The Fabergé Secret Read online

  Then there was the difference in their looks: handsome princes in real life didn’t fall in love with plain-looking girls like her. His friends, including the Tsar, would think he’d gone mad. She let her imagination run away, believing that this was all a great joke being played on her, orchestrated by Lara. A handsome aristocrat leading a girl on, then breaking her heart. She could hear the courtiers in their mansions ridiculing her to no end. They would call Dimitri the Beauty and her the Beast.

  His beauty wasn’t skin-deep, she thought. People always assumed beautiful men and women had shallow, selfish characters. But it was what was underneath his handsome looks that she loved best. His uncommon sweetness of disposition was what touched her heart most. He could be a product of his class – supercilious, a snob at times – but he was a kindhearted man. The thing that Katya was most impressed with was that he took a genuine interest in whomever he was talking to. Most people just pretended to. Although he was a rich prince of the realm, he made her feel like she was the most important person in the world. One would assume a prince was born to be selfish, but he wasn’t that way at all. Another thing had won her heart: just after she found the conversion document, he’d sensed that something was troubling her. She had been bowled over by the revelation about her heritage, and he had been sensitive enough to her mood to pick up on it.

  Katya decided then and there that despite the heartbreak that might lay ahead, it would be worth suffering for the incredible bliss she would experience. She was glad to be allowed to enjoy the greatest happiness a human being could know, even if it were only for a short time. She also knew that her reputation would be ruined if their love for each other was discovered – but she didn’t give a damn. Getting up from the bench, she slowly walked across the street to her home.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Miss O’Brian waited in the doorway until the hall was clear of any servants. The Alexander Palace was always swarming with every kind of servant. Like the tutors and nurses, nannies existed in their own separate worlds, neither part of the Court nor servants in the household. But now each servant could be an enemy willing to turn her in, if they caught her spying. After the train and yacht bombings, she realized that one of them could also be a revolutionary agent intent on killing Nicholas and his family.

  Once inside the display room, she quickly reached for the nearest egg. The ‘Pelican Egg’ was made of engraved red gold topped with a pelican in her nest with her brood. The egg itself ingeniously unfolded into eight oval ivory miniatures of the institutions of which the Dowager was the patron. Miss O’Brian was about to place the note on top of one of the miniatures when she stopped and drew her hand back. She stared at the little folded piece of paper, then unfolded it. As she had predicted, it had a series of random letters, which she knew was a code. She hid it in the egg and moved it slightly forward of the others. She then scanned the shelves and saw that an egg at the far end had been moved forward. She walked over to it and picked it up. It was the ‘Danish Palaces Egg,’ pink and mauve outlined in enameled gold. Opening the top, she found the surprise to be a folding screen of ten miniature watercolors of the palaces and yachts owned by the Imperial Family. Between one of the panels was a folded piece of paper exactly like the one she had just delivered. Miss O’Brian quickly tucked it up the right sleeve of her day dress. When she started being a postman, she often wondered who her confederates in the household were. But being a good agent, she didn’t want or need to know.

  Before she left the room, her eyes glanced over the rest of the Fabergé objects, which included cigarette cases, jewelry, miniature figures like dancing moujiks, and frames. The pink ‘Lilies of the Valley Egg’ was her favorite, with its swirling pearl and diamond buds. But she was both fascinated and repelled by the objects. While marveling at their brilliant artistry and beauty, she couldn’t ignore the contrast of these riches with the abject misery of the Russian people. How could the Romanovs have such treasures when the workers were treated like dogs with no rights? Or when the peasants lived in abject poverty and filth? She imagined her father coming into this room. The old revolutionary would take a hammer and smash these treasures to bits because of the inequity they represented. Their incredible beauty be damned, he would shout. And he would be right. Opening the door a crack to make sure the hallway was clear, Miss O’Brian slipped out and walked to the private apartments.

  ‘Hello, Jim.’

  ‘Hello, Miss O’Brian. You look in mighty fine spirits today.’

