Anastasia's Secret (18 page)

I closed my eyes and felt his finger measure the length of my neck and continue down to the bone in the center of my chest. I opened my eyes when I felt him start to unfasten the top button of my blouse.

“Is it all right?” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” I answered. He stopped. “No, it’s all right.” I didn’t want him to stop. I was a little afraid of continuing, but I was more afraid of losing him.

I closed my eyes again, as if not looking would lessen the wickedness of it, or at least I wouldn’t have to see his eyes when he saw my breasts. He was very slow, very gentle. By the time his hands cupped my small breasts, I was trembling, wanting him to go on and on.

“I want you,” he said.

I opened my eyes to receive another kiss. This time I felt the rough serge of his uniform against my skin. “I … I want you too. I suppose I’ve always wanted you. Do you think I’m still too young?”

Sasha gently pushed me away from him. Everything was so new, I wondered what he was going to do. I watched, fascinated, as he made a great show of taking out a pocket watch and peering at it. “Young? According to Russian law and custom, you are now an adult.”

He was right. It was after midnight. It was my birthday. Sixteen. The tears came to my eyes so suddenly that I couldn’t stop them.

“What’s wrong?” Sasha asked.

“Oh, it’s just that I didn’t imagine this on my birthday. Olga and Tatiana and Marie had celebrations and received pearl and diamond necklaces. They went to a ball and danced all night.” I laughed through my tears. “It all seems rather foolish now.” Sasha gave me his handkerchief and I dried my eyes. His expression was tender, but amused. “I suppose there will never be any balls ever again,” I said. “Russia seems like such a different place. I don’t know why I’m crying. I don’t cry in front of anyone else.”

Sasha didn’t say anything more. He just gently laid me down beside him on the brick floor of the pantry. I didn’t notice how hard and uncomfortable it was. All I felt was Sasha, touching me, kissing me. He was showing me, tenderly and adoringly, that he loved me. I, Anastasie, was loved by a man, a man I loved so much that I wanted to give myself to him completely. I wanted to be two people at once: the creature who had nothing but feelings and who was discovering her body in a way she never knew was possible, and my old self, standing aside and watching this love scene—so perfect, and yet real. But that feeling lasted only a moment. Soon I was lost in the sensations that welled up through my body in waves so powerful they made me forget who I was. I let all consciousness go and took that step off a high cliff, trusting that Sasha would keep me safe. Trusting that he cared enough for me to protect me against anything.

C
HAPTER
21

The following weeks were full of contradictions. Life became harder for us, but Sasha and I grew closer.

The lovely, graceful walls of the palace were covered with disgusting insults to our family painted in crude, black strokes. I could barely stand to look at the palace when we were allowed to go out, which was hardly ever now. And the process of getting this privilege was increasingly irksome.

First, Papa would announce that the palace commander had given us permission to take our daily exercise. Then we would all put on our outdoor shoes and clothing—not coats now, because it had become quite mild—and Mama’s maid would help her prepare to go out in her wheelchair.

Next we would assemble in the semicircular hall that led to the courtyard, where we would then stand silently and wait. The doors were heavily locked. Chains and bolts that had never been there before, when the only reason for a lock was for our protection, were now draped and knotted around the great handles—to keep us in. The key would often mysteriously go missing, and our wait would extend to upward of half an hour, until we were all tired of standing still. But we didn’t dare murmur a word. Mama refused to look at the officers, and Papa was always courteous, thanking them when finally the doors were unlocked.

Then the guards would stand behind us with their rifles leveled and bayonets fixed and herd us out the door as a group, as if we were the most dangerous of criminals.

Always waiting outside were clusters of slovenly soldiers.

“Hey! Look at the pair of tits on the oldest one!” “The little one has a good, round ass.” “Who does Comrade Romanova think she is, lazy cow! Let her get up and walk, like the rest of us!”

