The Secret Wife(13)

‘It’s the heat of the fire,’ Dmitri maintained.

He wished he could talk about Tatiana – he wanted to tell the world of their love – but any wrong move at this stage could spoil his chances, especially if it spilled into the newspapers. His heart was so full he scarcely felt the biting cold of the Prussian plain where they were dug in. Huddled in his bedding roll that night, he imagined Tatiana’s arms around him, her face against his, as he sank into dream-filled sleep.





Chapter Eight

The war continued to go badly for the Russians. The Germans introduced the new long-barrelled howitzers, which they hauled around on wheeled carriages, and now they could wreak destruction wherever they chose. Massive shells hurtled down without warning. The ground shook, stones rained from the sky and more bodies had to be buried after each ear-shattering explosion. It took hours of hacking at the frozen earth with a pickaxe to dig a grave, and many bodies were piled in together, without the dignity of solitude in their final resting place. Dmitri spent his days trying to direct their own shelling towards the howitzers but felt they were making no progress.

When he came off duty each evening, he rushed to the postal clerk. A few letters arrived that Tatiana had sent before receiving his; they were charming, but he was going mad waiting for her response to his proposal. When it came, he knew instinctively this was the one. The envelope was of the same type as the others, it was sealed in the same way, but his heart pounded and he felt sick with nerves as he tore it open.



Malama sweetheart,

I received your letter of the 28th of January this very morning and have rushed to my room to write as soon as I could. The answer to your proposal is yes, yes, yes; with all my soul I wish to be your wife. You should see how I blush to say these words. I know Mama and Papa will agree, since you are so courageous and noble and true. Mama has already told me she admires you, and I know Papa will too. I can’t wait for the day when I can call you my husband. If only the war could be over next week and you could rush home to claim your bride! I fear the waiting will be unbearable.

Dmitri read and re-read the paragraph, unable to believe his eyes. Was he misunderstanding it? The underlined ‘yes, yes, yes’ seemed unequivocal. Was it really true that he might become Tatiana’s husband? He read on, giddy with excitement:

I understand that until then we must keep our engagement secret but I hope you will not mind that I have confided in Uncle Grigory. Do you know him? The Siberian spiritual leader they call Rasputin, who is a great friend of our family. He saw me sitting pensive by a window and guessed that I was pining for a loved one so I found myself telling him about you. He asked to see a letter from you, because he says that men can judge other men’s intentions far better than women. After some hesitation I produced your proposal letter from the folds of my gown, where I had tucked it to keep it close. He read it, and when he finished he handed it back, saying ‘He truly loves you, and he is obviously a good man.’

I was overjoyed, as you can imagine, and told him how much I want to marry you. I explained that my mother and sisters do not yet know we are in love, although they have met and admired you, and I made him promise to keep our secret. Uncle Grigory closed his eyes and held my hand for several seconds, one finger on my wrist as if he was feeling for the truth. He has mystical powers and his predictions always come true. ‘Yes, you will marry him,’ he said. ‘Yet there are dark days ahead.’ I suppose he means because of the war.



I hope you do not mind me telling him, Malama. Since your letter arrived I have been bursting with the news that we are to wed. I find it hard not to tell anyone else, but I agree that is how it must be since you must apply to my father for permission and I can’t see how he might give it till the war is over. Until then it will be our precious secret, something I can hug to my breast to ease the agony of missing you.

I must go to the hospital now but will write later. When I am writing I feel close to you and wish there were more hours in the day so I could write more.

Mon amour est pour vous, à jamais.

Tatiana

Dmitri stared at the letter, with a tumult of emotions. There was the exhilaration of Tatiana accepting his proposal but also irritation and alarm that she should have told Rasputin about it. Dmitri had not been introduced to the bearded wild man, but had heard only ill of him. The thought of him touching Tatiana’s wrist and reading the intensely private letter made Dmitri wild with jealousy. What if Rasputin told the Tsarina, to whom he was said to be very close? It could utterly spoil his chances of one day being accepted into the family. What had Tatiana been thinking?

‘What do you make of Grigory Rasputin?’ he asked the men that evening as they ate their meagre bowls of stew, accompanied by hunks of rough, gritty bread.

‘Who is he?’ a young officer asked.



Malevich replied: ‘He’s a self-seeking charlatan who presents himself as a man of God while spending his time carousing in brothels and bars. He has inveigled his way into the Romanovs’ inner circle and their relationship with such a reprobate does them no favours. I hear the Tsar would banish him to Siberia but the Tsarina has fallen under his spell and will not hear of it.’ He shook his head in disbelief.

‘What do you think he seeks from them?’ Dmitri asked sarcastically. ‘Surely not riches, power and influence?’

Malevich snorted. ‘Of course. It’s a very lucrative connection for him.’