coughs I heard, there was no doubt these people were either covered with lice or had drunk infected waters. Or both. For fear of being recognized, however, I knew I couldn’t go to the main entrance, so I pressed the folds of my cloak over my nose and mouth and tried to avoid brushing up against anyone. I didn’t waste a moment before proceeding to a large, rather dilapidated wooden door on which I quickly pounded.
“It’s no use,” said a worn voice behind me.
I turned and looked down at a sickly woman, bent and shivering on the frozen granite cobblestones. Her face was splotchy, her nose swollen and drippy, and her eyes weeping with yellow mucus. Though half her teeth were missing, she couldn’t have been more than forty. I supposed she would be dead within a week or two. Perhaps sooner.
“If the Grand Duchess Elizavyeta Fyodorovna were here, she wouldn’t leave us to freeze out outside like dogs,” the ill woman muttered, as spittle dripped in a long stream from her mouth. “But she’s off in Moscow at her monastery. They say she’s as beautiful as ever, though instead of gowns and jewels she now wears a gray habit. A pity for us, because”-and she swiped goo from her lips-“because now all we have is the young grand duke.”
“And he doesn’t care about the narod,” the masses, complained the scratchy voice of a man in line. “Two days ago he sent down a bit of soup, but that was all.”
“For the sake of God,” countered the woman, “let’s hope he does at least that again today.”
I kept pounding, harder and faster, and finally I heard a heavy bolt being worked and pulled aside. A long moment later, the door was cracked open, revealing a skinny old man with a huge forehead and narrow chin. His eyes were milky white and he leaned toward me, squinting like a mole.
“How many times do I have to tell you-sevodnya soopa nyetoo!” he shouted, like a prison guard.
“Please,” I said, “I’m not here today asking for soup.”
He looked me up and down but was obviously unable to see much. “Then who are you and what do you want?”
“I’m here to see Elena Borisovna.”
“And why should I admit you?”
I reached quickly into my pocket and pulled out a hundred-ruble note. When he failed to see the money, I took his hand and stuffed the bill into it.
“Here’s one hundred rubles for your trouble. Please, tell her that the daughter of Our Friend is here.”
He shrugged, massaged the note between his fingertips, and then pushed the door open. “Come in.”
Leaving the line of destitute women and soldiers in the cold, I stepped through the short doorway into a long dark corridor with a low arched brick ceiling. As soon as I was across the threshold, the old man slammed the thick door shut and slid a long iron bolt in place.
“Follow me,” he commanded.
“I would prefer to wait here,” I countered, handing him another hundred-ruble note.
He lifted the note close to his eyes and smiled. “Konyechno.” Of course.
Surely this old man had worked at the palace his entire life, perhaps as the cloakroom attendant, where he would have handled princely capes and furs until his vision deteriorated. In any case, palace intrigues were nothing new to him, and he tottered off, using one hand to feel his way along the heavy stone wall. My eyes did not leave him as he made his way to the far end of the corridor and disappeared to the left.
I found a short wooden stool and sat down. Elena Borisovna, whom I sought, had been the lectrice who’d taught Russian to Grand Duchess Elizavyeta Fyodorovna when she’d first arrived in this country from Germany. And it was none other than my very own father who had received Elena one dark and rainy night just two years ago. Her eyes flooded with tears, the older woman had burst into our apartment and fallen on her knees. Her ten- year-old grandson, Pasha, had been hit by a carriage and was dying, she sobbed. The doctors said there was no hope. Couldn’t Father Grigori do something? Anything? Papa didn’t hesitate, not one moment, even though Elena was part of Grand Duchess Elizavyeta Fyodorovna’s court, which was well known for its hatred of my father. Rushing off with Elena to a secret location, Papa spent the entire night laying hands on the child and praying. And that night Father proved yet again to be a funnel for Xhristos, pouring divine benevolence from the heavens through his own body and into the boy’s crushed limbs. Miraculously, not only did the boy live through the night, he was back up and running around within a mere two months, just as my father had predicted.
Nearly ten minutes later I finally heard some feet slowly shuffling toward me. The old man emerged around the corner and beckoned me with a brusque wave of his arm.
“This way.”
I got up and hurried after him, following him through a maze of brick passageways, each one smaller than the last. At last he opened a door framed with cobwebs and showed me into a small chamber. My eyes darting about, I saw that the only light came from a small barred window set in a wall that was as thick as the bastions of a fortress.
“Wait here,” he said, his breath like steam in the cold room.
He disappeared, shutting the door behind him. It was near freezing, and when I touched the white tile stove in the corner, I found it as cold as a cobblestone. Looking around, I saw ancient blue-and-gold wallpaper peeling in great sheets from the walls, a brown horsehair couch covered with thick dust, a crooked table on which stood a terribly dented samovar, and an ash bucket overflowing with gray grit.
Minutes passed again before I heard another set of steps. Finally the door creaked open and Elena entered, her gray hair covered by a scarf, which she carefully removed and folded. Slightly heavy, with a round, sweet face, she wore a pale yellow dress that dragged on the ground behind her.
“Hello, my child,” she said in a hushed voice, as she extended her hand. “I’m so sorry to receive you in such a horrid manner.”
I understood. Of course I did. If her mistress the grand duchess found out that she had contact with us, the Rasputins, Elena would more than likely lose her courtesy room in the palace. This was why we were meeting back here in this lost chamber and why she had covered her head with a scarf: she didn’t want anyone to notice her back here, she didn’t want any tongues to start fluttering. It was also why I hadn’t gone to the main entrance on Nevsky. There might be only a single young grand duke in residence, but palaces such as this were nothing less than small hotels, housing upwards of several hundred courtiers and servants. Naturally, the fewer who saw us the better.
“How is your grandson, Elena Borisovna?” I began.
“Spasibo, xhorosho.” Thank you, well. “I’m happy to say he’s fully recovered. My gratitude a thousand times over to your father.”
“He was only doing his duty.” I reached into my pocket, pulled out one of my father’s small notes, and held it toward her. “I need some help.”
“Please, child, I don’t know what you have there, but it’s not necessary,” she said, folding my fingers around the note and pressing it back. “I am forever indebted to your father. What can I do for you?”
“I’m afraid I’ve come here because I have every reason to believe my father’s life is in great danger.”
Elena stepped closer and wrapped both her hands around mine. She looked at me tenderly, softly, her eyes moist with sympathy.
“My child, your father’s life has been in danger for years.”
“Yes, but last night an anonymous letter was delivered to Papa, threatening his life. It was sent by a group of men, ten of them, and-and I was wondering if you might-”
“I’m sorry. I know nothing about any such letter.” With a sad smile, she added, “But you’re right, it’s worse now. I know.” The older woman sighed and shook her head, then stepped away and peered out the window. “Everyone’s talking about him-everyone in the salons of fashionable homes, everyone in the stores, almost everyone on the street.”
“He’s that widely”-I could barely say it-“he’s that widely hated?”
“Yes. I’m sorry to say that, among proper society, most definitely.”
My eyes welled up, and for a moment I was speechless.
Elena Borisovna, unable to look at me, continued staring out the small barred window. “You should be aware that people in the highest society talk openly of the need to do away with your father. They speak not only openly but also of how it should be done. And soon.”
“Do you mean the grand dukes?”
