It was promising to snow the day we planned to kill the Grand Duke, the sky a dark flinty gray, the wind strong and determined. Finally, the snow started sometime after six, just as I wound my way across Red Square and past the Upper Trading Row, a vast building of shops constructed in the old Russian Style with big arches and heavy windows. Heading into the small lanes of Kitai Gorod, I passed row after row of shops, each one given over to a specialty, this one selling lace, the next canvas, then honey, lanterns, furs, and dyes. Turning onto the Ilynka, I watched the snow blow this way and that up the street, and I thought how good it was. In fact, knowing what we were about to do, I was happy for the first time since my dear Shura had been gunned down by the Tsar’s command.
By this hour the many banks and trading and lending houses lining the Ilynka had long since closed, so there really weren’t that many people about, just a few lowly clerks and such scurrying through the cold, their heads bent. At the appointed time-seven o’clock-I reached the designated corner and glanced around as gently as I could, seeing no one. I was, it seemed, in front of some kind of money house, and I drew back into the deep, arched doorway, my collar pulled up, more to hide my face than to block the cold. Not two minutes later, I heard the dull clatter of hooves on the snowy street and peered out. A small sleigh was making my way, its driver huddled against the snow. As if I were greeting an old friend, I stepped out, smiling and waving to him. This was our Savinkov, who, I think, was born in Warsaw and who had long been dedicated to ridding his homeland of the tsars. He had a keen, intelligent face, and when he saw me he smiled, his teeth so white in the night. Really, no one ever took him for a terrorist. He looked much more like a minor aristocrat from Poland, with that medium-brown hair, that sharp face, his tall forehead.
The bomb that Dora Brilliant had so carefully made for us was wrapped in a handkerchief, and I accepted it from Savinkov as if it were nothing more than a pot of warm pelmeni. We exchanged a few stupid words, and then I trundled off toward the Kremlin. Glancing back only once, I not only saw Savinkov and his sleigh disappear into the dark-he had one more bomb to deliver to another of our conspirators-but could detect no one following me.
Yes, this was going to be easy, very easy. All we had to do was lob this bomb through the carriage window, and that, without a doubt, would be the end of a Romanov or two.
Chapter 13 ELLA
Half to myself, half to my maids, I said, “I’m just not sure about the color of this dress. Perhaps that’s what’s bothering me. It may be too bright. Perhaps something more muted would be more appropriate for tonight. After all, we are at war and there is great suffering.” I turned to my maid. “Varya, fetch me my green velvet dress, you know, the one Madame Auguste finished recently. I know this is a gala event to benefit my Charity Fund, but I think that one might be more suitable for the times.”
Varya bowed her head and replied, “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but that one has yet to be brought over from the Governor-General ’s Palace.”
“Oh, I see…”
What a pity, I thought, my thin lips coming together in a distinct frown. Ever since the workers in Peterburg had stirred things up and organized the march upon the Winter Palace, there had been nothing but confusion, confusion, confusion. Yes, it seemed that over the past month nearly every worker had gone on strike, and prices were soaring. Why, even as protected as I was, I knew that Moscow itself had nearly shut down, and in my dealings at the workrooms I’d even heard talk from the street of assassination and revolution. Turmoil everywhere, that much was painfully obvious. And that was how scared we were, that we had to hide behind the thick walls of the Kremlin fortress, that we couldn’t travel about without worry. What had the world come to?
“Well, then,” I said, smoothing the fabric around my waist, “I suppose this dress will have to do. But, honestly, Varya, will you see to it that all of my personal belongings are gathered here at the Nikolaevski as soon as possible?”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
Sergei’s work here in Moscow would soon draw to a close; after so many years of service there remained only a few more weeks. Because of this and the fact that we were constantly moving from one residence to the next, none of the people of my Personal Household-not my mistress of the wardrobe, parlor maids, linen maids, stewards, footmen, dressmaker, and so on, let alone either of these two lady’s maids or any of my official ladies, for that matter-was sure what was to be sent where, whether here to the Nikolaevski, to our Palace in Peterburg, or to Ilyinskoye, our country residence. And it was no wonder such confusion reigned, for when we officially moved from one residence to another-even just for the summer-it was as if we were moving an entire village, for no fewer than 300 souls were attached to our household.
“Once all of my things have been gathered here,” I continued, “a decision will be made on what is to be sent where.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
As my maid turned to a velvet-lined case and lifted a stunning diamond diadem topped by five exceedingly large aquamarines, I stood silent, still carefully examining myself in the mirror. If I were not mistaken, the skin cream, which I myself concocted from fresh sour cream and cucumber, did appear to be doing its work. My complexion, even for a woman over forty, seemed fresh and supple. Of course, a proper woman of good station never painted her face, merely applied a touch of rice powder or rouge from time to time, but even this I always refused.
For the performance this evening Sergei had informed me that I should wear this parure, consisting of this diamond and aquamarine diadem, matching necklace, and bracelet all done in garland fashion. I had no idea of the value of such jewels, for a price in gold rubles was never put on any of my gems, and I was forbidden to ask. Actually, both Sergei and I valued such treasures by their real worth-design and color-and this suite was extraordinary, one of Fabergé’s most original. And yet as my maids settled upon my head the exquisite headpiece and fashioned upon me all the rest-the necklace, stomacher, bracelet, and rings-I felt a distinct sense of unease. This blaze of fine stone simply seemed too brilliant, too jubilant, for this evening, particularly surrounded by the shimmering collar of my dress. In fact, I could almost hear my grandmother, Queen Victoria of England, hissing with disapproval.
“It’s not safe there in Russia, I tell you!” Grandmama had sternly warned upon hearing of my marriage proposal more than twenty years earlier. “There is such excess there, so much vulgar show. Really, my dear, the government does so little to improve the well-being of the common people-it’s shameful! Truly, I will be sick with worry for you, my dear child.”
And yet I could not tread against the formidable will of my husband, so I had no choice but to wear such riches that evening. I only hoped that tonight’s gala event, a benefit for my charities, would be a success.
As I gazed into the triple mirror and admired and adjusted the veritable cascade of diamonds and such, I heard the sound of quick footsteps, and knew immediately who it was, my young niece, the Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna, herself all of fifteen years. Against my own will, my spine tightened.
“Why, Auntie, you look beautiful this evening,” said Maria, rushing up and kissing me on the hand.
It was true, the child was a spoilt one, just as it was true she’d had more than enough trouble in her short life, for her dear mother had died giving birth to her brother. And that was how the two young ones came to us, for after Maria’s mother had passed so sadly from this world and her father banished for his morganatic marriage, the Emperor had placed the two children under our guardianship. Sergei, who insisted that he was their father now, adored them both, but I was not at ease with them, particularly the girl, for, to be brutally forthright, they were painful reminders of my own failures in marriage.