened another set of doors further along the wall and led them down a short flight of steps, then through a series of guardrooms and hallways until Maria was quite disoriented. They arrived in an empty storeroom with a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling.

  “You will wait here until the transport arrives,” he said.

  The room was about twenty-five by twenty feet, Maria estimated, with a barred window on one wall and double doors behind them.

  “How long must we wait here?” Alexandra demanded. “Alexei and I cannot stand for any length of time. Could you bring chairs?”

  “Of course. Chairs.” Yurovsky turned and gave an order to a guard standing behind him, an ugly man Maria had never seen before.

  Two chairs were brought. Her mother and Alexei were seated, then Yurovsky surveyed the group with a frown. Nicholas was standing in front of Alexei, with Alexandra beside him.

  “Could you all stand behind the chairs?” he asked, waving the girls and the four servants into a group, almost as if posing them for a photograph. They shuffled into place, and he nodded. “That will do.”

  He turned and left, closing the door behind him, and they looked at each other, bemused. Maria clung to her bag and her camera, reluctant to put them down. Everyone was uneasy. It hung in the air like fog.

  “Why did he bring us downstairs if the transport was not ready?” Olga asked.

  “It’s most irritating,” her mother replied. “They do their utmost to punish us, God knows what for.”

  “It’s in case of shelling by the Czechs,” Dr. Botkin said. “We’ll be safer in the basement if the house takes a direct hit.”

  The cleaning girl began to cry quietly and Dr. Botkin put an arm around her, murmuring words of comfort.

  “Do you think we are going to Moscow, Papa?” Maria asked. “That’s what one of the guards told me.”

  “Could be,” he said, absentmindedly.

  “Who will look after the dogs?” Anastasia worried out loud.

  There was a long pause before Olga replied. “I expect they will be sent on with our luggage. There’s probably no room in the cars.”

  Most of the time they stayed silent, apart from the cleaning girl’s sniffling. Maria was listening for engine noise outside that would signal the arrival of their transport. Why was it taking so long? Where was Tatiana?

  There was no mistaking the sound of the truck when it arrived. The engine roared, making the windowpane rattle behind its stout bars.

  The door opened and they saw a group of men standing behind Yurovsky. Maria spotted Anatoly Bolotov and her heart sank. Was he traveling with them?

  Yurovsky stepped forward, holding a sheet of paper, from which he began to read. “In view of the fact that your relatives in Europe continue their assault on Soviet Russia, the Presidium of the Ural Regional Soviet has sentenced you to be shot . . .”

  Maria’s mind went blank and she heard a rushing sound in her ears. The men had fanned out around him. Bolotov was staring at her, an
d she got the impression he was gloating.

  “What?” her father asked. “What?”

  Dr. Botkin sounded incredulous. “So you’re not taking us anywhere?”

  “I don’t understand. Read it again,” Maria’s father said.

  Yurovsky read from the paper in his hand, his tone level as if he were reciting a shopping list. “Tsar Nicholas Romanov, guilty of countless bloody crimes against the people, should be shot.”

  They were going to shoot her father. Maria crossed herself, and out of the corner of her eye saw her mother and sisters doing the same. And then it all happened fast. Yurovsky pulled out a gun, the other men did the same, and there were flashes of light and a deafening sound that ricocheted around the room. Nicholas staggered and fell heavily to the floor, but still guns were firing, and that was when Maria realized they were shooting them all. They couldn’t be. It made no sense. But they were.

  She dived toward the double doors at the back of the room, heart thumping, chest so tight she couldn’t breathe. She grabbed the handles and rattled them with all her strength, but they were locked and wouldn’t budge. She heard screaming and smelled the acrid tang of gunpowder, recognizing it from her father’s hunting trips. She couldn’t think straight. The only way out would be to run past the men, get around behind them, but she would never make it. Where was her mother? Where were Olga and Anastasia?

  She turned to look for them and felt something hit her leg, as if a sharp stone had been hurled at it. She collapsed, and now she was lying on the concrete floor and the air was thick with caustic smoke, making her eyes stream. She crawled toward a corner where she could hear screaming, feeling wet stickiness beneath her. “Olga!” she screamed. “Mama!”