And so it would go until the officers chased them away. This took longer and longer as time went on, and I began to dread setting foot outside, even on the most beautiful days.

But two or three times a week, Sasha managed it so that we could meet. Our hours together felt like dipping my limbs in a crystal clear lake and letting the water soothe away my agony. Sasha always told me I was beautiful, always asked after my sisters and Alexei, and hoped things weren’t too bad for Mama and Papa.

“She really is very ill, you know,” I said to him one night as we lay together on the floor of the pantry. My blouse was open, and Sasha traced the outline of my breasts with the tip of his little finger.

“You are not, though,” he said, rolling over to kiss me. I pushed him away.

“I’m serious. It’s her heart. She has been ill for years. That’s why she kept so much to herself. That, and Alexei’s condition, of course.”

“Can nothing cure him?”

“You know it cannot. The only thing that made him improve, or at least appeared to, were the prayers of Rasputin.”

I felt Sasha stiffen next to me. “Do you believe that?”

“Of course not! But prayers are very powerful.”

“The Bolsheviks plan to abolish religion and take over all the monasteries if they seize power.”

Now it was my turn to be shocked. “How do you know this?”

Sasha answered without looking me in the eye. “Oh, one hears things. The men talk.”

It disquieted me that Sasha evaded my answer. “Besides,” I said, “even the tribunal did not find anything they could convict Mama of.”

“Your Mme Vyrubova is having a difficult time of it at Peter and Paul,” he said, absently stroking my arm.

I buttoned my blouse. I didn’t like it when our conversations turned to such things. I couldn’t bear to think of Anya, poor crippled thing, without enough guile or wit to be dangerous to anyone, put in a prison that was more like a dungeon, or so the servants said. “And where do you get your information about Anya—who is not
my
Mme Vyrubova, by the way, but only Mama’s friend who has always been kind to us.”

“You see, the trouble is that so much went on that you had no idea about. Even your papa, who should have known better, trusted others whom he shouldn’t have.”

“What use is all this talk? Where will it lead?” I stood, brushing the dirt off my skirt and smoothing my hair, which had now grown to a gently curling two inches all over.

“You need to know, to understand. I think they will move you soon. The Bolsheviks tried to take over in Petrograd and nearly succeeded. They were put down, but the way I see it, they will eventually prevail. And the Bolsheviks are more of a danger to all of you than the Soviet. Kerensky is coming to see your parents tomorrow. There’s a fellow named Lenin who is gathering followers like fresh flypaper. He would very much like all of you to be far away. Kerensky’s not so bad. He’ll put you somewhere out of harm’s way, where you might be forgotten.”

His words sounded like farewell. I tried to read his expression. “You’ll go with us, won’t you?”

“I don’t know. It’s possible, but I have no say in the matter.”

I guess our ability to meet and avoid discovery had made us more and more careless of speaking quietly and moving around without making a sound. At that instant, before we had time to react, the door to our private sanctuary flew open and standing in the doorway was a guard I recognized. He was one of those who always stood around when we went outside and ogled us and called rude things after us.

“So this is how you perform your guard duty, Galliapin!” The soldier’s voice was slurred, and his eyes were red rimmed and watery. “I see it’s the little beauty for you, eh? Comrades should share with one another. No private property, says Comrade Lenin.” He lurched forward and grabbed for me. I was so stunned that I didn’t move fast enough and he caught hold of my arm and dragged me down to the floor. I scraped my cheek on a wooden shelf on the way and could feel the blood trickle down my neck.

The next few moments were a confusion of limbs in army brown. Sasha fell upon the guard and pummeled him with his fists. The other fellow was not in complete control of his movements, having obviously had a skinful of vodka, but he was bigger than Sasha. And he had enough of his wits about him to grab for the patch over Sasha’s eye. Sasha cried out.

