The House of Special Purpose

The White Nights

THE WAR WAS NOT going to our advantage.

As the riots in the streets evolved into attacks on the grain stores and municipal warehouses, the atmosphere surrounding the Imperial Family and its entourage began to change from arrogant confidence to frustration and concern. Through it all, however, the Tsar and Tsaritsa continued to divide their time between the palaces at St Petersburg, Livadia and Tsarskoe Selo and their leisure trips on board the Standart, as if the world was as it had ever been, and we poor disciples packed our belongings and followed them wherever they travelled.

At times it seemed as if they were entirely unaware of the mood among the people over whom they ruled, but as more news arrived from the Front regarding the number of Russian casualties, the Tsar resolved to quit the Winter Palace entirely and replace his cousin, the Grand Duke Nicholas Nicolaievich, as head of the armed forces. To my surprise, the Tsaritsa offered little opposition to his decision, but then on this occasion he did not plan on permitting their son to accompany him.

‘But is it entirely necessary?’ she asked as the family gathered for a typically sumptuous meal; I stood alongside the butlers and servants in an unobtrusive line against the walls of the dining room, none of us allowing ourselves to breathe too loudly lest it upset the Imperial digestion. Naturally, I had positioned myself opposite Anastasia so that I could watch her as she ate; when she dared, she would glance in my direction and offer a tender smile that made me forget my tired legs. ‘You mustn’t put yourself in danger, Nicky. After all, you bear too many great responsibilities for that.’

‘I understand that, but it’s important that changes are made,’ replied the Tsar, reaching for an elaborate samovar that stood on the table and refilling his cup slowly, narrowing his eyes as he watched the tea pour as if it might hypnotize him and spirit him away to a happier place. A moment later, he was using the tips of his fingers to massage his temples in a gesture of exhaustion. He had lost a great deal of weight in recent months, I noticed, and his thick, dark hair was advancing quickly towards grey. He seemed to be a man afflicted with a great and terrible burden, one that he might not be able to endure for much longer. ‘England fears that we will pull our troops away from the action,’ he continued in a tired voice. ‘Cousin Georgie has said as much to me in a letter. And as for France—’

‘You told him we would do no such thing, of course?’ interrupted the Tsaritsa, sounding appalled at the very idea.

‘Of course I did, Sunny,’ he replied irritably. ‘But it’s becoming difficult to put up a convincing argument. Most of the Russian Polish territories are now controlled by Cousin Willy and his German thugs, not to mention the Baltic regions.’ I felt my eyes roll in my head as he said this; it struck me as extraordinary that the leaders of each of these countries bore such an intimate familial relationship to each other. It was as if the entire matter was nothing more than a childish game: Willy, Georgie and Nicky running around a garden, setting out their forts and toy soldiers, enjoying an afternoon of great sport until one of them went too far and they had to be separated by a responsible adult. ‘No, I’ve made my mind up,’ he said in a determined voice. ‘If I place myself at the head of the army, then it becomes a message to both our allies and our enemies of the seriousness of my intentions. And it will be good for the men’s morale, too. It’s important that they see me as a warrior Tsar, a ruler who will fight alongside them.’

‘Then you must go,’ she replied with a shrug as she separated the meat of a lobster from its shell and examined it for imperfections, before allowing it the honour of being eaten by her. ‘But while you are away—’

‘You shall, of course, be at the helm of our constitutional duties,’ he said, anticipating her question. ‘As tradition dictates.’

‘Thank you, Nicky,’ she smiled, reaching across and placing a hand on top of his for a moment. ‘It pleases me that you have so much faith in me.’

‘But of course I do,’ he replied, not sounding terribly convinced by the wisdom of this decision, but knowing that it would be impossible to place anyone else in a position superior to his wife. The only other appropriate person was eleven years old and not yet ready for such responsibility.

‘And anyway,’ said the Tsaritsa quietly, looking away from her husband, ‘I shall have my advisors near by at all times. I promise to listen carefully to your ministers – even Stürmer, whom I despise.’

‘He’s an effective Prime Minister, my darling.’

