The Tsarina's Daughter (Reading Group Gold) Read online

  My father’s uncles were often in the nursery, especially the tall, thin, rather sour Uncle Gega and the imposing Uncle Bembo, bespectacled and bewhiskered, who had a little silver-backed notebook that he took everywhere and was always writing things down in it. Uncle Gega said little but when he did speak, he shouted, jarring mama’s nerves and making her wince. Uncle Gega was married to Aunt Ella, mama’s sweet-faced, affectionate older sister who always looked beautiful though Niuta said she made her own clothes—something no well-bred titled lady ought to do.

  “That child has something wrong with it,” Uncle Gega shouted, peering down into Alexei’s golden cradle. “Look at the way its leg sticks out! As if it were broken. Can’t it be fixed?” He glared at the surgeon Dr. Fedorov, who shrank from his sharp gaze and turned to his colleague.

  “Stop that muttering and give me an answer!”

  “Your Excellency, the tsarevich’s limbs are—are—”

  “Are what?”

  “Are still developing,” Dr. Korovin said with an air of professional finality.

  “I don’t like the look of him,” was Uncle Gega’s parting remark, as he swept out of the room without so much as a nod to mama.

  Alexei cried a lot. I could hear his wails even in the night nursery upstairs, and I imagined that his head might be filling with blood and hurting him. I wondered if his pain could be as great as mine, when day after day I had to submit to the strapping on of the cruel steel rod and the sharp, torturous straightening of my spine.

  Three

  We were standing in the Blue Salon of the Winter Palace, in front of the high arched window that looked out across the icebound Neva toward the looming Peter and Paul Fortress on the opposite bank. I stood next to Grandma Minnie and could feel her eyes on me, inspecting my posture, my behavior, my expression.

  “Smile, Tatiana,” she often said. “Well brought up girls don’t frown. Girls who frown never find husbands.”

  I knew that she was examining me from the crown of my head to the felt boots I wore—peasant boots—because the palace floors were ice cold and without my felt boots my toes turned blue.

  We were all there, standing in a row in front of the tall high window, my three sisters and I and Aunt Olga and Grandma Minnie and Uncle Vladimir and Auntie Miechen and the palace marshal and some of the servants who had come with us from Tsarskoe Selo to witness the ceremony. Mama and Alexei were not with us, mama had a headache and Alexei, still only a baby, was much too young to watch the events on the river.

  We had all been to mass and had come from the service to witness my father perform the Blessing of the Waters, the sacred ceremony that sanctified the Neva and invoked divine aid on the city for the coming year.

  He stood out on the pale blue-green ice, a lone small figure in his thick fur coat and hat, watching as a hole was cut in the frozen surface of the river. A small detachment of marine police came up to stand behind him, at a respectful distance, and as we watched, the Bishop of Petersburg in his gleaming gold vestments walked slowly toward the newly made opening in the ice and prepared to dip his staff into the dark water.

  The scene unfolded in silence before us, we were too far away to hear the prayers that were being said, or to see, until it was much too late, that some of the marine police were turning and pointing in the direction of the fortress and running out across the ice as if in panic.

  Then the pop and pounding of distant guns firing reached us, and we saw men begin to fall, struck by bullets and cannonfire, until only my father and the bishop were still standing. I heard Uncle Vladimir shout for the guard and Aunt Olga screamed as the window glass in front of us shattered into a million splintered crystals. I drew back in alarm just as Grandma Minnie put her hand to her forehead and sank down toward the floor, blood on her hand and gown. I was aware of cold air pouring in around me, of a confusion of voices and of men streaming into the immense room.

  A uniformed officer grabbed my arm.

  “Come, Your Highness.”

  “Papa—is papa safe?” I turned my head to look back at the scene on the river but all I could see was a blur of swiftly moving bodies. I let the officer who had taken my arm lead me away, down a long corridor toward one of the guardrooms.

  “Here, Your Highness. Stay here. You will not be disturbed here.” I was in a small, dimly lit, musty-smelling cupboard lined with shelves. I was alone. I heard the sound of the door being shut and locked.