  ‘I am indeed. Christmas is coming.’

  Miss O’Brian liked speaking to Jim. He was one of the few people with whom she could have a conversation in her native language. The Tsarina spoke English because of her upbringing with her ‘Granny,’ Queen Victoria, and the Tsar was brilliantly fluent in French, German, and English. He could have passed as an Oxford graduate, he spoke the language so perfectly. But she didn’t get to have real conversations with the Imperial Couple.

  ‘When are you going back to America for a visit, Jim?’

  ‘In two months, ma’am. I can’t wait,’ Jim replied as he opened the door to the apartments.

  ‘One day when you’re off-duty, you must describe this Alabama place you come from.’

  ‘It’s nice … and warm, ma’am.’

  Miss O’Brian laughed. Winter had enveloped St Petersburg in a deep blanket of snow, and sleighs now replaced carriages for getting about. The Neva River had frozen over and become another crowded avenue in the city. The bitter cold had driven everyone inside into a kind of hibernation. When people had to go out, they were wrapped head to foot like mummies. An American black man like Jim must have a very hard time adapting to Russian winters.

  Christmas meant the start of the ‘season’ on New Year’s Day for the Court and Russian high society. An incredible succession of balls, banquets, ballets, operas, midnight suppers, and parties would go on day and night until the beginning of Lent. Ballrooms in great private mansions and in the Winter Palace would be filled with officers in brilliant uniforms, men in elegant evening dress, and women in billowing low-cut satin gowns. There would be a continuous river of food and drink. Music would never stop with waltzes, quadrilles, polonaises, and gypsy music. The Court never seemed to sleep during this whirlwind of gaiety, every minute was taken up by a social engagement. They were constantly on the move, bundled up in furs and sable blankets in their fancy sleighs pulled by strong fleet horses to the next party or concert. The Russians made the English look like paupers when it came to giving parties and balls.

  It was just two weeks before Christmas, and the Alexander Palace was decorated throughout with eight tall Christmas trees that easily fit in the huge spaces of the palace.

  Christmas was the favorite holiday of the Imperial Family, with much attention paid to the festivities. The Tsarina trimmed all the trees as well as choosing the presents for each member of her personal household, including the officers, which numbered close to five hundred. Jim always got a nice present, and she did too. In the nursery, the children and Miss O’Brian had their own glittering tree, which was fixed into a rotating music box which played ‘Silent Night.’ It was an object of great interest and admiration for the girls. All the presents were laid out on white covered tables. One would think the dozens of gifts here were all for the children, but except for two or three apiece, the vast majority of the toys went to the children of members of the household including the lowliest ones like the gardeners’ and the grooms’ children. The nanny was always touched by this, Nicholas and Alexandra had instilled in the girls at an early age that they were to share and be kind to others. The idea the public had that the girls were spoiled and pampered was sheer nonsense.

  Miss O’Brian entered the mauve boudoir of the Tsarina. Even in winter, it smelled of lilacs. The girls had finished their lessons and were having tea with their mother. She was talking to Baroness Sophie Gurka, but she motioned for the nanny to help herself. Miss O’Brian settled into an armchair with her tea next
to the irritating Anna Vyrubova and watched her charges. Unlike the children of the English aristocracy, the Grand Duchesses saw their mother and father almost every day and were perfectly at ease with them. They were always so happy together; there was never a sharp word exchanged between parent and child. In the household of the Duke of Weston, where Miss O’Brian had worked for many years, the Duke, who was a cold man, gave more love to his horses, hounds, and whores than his children. The Duchess had almost no contact with her children. The Tsarina basically brought up her daughters herself. Miss O’Brian wanted to tell her colleagues how wonderful a job the Tsarina did, but strict Court rules forbade her from joining the English Governesses’ Club in St Petersburg to avoid the temptation of gossip. She understood this, but it made her life even lonelier.

  ‘Mama has a special Christmas gift for us, Nanny,’ Olga exclaimed with glee.

  ‘For all of Russia,’ Anna added with a great smile.

