The Lost Daughter Page 3

  Maria fetched some tea and brought her own cup so they could stand by the top of the stairs and drink it together. She glanced nervously at the door of Commissar Avdeyev’s office.

  “He’s out today,” Ivan said. “Or else I would not dare accept this tea.”

  Maria asked about his interests when he was not working, and he told her he liked to play cards.

  “Bezique is my favorite,” he said. “I enjoy planning tactical moves.”

  Maria wondered if he was flirting again; there always seemed to be a hint of mischief in his eyes. “I enjoy bezique too. Perhaps we might have a game sometime. The days here are so long . . .” She paused. “But I have a feeling my parents would forbid it. Pray, tell me, is the countryside pretty around here?”

  “It’s all right, I guess. There are mountains, forests, and rivers, like anywhere.”

  “Do you have brothers and sisters?”

  “Two older brothers, but no sisters. That’s why I find women such a mystery,” he told her. “I have no idea what makes them giggle so much. I never know if they are laughing at me, because they refuse to share the joke.”

  “I expect you will find they are laughing over something entirely inconsequential. Anastasia and I giggle at the most childish things: a mispronounced word, or the silly behavior of the dogs. It is not worth wasting time over.”

  “I wish you would explain women to me,” he said, gazing at her directly. “A great beauty like you must surely have insights that would help me to find a sweetheart.”

  Maria snorted. “A great beauty indeed! Do you know what my family call me? Fat little bow-wow. I can have no illusions about my appearance with such a nickname.”

  “But you have eyes as big as saucers, hair that gleams like sunshine, and skin like finest porcelain.” He shook his head, glancing down at her figure. “And you are not even slightly plump. Families are cruel. My brother calls me Teeny because I am the shortest of the three of us.”

  “I think you are the perfect height,” Maria exclaimed. “I’m sure you will have no trouble capturing the heart of a woman—when you meet the right one.” She blushed, then continued. “You are lucky to have the opportunity. I will be nineteen years old on the twenty-seventh of June and have not yet had a beau. At this rate, I will die an old maid.”

  Ivan shook his head. “That will never happen. All men must find you irresistible. As soon as your family’s situation is settled, I’m sure you will find happiness.”

  Maria pursed her lips and gave him a sad look.

  * * *

  Little Alexei was still in terrible pain, with acute swellings in his joints after being bumped around so much on the journey. The girls took turns to entertain him, trying to distract him from his suffering. Maria drew pencil portraits of their captors and tried to amuse her little brother with humorous descriptions of their characters: “as pompous as a walrus on a beach,” she said of Avdeyev; “a slippery ferret in a rabbit hole” of his deputy, Medvedev. The girls took turns to read to him from any books they could find, and they revived Three Sisters, the Chekhov play they had performed at Tobolsk. Sometimes Alexei was well enough for a game of halma, and they moved a table close to allow him to join in.

  One sunny day in June, Maria carried him down to the yard to get some fresh air. She had always been physically the strongest of the four girls and did her best to carry him smoothly, without jarring, but she could tell from the frequent intakes of breath that the movement was hurting.

  She placed him in a bath chair, from where he surveyed the shadowy yard. Turrets were being built in the corners of the tall fence, and the men’s hammering mingled with the clanging bells of streetcars in the road outside.

  “Why are we here?” he asked in a small, sad voice. “What do they want from us?”

  Maria watched a blue butterfly flit past. “I suppose they want to keep us safe so we can be delivered overseas in due course. It is taking an interminable time, though.”

  “Why would we not be safe? I don’t understand.”

  Maria shook her head. “Me neither. But I am sure it will not be much longer before we are in our new home. Where would you like to go?”

  He considered this. “Perhaps Africa, where I could hunt lions, or India, where we could ride on elephants and shoot tigers.”

  Maria laughed. “I hope your wishes will be taken into consideration.”

  He was so pale and thin, with his gangly limbs, that it was impossible to picture him as a big-game hunter. The hemophilia he had inherited from their mother’s side of the family ruled out any activities in which he might risk injury. He would never ride a horse or a bicycle, would never ski, and even running was risky. Yet he could still have his dreams; no one could deny him that.