  Was papa all right? Where were my sisters? What had happened, out on the ice? I tried to open the cupboard door, but it would not yield. Would I be left here, forgotten, until I starved?

  “Mama!” I screamed, knowing that she couldn’t hear me. “Sedynov! Shoura! Niuta!”

  But no one came, and soon the only sound I heard was the sound of my heart beating, the blood pounding in my ears, and the faint scratching of a rat in a far corner of the dim room.

  Four

  Not long after these frightening events I remember sitting in mama’s lavender room, the room that always smelled of lilacs and of her favorite perfume, called “White Roses.” She was stretched out on her white chaise longue, with a pale pink shawl covering her legs—her legs hurt her a lot—knitting a balaclava out of grey wool for one of her charities.

  I liked going into mama’s special room not only because I loved her but because it was always peaceful there, with the little white-and-gilded clock ticking, the clock her grandmother Queen Victoria gave her when she was a little girl, and the pictures of St. Cecelia and of mama’s mother Alice on the wall next to the icon of the Annunciation. She had pictures of me there too, and my sisters and brother, and a big one of Queen Victoria when she was very very old and small and wrinkled, wearing an old-fashioned white lace cap over her grey hair. I always thought, when I was little, that the elderly queen was smiling at me out of that picture.

  Mama lifted her needles and looked over at me, the look in her dark blue eyes warm.

  “And how is my Taniushka? Did you have dancing class today?”

  “I am well, mama. But dancing class is canceled. Professor Leitfelter says the streets are too dangerous. Everyone should stay home.”

  It was true. There was much turmoil in the city just then, with all the workers on strike and rioting and soldiers everywhere. Everyone said it was a miracle my father had been spared on the day he was shot at, standing there in the open on the river. He had not gone out of the palace since that day, except to travel, surrounded by guardsmen and cavalry, to our country palace Tsarskoe Selo.

  “The Lord has let him live,” I heard Grandma Minnie say when she visited the nursery. “His life has been saved so that he can preserve Russia from the wickedness of the ungodly masses.” She wore a bandage on her forehead to cover the wound she had received on the day the shots were fired at papa; she covered it with a veil but I could still see it.

  I looked over at mama, her needles swift in her hands. She was wearing the rings she often wore these days, a ring with a single large pearl, and another little ring with the sign of the swastika engraved on it, which she had told me was an ancient Indian symbol meaning “well-being.”

  Her hands were turning red, and her cheeks too were becoming pink. I knew what that meant. She was uneasy. She held out her hand to me, the hand with the swastika ring.

  “Taniushka, do you know what this symbol means?”

  “Yes, mama. You told me. It means ‘well-being.’ ”

  “And do you know why I wear it?”

  “No, mama.”

  “Because it was given to me by a wonderful man, a teacher named Philippe, who came to us from France. When he gave it to me he told me that I must always remember, whatever happens, I will have a feeling of well-being, because I am a blessed child of God, and nothing truly bad can ever happen to me.”

  I looked at her, unsure what to say.

  “Now, there is something I must tell you that is very sad and distressing, but I still feel well-being inside, and I want you to feel tha
t too. Nothing that happens can ever touch us, deep down inside. Will you remember that?”

  “Yes, mama. It isn’t about papa, is it?”

  “No, dear. It is your Uncle Gega.” She swallowed, then went on. “A bomb was thrown into his carriage. He was badly hurt—in fact, dear, his life has ended.” She crossed herself.

  “Oh! Poor Aunt Ella!”

  “It is because Aunt Ella is going to come to visit us, all the way from Moscow, that I am telling you this. She will arrive in a few days. She will be protected here with us. We must be especially kind to her.”

  I did not love Uncle Gega, in fact I disliked him, and even thought that he was faintly ridiculous because he wore corsets under his linen shirts to make his waist smaller and when the shirts were tight Olga and I could see the bones of the corsets very clearly and we always laughed—though never when he was nearby, of course.

