It was then the struggle began. Lydia did not want to be undressed. She was afraid the Star of Kirilov would be found and it was her bounden duty to hang onto it; Mama had told her not to let anyone see it. But Madame Molinskaya was hard to resist. She spoke softly, saying there was nothing to fear, everyone was her friend, and all the time she was unbuttoning, untying, stroking the little one’s face, reassuring her. It was when she managed to remove the bloodstained petticoat and threw it on the bathroom floor and heard the heavy thud she realised something was hidden in it.
She picked it up again to examine it. ‘Ah, my little one, what have we here?’ The secret pocket was found and the Star extracted, while Lydia, filled with a sense of her failure, cried salty, silent tears. ‘I see it all now. This is meant to pay your way. Now, why would anyone do that unless they knew you were going to be all alone? We shall see what Sir Edward says, but for now, I shall put it here.’ She laid the jewel on a table against the wall. ‘It will be quite safe while you have your bath and some supper, and then we will take it to Sir Edward. Now, into that warm water with you. There is some nice-smelling soap here.’ She sniffed it and held it to Lydia’s nose. ‘Violets. You like it, don’t you?’
Lydia nodded and was lifted into the bath. It was heavenly to be soaped with the luxury soap, something she had not seen since leaving Petrograd. Her matted hair was shampooed, and when that was done, she was lifted out and dried with a big fluffy white towel. This was more like it used to be, before they went to Kirilhor. Down in the bottom of her smelly bag was a nightdress which had escaped the staining. It was slipped over her head.
‘Now you are civilised again,’ Madame Molinskaya said, picking up a hairbrush from the table and, standing Lydia between her knees, beginning to brush the hair dry. It fell about her face in little corkscrew curls. ‘My, you are a pretty little thing.’ She was just finishing when a maid came to say food was on the table.
Lydia began to feel a little better. This lady was kind, a little like Tonya who had always looked after her and taken her to her mama after she had been bathed and made ready for bed. She would restore her to Mama and Papa. She followed the motherly woman into the adjoining room where the table was set for two. They sat down together and ate pirozhki and cabbage followed by a sweet pancake, smothered in honey. Lydia had not eaten at all for three days, had not felt hungry, but now she was ready to make up for it and ate with a hearty appetite, washing it down with creamy goat’s milk, which pleased Madame.
By the time the meal was finished the traumatised little girl was drooping with tiredness. Madame Molinskaya picked her up and took her into the adjoining room and put her to bed in a little camp bed in her own room which had been made ready while they ate. ‘Sleep, little one,’ she murmured, stroking her cheek. ‘We shall see what tomorrow brings.’ Then she retrieved the Star and went to see Sir Edward.
‘It’s mayhem down there,’ Captain Henry Conway said, jerking his head in the direction of the harbour where thousands of refugees were trying to cram themselves on the British ships which had come into the harbour. He had come up to the residence to discuss the situation with Sir Edward, who was an old friend from their student days. ‘I’m supposed to take off the troops but how can I leave civilians behind, especially those with children? I’ll make room for as many as I can, but I need some guidance on priorities.’
‘That has been worrying me too,’ Edward said, pouring a glass of cognac for each of them. ‘Best take first come, first served and hope more transport will arrive in the next few days and we can get everyone away who wants to go. Wrangel is doing his best to hold the peninsula but I fear the cause is lost.’ He paused to sip his drink. ‘There is someone who needs to go as a priority. Baron Simenov has been working for British intelligence and, besides being wanted by the Reds, has important information to pass on. He has his wife and son with him. Shall I tell him you can take them?’
‘Yes. Tell him to come to the ship and ask for me. We are planning to sail tonight. What about you? When are you leaving?’
‘When my job is done. I still have work to do here. I’ll see you in London perhaps.’
The captain finished his drink, shook hands and left. Edward sent for Richard Sandford. ‘Any news of the Kirilovs?’
‘I have located Kirilhor, Sir Edward. It is a dacha in the Petrovsk district of Ukraine. It was overrun by the Reds two days ago. It was more difficult contacting General Wrangel, but I got through by telephone to one of his staff who told me Colonel Kirilov was given leave to evacuate his family and was then to return to duty. He has not returned.’
‘He could have deserted but in that case he would have been with his children, surely?’
‘The officer said the colonel would be loyal to the last and they are assuming he has met his end.’
‘He had his wife with him.’
‘Then they might both have perished.’
Edward was inclined to agree. ‘According to Baron Simenov, the servant who brought the child to the peasant was adamant the count meant to meet them there and bring them to Yalta. I have had no application from anyone called Kirilov to be evacuated.’
‘Then the little girl is the only survivor.’
‘It seems that way.’
‘What are you going to do about her?’
‘I do not know. Madame Molinskaya is looking after her. I had to send out for a whole wardrobe of clothes for her. Almost everything she had was covered in blood. Poor thing, she is still in shock and unable to tell us anything, except her name and that she is four years old.’
‘An orphanage?’ Richard queried.
‘I am reluctant to do that. She is undoubtedly an aristocrat, so how can I condemn her to being one of thousands of orphans who will find themselves being looked after by the Bolsheviks when they come? They will ill-treat her, especially if they think she has any connection with the Romanovs.’
‘Do you think she has?’
‘I don’t know, but she has some valuable jewels with her, which look as though they might be traceable. I can try and do that once we get back to England.’
Richard smiled. ‘So, you are going to take her back with you?’
‘I can’t leave her here, can I? I’ll see if I can engage one of the other passengers as a nurse for her.’
The evacuation, carried out in a strong wind and rough seas, lasted three days, during which the British ships took the remnants of the White Army who had made their own way to Yalta, and as many of the refugees as they could accommodate, including the Simenovs. Two days later, when nothing more could be done, Sir Edward left with Lydia, whom he had listed as his daughter in order to justify taking her with him.
He was glad he had done that when they arrived in Constantinople and everyone’s papers were examined. Lydia, having none, would not have been allowed to continue otherwise. From there they went to Malta, where they stayed a week, while the refugees’ papers were processed and some of them were taken off the ship, then they sailed for England.
Edward had engaged a young English girl to look after Lydia. Claudia was twenty-one and had been governess to a Russian family who had declined to join the rush to leave, but, in straitened circumstances, had not been able to continue employing her. She spoke a little Russian and he thought Lydia would like that, though the child gave no indication of it one way or another. She submitted silently to being helped to dress and undress, of having her hair brushed, of being shepherded from one place to another in a kind of daze. It was late November when they arrived in Portsmouth.