  * * *

  On the day of Maria’s nineteenth birthday, the family gave her little gifts: a hand-painted bookmark, a volume of Russian poetry, and a precious Fabergé box studded with diamonds and a topaz that had been given to her mother by her sister Ella the year before the war. The box was pretty and Maria knew she should be grateful, but all the same it was hard not to think of previous birthdays: even a year before, they had still been in the Alexander Palace, albeit under house arrest. Her parents had given her a handsome gold bracelet and dozens of other presents before holding a special birthday tea with pretty cakes and her favorite almond toffee. Here, the meal was a single course of stewed meat and boiled potatoes with no desserts. They were dependent on provisions brought each morning by the nuns from a local convent and there was not a lot of variety.

  That evening, as they sat in the drawing room after dinner, there was a knock on the door and her father called, “Come in.”

  Ivan popped his head inside, then walked in holding a cake on a plain white plate.

  “Good evening.” He bowed his head to the company. “I hear there is a birthday today and thought you might enjoy some medovik.” He seemed nervous in front of her parents. “I wish I could say I baked it myself, but it was my mother. I bring it with her compliments.” He smiled at Maria, who jumped up to take the plate from him.

  “You’re unbelievably kind,” she said. “Truly. Please give my warmest thanks to your mother and tell her how very touched I am by the gesture.”

  The family looked at each other, eyebrows raised, as Ivan backed out of the room. Leonid Sednev brought plates and all had a slice of the multilayered honey cake. It was the first such confection they had enjoyed for many months, and even Nicholas was moved to say that it was very kind of the guard and his mother. It lifted the mood of the entire party and the girls sang a popular song together, “Shine, Shine, My Star.”

  Once they had finished, Maria excused herself and slipped out to the hall to thank Ivan in person. He was standing at his post by the top of the second staircase.

  “You are very clever for remembering my birthday,” she said. “You’ve made this day special, something I never dreamed would be possible here. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

  Ivan took her hand and pressed it to his lips. Maria glanced over her shoulder to make sure none of the family had followed, but all the doors were closed and there was no sound from Avdeyev’s office.

  Ivan was still holding her hand and suddenly he pulled her in a swift movement toward a tiny alcove by the kitchen doorway. They huddled inside, bodies pressed together, and Maria trembled. Ivan looped one arm around her waist then stroked her cheek with his finger before leaning forward to touch his lips to hers.

  “A birthday kiss,” he whispered, “for the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.”

  Maria gazed at the soft lips that had brushed hers, and couldn’t help tilting her head for more. Ivan held her tightly now, his lips exploring hers, and she closed her eyes feeling giddy with excitement. It was the most delicious sensation she had ever experienced, quite different from a parent’s kiss, and she wanted it to go on forever.

  “Skorokhodov!” a harsh voice barked, and suddenly he was yanked away. A
vdeyev and Medvedev were glaring at them.

  “Go to your room!” Avdeyev snapped at Maria, and she scurried into the kitchen, terrified by his tone. She glanced back just before the door swung closed and saw Ivan being frog-marched down the stairs, one arm pulled up behind his back.

  Chapter 4

  Ekaterinburg, June 1918

  MARIA LAY IN BED, HER HEART POUNDING. WHAT would happen to Ivan? It wasn’t fair if he was punished. No harm had been done, and it was as much her fault as his. She hoped Avdeyev would not tell her parents about the scene he had witnessed. They would be horrified by her lack of modesty. Perhaps she would visit his office in the morning and beseech him to excuse their behavior, promising it would not happen again. But she was scared of the commissar and knew she would not have the courage. Besides, she very much wished it would happen again.

  Avdeyev came into the dining room while the family was eating breakfast next morning. Maria blushed scarlet as he glared around the table.

  “I thought I had made it clear there must be no consorting with the guards. It is a blatant breach of the rules and there will be consequences. The guard known as Ivan Skorokhodov has been relieved of his duty. Meanwhile, we will be watching you more closely, and no further breaches will be tolerated.”

