“We can’t let on to a thing,” he commanded his small tribe. “We can’t let them know our hopes. We just have to be alert and ready for any situation. And we all have to look out for one another. Understood?”
“Da, Papa,” softly replied the children in near unison.
“The girls should wear everything, shouldn’t they, Nicky?” pressed Aleksandra.
He thought for a moment, and answered, “Everything.”
Of course they all knew what that meant. If the family was about to be rescued, they had to carry with them not funds for the Tsar to restore himself to power, but means for them to live. So the girls knew they should wear their diamond-packed corsets, which were not only awkward and uncomfortable, but difficult to put on and lace up. It would take quite some time.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the house Yurovsky paced about, complaining, “These Romanovs! They bathe so much, they read so much, they ask so many questions – and it takes them so long just to get dressed!”
Of course it did. The girls had never worn the corsets before and they were having trouble not only getting them on, but making them as inconspicuous as possible beneath their clothing.
“Do as well as you can, girls,” instructed Aleksandra, her voice hushed, as she helped her daughters. “We can’t let any of the guards suspect. And don’t forget, we may have to move quickly.”
Of similar heft was Aleksandra’s corset. But that was not all she wore. Nyet, nyet, nyet. When it came to the Empress of Rossiya, she also wore a plate of fine gold weighing more than two pounds that was bent like a bracelet.
“Here, my love, let me help,” said Nikolai as he slipped the plate up her thin arm, then pulled down the long sleeve of her dress.
“Does it show?” she whispered.
“Not at all.”
Around the Empress’s waist Demidova then fastened the large belt into which Aleksandra herself had stitched her ropes of beloved pearls, some the size of a robin’s egg.
“Is that comfortable, Madame?” asked the maid.
“Just fine.” Turning to her husband and son, Aleksandra said, “Don’t forget your hats.”
“Of course not,” replied the Tsar.
Adjusting his own cap, Aleksei grinned, thrilled with the charade. “How do I look, Papa?”
“Perfect. Like a brave soldier.”
Father and son wore their simple army clothes – coarse wool pants, field shirts, worn boots, and of course their forage caps, into which had been sewn those diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires that were too big for the girls’ corsets. The remaining oversized gems – including a 70-carat diamond and 90-carat emerald – Aleksandra and her daughters had stitched into three traveling pillows, two of which she distributed to her daughters, one to Demidova.
“If they ask about the pillows,” instructed the Empress, “tell them these are simply for our comfort while we wait.”
When he saw his wife reach for her favorite icon, Nikolai said, “Sunny, my treasure, we’re not to bring anything.”
“But what about Saint Feodor’s? I can’t possibly go anywhere without it.”
“Trust me, if fortune shines upon us and we leave this very night, I’ll send someone back for it.”
She hesitated, then replied, “Certainly, my love. You always know what’s best.”
“Papa, what about Jimmy?” begged Anastasiya of her tiny King Charlie. “Joy’s outside and can take care of himself, but we can’t leave Jimmy behind! If we do one of the guards will step on him, I just know it!”
“All right, but carry him snugly in your arms.”
As if he were bestowing Easter blessings upon them all, the Tsar went from child to child, kissing them each. He ended with his wife, taking her into his arms, holding her tightly, and kissing her softly. Were their prayers about to be answered? Was their rescue at hand?
“We’re all together, which is the most important thing. Everything’s going to be all right,” he assured her and the others. “Whatever happens, just remain calm. God will watch over us.”
“As will Our Friend,” said Aleksandra, referring to her Rasputin.
With the Tsar pushing his son in the wheeling chaise, the Imperial Family emerged from their bedchambers. It had taken them nearly an hour to get ready; it was nearly two in the morning. Full of excitement, full of hope, the Romanovs now proceeded into the drawing room, where Botkin, Trupp, Demidova, and Kharitonov were eagerly waiting.
This time the Tsar addressed everyone, saying, “Our fate is in God’s hands, in whom we place all trust.”
Nikolai gave Botkin the nod, and the doctor went to the outer door and called out that they were ready. The door immediately opened, and Yurovsky, appearing infinitely serene, beckoned them forward.
“Follow me. We’ll proceed down the rear stairs and into one of the cellar rooms.”
Somewhat earlier, perhaps about the time that the electric bells were sounded, I myself had climbed from my bed, for sleep could not possess me. I was much too afraid. Even though Yurovsky had said I was to join my Uncle Vanya, there’d been no sign of him, and I wanted to go back to them, the Romanovs, the only family I had in these parts. So when I saw that the four other guards in my room of the Popov House had drunk themselves into deep sleep, I got up. I slipped on my jacket and carefully, quietly went outside. The rains of the previous days had stopped, and the night sky was clear and dark. I didn’t know what or where I intended to do or go, but when I looked across the alley I could see the house blazing with electric light. Of course I knew which rooms were which, and I immediately saw the painted windows of the family’s rooms glowing brighter than ever. I instantly understood that they had been roused for some reason, and my first thought was that the officers had indeed come to their rescue. Gospodi, Dear Lord, what joy! What happiness! I rushed up the alley, my happiness tempered only by the worry that I might be left behind.
Or was I all wrong?
Scurrying up the muddy alley toward the square, I suddenly saw a guard at the corner of the tall palisade. Recognizing him as part of the regular Red guard, I dipped behind a tree and into a cloak of darkness. A moment later the guard disappeared, and I scurried forward. It was in such secret fashion that I made it all the way up the alley and eventually onto the square. I hid behind a small Orthodox shrine, and while I could see the windows all glowing with light, I could discern nothing odd. There were no officers on horseback, no Cossacks whooping and hollering. Looking up at the roof, I could see a lone guard behind a machine gun. Everything appeared completely normal, which in turn led me to believe that if the rescue attempt hadn’t already taken place, it was about to be launched.
Which is when I heard it. Not much at first, but it was a sound that grew by the moment. No, this was not the sound of three hundred officers on horseback galloping to the rescue of Batyushka, the Dear Father. It was the sound of a motor. At first I wondered if it was an airplane, but then I realized it was in fact an automobile or motor lorry, in itself a rarity in Yekaterinburg, particularly at that time of night. Finally I saw it, a single, bulky motor lorry emerging from one of the side streets and heading right across the square toward the house. In the dim northern night I recognized that the back of it was covered with a canvas roof. Could there be soldiers back there, a dozen or two sharpshooters? As the vehicle approached, I hunkered down behind the shrine and saw that it was a Fiat. And as it passed I realized the rear of the truck was empty. Unable to suppress my curiosity I chased after the lorry as it drove directly up to the house.
When the vehicle stopped at the large, wooden gates, the driver leaned out and called, “Troobochist.” Chimney sweep.