‘He’s a fop and a faint heart,’ she snapped. ‘But he is your choice and he will be offered every courtesy, as befits his office. And Father Gregory will never be far from my side, of course. His counsel will be invaluable.’

I noticed the Tsar freeze for a moment when she mentioned the starets’ name, and a pulse in his jaw reflected his hostility to the idea of any influence that malevolent creature could extend, but if there were concerns or arguments that he wanted to make, he kept them to himself for now and simply nodded his head in resignation.

‘Then you will be well served,’ he offered quietly after a respectable pause, and no more was said on the subject.

‘Not that I will be able to spend all my time on constitutional matters,’ continued the Tsaritsa a few moments later, her voice betraying a little anxiety now, and I found myself turning my head slightly to look at her, as did her husband, who put down his cup and frowned.

‘Oh?’ he asked. ‘And why is that?’

‘I’ve had an idea,’ she said. ‘And I hope you’ll think it a good one.’

‘Well, I can’t decide that until you tell me what it is, now can I?’ he asked, smiling at her, although his tone suggested some impatience, as if he was dreading what his wife might be considering next.

‘I thought I might do something to help the people too,’ she said. ‘You know I visited that hospital opposite St Isaac’s Cathedral last week, don’t you?’

‘Yes, you mentioned it.’

‘Well, it was horrible, Nicky, quite horrible. They don’t have enough doctors or nurses to tend to the patients and they arrive, hundreds of them, throughout the day. And not just there, but all over the city. I’m told there are more than eighty hospitals scattered around St Petersburg now.’

The Tsar frowned and looked away from her for a moment; he didn’t like to be confronted with the realities of the war he was fighting. The image of the young men arriving on stretchers was not one he liked to consider.

‘I’m sure that everything that can be done for them is being done, Sunny,’ he said finally.

‘But that’s just it,’ she replied, leaning forward, her face flushed with excitement. ‘There’s always more that can be done. And I thought that I might be the one to do it. I thought I could help out as a nurse.’

For the first time that I could remember there was absolute silence in the Imperial dining room. Every member of the family sat as if they had been turned to stone, their knives and forks suspended in mid-air, staring at the Tsaritsa as if they could not quite believe what she had just said.

‘Well, why are you all looking at me so?’ she asked, turning from one face to another. ‘Is it really so extraordinary that I would want to help these suffering boys?’

‘No, of course not, my darling,’ said the Tsar, recovering his voice. ‘It’s just… well, you have no training as a nurse, that’s all. Perhaps you would be more of a hindrance to the good work which is being done there.’

‘But that’s just it, Nicky,’ she insisted. ‘I spoke to one of the doctors and he told me that it would take only a few days to train a lay person such as myself to assist in the basic tasks of nursing. Oh, it’s not as if we would be performing operations or anything like that. We’d just be there to help out. To tend to wounds, to change dressings, even to clean up a little. I feel… you see, this country has been very kind to me since you brought me here all those years ago. And for every disrespectful cur who slanders my name, there are a thousand loyal Russians who love their Empress and would lay down their lives for her. This is my way of proving myself to them. Say I can do it, Nicky, please do.’

The Tsar tapped his fingers on the tablecloth for a moment as he considered her request, no doubt as surprised by his wife’s sudden rush of philanthropy as the rest of us were. However, she appeared to be sincere, and finally he shrugged and offered a nervous smile, before nodding his head.

‘I think it’s a wonderful idea, Sunny,’ he said. ‘And of course you have my permission. Just be careful, that’s all I ask. There are security arrangements that will have to be put in place, but if it’s what you want, then who am I to stand in your way? The people will see how devoted we both are to their welfare and to the success of the war effort. Only I must ask, you said “we,” not “I”. What did you mean by that?’

‘Well, I shouldn’t like to be there alone,’ she said, turning towards the rest of the family now. ‘I thought that Olga and Tatiana might join me too. They are of age, after all. And they can be of use.’

I turned to look at the Empress’s two eldest daughters, who had both grown a little pale at the mention of their names. They said nothing at first, looking instead from their mother to their father, and then towards each other in dismay.

‘Father?’ began Tatiana, but he was already nodding his head furiously and appeared to have determined on his response.