  He turned on his heel, and as soon as the door clicked shut, Tatiana turned to Maria and hissed, “What on earth happened last night? You were gone for ages. What did you and Ivan get up to?”

  Maria burst into tears. “Nothing! I just went to thank him for the cake.”

  “Really, Mashka,” her mother reproached. “You mustn’t talk to the guards. They are not our friends, and it’s not seemly.”

  “Are you all right?” Olga asked kindly, placing a hand over Maria’s. “Did he take liberties?”

  “No,” she sobbed. “He made my birthday special by bringing that cake, and now it is ruined.” She scraped her chair back and stood up. “I wish we could leave here. I’m so fed up with everything.”

  “Sit down, Maria,” Tatiana ordered, but she ran from the room. Instead of turning toward the girls’ bedroom, she headed for the lavatory, wondering which guard was on duty that day. When she saw it was Peter Vasnetsov, she checked the hall was empty before whispering through her tears, “What has happened to Ivan?”

  “He’s in jail,” Peter replied, looking solemn.

  Maria choked on a sob and ran into the bathroom, burying her face in a towel and crying till her eyes were raw and her chest ached.

  * * *

  After breakfast and morning scriptures, Tatiana took Maria to the dining room, where they could talk in peace.

  “What happened in the hall last night?” she demanded. “I could tell from your face when you came back to the bedroom that you were distressed, then you were flushed when Avdeyev came in this morning . . .”

  Maria stared at her lap, fidgeting. “I just said thank you to Ivan for the cake.”

  Tatiana scrutinized her. “Do you have a crush on him? I know what you’re like with your silly crushes. We all remember Kolya Demenkov.” She rolled her eyes.

  Maria was cross. “If I like someone, you call it a silly crush. But you like Dmitri Malama. Isn’t that a crush too?” Maria was referring to a cavalry officer from home, a man Tatiana was very keen on. They had corresponded throughout the war, and Maria knew he was finding secret ways to keep in touch now they were in captivity, although Tatiana never spoke of it.

  Tatiana bristled. “It’s completely different. Dmitri and I plan to marry someday, and we are old enough to know our own minds, but you change your crushes with the prevailing wind. You really must stay away from the guards, Mashka. If Avdeyev gets riled, you put us all in danger.”

  Maria was defiant. “On the contrary, my friendships with the guards could save us. None of them would hurt a hair on our heads. They are kind, gentle souls and I think it is only right to be civil to them.”

  Tatiana placed a hand over hers. “Mashka, this has to stop. You heard Avdeyev. He is tightening the rules as a result of your flirtation, and no doubt we will all suffer.”

  Maria pulled her hand away, pouting. “I think your only interest is in spoiling other people’s pleasure,” she accused. “All I was doing was trying to pass the time.”

  “Find some other way,” Tatiana finished curtly.

  * * *

  On July 4, a week after Ivan’s arrest, the family was surprised when there was no roll call after breakfast. Instead, while they were having lunch, a group of men came into the dining room and announced that Avdeyev had been replaced by a new commander, Yakov Yurovsky. A man with bushy hair and a dark beard and moustache stepped forward. He looked humorless, Maria thought, and had dead eyes, like the stuffed black bear in the hall.

  “I have orders from the Ural Soviet to take all of your jewelry,” he announced. “Please gather it and turn it over.”

  “Is this truly necessary?” Nicholas objected.

  Yurovsky insisted it was. “I am told you claim your belongings have been pilfered, so I would like to catalog them. Please produce the jewelry within the hour.”

  They collected the pieces they were wearing and the ones still in their jewelry boxes but did not own up to the jewels hidden inside their clothing. Everything was piled on the dining-room table and Yurovsky came to collect it personally, wrapping it in a tablecloth to take to his office.

  The following day he returned the jewelry in a box, along with a typed list of the contents, which he asked Nicholas to check, item by item.

  “At least it seems he plans to be fair,” Nicholas remarked, but Maria did not have a good feeling about him. He never looked directly at any of them; it was as if to him they were not human.