  ‘With God’s help, Russia will have an heir born in August. It will be a son,’ the Tsarina said proudly.

  Miss O’Brian knew that after four daughters, the Tsarina hoped heart and soul for a son.

  She stood up, bowed, and went over to kiss Alexandra’s slender hand. ‘May God grant you a son, Your Majesty.’

  ‘It will be a son,’ said Anna.

  Miss O’Brian smiled. She hoped the child would eventually live in a very different Russia than the current one.

  TWENTY-SIX

  ‘What a wonderful view of the Peter and Paul Fortress,’ Katya said, drawing aside the lace curtain covering the tall French window. The snow was falling steadily on a dark gray afternoon. ‘Your apartment is so charming.’

  Looking over her shoulder, Dimitri wrapped his arms around her waist. As he began kissing her neck, she bent her head back and sighed.

  ‘Our apartment. I got it for us – our own special world where we can escape,’ he murmured in her ear.

  With his arms still around her, she turned to face him.

  ‘Our private oasis?’ Her eyes sparkled, and she cocked an eyebrow.

  He nodded. Her lips met his, and she gave him a long, passionate kiss.

  Still kissing, he slid his arms down and lifted her up as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He walked her to the bedroom, where a fire was roaring. Laying her down gently on the bed, they began to undress each other; at first with restraint, but then impatiently ripping buttons as they went. As more of her was revealed, he became even more aroused by her perfectly formed breasts and tiny waist.

  Their bare bodies finally touching, she ran her hands up and down his muscular back. ‘I’m so happy,’ she sighed.

  A moan escaped her as he kissed her breasts. He glanced up at her. ‘You don’t know how I’ve longed for this day.’

  ‘Me too,’ she said, and she gave herself up to his caresses.

  Dimitri watched Katya breathe slowly while she slept. Her tousled brown hair framed her heart-shaped face on the fluffy down pillow. He reached out to stroke a chestnut strand. She looked so alluring with her hair undone. He slipped out of bed to stoke the fire, feeling its warmth on his bare thighs, then scooted back under the blanket. He wanted to stay right next to her, not wanting to miss her opening her beautiful blue eyes when she awoke.

  He was head over heels; something he hadn’t felt in quite a long time, since his courtship with Lara. His love for Katya was almost volcanic, it moved him so. He had been swept away by her. After his marriage disintegrated, he never thought he’d experience that kind of emotion again. But now his feelings were ten times more intense. He had sensed that when they made love for the first time, it would be sensual and feel entirely natural – and it had. Their lovemaking was the final piece of a puzzle that clicked into place.

  As she slept, he thought it amazing how the trajectory of one’s life can change in an instant upon a chance meeting – that night at the Catherine Palace ball.

  ‘When we met, I felt my life begin again,’ he said to her in a soft voice.

  He smiled, remembering the day he’d gotten to the hospital early to pick her up. On a whim, he’d sneaked in to watch her at work. Because of her strict professionalism, he knew that she would never let him, but he had been curious to observe her in her medical world. He was glad he did, as it gave him great pleasure to watch her on her rounds. He had never been a patient in a hospital, but he had visited friends and relatives many times and always noticed how brusque, almost cruel the doctors were with patients, barely showing a trace of emotion. Katya, on the other hand, spent time with each person, making some small gesture of concern such as pulling up their blankets or playing with a child to make them smile. As she approached her patients, their dour expressions brightened at the sight of her. He really liked the fact that she was able to bring sunshine to them. Each time he saw her, she had that effect on him, too. Whenever she came out of the brightly lit hospital foyer, a wave of happiness seemed to lift him above the carriage seat and brought a great smile to his face.

  He was hoping she would wake up soon so they could do what he liked best – talk about topics ranging from poetry to architecture. Saying goodbye to her was wrenching. Back at home, trying to fall asleep, he would lie wide awake for hours, thinking about her. Now with the flat, they would have much more freedom, including spending nights together.

