‘We’re not picking him up now?’
‘No,’ Moncransky said with a sly smile, ‘I want to wait for a special time to show the Tsar that his best friend is a fucking traitor.’
FIFTY-FOUR
‘What’s America like, Madame Doctor?’ Nadia asked in a quiet, scared voice.
‘It’s got buffaloes and wild Indians with red-painted faces,’ her brother Mendel shouted with glee. ‘And they scalp people!’ Four-year-old Nadia began to whimper and hang onto her mother’s long overcoat.
‘You shut your trap, boy,’ his mother yelled.
Katya and the Mandel family stood together on Wharf Seven on a quay on the Neva. They were waiting for the transfer boat that would take the mother and two children out to their schooner.
Katya knelt down to Nadia and wiped her tears with a white hankie. ‘It’s a wonderful place with all kinds of things: mountains, big cities like St Petersburg, countryside as far as the eye can see,’ she explained. ‘And the Indians are all peaceful,’ she added, casting a sidelong glance at Mendel.
Mrs Mandel took Katya’s hand. ‘Thank you again for what you’ve done, Madame Doctor.’
‘With your husband gone, America is the best place to be,’ Katya said in a confident tone.
‘To tell you the truth, I’m as scared as Nadia. But Mrs Tannenbaum, whom you also helped, wrote me to say how wonderful things were in New York. She lives in a three-room apartment that she doesn’t share with any other families, and it has steam heat. Can you imagine that?’ Mrs Mandel asked.
‘Check one last time before you get into the boat that you have all your documents,’ Katya advised. ‘When you get to Ellis Island, be sure to show them that you have a sponsor who’ll give you a job, or they’ll send you back. And for heaven’s sake, don’t say any of the children are sick.’
Mendel was playing too close to the edge of the wharf. His mother shouted at him to stand back.
‘Mrs Tannenbaum says the United States is the new promised land,’ Mrs Mandel said happily. ‘They leave Jews alone; the goys don’t crash into your house and beat your head in like they did my poor Abraham.’
‘I am sure that America will seem like heaven, after what you’ve gone through in Kishinev,’ Katya reassured her.
With a big smile on her haggard face, Mrs Mandel said, ‘We’ve been studying English – to learn the language of a country where people are treated like human beings.’
Katya nodded approvingly. ‘The more English you know, the easier it will be.’
The recent wave of new pogroms across Russia had left many dead and families destitute. Thousands of Jews were desperate to leave, selling their belongings for next to nothing to buy exit certificates and steamship tickets to America or the Argentine. Katya was furious when she heard that men posing as emigration contractors for the Jewish Colonization Society took money from families and absconded with it, leaving the Jews helpless. With the Baron’s assistance, she was sponsoring several families who had been ruined in the pogroms. The thought haunted her: if her great-grandfather hadn’t converted to the Orthodox Church, she might be one of these victims – raped or dead.
But Katya soon discovered that it was an incredibly complicated process, especially if the family didn’t have the proper papers: a police certificate, an exit certificate, a passport along with the passport tax. A missing birth certificate was disastrous. Proof that the children were biologically connected to the parents was extremely important. If an emigrant’s relative had evaded military service by escaping the country, the state held them personally responsible for the three-hundred-ruble fine. It was the Society’s job to approve or disapprove the Jews’ applications. To Katya’s consternation, the decision came down to whether they could work. She had to go before the Society and plead for her families’ approvals. But the Russian government had to concur, and it took ages to decide. Katya soon learned that large bribes to bureaucrats were most effective. She was lucky she came from a wealthy family, although her father and siblings knew nothing of this.
‘Here it comes!’ Mendel cried out when the transport boat pulled up along the wharf. Katya smiled; for most of the children, it was a great adventure. She helped Mrs Mandel with the bags.
With everyone aboard, Katya handed her a card. ‘Once you settle in, you write me to tell me how you are. Promise?’
With tears in her eyes, the woman reached out and kissed Katya’s hand.
‘That Church of yours should make you a saint,’ she cried out as the boat chugged away.
Katya kept waving until they reached the ship which would take them to Bremen. There, they’d catch a steamship to New York.
