The Fabergé Secret

by Charles Belfoure

  ‘Holy men?’ Dimitri said. He remembered the day Nicky told him of his son’s illness. There was a mention of healers, but he didn’t take it seriously.

  ‘Anna has told me of a Siberian peasant named Rasputin, who is now visiting Bishop Sergei at the Theological Seminary. It is said that he has special powers of healing. One day I must meet him,’ Alexandra replied.

  FIFTY-ONE

  ‘The empire is in crisis.’

  The Tsar said this more to the plate of chicken Kiev in front of him than to his dinner guests.

  ‘Your army is at the ready,’ replied Grand Duke Alexis, the Tsar’s uncle. He crammed a fork full of chicken into his gray mustached mouth.

  Dimitri waited for the Tsar’s response. Nicky looked exhausted and drained of blood, as did the Tsarina, which meant they had been up all night with Alexis. Dimitri knew he’d had some falls recently. Whenever he was playing with the Tsarevich, he was constantly on edge that the boy would fall and start bleeding. It reminded him of building a house of cards; the slightest jiggle would bring it tumbling down. The Russian Empire, too, now seemed like that – on the verge of collapsing.

  Dimitri had been invited to dine with the Imperial Couple. The two oldest children were eating with them also, because the Tsarina thought they would cheer up their father. Yet Nicky remained in an uncharacte‌ristically gloomy mood.

  ‘It makes me sick to read the news about the strikes in factories, riots, peasants killing their landlords, the murdered policemen,’ said the Tsar. ‘Life in all of Russia has ground to a halt, and my ministers take no action. They just cackle like frightened hens.’

  Dimitri was about to say something, but the Tsar continued speaking. ‘Then we lost the war.’

  There was a silence in the dining room that one could cut with a knife. Crushed by the news, Nicholas had no choice but to give up and sue for peace. Even the most patriotic Russians admitted that the war with Japan was an unnecessary disaster that had made the country a laughing-stock in the eyes of the world. Many sons, brothers, and fathers died in the conflict – all for nothing. The government and the Tsar were seen as totally inept and stupid. The defeat had invigorated the revolution like petrol thrown on a fire.

  Of course, Dimitri was secretly happy that revolution had swept across the country. For months, he had been financing revolutionary activities and coordinating the distribution of the photo book, which had been immensely successful. But again, the realization of the revolt was like a double-edged sword: at the same time that he was working for Evigenia’s cell, he was sad for his friend. Nicholas’s world was toppling around him, although Dimitri had tried to warn him. Perhaps he could still help him.

  All hell had broken loose after Bloody Sunday. The strife had become much worse; strikes had increased almost exponentially. They had shut down parts of the country including St Petersburg and all of Russia’s big cities like Moscow, Kiev, and Minsk. When the railway workers walked off the job, every single worker in the country went on strike. Russia was now totally paralyzed. Ships lay idle in port, the trains didn’t move, factories were closed down. All schools and universities had closed in St Petersburg and the rest of the cities. There were no newspapers, and the electricity was out most of the time. Coal, the most basic necessity in a Russian winter, went undelivered. Even Katya’s hospital had closed. But instead of being sad and dispirited, the common people were deliriously happy – marching through the streets cheering, singing, and waving red flags, which had become the symbol of the revolution. Revolutionist orators spoke to thousands gathered in parks.

  The Tsar continued. ‘The odd thing is that there is complete order in the streets … but something will happen. It’s like that ominous quiet right before a summer thunderstorm.’

  Dimitri understood what he meant. Though there were marches and protests daily in the cities, no actual violence had erupted between the army and the demonstrators. The troops stood by and watched. Everyone was waiting for a spark to ignite the fighting. But the countryside was another story; it was ravaged by constant violence. The peasants had gone on a rampage, looting and burning the estates like Huns. As they pillaged, they shouted, ‘We should get back what is rightfully ours!’ and ‘The land belongs to us!’ Landowners and estate stewards were murdered. Soldiers and Cossacks had to be called out to quell the violence, but it wouldn’t stop.

  ‘We need to crush the rebellion by force,’ interrupted Grand Duke Alexis.

