hand and pulled him into the dark backseat of his motorcar, and off they sped, either for a night of revelry among the Gypsies or perhaps a night of seduction.
Or was I all wrong? Just a few hours earlier, when Papa and I had been whisked off to Tsarskoye Selo, I had taken note of the grand duke’s gorgeous red palace on the Fontanka. The huge windows had been ablaze with, I had assumed, a kind of inappropriate party, a gathering of nobility flaunting their fine wines and rich meats while the rest of the city suffered shortages of simple bread. Prince Felix could have been there at the time. But what if I was mistaken? What if the palace was full not of drinkers and dancers and Gypsy musicians but of a party of plotters?
Trembling with terrible fright and cold, I turned and scurried home through the blustery night. This much I had learned: In my father’s life it was as impossible to tell who was a friend as who was a lover, let alone who was an enemy.
Even worse, that truth seemed paramount for me as well, for when I returned to our apartment and checked the nook, Sasha was not resting on the cot. He had disappeared.
No one of good society talked of anything else but Rasputin and the need to do away with him. And yet no one took any action, not even the senior grand dukes! That was when and how we came up with the plan. We-a small group of young titled men-were dining in the Winter Garden at the Astoria Hotel, and suddenly Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovich-the Tsar’s own cousin-blurted it out: It was up to us to do the deed and save the dynasty.
Of course, everyone looked immediately to me, not only because of my connections but because they knew I was the only one who could successfully infiltrate Rasputin’s home.
CHAPTER 6
Ya spala kak ubeetaya-I slept like the dead.
Partly out of depression, partly because I was exhausted, I didn’t rise until noon. And when I finally did get up, the first thing that came to mind was a question I couldn’t ask a soul, let alone answer: Why had Sasha fled yet a second time? Immediately, a better question came to my mind: Why had I allowed him into our apartment in the first place?
Making my way to the kitchen, I found Dunya distraught about the blood smeared against our front door as well as around the sink. Obviously, I had not cleaned up well enough to deceive her thorough eyes.
Lying to Dunya for the first time ever, I said, “When I got home last night, one of Papa’s petitioners was huddled against the door. He was bleeding badly, and the best I could do was wash him up and send him on his way.”
“Oi,” muttered Dunya, with a shake of her head. “Will people never leave your father alone? The poor man, he didn’t return home until after ten this morning. I just hope he sleeps all the way until suppertime…or tomorrow!”
Oh, Papa, I thought as I turned away. I took several steps toward the dining room, then stopped. I hated these days of rumor and innuendo, spy-mongering, war and death. How would it all end: in victory, defeat, or, as so many were whispering, revolution? I stood there shaking. One day the war would be over, but then what for me? Marriage-to whom? Children-how many? And what of Sasha? Would I ever see him again? Would I ever understand his secrets?
Suddenly I felt the arms of a woman, soft and gentle, encircling me.
“Why, child, what’s the matter?” asked Dunya. “You’re crying.”
I spun around and clung to Dunya, burying my face in her deep, soft chest. If only I could have told her about Sasha.
“I’m afraid,” I sobbed. “I’m afraid for us all.”
“Shh, child,” she said, kissing my forehead. “These are such difficult times, such dark days.”
“But-” What, I wondered, did she know of broken hearts?
“Don’t worry. Everything will get back to normal once the war is over. Right now, everything’s just a little crazy and there are so many problems-there’s not enough food, and this winter has been so horribly cold! Once God has granted us victory over the Germans, all will be well, you’ll see. Trust me, you have many wonderful days and years ahead.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Why, just the other day your father confided that he’d had a vision of you-he said you would live a long and healthy life, and you would give him grandchildren, and you would accomplish many interesting things. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Really?” I replied, wondering if that meant I would marry for love and one day publish a book of poetry.
“Yes. He even said you would travel and live abroad.”
“Live abroad? In another country?” I said with a bitter laugh as I wiped my eyes. “That’s impossible. I don’t ever want to leave Russia.”
Dunya took me and held me and hugged me as warmly as the large oven that heated the core of our village home. But then out of nowhere our doorbell rang, making us jump apart.
“Gospodi!” gasped Dunya. “I told the security agents your father would receive no one today-and not to let anyone even into the building. Evidently, it must be something important.”
There might be agents posted in and around the building for our security, but no one ever passed through our door without Dunya’s permission, and today was to be no exception. Wiping her hands on a towel, she smoothed back some loose hair and headed straight to the front hall.
Who could it be? Who had got by the agents stationed in the lobby, let alone those posted on the stairs? As soon as I thought that, it struck me: Were the agents even here? What if they had abandoned their posts, just as they had done last night? Bozhe moi, I hadn’t told Dunya that we’d been left unguarded. If the agents were gone again, who could that be outside our door, one of father’s ordinary petitioners, some important personage-or assassins sent by my father’s grand ducal enemies?
Wasting no time, I charged after Dunya, out of the kitchen, through the dining room, and down the hall. I feared a squadron of muscular men in black leather jackets, who, brandishing guns and brass knuckle-dusters, would tear through the rooms, gun down Papa, and beat him into a bloody pulp.
“Dunya, wait!” I shouted. “Don’t open the-”
But it was too late. Dunya was already pulling open the heavy door. Standing there was neither a small herd of men nor a grand duke or prince, or even a prime minister, but a lone woman, perhaps in her late twenties. As I studied her plain black cape flowing from her shoulders and noted her hands buried deep in the folds of a tired muff, my panic subsided only slightly. After all, if a small woman whose nose had been eaten away by syphilis could nearly kill my father with one lunge of a knife, what damage could an attractive healthy-looking woman like this one do?
“What is it you wish?” asked Dunya of our visitor.
“Please, I’m seeking Father Grigori,” said the seemingly gentle woman, her eyes misty with tears. “My name is Olga Petrovna Sablinskaya, and I am in terrible need of help.”
“I’m sorry, my child, but you should not have been admitted into the building. Father Grigori is receiving no one today.”
“He must see me! Please, I beg you!” she exclaimed, pulling one hand from her muff and wiping her eyes. “I need Father Grigori’s aid on behalf of my husband, who is an ensign. He was gravely wounded and now lies in Princess Kleinmichel’s hospital. Tomorrow, however, they’ll move him out of the city to a terrible sanatorium, and I fear for his life. Can’t Father Grigori do something for a young man who has taken a bullet for the sake of the Motherland?”
Dunya started to press shut the door. “I’m sorry, my dear, but you will have to come back tomorrow. Father Grigori is totally spent and assisting no one.”
“You don’t understand, you-”
From the back of the apartment came my father’s voice, sleepy but booming. “Dunya, who calls on us? If it’s a woman visitor and she’s pretty, by all means let her in!”