Walking back to the carriage, she lit a cigarette and turned one last time to look out at the harbor. The Baron was waiting for her in his carriage.
‘You’ve just done what my people call a “mitzvah.” An act of extraordinary kindness,’ he said.
Katya smiled at him. ‘I had no choice. After the latest pogroms, I wasn’t going to stand by and do nothing.’
‘These people will always remember your kindness,’ the Baron added, patting her hand. ‘Your willingness to do the right thing.’
‘I intend to do many more mitzlas.’
‘Mitzvahs,’ corrected the Baron.
‘The Pinskys leave next Tuesday.’
‘You’re still coming next week to my home for Passover?’ asked the Baron as the carriage rattled along. ‘There’ll be lots of challah.’
‘To commemorate God’s liberation of the Israelites from slavery in Egypt.’
‘Precisely,’ the Baron answered.
‘I’ll be there. But I dislike your Jewish holidays,’ Katya grumbled.
Her comment amused the Baron. ‘On what grounds, Doctor?’
‘Jews may have been freed back then, but they’re still in slavery in Russia, and other places around the world. Treated like shit,’ Katya snapped in an angry voice.
‘That’s not a fair comparison. Jews are terribly mistreated, but not like the slaves of Egypt.’
‘Well … maybe,’ Katya retorted.
‘So, is it just Passover with which you have a problem?’
‘Yom Kippur also bothers me,’ Katya said. She had joined the Baron’s family to celebrate the holiday last fall. ‘It’s supposed to be a day of atonement for Jews’ sins. But their sins are nothing, compared to the way the world sins against them.’
‘It’s our most important holiday. To ask forgiveness from those we’ve sinned against,’ the Baron replied in a patient voice.
‘Yes, I know. But where’s the high holiday for the world to ask forgiveness for what they’ve done to the Jews? Like these recent pogroms across the Empire. Four hundred killed in Odessa alone.’
‘I agree, it was shocking. To have one isolated pogrom is normal, but scores across the country at the same time is horrendous,’ the Baron said in a troubled voice.
‘It’s clear: the Tsar and the government have been instigating all these pogroms as a way to counter the revolution that’s exploded,’ Katya said, raising her voice. ‘It’s an old strategy – blame the Jews for all of a nation’s ills.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard the rumor that the Black Hundred and the government planned it all.’
‘And we are powerless to stop them.’ Katya sighed.
‘We?’ the Baron said with a wry smile. He held up his gloved hand, as a signal that she didn’t have to explain. The carriage pulled up to her house.
‘See you at Passover,’ Katya called out.
FIFTY-FIVE
The Grand Duchesses and their nanny were gathered on a little island in a man-made lake near the Alexander Palace. Miss O’Brian had rowed the children over in a small boat. The island had an ornate open-air wooden pavilion that served as playhouse for the children. Behind it was the children’s pet cemetery, where cats, birds, mice, rabbits, and one dog had been laid to rest by the children. A burial service for a rabbit was now taking place.
Miss
O’Brian welcomed this little excursion to get out of the palace. She’d been on pins and needles since Marie had found the code. She’d seriously considered making a run for it. Then she’d decided that because she was a lifelong revolutionary, she must be brave enough to take the consequences for her actions – banishment for life to Siberia. Miss O’Brian had nothing to be ashamed of; she was proud of what she’d done. When the Okhrana did burst into her room to arrest her, the nanny would proudly confess, although she’d be quite sad never to see her girls again. But four weeks had passed and nothing happened.
‘O dear Lord, please take our beloved Pavlova and take good care of her. She loves tiny pieces of cut-up carrots and cucumbers,’ Tatiana said.
‘Pavlova was a very good bunny,’ added Olga in a sad voice. ‘So soft and warm.’ She stroked the small wooden box that held the rabbit’s body.
‘Why do bunnies die, Nanny?’ Marie asked.
Miss O’Brian was touched by the innocent question.
‘God decides it’s time for bunnies to come up and be with him. He has millions of bunnies and pets in heaven.’
‘Say hello to God for me, Pavlova,’ Tatiana said. ‘Tell him I always say my prayers.’