  Dimitri knew he shouldn’t, but he had to speak up. ‘The other option is to give the people a constitution,’ he said in a loud, clear voice. ‘Setting the troops on the protestors and strikers might stop them for a while, but they’d be sure to start up again in a few months. You can’t shoot a hundred thirty million people.’ He directed the last comment to the Grand Dukes.

  ‘Nicky is the ruler ordained by God to rule Russia. You know that,’ Alexandra said in a scolding tone.

  ‘A lot of people would agree with Dimitri,’ said the Tsar solemnly. The Tsarina frowned and put down her fork.

  ‘Leonid, please take my plate away,’ she said to the blond servant.

  ‘The revolutionaries have set up their own elected government with these soviets,’ said the Grand Duke in disgust. ‘Soon, they’ll be running Russia instead of you, Nicky!’

  The Tsar took a sip of water, then patted his lips with the linen napkin.

  ‘There’s one thing all Russian people can agree on – they love Tchaikovsky,’ he suddenly said in a jolly voice. ‘And next week is the laying of the cornerstone for Dimitri’s Tchaikovsky Memorial.’

  The Tsar stood up from the dinner table and smiled at Dimitri.

  ‘We have a new gramophone disk. It’s Tchaikovsky’s “Fantasy Overture” from Romeo and Juliet. Will you join us in the study, Dimitri?’

  ‘Oh, please come,’ Grand Duchess Tatiana cried, as she took the last bite of her raspberry tart. ‘We can play cards while we listen.’

  Dimitri bent over and kissed Tatiana on her cheek.

  ‘As you wish, my little Highness. I’ll be along in a few minutes.’

  There was still enough light coming from the window, so Dimitri could see everything on the shelves in the display room very clearly. He pursed his lips, then made his decision. This time it would be the ‘Coronation Egg,’ the third Fabergé Easter Egg Nicholas had given to Alexandra. He picked it up and opened the hinged yellow-enameled shell. Inside was an exact gold and diamond-encrusted replica of the carriage the Imperial Couple rode in for their coronation. Pulling it carefully out of the egg, he marveled at the incredible workmanship. Even the platinum wheels and the strawberry-red upholstery were exactly like the real thing. He opened its little door and placed a tiny piece of folded paper on the floor of the carriage, then put it back into the egg. As usual, he set it slightly forward from the line of the other eggs and gifts to let his fellow agents know which object held the message. He opened the door of the display room a crack to see if anyone was about, then hurried down the marble hallway to the Tsar’s study.

  FIFTY-TWO

  ‘What an insult to the Russian Imperial Army! To have a decorated officer from a fine family want to overthrow our beloved Tsar!’

  General Moncransky nodded to the lieutenant, who smiled and turned the wooden handle of the vise attached to the end of the long table. Azref, whose head was face-down in the vise, screamed in agony. This was the Okhrana’s most reliable method of persuasion: cheap, simple, and effective.

  ‘I think I’m going to have you shot in front of a firing squad for being a traitor. No Siberia for you, Captain!’ Moncransky said in a solemn voice. The man merely groaned. Moncransky was glad in a way he was so tough to break, being a soldier.

  Azref burbled something.

  ‘What was that, Captain?’

  ‘Fuck the Tsar,’ was what it sounded like. At that, the vise was tightened another quarter-turn, producing an ear-piercing scream.

  ‘Once again, who are your confederates in the
Imperial Palaces? Is one of them Prince Dimitri Markhov?’

  Gurgling and moaning were the reply. The vise was tightened an eighth of a turn.

  Moncransky knew when the bravest man was at his breaking point. He was almost there with Azref. He nodded for an eighth more.

  This produced a cracking sound, like someone breaking open a walnut. Azref screamed non-stop. Moncransky thought he heard him say something, and knelt down to look up at Azref’s face. It was red as a beet, and his eyes were open and bulging. Azref croaked the word again, and then went silent.

  Moncransky stood up with a puzzled expression. ‘Sounded like “ninny.” He called me a ninny!’ the General said incredulously.

  A captain knocked on the door and entered. He saluted and said in a stentorian voice, ‘The others are assembled downstairs, Your Super-Excellency.’

  The lieutenant stepped forward and felt for a pulse on Azref’s neck, then nodded.

  ‘It’s a shame, Your Super-Excellency, we got nothing out of him. Except finding this code book in his room,’ the lieutenant said in a resigned tone of voice.