  Katya stirred, then opened her eyes. When she saw he was looking down at her, she smiled and stretched out her arms. He leaned over and gave her a long kiss.

  ‘How did I exist without your love?’ She grinned drowsily.

  ‘Hello, sleepy head,’ he said in a quiet voice. He pulled her tighter to him and nestled his face in her hair. It smelled wonderful. He rubbed his face back and forth, and she giggled.

  They sat up against their pillows, and he lit cigarettes for them. She cuddled against him and pulled the blanket up under her chin.

  ‘Mmm … there’s no more comforting feeling to be snuggling after making love under thick fur blankets, before a fireplace on a frigid day,’ she said.

  ‘There’s cold salmon, caviar, sliced meats, and plenty of ice-cold pepper vodka in the larder,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, I’m famished!’ She jumped out of bed, put on Dimitri’s tweed jacket over her naked body, and bounded out of the room. She came back with a tray of food.

  ‘You’ve a well-stocked kitchen, Prince Dimitri.’

  ‘This is our home now,’ Dimitri said proudly.

  ‘This looks so delicious. But I’ll be sure to save some of the caviar for your horse,’ she said with a serious expression.

  For the next three hours, they talked about everything. They had gone to see Chekhov’s new play, The Cherry Orchard. She loved it, but he didn’t, because it portrayed aristocrats as silly and helpless. She teased him mercilessly about it.

  ‘The aristocrats were able to put their shoes on themselves. And I think Madame Ranevskaya opened a door for herself once,’ she said mischievously.

  ‘I’m not as helpless as that.’ He pretended to be insulted.

  ‘No … there’s at least one thing you’re extremely good at.’ She reached under the covers, and he gave a gasp of pleasure.

  They made love again, slowly, taking their time. Bodies damp with perspiration, entirely sated, they drifted off into a blissful sleep.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  ‘That’s all? He just said, “Something must change?”’

  ‘Yes, Your Super-Excellency, that’s all Prince Dimitri said,’ the professor replied.

  General Moncransky stood up from the chair in Grigory’s parlor. He began pacing in front of Grigory, who was still seated. The General thought it best to meet Grigory in his flat, instead of having him come to his office at the Winter Palace. Dimitri might be there and see his friend from the arts circle and know something was up.

  ‘So, Professor, are your parents fond of frigid weather? Are you fond of frigid weather?’

  From Grigory’s pained expression, the General could see that he k
new where the conversation was heading.

  ‘Your Super-Excellency, the Prince has spoken of no intention overthrowing the Tsar by violent means … I swear to you. At all these meetings, he just listens and never really says anything.’

  The General frowned at Grigory, which made him squirm in his seat.

  ‘In fact, no one in the group is committed to violence.’

  ‘In six months, you don’t have a damn thing on him!’ growled the General.

  Grigory remained silent.

  ‘You must try harder, my friend. Try to incite him to violence with your revolutionary fervor. Speak about the workers’ and peasants’ misery, and the two pogroms. I must have concrete proof that Markhov is a revolutionary – and that means action not words.’

  ‘I’ll try, Your Super-Excellency,’ said Grigory meekly.

  ‘You bet you will, or you’ll be teaching in Siberia!’ The General nodded at his adjutant that he was leaving.

  ‘This is such a nice flat. Maybe you can bring some of this furniture to the log shack you’ll be living in,’ said the General as he was going out the door. ‘And be sure to bring some bear-fur underdrawers.’

  Grigory put his hands over his face and groaned.

  As General Moncransky stepped into his sled, he thought about what would happen if he accused Dimitri of being a traitor to the Tsar’s face. Nicholas would think he was mad as a hatter and laugh at him as though he were an idiot child. No, mere words overheard at an intellectual soiree wouldn’t be enough to convince him. He needed absolute proof – to catch him red-handed in a revolutionary act. So, he had to be patient. He couldn’t have him followed because the bastard might be still sleeping with his wife, and his officers would find out, subjecting him to humiliation and gossip. He couldn’t bear that.