Olga placed the box in a hole that a groundskeeper had dug for them earlier that day. After the burial, a staff carpenter would make a white cross engraved with the pet’s name. There were now eleven crosses, including Pavlova’s, who was named after the famous ballerina.
The Grand Duchesses filled the grave with the mound of excavated dirt. Anastasia helped, but lost her footing and fell into the shallow hole, to the delight of her sisters. The nanny lifted her out and brushed off her dress. Afterwards, they retired to the pavilion to snack on the cookies, sweets, and cold tea that Miss O’Brian had packed for the occasion.
‘It’s so sad to lose a pet,’ Olga said.
‘It breaks your heart, it really does,’ Tatiana said sadly.
‘Leonid’s heart was broken when Mikhail, his bird, died,’ Marie added.
Because the children had few outside playmates, they forged friendships with the immediate household staff, like Jim and Leonid the footman.
‘Leonid had a bird?’ Miss O’Brian asked. She knew the tall blond footman only slightly.
‘Yes, he kept him in a cage in his room. He brought him to St Petersburg when he got the job as footman,’ Olga explained while breaking her cookie into small pieces.
‘Leonid is so good looking and tall. I hope I marry someone who’s as handsome as he is,’ Marie said wistfully.
‘Baroness Sophie Gurko told me the taller and more handsome the footman is, the higher his pay,’ Olga announced, proud of possessing this inside information. ‘And Monsieur Cubat, our master chef, is the highest paid person in the household – although Papa doesn’t like his French cooking.’
Miss O’Brian giggled at this, causing the girls to laugh with her.
‘Leonid was so sad. We said he could bury Mikhail in our cemetery,’ Marie said.
This caught Miss O’Brian’s attention. She put down her glass of tea on the floor of the pavilion.
‘I don’t remember a burial service for his bird.’
‘We wanted to have a ceremony, but Leonid said he was too sad, and would rather bury his bird alone. So, we said that he could row out and bury Mikhail on his own. He brought a shovel and dug his own hole, then he got the carpenter to make a cross like the rest,’ Olga explained in a matter-of-fact voice.
‘Rest in peace, Mikhail,’ Tatiana said, looking up to the sky.
‘Finish your cookies, girls. I’ll be right back,’ Miss O’Brian said.
The nanny walked over to the cemetery, searching the crosses until she found Leonid’s bird. Something seemed slightly different about this grave. She knelt down to take a closer look. Unlike the other graves, which had been feathered in with grass, this one had a thin but distinct line outlining a rectilinear hole. Using both hands, she dug her fingers into the earth and pulled out a wooden box mounded with grass.
Miss O’Brian set the little coffin on the grass. She removed the lid, and sure enough, there was a body of a decomposed bird. But the coffin was much deeper than it had to be for a tiny bird. She poked at the panel on which the bird was lying, and it moved. The coffin, she realized, had a false bottom.
When she lifted the panel up, her eyes widened in horror. ‘Leonid?!’
There, below it, lay odds and ends of what looked like the left-over ingredients for making a bomb – a fuse, a roll of wire, and a timer. A short reddish-brown cylinder could have been a stick of dynamite. Because the servants’ quarters were being randomly searched after the assassination attempt in the dining room, Leonid couldn’t keep these things in his room anymore. She turned to see if the girls were watching, but they were absorbed in their snacks. Picking up the box very gingerly, she walked it over to the edge of the lake, and dumped the bomb-making items into the water. Then she returned to the grave and put back everything as she’d found it, kneeling and patting down the joints of the hole so they didn’t look disturbed. As she stood up, she realized she’d been sweating like an open faucet.
‘Finish up, my little bears!’ she called out to the girls. ‘Time to get back.’
As she rowed back to shore, the nanny boiled with anger.
Miss O’Brian stood patiently inside a room in the private apartments, peering out into the corridor from a crack in the open door. Her breathing was steady and controlled. To her surprise, her hands weren’t sweating. Ten minutes passed, then suddenly, her body stiffened. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, then flung open the door.
‘Please help me!’ she cried out to Leonid, who was alone in the corridor. He turned around and saw her wide-eyed look of terror.
‘What has happened, Madame?’ he asked, coming toward her.