  ‘Have an orderly clean up this mess,’ the General growled. He slapped Azref on the back.

  ‘You did yourself proud, Captain. Most men and women talk at the very first turn of the handle.’

  The General walked into a small office adjoining the interrogation room. A doughy woman rose from a chair and walked up to him.

  ‘Did he tell you that Prince Dimitri was the traitor?’ Anna Vyrubova asked in an eager voice.

  ‘No, I’m afraid not. Azref “cracked,” but not in the way we wanted him to,’ the General said. Moncransky didn’t take her seriously as an Okhrana agent because she was a woman, but he pretended to. Anna scowled at him.

  ‘He is the traitor who’s betraying the Tsar. For months, he’s been hectoring His Majesty about establishing a constitutional monarchy,’ Anna snapped. ‘His movements have been very suspicious, especially around the display rooms. I’ve been watching him.’

  ‘Rest assured, Mademoiselle Vyrubova, I will have proof that Prince Dimitri is a revolutionary agent. You needn’t worry yourself. We know how dedicated you are to the Imperial Family. The Okhrana is very appreciative of your work, and we’ll keep you on as an operative. Now, if you would excuse me, I have to attend a meeting.’

  ‘Prince Dimitri is a revolutionary working right under your noses!’ Anna yelled after Moncransky. ‘Arrest him!’

  When Moncransky entered the room downstairs, men were smoking and chatting around a long wooden conference table. He took a seat at the head and rapped his ring on the table.

  ‘Gentlemen, there are millions of Russians who still love and obey our great Tsar. The Union of Russian People, or the Black Hundred, as it’s popularly known, is the Tsar’s largest and most important loyalist group. It will be organizing many patriotic parades throughout Russia to show support for the Romanov Dynasty. This gives us a splendid opportunity to put into place a counter-revolutionary action to draw the workers’ and peasants’ attention from the revolution. We intend to ignite hundreds of pogroms across Russia on the very same day.’

  Isvoltsky took up the narrative. ‘In Odessa and in three hundred other cities and towns, large patriotic processions supporting our beloved Tsar will take place, one week from today,’ he explained in a businesslike tone. ‘We will have a sharpshooter in position to kill the man leading the group in the biggest cities.’

  Moncransky continued the explanation. ‘The murders will be blamed on Jewish revolutionaries set on destroying the Empire. The Black Hundred will have men and women run through the streets screaming that the Jews killed a Christian.’ He smiled. ‘We will also scatter the usual handbills.’

  ‘All hell will break loose in Russia, and a lot of Yids will die,’ Isvoltsky added.

  ‘Good show.’ ‘Excellent.’ ‘Splendid,’ came the men’s reactions.

  Moncransky stood up, signaling that the meeting had come to an end.

  ‘A super pogrom!’ he crowed with great pride. ‘Wonderful.’

  FIFTY-THREE

  ‘We’re going to get in trouble,’ whined Marie.

  ‘Must you be such a goody-two-shoes?’ replied Olga in an annoyed voice. She was pushing the button repeatedly on the ‘Cuckoo’ Imperial Easter Egg to make the rooster pop up and down. Tatiana was lying on the floor of the display room winding up the gold train from the ‘Trans-Siberian Egg.’

  ‘Papa doesn’t mind if we look at the eggs,’ Tatiana snapped.

  ‘Only when he’s with us, I thought,’ Marie replied.

  Though their days were strictly scheduled, there was time when the Grand Duchesses could roam through the palace without supervision. The girls were in the display room of the Alexander Palace all by themselves. They liked opening the Imperial Easter Eggs, and pulling out the surprises.

  ‘Well, you thought wrong,’ Olga said. ‘We’re old enough to play with them if we’re careful – except for her.’ Anastasia was sitting on the carpet examining an enameled pearl cigarette case. ‘She’d break one for sure.’

  Tatiana tired of the train and picked up the ‘Peter the Great Egg.’ She ran her finger over the tiny statue inside.

  ‘Then I’m going to play with one,’ Marie said and walked over to the shelves.

  Olga had put away the ‘Cuckoo’ and moved on to the ‘Pine Cone Egg.’ She enjoyed playing with its windup elephant.