  “Will we go to Uncle Gega’s funeral?”

  “No, dear. He will be buried in Moscow and it would not be safe for us to go there now.” She paused. “Just remember, Tania, that you always carry your well-being deep inside. When Aunt Ella comes, you must not show your distress.”

  I nodded. “I will do my best.”

  But when Aunt Ella arrived, her face tear-stained and her usually immaculate grooming and dress in disarray, I could not contain my feelings. I couldn’t help but run to her and weep in her arms. She hugged me and told me how big I was getting, and hugged my sisters and baby Alexei too.

  “Dear ones,” she told us, “try not to grieve. My dear Serge is in paradise with the angels. He knew that the wicked bomb-throwers were after him. He tried to evade them. He even slept in a different palace every night, in the strong fortress of the Kremlin, so they wouldn’t be able to find him.”

  I wondered, will we all have to start sleeping in a different palace every night? For I had heard it said that the bomb-throwers were going to kill us all, every one of us in the imperial family. Uncle Gega was only the first to go. Did Aunt Ella believe that she too would soon die?

  My sister had a copy of a newspaper, The Russian Word, that Chemodurov lent her. It told all about what happened when the bomb hit Uncle Gega’s body, how his head was destroyed along with both his arms and one of his legs, so that when Aunt Ella went looking for what was left of him in the bloody snow she could only find his chest and one leg and one of his hands that was lying all by itself. I didn’t expect anyone to bring up any of that, but to my surprise Aunt Ella told us all how she took all that was left of Serge and put it in a very large hollow wooden cross that she hung on the wall. She put what was left of his bloody clothes inside the cross too, but kept the medal that he wore for protection and now wore it around her own neck on a gold chain.

  “I feel he is still here, with me,” she told us one afternoon as we all were gathered for our tea, fingering the medal as she spoke. “He watches over me.”

  “Someone should have watched over him,” I said, without thinking, and Grandma Minnie said “Shhh” and glowered at me over her teacup.

  “I only meant the police and the soldiers, grandma. They should have kept him safe.”

  “But how could they,” Ella asked mildly, “when they didn’t know who the bomb-throwers were going to be? They can’t guard all of us against an unknown enemy. You’ve had a narrow escape yourselves, I understand. Despite all the soldiers here in the palace, you yourselves were shot at—and then there were those choristers who turned out to be bomb-throwers. You were fortunate to escape them.”

  “What choristers?” Olga wanted to know.

  “Oh, so you didn’t tell the children,” Ella said to mama. “Well, I suppose that was right. No need to frighten them.”

  “Tell us now,” Olga said, turning to mama who reddened and said nothing.

  “We had some unwanted guests among us not long ago,” my father said with a slight smile. “They were caught in the chapel, dressed as choristers, about to begin singing the evening service. An alert guard—I gave him a medal for this afterward—saw some suspicious bulges under the robes these men were wearing. They were arrested, and the police found that they had explosives strapped around their waists.”

  I heard Olga’s sharp intake of breath, and I too felt shocked—and frightened.

  “They were going to blow us up,” I said.

  “That may have been their plan,” was my father’s firm response, “but we are well guarded, and their plan did not succeed.”

  I glanced over at Aunt Ella, who had a withdrawn look, like one who is lost in her own thoughts. Now that she was a widow she had changed, I thought. The cut of her gown was simple, her headdress less like that of a member of the imperial family and more like that of a woman from the countryside. She was still as beautiful as ever, with very fair skin and light blue eyes that had a distinctive flaw—her left eye had a very noticeable spot of brown amid the blue. She was beautiful, but she was downcast, and I could not help feeling sad as I watched her face with the tracks of tears visible down the center of both cheeks.

  “If the bomb-throwers mean to keep us from living our daily lives, they are sure to be disappointed,” mama said, reaching into her deep knitting bag and bringing out a ball of grey wool with her knitting needles protruding from it.

  “I for one mean to go on with my daily tasks, one of which is to finish this balaclava so that it can go on sale at the next charity auction.”