‘Little Anastasia has had an accident. You must come with me now!’
Miss O’Brian ran back into the room, followed by Leonid. They came to an alcove outside the Tsarina’s dressing room.
‘The elevator didn’t come all the way down to the floor! Anastasia looked into the gap and fell in. Help me get her out!’
The open elevator platform was about three feet higher than the first floor. Leonid flattened his body on the floor and stuck his head into the gap. Quick as a flash, Miss O’Brian reached up and yanked the metal handle forward. The elevator dropped, producing a sickening, crushing sound.
The nanny ran into the corridor, and shrieked at the top of her lungs.
‘Help, there’s been a terrible accident! For God’s sake, please help me!’
Miss O’Brian was in her sitting room of her private suite, drinking a glass of tea with Baroness Sophie Gurko. The Tsarina’s lady-in-waiting patted the nanny’s hand.
‘This has been such a horrible experience for you my dear,’ the Baroness said sadly.
‘We can’t tell the children; they liked Leonid,’ Miss O’Brian said.
‘As did the Tsarina. She was so fond of the boy,’ added the Baroness.
‘She’ll be heartbroken when she gets back from the ceremony.’
‘What ceremony is that?’ In all the commotion, Miss O’Brian had uncharacteristically lost track of the day’s schedule.
‘The laying of the cornerstone for the Tchaikovsky Memorial is at two, remember? And I found out,’ the Baroness exclaimed with delight, ‘that the Tsarina had Prince Dimitri design a surprise gift for the Tsar commemorating the occasion. The prince just picked it up. He’ll be presenting the gift personally to His Majesty.’
‘What kind of gift? Like a Fabergé egg?’ the nanny asked.
‘No. It’s basically a big box to put odds and ends. When the lid opens, it plays a tune,’ the Baroness explained. ‘It’s quite charming. The Tsar will be very pleased.’
‘How big is this box?’
‘Oh, I’d say about this tall and about this wide,’ the Baroness replied, holding her hands apart to give the nanny an idea of its si
ze.
Miss O’Brian bolted out of the room.
FIFTY-SIX
It was an unusually sunny and warm March day. Thousands had turned up for the cornerstone-laying ceremony. Shoulder to shoulder, they crowded both sides of the street along the Griboedova Canal. People even filled up Plekhanova Avenue a block north. From the surrounding buildings, the public looked out from windows and rooftops. The Tsar was right, thought Dimitri; revolutionaries and non-revolutionaries alike loved Tchaikovsky. The event would temporarily take people’s minds off the insurgent fervor that was increasing by the day. On the empty lot where the Memorial would be built sat a five-tiered grandstand with wooden chairs. At its center was an Imperial Box adorned with gold double-headed eagles and white-blue-red bunting. Directly behind the grandstand was assembled the St Petersburg Symphony, which was playing Tchaikovsky’s Concerto Number One. Cossacks with grim expressions were mounted around the perimeter of the crowd.
Dimitri and Lara, who came for the purpose of showing off her new hat and dress, and Peter Carl Fabergé took their places on the grandstand, along with the Grand Dukes – the Tsar’s uncles and cousins, ministers, courtiers, and guests. To Dimitri’s surprise, General Moncransky and some officers were sitting two rows behind him. The General smiled and bowed to Dimitri. In his lap, Dimitri held the Tsar’s gift in a specially made mahogany box. He was more excited to present the gift than seeing the cornerstone of his building laid.
The orchestra began playing ‘God Save the Tsar,’ which was the signal the emperor had arrived. Everyone stood up and began singing. People cheered when the Tsar and Tsarina waved as they took their places in the box. Dimitri was a bit disappointed that the children could not attend; Alexandra thought they’d be too restless and distracting. He would bring them to the site as construction progressed; it would be much more interesting for them. The program called for a short concert of Tchaikovsky highlights before the actual ceremony.
Dimitri looked over at the Tsar, who sat listening to the Tchaikovsky piece. He was in his own world, smiling as the beautiful music took him far away from his enormous troubles. ‘His heavy cross to bear,’ as the Tsarina would say. Nicky’s head swayed and his toe tapped to the rhythm of The March Slav.
The Fabergé Secret Page 26