I don’t know exactly what came over me, but I flew out of my corner and took hold of the attacker’s neck, pulling with all my might. This surprised him and he turned away from Sasha briefly, giving Sasha just enough time to stand. The drunken guard raised his fist, aiming to bring it down in the middle of my face. I braced myself for the blow, closing my eyes and praying.

But the blow never came. I heard a stifled gurgle and opened my eyes. Sasha stood frozen in horror over the limp body of the guard, his dagger in his hand. I watched a drop of blood collect on the blade and fall onto the guard’s head. The man had a fixed expression of surprise on his face, and I saw the thin line where Sasha had slit his throat. Blood pulsed from his neck and over the floor, staining my skirt and blouse. I fought back a feeling of revulsion, remembering that I had seen much worse in the hospital three years before.

“Sasha! What have you done? What shall we do?”

“I… I…” It was clear Sasha was having trouble tearing himself away from the spectacle. I heard footsteps in a distant part of the cellar.

“You must get out of here! You must get away!” I whispered, more concerned for him at that moment than myself.

“Yes. Yes.” He wiped his knife on the dead guard’s tunic and sheathed it in his belt. I saw that he had managed not to be badly stained with the blood. I, however, would have some explaining to do. The entire front of my blouse and much of my skirt bore a deep crimson stain. I had brought my cloak, though, to shield me as I crept through the palace, thinking perhaps that if someone saw me from a distance he might assume I was a whore making a living among the bored soldiers. We had seen them coming and going at all times of the day and night. I stood.

Sasha faced me across the barrier of the body. “I’m sorry. This shouldn’t have happened.” A tear traced a path down his cheek. He reached for my hand and pressed it hard to his lips. An instant later, he was gone. I wrapped myself in my cloak and ran as fast as I could to the safety of my bedroom, hearing behind me shouts of surprise and anger when some soldiers came upon the murdered man.

C
HAPTER
22

Mashka was sound asleep when I returned. I quickly removed my skirt and blouse and, deciding I would never get the stains out, I stuffed them in the stove in the corner of our room. We still lit it on chilly mornings, and I piled in kindling and one or two stouter logs, rolled up some paper, and struck a match. The cotton and wool of the clothes stank abominably, but they caught. I washed myself as best I could with the small basin of cold water and nub of black soap. Try as I might, I couldn’t get the smell of the soldier’s vile breath and fresh blood out of my nostrils. I slipped into bed and piled the blankets on, but I shivered violently, unable to feel warm despite the blaze in the stove.

“What’s that smell?” Mashka’s groggy voice stirred me.

“Just the stove,” I answered, hoping she wouldn’t hear my teeth chattering.

“What time is it?”

“Not yet dawn. Go back to sleep.”

She sat up suddenly, slipped her feet out of bed, and ran to me. “Are you ill?” She placed her hand on my forehead.

“No, no,” I said. Then I burst into tears.

“What is it? What has happened?” She put her arms around me and rocked me like a baby. “Is it Sasha? Did you quarrel?”

She had unwittingly given me the perfect explanation for my state. I just nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

“There now. You knew it could not last. Is he to go away?”

I nodded again, and pressed my streaming eyes into her neck. She smelled clean and wholesome. No one was more innocent than Mashka. I could never tell her what really happened. Although soon enough news of the murder would fly through the palace and even she might be a little suspicious.

That was the first time I understood that what had happened could have bad consequences for us. They might suspect a monarchist, a counterrevolutionary, of having committed this crime. They would question us, perhaps imprison our few friends left who were sympathetic to us. There was Princess Paley, who lived in Tsarskoe and had not been allowed to visit us, and whose occasional messages we received only after they had been well scrutinized by the guards. Or the elderly Count Benckendorff or Count Fredericks, marshals of the court, who refused to give up their friendship even when my father’s own cousins had turned their backs on him.

How could I keep such a secret?

Mashka crawled in next to me in my narrow cot, and the warmth of her body eventually soothed me to sleep. By the time we awoke it was well after dawn, and the fire in the stove had burned down.

