But it wasn’t the costumes Militza remembered that night, when 390 of the city’s most illustrious guests danced at the Winter Palace as if in a ‘living dream’, although they were extraordinary. Designers and theatrical costume houses had been hard at work for months and ideas and inspiration had been sought from every quarter. Emirs’ robes, Muscovite princes and even court falconer costumes had been studied and copied in minute detail. Peter and Militza had spent a small fortune on their attire. Peter wore a jacket of black velvet with a golden double-headed eagle embroidered on the front in the finest gold thread; his broad shoulders were edged in gold piping and he wore loose baggy black trousers and soft black boots, while on his head was a fur-trimmed boyar’s hat. Militza wore matching black velvet. Her long wide sarafan was trimmed with jet beads and golden sequins and her golden kokoshnik headdress quivered with pearls. The Grand Duchess Vladimir was naturally at her extravagant best in a gold velvet sarafan embroidered with jewels, complete with a kokoshnik headdress almost a foot high, studded with enormous precious emeralds, rubies and diamonds. It dominated proceedings, as indeed did the huge forty-one-carat Polar Star diamond at the centre of Princess Zinaida Yusupova’s kokoshnik – which was only usurped in splendour by the 400-carat sapphire worn by Alix herself.
‘That stone is larger than a matchbox,’ Peter had remarked, sipping a glass of champagne as they watched the State Trumpeters announce the entrance of the Tsar and Tsarina.
However, despite the fine fashions, the exquisite workmanship and the ostentation of jewellery on display, Militza recalled that evening for something else entirely.
Stana.
It was just as Anna Pavlova started to dance a few select moments from Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake that she noticed them. Standing at the back, hidden – or they so hoped, by a porphyry column – were Stana and Nikolasha. He was dressed as a boyar and she as a boyarina. His arm was around her waist and he was leaning forward, his small black lambskin hat pushed to the back of his head. She held her face close to his as she laughed. He leant a little closer and then, as all eyes were on Pavlova’s slowly dying swan, he kissed her. Stana did not resist. In fact, she closed her eyes and seemed to kiss him back. It was not a fleeting embrace. It was passionate and public. It was also easily reciprocated and this was clearly not the first time they had kissed. Militza frantically looked around to see if anyone else had noticed. Peter? The Tsar? The Tsarina? The Grand Duchess Vladimir? They were thankfully watching the ballet. But then she turned to look the other way, only for her gaze to be met by a man dressed as a seventeenth-century boyar with a white velvet coat with mink trim and a pair of soft, cream Moroccan-leather boots. His hair was swept back, his moustache had been trimmed and he wore a dagger at his waist.
‘I see the Necromancer has found fresh blood,’ he said, staring across at Stana and Nikolasha as she fell backwards against the column, her mouth straining still higher, hoping for another kiss. ‘Does she not know that incest is illegal in this country?’
‘They are not related!’ snapped Militza.
‘Oh, but they are,’ he replied, his eyes slowly closing with satisfaction. ‘You are married to his brother – and brothers are not allowed to marry sisters in Russia; it is a sin.’ He smiled. ‘Quite apart from the blatant adultery, which is, of course, an entirely different matter.’
‘I am not sure it is any concern of yours.’ Militza turned to face him. ‘And frankly, you are not in a position to do very much about it, now, are you?’
She could hear the hanging pearls on her kokoshnik shaking as vigorously as a shaman’s rattle as she feigned amusement. Her dislike for this man had in no way abated.
‘One can only admire your confidence, Goat Girl,’ he smirked. ‘Don’t you realize your days are numbered? Your butcher’s boy has been sent back to Lyon and you are still without the heir. How long before she tires of you? How long before she sends you back to the Black Mountains where you belong?’
‘You will spend a long time holding your breath.’
‘Are you still in the bedchamber?’ he scoffed. ‘In charge of the imperial pot?’
‘Militza?’ came a voice from behind.
‘Your Imperial Majesty,’ he said, his cheeks flushing as he rapidly bowed his head.
‘Count Yusupov.’ The Tsarina nodded. ‘How are your sons?’ she asked politely, as she linked arms with Militza. ‘They must be really quite grown-up by now?’
‘Nikolai is twenty and Felix is sixteen; he’s been in Italy and now he’s off to Paris, thinking about going to university in Oxford.’
‘England is such a charming country,’ she replied. ‘We simply don’t go there often enough. I used to love our summers in the Isle of Wight. Osborne House.’ She smiled.
‘Ella has mentioned to me your holidays with your grandmother,’ he enthused.
‘Militza,’ Alix added hurriedly, gripping her hand. ‘I need to speak to you.’
‘Of course.’ She smiled slowly, her head to one side as she turned her back on Count Yusupov.
Alix wove her way through the melee of cigarette smoke, stiff, jewel-encrusted costumes and increasingly inebriated dancing. Grand Duke Konstantin Konstantinovich was dancing an enthusiastic quadrille, attempting to keep hold of a glass of champagne, while declaring at the top of his voice quite how ‘astonishingly beautiful’ everyone was.
‘What is your sister doing?’
Alix spun around as soon as they reached the quiet corridor. There was a fiery, furious look on her already patchy red face. She placed her hands swiftly on her earlobes and winced; her earrings were so heavy they hurt when she moved.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ replied Militza.
‘How long has it been going on?’ Militza remained silent. ‘It is common knowledge that her husband has a mistress in Biarritz.’
‘It is?’
‘I can’t believe it!’ The Tsarina was exasperated. ‘Stana must know that it is not allowed for a woman to conduct herself in this manner. People will talk – I am sure they are already talking. You must put a stop it. Put a stop to it immediately. She can’t behave in this way. It is unseemly the way she is carrying on with Nikolasha. And Nikolasha of all people! The man is so respected, so admired by everyone, particularly in the army. He may not be married, but she is!’
‘I am sure it is just a flirtation,’ soothed Militza. It was impossible to deny any more. ‘High spirits, the champagne!’
‘That is no excuse!’ Alix clasped her hands in front of her and pursed her lips before whispering in a low, seething voice. ‘Women do not have lusts; they are not allowed to have lusts and they should not even entertain them.’ She paused and rubbed her hands together. ‘They simply have a duty to their husbands. And that is it. A duty.’ She stared at the floor and then looked up. ‘This is also a scandal that this court does not need. That I do not need. That Nicky doesn’t need. I am sure that a certain lack of moral rectitude in this court was tolerated in the past, before Nicky became Tsar, but I find it unbecoming.’
Militza nodded. There was nothing more to be said. The subject was closed. Both sisters were to be denied.
Back inside the ball it was late; the Peacock Clock was creeping towards 3 a.m. and it was clear that a certain amount of moral rectitude was disappearing along with the champagne. The Grand Duchess Vladimir was demanding another glass of Madeira, while trying to hold on to her enormous headpiece. Grand Duke Konstantin was opening up small enamel cases, looking for some more Sobranie cigarettes and Nicky, who’d certainly drunk more wine than usual, was complaining his sable-trimmed hat was making him hot.