‘It’s a magnificent idea, Sunny,’ he said. ‘And, my daughters, I cannot tell you how proud I am of you both that you would want to help out in this way.’

‘But Father,’ said Olga, who looked appalled at the idea, ‘this is the first that either of us has heard of—’

‘You make me very proud of you, my darling,’ said the Tsar quietly, reaching across and taking his wife’s hand. ‘You all do. What a family I have! And if this doesn’t stop the moujiks from debasing our names, then I don’t know what will. It is actions like these that win wars, not fighting. Never fighting. You realize that, children, don’t you?’

‘What about me, Father?’ asked Anastasia suddenly. ‘Can I help too?’

‘No, no, Shvipsik,’ he said, laughing and shaking his head. ‘I think you’re a little too young yet to see such things.’

‘I’m fifteen!’

‘And when you are eighteen, like Tatiana, we can reconsider. If, God forbid, the war has not been won by then. But don’t worry, we can find other ways for you and Marie to be of use. We will all help out. The entire family.’

I breathed a sigh of relief that Anastasia was not to be permitted to join her mother and sisters, for the entire thing struck me as a foolish if generous idea. A group of untrained nurses gathered in one hospital, surrounded by bodyguards, sounded like a method for disturbing the work that was being done there rather than assisting. Perhaps my sigh was too loud, however, for the Tsaritsa turned and stared at me – as she was generally loath to do – and her eyes widened in irritation.

‘And you, Georgy Daniilovich,’ she said, ‘you have something to say on the matter?’

‘I beg your pardon, Your Majesty,’ I replied, blushing furiously. ‘A throat tickle, that was all.’

She raised an eyebrow in distaste before turning back to her meal, and I caught Anastasia’s eye, who was watching me and smiling as ever.

‘It’s all so horrible,’ said the Grand Duchess Tatiana several weeks later, as she sat with Marie, Anastasia and Alexei in their private drawing room at the end of a particularly trying day. She looked pale and had lost weight since her nursing duties had begun; the dark bags beneath her eyes testified to early mornings and late evenings, while her discomfort in her chair suggested that her back was beginning to ache from spending long hours leaning over the beds of the injured soldiers. As the Tsarevich was present with his sisters, so was I, while Sergei Stasyovich completed our party, not standing to formal attention as was proper, but resting on the arm of one of the sofas close to the Grand Duchess Marie, rolling a cigarette casually as if he was not a servant of the Imperial Family at all, but an intimate. ‘The hospitals are filled to capacity,’ continued Tatiana, ‘and the men are horribly injured, some with missing limbs or eyes. There’s blood everywhere. Constant moaning and wailing. The doctors run about and shout their orders with no regard for rank whatsoever and their language borders on the profane. There are mornings when I wake up and wish that I might fall ill myself in order not to have to be there.’

‘Tatiana,’ cried Marie, outraged, for she had her father’s sense of duty towards the soldiers and envied her older sisters their new responsibilities. She had pleaded with her mother to be allowed to join them as a nurse, but, as with Anastasia, her request had been denied. ‘You shouldn’t say such things. Think of the agonies our soldiers endure.’

‘Marie Nicolaevna is right,’ said Sergei, joining the conversation for the first time and staring at Tatiana with a look of pure distaste, an expression she had probably never seen on anyone’s face before. ‘Your disgust at the sight of blood is nothing compared to the suffering these men endure. And what’s a little blood, after all? We’re all filled with it, no matter what the colour.’ I turned to look at him in surprise. It was one thing for us to be present at conversations such as this and even to offer a supportive comment from time to time, but to criticize one of the Grand Duchesses openly was an impertinence that could not go unanswered.

‘I’m not saying that I suffer more than they do, Sergei Stasyovich,’ replied Tatiana, her cheeks reddening noticeably as her anger rose. ‘I would never suggest such a thing. I simply meant that it is not a sight that anyone should have to witness, that’s all.’

‘Of course not, Tatiana,’ said Marie. ‘That much is obvious. But don’t you see? It’s all very well for us to discuss these matters, wrapped up safely together in the Winter Palace, but think of the young men who are dying to ensure the continuance of our way of life. Think of them and tell me that you do not ache for them.’