  “Which of your charities is it this time?” Grandma Minnie asked witheringly. “The Widows of German Wars, or the Queen Victoria Memorial Fund?”

  “Mama—” papa began weakly, but broke off.

  I got up and went to sit beside mama. “Let me wind your wool, mama. I hope you will teach me to knit one of these days. And I think your charities are good. They help people.” I looked, as pointedly as I could, at Grandma Minnie as I said this. I heard Olga begin to snicker.

  “Why don’t we start a new charity, the Naughty Little Girls’ Good Posture Fund?”

  It was a threat. Grandma Minnie was threatening to make me wear the hated steel brace for even more hours every day. I burst into tears.

  “Tania, Tania, what is it?” my father said, and mama echoed him, “Taniushka, what is upsetting you?”

  “I can’t tell you. She made me promise not to.”

  “Who made you promise? What on earth is this about?” I didn’t answer. “You must tell me, Tania.” I could never resist my father, I could hear the concern in his voice.

  I sniffed, looked over at Grandma Minnie and slowly raised my hand, pointing with one finger in her direction.

  “It is impolite to point, Tatiana,” Grandma Minnie said sharply. “I have told you that a hundred times, and so has your governess.”

  Now my father stood up, and confronted Grandma Minnie. “Just what is going on? Have the courtesy to tell me.”

  Grandma Minnie shrugged and turned away. “Your daughter is impudent. And she slouches.”

  Ignoring this response, my father continued to question his mother. “What can’t she tell me?”

  There was no response from Grandma Minnie. The tension in the room rose. Eventually Ella got up from her chair, came over to me, and took my hand.

  “We’re going to go for a walk,” she said quietly and led me out of the room and into the greenhouse, with its fresh smell and array of blooming, green-leaved plants. We walked there for a time, in silence. Eventually we came to a bench and Ella sat down. I sat beside her.

  “When I was a little girl,” she said, “and I was upset about something, my mother always took me for a walk. It helped. Now, are you ready to talk about what is upsetting you so?”

  “If I tell I’ll be punished.”

  “By your grandmother?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I imagine she didn’t make you promise not to tell me, only your parents. Am I right? After all, she didn’t know that I would be here.”

  “Yes. She said, if you tell your mama or your papa about this
I will make you wear it twice as long.”

  “Wear what?”

  “The contraption.”

  “What contraption?”

  “I don’t know the name of it. Sedynov straps me into it nearly every day, and I have to wear it for four hours. Or more.”

  A look of consternation passed across Ella’s lovely features.

  “Where is this contraption now?”

  “In a closet in the nursery.”

  “Show it to me.”

  “Do you promise to protect me if Grandma Minnie punishes me?”

  “Yes. Never doubt it. And I have a feeling Grandma Minnie won’t be given a chance to punish you any more after today.”

  I took Ella up to the nursery and showed her where Sedynov kept the horrid device with the steel rod and leather straps. I described my torture with the thing strapped to my back.

  Aunt Ella said only one word: “Barbaric!” She left me there in the nursery, under Niuta’s eye, and went out.

  Nothing more was ever said about the horrid contraption, but the next time I dared to look in the nursery closet it was gone, and I was never punished for telling Aunt Ella about it, and from then on, I noticed, Grandma Minnie hardly ever came into the nursery and I was free.

  Five

  After Uncle Gega died my father smoked a lot and stroked his beard a lot and went for long walks by himself on the small island in the lake at Tsarskoe Selo that we call the Children’s Island. The woods are thick there, it is a good place to hide. He stayed there for hours at a time, even though I heard Grandma Minnie say he was keeping his ministers waiting and failing to meet with the messengers who were constantly bringing him bad news about the war, the rioting and the bomb-throwers.

  Poor papa! Mama was always telling us to pray for him as he had a heavy burden to bear. I know he was worried about Alexei’s safety. He had Alexei’s nursemaids put him to sleep in a different room every night and a doll was put in his golden cradle in the first floor nursery, to take his place in case there was an attack.