The Secret Wife(52)
On the 19th of May there was a strange entry about an eye in the fence. Vera wrote that she had translated it literally but wondered if it might perhaps be an obscure metaphor, possibly religious, with which she was not familiar:
I don’t know what made me notice it, because we were several feet away, but there was a flicker that drew my attention. At first I thought I must be imagining it, then I supposed it must be a child because it is at the level of my chest, but there was something about the way it seemed to follow me that was familiar. And then I made the joyful discovery!
The entry finished right there and Kitty found herself as mystified as Vera had been. What was the discovery? It was frustrating reading a ninety-eight-year-old diary. At one moment she would begin to feel she was getting to know Tatiana and then some oblique reference made her realise that she knew next to nothing.
14 June, Thursday.
Papa has run out of tobacco and is irascible as a result. I went to speak with Anton, one of the guards, to ask if some might be found, and he made the most obscene request I have ever heard. If M were to hear of it, he would kill him on the spot.
The mysterious M again, and he seemed to be a man. She had no idea of his identity and supposed Tatiana disguised his name in case the guards demanded to read her diary.
Kitty knew from one of Vera’s books that the girls had sewn their jewels into the seams and linings of their clothes, to protect them from the guards’ pilfering, but there was no mention of this in her diary. She imagined it would have been uncomfortable to sit down while wearing a garment with jewels in its seams.
They must have been scared witless during those months of waiting to learn their fate but within the diary there was a focus on the daily routine of meals, prayers, exercise and reading. It was a quiet life.
When the final batch of translation came through, Kitty skipped ghoulishly to the last entry. It was dated Sunday 14th July and the tone was sombre.
Father Storozhev came to conduct a service today with his deacon Buimirov. We were pleased to see him because it has been a long time since we took communion. He sang ‘At Rest with the Saints’ [Vera inserted a note that this was the Russian Orthodox prayer for the departed] and feeling the relevance of the words ‘Give rest, o Christ, to the souls of your servants where there is no sickness nor sorrow nor sighing, but life everlasting’ we all fell to our knees – apart from Alexei, of course, who cannot get out of his chair. None of us joined in the responses to the liturgy but at the end we came forward to kiss the cross and Mama and Papa took the sacrament. As Storozhev left, I whispered thank you to him. I can’t say why but I have a feeling we will not see him again.
After that Tatiana had copied out some words that Vera said were those of a Russian holy man, Ioann of Kronstadt: ‘Your grief is indescribable, the Saviour’s grief in the Gardens of Gethsemane for the world’s sins is immeasurable, join your grief to his, in it you will find consolation.’
According to the history books none of them had any idea they had just two days to live, but something about the tone of this entry made Kitty wonder if Tatiana perhaps had an inkling.
Chapter Thirty
Ekaterinburg, Russia, 26th June 1918
Dmitri worked non-stop over the next three weeks while setting his plans in motion. He booked rooms to accommodate the twenty men he hoped Malevich would bring with him. Housing them all in one place would have raised suspicion so he chose lodgings spread around town and reserved two or three rooms in each. Henry Armistead would stay with Sir Thomas Preston, as he had on previous occasions.
When the two thousand roubles arrived from Dmitri’s mother, he took the cash and went to visit the farmer, Piotr Tolmachev. They sat at his kitchen table, where a sheepdog nuzzled up to Dmitri’s thigh, trying to ingratiate itself, as he placed the bag of money on the table and opened the top.
‘What I want,’ he said, ‘is for your daughter to provide me with a plan of the inside of the house: where the family live, and where the guards are stationed. We need to know everything about the security arrangements.’
The farmer’s eyes were transfixed by the glimpse of banknotes, and he nodded in agreement. ‘No problem, my friend.’
‘And then I want her to switch places with Tatiana, the second-eldest Romanov girl, for just one night.’
‘You want what?’
Dmitri continued calmly: ‘We need to talk to one of the family so that they understand the plans, and Tatiana has the most practical nature. Besides, your daughter resembles her in height, build and colouring.’
The farmer’s face reddened: ‘If she was discovered, she would be executed.’
Dmitri shook his head. ‘She will not be discovered. The imperial family will be forewarned and will surround her so she looks inconspicuous. She will switch clothes with Tatiana and then switch back again the following morning. It is only one night. And in return I am offering your family the chance of a new life.’ He gestured towards the bag.
‘But they might not want the house cleaned two days running,’ the farmer protested.
‘I have noticed the women always work two mornings in a row and we will alter our plans to suit their schedule. I guarantee your daughter will only spend one night there. You have my word.’
The farmer lent his elbow on the table, hand over his mouth, as he thought. ‘I cannot give you an answer now,’ he said at last. ‘I must discuss it with my wife and daughter.’