“I’ll put on another log,” Mashka whispered, bravely being the first one to place her feet on the cold floor.

“Oh!” I cried out. “Let me do it.” I jumped up and tried to get to the stove before Mashka had a chance to see any evidence of what I had burned there the night before. But I was too late.

“What is this?” she asked, holding a scrap of wool twill in her fingers, its edges singed, but enough stitching still visible on it to identify it as my skirt.

“It’s complicated,” I murmured, and then I didn’t know what else to say.

Mashka cocked her head to the side and examined my face. “You know you can’t keep anything from me. How did you scratch your face? What happened?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Not important. I had a long nail and scratched myself in my sleep.”

Mashka looked as though she didn’t believe me. “But there is something, isn’t there.”

I wanted so to tell her, yet I knew it would be a terrible mistake. “Please don’t ask me to say. I really can’t. It wouldn’t be…” I couldn’t think how to put her off without hurting her feelings.

“You don’t have to. I understand. I know more of the ways of men than you imagine.”

“Thank you,” I breathed. She thought it had only to do with Sasha’s and my love. Perhaps she imagined that I had lost my virginity that night, and that I was upset over Sasha and felt so soiled that I had to burn my clothes.

“You must pray for mercy. Pray for Sasha. Will you see him again?”

I shook my head. “No. He has gone. It was for the best.”

She put her arms around me. I felt wretched letting her believe the lie. I was afraid that once she heard the news of the murder, she might figure out that there was more to my story than she thought. But for now, I had bought some time to compose myself before facing the rest of the family.

When we joined Mama in the parlor after breakfast, we found Alyosha and Papa there, as well as the rest of the suite, along with four armed guards.

“Can’t you at least leave the children out of this?” Mama was pleading with Damadianz, who looked more small and pinched than usual.

“Ah, the children!” he said, letting a smile pull the corners of his mouth up in a grimace. “Yet they are hardly children, Mme Romanova.”

Mama had been leaning for support on a chair back. But when he said those words, she pulled herself up to her impressive height and looked at him down her long, delicate nose. “They have been brought up to be innocent and pure. They are more like children than many who are several years younger than they.”

“Really!” he said. We had arranged ourselves in our OTMA ranks, with Alexei standing protectively to the side of us. His forehead was creased. He was in pain. He would have an attack, and Mama would be wholly occupied with him and not concerned with anything outside his sickroom. I did not wish it on Alexei—how I cried when I was younger to hear his moans that no one could stop. However, if it was not too bad an attack, it would distract Mama long enough for the business of the murder to blow over, for them to decide that it had nothing to do with us.

I was thinking this as Damadianz strolled slowly in front of us, just close enough to make us all feel uncomfortable but not close enough that we could reasonably object.

“There is a rumor that one of you has been dallying with the guards.”

“I protest most vehemently!” Mama’s voice was sharp and imperious.

Damadianz looked around at her as if she were a fly that had alit on his ear and he wanted to brush off, but it flew just out of reach. I struggled against an urge to cry out and admit to my guilt, so that I would not carry my secret any longer. “I do not credit these rumors, Mme Romanova. None of them are attractive enough to warrant it. Some men will do anything for a taste of virgin flesh, however.”

Mother seethed. I could see that she wanted to call for a servant and have the man escorted out of the room. But of course, she could no longer expect help from the guards, so she simply gripped the top of the chair.

“Still, one of you might have seen something,” Damadianz said. “The incident occurred in the cellars two floors below your bedrooms.”

“My daughters neither saw nor heard anything. They would have told me.”

I could feel Mashka’s breath quickening. I had drawn her into the lie too. She now guessed what had distressed me so, and she would not be able to carry it off if questioned closely. “Perhaps you are mistaken in your confidence?” Damadianz said, his voice rising at the end. I thought he was going to leave, but instead he wheeled around and, starting with Olga, addressed questions directly to each of us. “Olga Romanova, if I am not mistaken? Did you hear anything last night between the hours of one and three in the morning?”