  * * *

  Three days later, some new guards appeared, and Maria felt uneasy around them from the start. “Look at the buffers on her!” one remarked as she passed in the hall. He sounded foreign, although he spoke Russian.

  Back in their room, Maria whispered to Olga, “What are buffers?” and repeated what she had heard.

  “How coarse!” Olga exclaimed. “Bufera means breasts. I think you should ask Papa to complain to Commissar Yurovsky.” She shuddered. “That is unacceptable.”

  Maria did not dare to tell her father about the comment, though. She would have been mortified, and she worried everyone would think she had encouraged the man.

  After lunch there was another guard at the top of the second staircase, a young-looking man with a heavy brow and slanting dark eyes, like a wolf. She smiled politely, then tried to walk past.

  “You are Maria, are you not?” he said, so she had to stop. “My name is Anatoly Bolotov.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” She nodded.

  “Some of the new guards here are Hungarian or Lithuanian; you’ve probably heard their foreign accents,” he said. “But I am a local man, a Russian through and through.”

  “Where have the other guards gone?” she asked, since he seemed to expect a response. “The ones who were here before?” She hadn’t seen Peter Vasnetsov for several days.

  “Some of them are guarding the exterior but they are not allowed up to the family quarters anymore. We will be here instead.” He gave her a knowing look that made her uncomfortable, and she wondered if he had heard about her being caught with Ivan.

  “I hope you will be happy,” she said, walking past.

  He was still there later when she went to the bathroom to wash before bed. She intended to walk straight past with a nod, but he asked if she had enjoyed her dinner so it seemed only polite to stop.

  “There was chicken tonight, and our chef managed to make a very palatable sauce. Have you eaten?”

  “We also had chicken in the guards’ dining room. How have you and your family spent the evening?”

  She didn’t like his impertinence, but felt she had no choice but to reply. “I have been trying to draw a honeysuckle flower but I’m not sure I have captured the delicate intricacy of the head and stamens
.”

  “I’m sure it is beautiful,” he replied. “I would love to see your drawing sometime.”

  “I am partial to sketching flowers,” she explained, “but there are not many in the yard here. If you ever come across a flower outside, I would be most grateful if you could bring it to me so I have more specimens to draw.”

  Bolotov colored. “I would be honored,” he said with a bow. She hoped he did not attach any great importance to her request.

  He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out something gold in color. “I found this on the landing earlier. Perhaps it belongs to one of your family?”

  “Goodness! It’s my Fabergé box! Mama would have been very cross if I had lost it.” She held out her hand for it, but Bolotov wouldn’t let go.

  “I couldn’t work out how to open it. Is there a secret?” he asked.

  Maria felt extremely uncomfortable now and wanted to move away, but she felt she had no choice but to show him the clever mechanism. Their heads were so close they were almost touching, and her fingers brushed his palm as she took the box, demonstrated how it opened, then slipped it into her pocket.

  “Excuse me. I must wash now,” she said, stepping past.

  She opened the bathroom door and was about to close it behind her when she felt something blocking it and turned to see Bolotov at her heels.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, keeping her voice low lest anyone should hear.

  Bolotov closed the door so they were both inside and locked it with the hook.

  “Please . . .” Maria begged. “Stop this.”

  He leaned his face toward her and she pushed him away. She wanted to scream but the sound stuck in her throat, producing a strangled noise.

  “I’ll look after you. I’ll rescue you from here and we can get married.” His eyes burned with an intensity that scared her.

  Her throat had closed completely and all she managed was a little squeak of “No!”

  “You kissed that other guard, so why not me? I can help you.”

  Bolotov’s hand touched her breast and she froze. What should she do? If she cried out, Yurovsky would hear, her sisters and parents would hear, and they would say she had brought it on herself for being too familiar with the guards. She shoved his hand away and tried to wriggle free, but he planted his arm on the wall beside her so she couldn’t escape, then leaned in to kiss her. She gagged at the putrid odor of his breath and the lips that felt cold and rubbery. She couldn’t bear the scratch of his chin, the wet tongue that prodded inside her mouth, making her gag yet again.