‘But sister, of course I ache for them,’ she protested, raising her voice now in frustration. ‘And I tend to their wounds and read to them and whisper in their ears and do all that I can to make them comfortable. Oh, it doesn’t matter! You have misunderstood me entirely. And as for you, Sergei Stasyovich,’ she added, turning to glare at him furiously, ‘you might not speak with such arrogance if you found yourself at the Front rather than here.’

‘Tatiana!’ cried Marie, appalled.

‘Well it’s true,’ she said, throwing her head back in a manner reminiscent of her mother. ‘Who is he to speak to me in such a fashion, anyway? What does he know of the war, after all, when he spends his days following all of us around and practising his cross-steps and flèche attacks?’

‘I know a little of it,’ replied Sergei, narrowing his eyes as he glared at her. ‘After all, I have six brothers fighting for your family’s continuance. Or had, anyway. Three have been killed, one is missing in action, and the other two I have heard no news of in more than seven weeks.’

To her credit, Tatiana blushed a little at this remark and perhaps felt a little ashamed of herself. I noticed that when Sergei mentioned his dead brothers, the Grand Duchess Marie sat forward in her seat, as if she wanted to go to him and offer comfort. There were tears resting gently in her eyes – she looked very beautiful at that moment, the shadows cast by the fire flickering across her pale skin. Sergei noticed them too and the corners of his mouth turned upwards slightly in an appreciative smile. I was surprised to observe such intimacy between the two, and was moved by it.

‘I don’t mean that I would try to find a way not to go,’ insisted Tatiana, looking across at each of us in turn, in order to ensure that we understood how seriously she meant this. ‘I just wish that the war would end soon, that’s all. Surely we all wish for that. Then we could go back to the way things used to be.’

‘But things will never be as they were,’ I heard myself say, and now it was my turn to be the recipient of her icy stare.

‘And why do you say that, Georgy Daniilovich?’

‘I only mean, Your Highness, that there are days and styles of living which are lost for ever. When the war is over, when peace has been restored, the people are going to demand more of their leaders than they did in the past. It’s obvious. There will scarcely be a family in the land who has not lost a son in the fighting. Don’t you think they will seek some recompense for their losses?’

‘Recompense from whom?’ she asked coldly.

‘Why, from your father, of course,’ I said.

She opened her mouth to reply, but it seemed that she was too shocked by the impertinence of what I had said to find the words to argue with me. The silence lasted for only a moment, however, before she turned away from me and threw her hands in the air in frustration.

‘My sister just wants everything to go back to how it once was,’ said Marie then, playing the role of peacemaker. ‘And that’s not such a terrible thing to wish for, after all. This was a wonderful country to grow up in. There were balls at the palace every night and wonderful parties. We all wish that things could have stayed like that for ever.’

I said nothing, but shot Sergei an amused glance, intended to mock her innocence and naivety. To my surprise, however, he did not return my smile, but glared at me instead as if he was insulted that I would dare to include him in some private joke against the Grand Duchess Marie.

‘You should feel fortunate, Tatiana,’ said Anastasia, speaking up now for the first time. ‘It is a great honour for you to help the troops in this way. You are saving lives.’

‘Oh, but I’m terrible at it,’ she sighed, shaking her head. ‘And the sight of all those lost limbs! You can’t understand it, Shvipsik, unless you’ve seen it. Do you know that yesterday our mother assisted at an operation where a boy of seventeen had both his legs amputated? She stood there and witnessed it, helping out in whatever way she could. But the screams of the boy… I swear I will hear that screaming again at my dying moment.’

‘I only wish that I were a year or two older so that I could help out too,’ said Anastasia wistfully, standing up and walking towards the window, staring down into the courtyard below; I could hear the rush of the fountain as its water rose and fell and imagined that she was looking towards the nearby colonnades, where she had fallen into my arms for the first time and we had kissed. I longed for her to turn around and catch my eye, but she remained silent and strong, looking out beyond the walls of the palace itself.