  ‘Why don’t we wind up the train and the elephant and run them into one another?’ Olga said with glee. Tatiana giggled and nodded.

  As her sisters were preparing to do that, Marie went over to the pink pearl-encrusted ‘Lilies of the Valley Egg.’ She sat on the carpet and pressed its button to pop up the miniature portraits of her father, Olga, and Tatiana. Marie repeated the operation four more times until a little piece of folded paper fell out from behind the portrait of her father onto the floor. She set the egg down and examined the paper closely.

  ‘What’s this?’ Marie asked Olga.

  At first Olga ignored her little sister, but she glanced over and saw the paper in Marie’s hand.

  ‘Where did that come from?’

  ‘It fell out of the egg.’

  Tatiana now saw it. ‘I know what that is. It’s a price tag.’

  Marie crinkled her nose in puzzlement.

  ‘Remember when we go with Nanny to the stores on the Nevsky and each thing has a piece of paper attached to it that tells you how much it costs? Like two rubles or six kopecks,’ Tatiana said.

  ‘Let me look at that,’ ordered Olga. She snatched the paper from her sister’s hand.

  ‘It doesn’t look like a price tag. It has no numbers, just a bunch of letters.’

  ‘What do they say?’ Marie asked.

  ‘Nothing, it’s just a gobbly-kook of letters.’ Olga handed the paper back to her sister and resumed readying the elephant for its crash into the train.

  The girls played for another twenty minutes until Olga announced it was almost teatime and ordered her sisters to put every egg back where they found it. She knew this because she was old enough to have a pin watch attached to the front of her dress.

  At tea, the girls chattered away to their mother and father about their day and what they learned in class. Nicholas enjoyed quizzing them on their French and English.

  The only daughter not talking was Marie; she was idly playing with a little piece of paper by her teacup.

  ‘What do you have there?’ her father asked.

  ‘It’s not a price tag,’ Marie answered confidently.

  Nicholas smiled at his wife. ‘Let me see it, my sweet.’

  Marie first took a bite of her ginger cookie then got up and brought the paper to her father who was sitting at the head of the table.

  ‘It’s just a lot of letters strung together, not words,’ Nicholas said in an amused voice.

  The Tsar was interrupted by the sound of breaking crockery. Everyone at the table turned their heads toward its sour
ce.

  ‘Nanny,’ shouted Tatiana, ‘you’ve dropped your cup and splattered tea all over the front of your frock.’

  Olga took her linen napkin and started dabbing Miss O’Brian’s dress.

  ‘Leonid, bring a dish of cold water,’ commanded the Tsarina. ‘We want to blot up these tea stains before they set.’

  Miss O’Brian had a dazed look on her face.

  ‘Don’t look so worried, Nanny, these stains will come out,’ Olga assured her as she dabbed away.

  As if coming out of a trance, Miss O’Brian spoke haltingly. ‘No, Leonid needn’t bother. I’ll change out of my frock. Will you excuse me, Your Majesty?’ she asked the Tsarina.

  ‘Why certainly, dearest Nanny.’

  Miss O’Brian rose shakily from her seat and left the room.

  With the commotion over, the Tsar resumed his interest in Marie’s find.

  ‘Did you write these letters?’

  ‘No, I found it.’

  ‘Where?’ asked the Tsarina.

  Marie glanced at Olga before answering.

  ‘On the floor.’

  ‘Someone must have dropped it,’ observed Olga.

  Dr Botkin, the family’s personal physician, who had been invited to tea, took the paper from the Tsar. ‘It looks like a code of some sort, Your Majesty. I’ve seen these things back when I was a doctor in the army.’

  This interested the Tsar. ‘Well, just for fun, I’ll pass it on to the Okhrana.’

  ‘Read it to me again!’ General Moncransky said in a jolly voice.

  Captain Odin of the cryptology section cleared his voice.

  ‘Markhov to leave new book in regular spot. Proceed with plan.’

  ‘One more time!’

  ‘Markhov to leave new book in regular spot. Proceed with plan.’

  To Captain Odin’s astonishment, the General, grinning from ear to ear, did a little jig, kicking out his legs and clapping his hands. The fat old general had been transformed into a child.

  ‘Isvoltsky,’ Moncransky yelled to his adjutant, ‘when is the groundbreaking ceremony for that memorial?’