first I’d have to sit in a banya for a day or two to steam off all this filth.”
The two of them sat at the crackling fire in silence for quite a long while, the darkness of the night seeping more and more densely around them. And Pavel found it wonderful. Such peace. Such quiet. If only, he thought, this night would never end.
Finally, Vladimir cleared his throat, and said, “So go on, tell me everything. I need to hear it all, you know.”
“Well . . . well, my point is that she was really hard to eliminate.”
Struck by the length of time that had passed since that fateful night—could it really be 18 years?—Pavel fell silent. And yet he could still see it in his mind’s eye with such startling clarity. Yes, there she was standing in the cart, singing that hymn. And there he was shoving her along the rutted lane, leading her right up to the edge.
Vladimir asked, “Why was it hard? Because she was so beautiful?”
“True, she was astonishing—people would just stop and stare. Imagine, she was the most beautiful bride in Russia, married first to the worst of the Romanovs, and next to Christ. But no, it wasn’t difficult because of all that.”
“Then, because her sister was none other than our Tsaritsa—I mean, the former Tsaritsa—Aleksandra Fyodorovna? As part of the Royal Family, she must have been well guarded at all times.”
“Well, you have a point. Before she abandoned society, she was flanked by the best of soldiers. But, no, we could have gotten through. After all, we assassinated many other notables, including, you know, her husband.”
“Then why? Why was that one so hard to do away with? Because she had taken to the cloth?”
Pavel shrugged. “Call it what you like, but she did seem to have some sort of divine protection. For example, while it only took us a few weeks of plotting before we blew up her husband, it took years upon years for her. That’s how powerful she was.”
“The soul is much mightier than the body, of course,” muttered Vladimir. “So in those final days did she have anything interesting to say to you?”
“Oh, a great deal. She was under my direct watch, and we talked for hour upon hour.”
“And what in the name of the devil did she speak of?”
“Actually, we told each other the stories of our lives, and the most interesting thing she told me was also the strangest.”
Chapter 1
ELLA
Though of course I was the granddaughter of the doyenne of sovereigns, Queen Victoria, I did not grow up in luxury by any means, for our little Grand Duchy of Hesse und bei Rhein in Germany was not a wealthy one, having suffered so in wars, recent ones at that. Indeed, it was during such difficult times that my mother, Grand Duchess Alice, wrote often to England, begging Grandmama to send lint and old linens from Windsor and Balmoral, things Mama and her ladies could turn into bandages.
Actually, my mother’s eternal want was by no means to remain cloistered within the cold confines of any royal court, but to go out amongst the people to see poverty and pain, so that her good intentions would never dry up. As if a heretic I heard her mutter more than once that it might be best if royalty itself were washed away. It was no wonder, then, that following the lead of her good friend and mentor, Florence Nightingale, my mother took it upon herself to be out and about in Darmstadt, here, there, everywhere, visiting those in need.
One particular morn after our breakfast of porridge and sausage, she took me along, leaving my elder sister, Victoria, and my baby sisters, Alicky and May, at home. This was in 1878, and I had no idea where we were going in our dot of a town, for Mama had seen to the organization of the Alice Society for Aid to Sick and Wounded, which included the founding of many hospitals and homes for the poor. She was very progressive in these things, fighting for the good of the common people and even for clean water and proper bathing practices, something that riled many old-timers who cared naught for a weekly bath. Or a monthly one, for that matter.
However, whatever my mother’s good intentions were that day, I myself wasn’t full of enthusiasm. All of fourteen years of age, I would have much preferred to stay home and draw, or, if work I must,