‘Well, you can take my place any time you want,’ said Tatiana, standing up and brushing down the front of her skirts. ‘I feel utterly miserable and intend to take a long bath. Goodnight,’ she said, sweeping out of the room as if she had been the victim of a great insult, followed by Marie, who looked back as if she had one final comment to make, but thought better of it and left the room without another word.

A moment later Sergei left too, citing a forgotten task, and the night drew to a close. As Anastasia took Alexei to his room, I remained in the parlour for a few more minutes, turning off some of the lights, leaving only a few candles illuminated, anticipating the moment when she would return, when she would close the doors quietly behind her and find her way back into my open arms.

I had never experienced the White Nights and it was Anastasia’s idea that I should see them for the first time with her. In truth, I had never heard of the phenomenon before and thought I was going mad when, restless and waking in the middle of the night, I opened my eyes to see bright daylight shining into my room. Thinking that I had slept through my usual early-morning awakening, I washed and dressed quickly and ran down the corridor towards the playroom, where Alexei could usually be found at that time, reading one of his military books or playing with some new toy.

The room was deserted, however, and as I made my way through the state rooms and the reception areas, finding each one as empty as the next, I started to panic and wondered whether I had slept through some great calamity that had occurred in the night. I was not far from the Tsarevich’s own chamber, however, and when I ran inside, I was relieved to find the boy fast asleep in his bed, stretched across the covers, one bare leg extended over the side.

‘Alexei,’ I said, sitting down beside him and rousing him gently by the shoulder. ‘Alexei, my friend. Come along, you should be up by now.’

He grunted and mumbled something indecipherable before rolling over; I could only guess what his mother would say if she arrived to kiss him goodbye before leaving for the hospital and found him still asleep so I shook him again, unwilling to allow him to return to his dreams. ‘Alexei, wake up,’ I insisted. ‘You should be at your lessons.’

He opened his eyes slowly and stared at me as if he did not know who or where he was, before glancing over towards the window, where the light was streaming through the curtains.

‘It’s the middle of the night, Georgy,’ he groaned, smacking his lips together and emitting an exaggerated yawn, stretching his arms out in exhaustion. ‘I don’t have to get up yet.’

‘But it’s not,’ I said. ‘Look how bright it is. Why, it must be…’ I glanced towards the clock which hung on his bedroom wall and was surprised to see that it was just past four o’clock. There was no possibility that we had all slept until the middle of the afternoon, however, so the only explanation could be that it was still early morning.

‘Go back to bed, Georgy,’ he muttered, turning over and falling immediately back to sleep with the ease of one whose conscience is clear.

Disoriented, I walked back towards my own room and returned to bed, although it was impossible to sleep in my confusion.

The following morning, however, I found myself alone with Anastasia as she finished her breakfast and she explained the phenomenon to me.

‘We call it the White Nights,’ she said. ‘Haven’t you ever heard of it?’

‘No,’ I said.

‘I think it must be peculiar to St Petersburg. It has something to do with the fact that the city is situated so far to the north. Monsieur Gilliard explained it to us recently. The sun doesn’t descend below the horizon at this time of the year for a few days, so the sky doesn’t get dark. It gives the impression that it is daytime constantly, although I suppose there is more of a dusk-like feeling in the early hours of the morning.’

‘How extraordinary,’ I remarked. ‘I was sure that I had overslept.’

‘Oh, you wouldn’t be allowed to oversleep,’ she replied with a shrug. ‘Someone would be sure to come and find you.’

I nodded, feeling slightly irritated by this remark, a sensation which was only alleviated when she stepped closer to me and, ensuring that there was no one in sight to observe us, kissed me lightly on the lips.

‘You know, it’s traditional for young lovers to walk along the banks of the Neva together during the White Nights,’ she said, smiling flirtatiously at me.

‘Is it indeed?’ I asked, a grin beginning to spread across my face.

‘It is. Some are even known to make plans for marriage then. It’s just as curious a phenomenon as the White Nights themselves.’

‘Well,’ I said, extricating myself from her grip playfully, as if the idea of such a commitment was anathema to me, ‘then I should be leaving.’

‘Georgy!’ she cried, laughing at me.