Olga shook her head slowly from side to side, then said in her melodious voice, “No, Commander.”

This respect pleased him. He continued to Tatiana.

“What about you, Tatiana Romanova?” He spoke so quietly that Tatiana couldn’t hear him—she hadn’t yet fully recovered from the deafness that the measles had caused. She leaned forward and cupped a hand around her ear.

“I said, did you hear anything!” he yelled into her ear, and she jerked backward.

“As you see, I have a hard time hearing at all at present.” Tatiana did not repeat Olga’s politeness.

He passed quickly on to Mashka, who was by then trembling so violently I feared he would guess everything without having to be told.

“And Maria Romanova? Is there anything you wish to say to me?”

Mashka’s eyes were open wide and a light beading of sweat had broken out on her brow. She moved her lips as if she were about to speak, but instead went deathly pale and slumped to the floor in a faint.

I could no longer contain my anger. “Look what you’ve done!” I flung my words at Damadianz. Mama pressed the bell for a servant. Olga and Tatiana joined me in patting Mashka’s hands and face and fanning her to wake her up. “She has been very ill. Her constitution cannot bear any nervous strain. Please leave us.” I kept the side of my face with the scratch turned away from him.

To my surprise, he left the room without saying a word.

It was fortunate that at first everyone in the family attributed Mashka’s swoon to her convalescence, and once she awoke she had enough self-possession to keep my secret. I prayed that no one would ask her a direct question, certain that she would not have the strength to lie.

I stayed with the family through lunch—a light affair consisting of clear, almost tasteless soup and hard bread, with only a little cold tongue for meat. Mama, as usual, did not touch the meat and barely drank any soup. The bread was too hard for her to bite.

“Mama,” I asked, “would it be awfully impolite if I softened my bread in the broth?”

She smiled weakly at me. I took it as a yes, and proceeded to make the bread at least chewable, using my spoon so that I might set an acceptable example for Mama, and she would take a little more nourishment. But she did not seem to notice. Alexei was not at lunch. A bad sign. The pain I had noticed in his face must have become unbearable enough to keep him in bed. Mama left the table as soon as we were done to go directly to his room.

None of us had any spirit for games, so I decided I would go up and sit with Alyosha, perhaps read to him if his attack wasn’t too bad.

“Is that you, Nastya?” he said when I entered, his voice high and pinched, as it was when he was speaking through the pain.

“Yes, here I am. Do you want me to read to you? Or just sit?”

“Don’t read. Not yet.”

I sat down in the chair that was always by his bed. “Where’s Mama?”

“I sent her to her room to rest. It’s not such a bad attack this time. Nastya,” he began, then stopped.

“What, Sunshine?”

“I have a feeling about the murder. I think I may know who did it.”

“Oh?” I said, hoping he would hear the lack of interest in my voice and drop the subject.

“Yes. I have bad feelings about that guard, the one with the patch who shoved you in the garden that time. I think he could murder someone.”

I forced myself to laugh. “What makes you say that? Just because he has a patch on his eye, like a pirate? Aye, matey! I’ll make ye walk the gangplank!”

“No, Nastya. I’m serious. Something about him frightens me. See if he hasn’t disappeared now. I bet we won’t see him again.”

Alyosha’s eyes closed and the muscles in his face tightened. He was having a wave of pain. He had become so accustomed to it that unless the pain was really intense, he didn’t make a sound. I stroked his head lightly and watched the attack pass and his face relax into restless sleep. I kissed his forehead and stood just as my mother returned.

“How was he?” she asked, not looking at me, but only having eyes for Alexei.

“Not too bad,” I said, “but he was talking some nonsense. I think he’s become confused about the murder and it’s part of his pain.”

Mama nodded. “I’ll sit with him while he sleeps.”