‘I will be fine,’ she replied tersely. ‘We have come this far.’
‘But when was the last time you did this properly?’ asked her sister.
‘Can you light the six candles for me?’ Militza simply replied.
Stana lit the candelabra while Militza covered the pot with a cloth. There was certainly enough smoke in the room now; as the guests sat down, it mixed with the fine wines from dinner and it did not take long before the sedative and mildly aphrodisiac qualities of the drugs took effect. The Tsar’s posture relaxed and he positively flopped down into his chair. As the most important guests, Militza had the Tsar and Tsarina on either side of her while Peter was opposite, with Stana to his right and George to his left.
Before commencing, Militza laid a square cloth on the table on which were written a series of numbers around the edge. In the middle there were the letters of the alphabet and four squares on which were marked ‘yes’ and ‘no,’ as well as the words ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’. She produced a well-worn glass from a small table in the corner of the library.
‘This,’ she said, holding it up to show everyone, ‘is the planchette. I shall try and contact those who have passed over without using the Ouija board. But sometimes if things are proving difficult, we can rely on the board. You will all need to place your fingers lightly on top of the glass, which will move around – but Spirit will be the one who moves the glass. We are just there to make sure that it doesn’t fly off the table.’ She smiled and then breathed in deeply, flaring her nostrils as she inhaled the heady smoke and spread her arms out. ‘Does anyone have any questions before we start?’
‘Will anything bad happen?’ asked the Tsarina.
‘No. I have my spirit guide here to help. He should prevent too much interference from the lower astral.’
‘All right,’ nodded Alexandra, not quite understanding what Militza was saying, but the mixture of the hashish, the wine and the henbane made her so delightfully relaxed she didn’t mind.
‘Shall we start?’ requested Nicholas.
‘Let’s all hold hands, then we close our eyes and wait,’ said Militza. The Tsar slipped his hand into hers. The feeling of his soft skin against her own gave her a knot in the pit of her stomach. She glanced across at him, but his eyes were already closed.
Within a few seconds the atmosphere changed. The air went cold and the six candles began to flicker. It was as if a fresh breath had entered the room. Alexandra kept her eyes firmly shut and squeezed Militza’s hand all the more tightly. She had waited so long for this, she could not believe it was about to happen. She turned her head, her eyes still closed, towards the ceiling and began to pray silently under her breath.
‘Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; thy will be done… Oh please God, dear God, please let me speak to May…’
Suddenly, the gentle pitter-patter of feet was heard in the room. Militza sat quite still, her hands clasping those of the Tsar and Tsarina. Stana did not move a muscle. The little footsteps circled the table at a gentle trot and then the rhythm changed and they began to skip. Hop skip, hop skip.
‘She’s here,’ announced Militza. ‘You can open your eyes.’ As the group opened their eyes, two candles blew out, leaving the room in a more profound darkness.
The four remaining candles lit up Militza’s face. Her eyes shone, her topaz earrings glittered and her bosom rose and fell with increasing heaviness. It was as if she were in some sort of trance. She nodded as if in response to a question and then laughed silently at a joke that only she could hear.
‘All right, May,’ she said and smiled and nodded again. ‘I understand the joke. Four candles because you are four. Don’t blow them all out otherwise we won’t be able to see anything.’ Militza chuckled. Peter glanced across at his wife. It was not a laugh he recognized. ‘Your sister is here, May,’ she said.
The sound of skipping increased dramatically and the whole group felt a breeze on their backs as if a small child was running around behind them. The silver servant’s bell on the mantelpiece rang three times and random books flew off the library shelves while the smell of spring flowers filled the air. A May bough. Alexandra looked around the room, trying to see where the heady scent was coming from.
‘May, stop showing off,’ said Militza shaking her head from side to side. Her tone was kind but firm. ‘Your big sister wants to speak to you.’ She turned to look at Tsarina, her eyebrows raised in expectation. The Empress looked blank. Eighteen years of sorrow and sadness and she did not know what to say. Her mouth went dry. She looked across at her husband for support. His pale blue eyes stared back.
‘Um,’ said Alexandra, clearing her throat. She looked around the room, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of her. ‘May? Is it really you?’ Three more books fell off the shelves as the patter of feet continued to run around the room. George shifted in his seat, more than slightly uncomfortable; he was not enjoying himself. In fact, if the Tsar had not been expected, George would sure as hell not have been there either.
‘May?’ the Tsarina continued, glancing around. ‘How are you? I miss you so very much.’
Militza nodded. ‘Are you sure that is what you want to say?’
‘How do we know you’re actually talking to her?’ asked George, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.
‘I am fine,’ continued Militza in a sweet singsong voice that bore little resemblance to her own. She turned to face Alexandra, completely ignoring George. ‘May is fine. She is happy. Lots of people are looking after her. How is Mrs Orchard? Is she still looking after you?’
‘Mrs Orchard!’ Alexandra held her hands up to cover her mouth. Her face softened slightly as a wave of sadness rolled over it. ‘Dear Mrs Orchard… our English nurse,’ she announced to the table and then shook her head in disbelief. ‘Marie was always her favourite. How extraordinary! She is well, May. She is looking after my little Olga now. Just like she looked after you.’ Alexandra’s voice was high and strained, cracking slightly with emotion. ‘I have a little girl, just three months old. But then, you probably know that already.’
Militza smiled suddenly, a playful smile. She raised her shoulders with the sort of exaggerated exuberant delight that adults use towards small children. ‘Oh, that sounds delicious. Lucky you!’ Alexandra looked at her expectantly. ‘Sorry.’ Militza shook her head. ‘She said that she loves baked apples and rice pudding.’
‘Really…?’ said Alexandra quietly. She bowed her head and took a lace hankie out of her evening purse. Her tears were almost entirely silent and she barely moved. Finally, she looked up. ‘She always asked for them…’
‘It’s almost every child’s favourite,’ declared George, pushing his chair back slightly and stretching his arms above his head. ‘Does anyone mind if I get a little brandy?’ As he stood up to make his way to the library door, two more candles suddenly blew out and a tray of small crystal glasses crashed to the floor. The noise was shocking and the whole table recoiled.
‘May!’ shouted Militza, holding up her right hand. ‘Calm down!’
‘Calm down, Marie,’ Alexandra joined in.
‘Darling! George! Please sit down,’ hissed Stana. ‘Spirits don’t like being ignored, especially four-year-old girls.’
George walked very slowly back to his seat and, as he sat down, the two candles ignited once more.
‘Good,’ nodded Militza. ‘She is happy,’ she declared. ‘OK,’ she nodded again. ‘And she wants to say she is sorry about all your toys.’
‘My toys?’ asked Alexandra.
‘Yes,’ confirmed Militza. ‘The ones they burnt. What a terrible smell!’ She shook her head. ‘My nostrils are filling with the smell of soot and burning.’ She stared at the Tsarina. ‘They burnt your toys after she died?’