‘I’m only teasing,’ I said, taking her in my arms once again, although I did so nervously. Of the two of us, I was always the one more scared of getting caught; perhaps because I knew that my punishment for discovery would be far more severe than hers. ‘But I think it’s a little early for an engagement, don’t you? I can only imagine what your father would say.’

‘Or my mother.’

‘Or her,’ I agreed, grimacing, for while the concept of my ever being allowed to marry a daughter of the Tsar was a foolish one, there was a small part of me that believed that the Tsar himself would look more favourably on a love-match than the Tsaritsa would. It was neither here nor there, of course. Such an inappropriate match could never be made. A fact which neither Anastasia nor I liked to dwell upon.

‘Still,’ she said, skirting quickly past the awkwardness of the moment, ‘you cannot be in St Petersburg and not experience them. We should go out tonight.’

‘We?’ I asked. ‘You don’t mean we should go together?’

‘Well, why not? After all, it might be bright out, but it will still be night-time. The household will be asleep. We could slip out, well disguised, and no one would ever know.’

I frowned. ‘Isn’t it a little risky?’ I asked. ‘What if we are seen?’

‘We won’t be,’ she insisted. ‘As long as we don’t draw attention to ourselves, that is.’

I was unsure of the wisdom of the plan, but Anastasia’s enthusiasm won me over, as did the idea of the two of us walking along the riverbank hand in hand, like any of the other young lovers who strolled together at night. We would be normal people for once. Not a Grand Duchess and a member of the Leib Guard. Not an anointed one and a moujik. Just two people.

Georgy and Anastasia.

Typically, the Imperial Family went to bed early, particularly now that the Tsar was quartered at Stavka and the Tsaritsa and her two eldest daughters were up by seven o’clock in order to be at the hospital an hour later. And so we decided to meet by the Alexander Column in Palace Square at three o’clock in the morning, when we were sure that no one would be awake to see us. I went to my bed at midnight as usual, but didn’t sleep. Instead I read a few chapters of a book I had borrowed from the library, a volume of Pushkin’s poetry that I had recently been reading in an attempt to educate myself; I didn’t understand much of it, but did my best to concentrate. When it was time to leave, I pulled on a pair of trousers, a shirt and an overcoat – not my typical guard’s uniform – and crept downstairs and out into the peculiar bright night.

The square was quieter than I had ever seen it before, but there were still people passing through, their spirits raised by the late-night illumination. Groups of soldiers returning from some adventure ambled by noisily. Two prostitutes, young and rouge-faced, leered in my direction and offered me those sensual delights which were still unknown to me, but which I desired desperately. Drunks returning from some excess sought, sung and forgot the words of ancient songs in off-key voices. I spoke to no one, however, ignoring all advances, and waited silently in our agreed meeting place until I saw my darling emerge from behind one of the colonnades and raise a gloved hand in my direction. She was dressed in the most extraordinary outfit. A simple dress, with a dusegrej on top, the sleeveless, fur-lined jacket a second layer beneath the common person’s letnik. A cheap pair of shoes. A headscarf. I had never seen her wear anything quite so lacking in jewels before.

‘Good God,’ I said, walking towards her and shaking my head, even as I tried to stop myself from laughing. ‘Where on earth did you find those things?’

‘I stole them from one of my maid’s wardrobes,’ she giggled. ‘I’ll replace them in the morning, she’ll never know.’

‘But why?’ I asked. ‘It’s beneath you to wear such—’

‘Beneath me?’ she asked, surprised. ‘Why, Georgy, you don’t know me at all if you believe that I think that way.’

‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘No, I didn’t mean that. It’s just—’

‘There may be people who will recognize me,’ she said, looking around and pulling her scarf closer about her head. ‘It’s unlikely, but nevertheless, it’s not worth taking the risk. These clothes will help me blend into the crowd, that’s all.’

I took her hand and pressed my lips to hers, my body curving against the contours of her own, my desire anxious to be recognized. ‘You could never blend into any crowd,’ I told her. ‘Don’t you know that by now?’

She smiled and bit her lip in that funny way of hers, shaking her head at my foolishness, but I could tell that she was pleased by the compliment.

A few minutes later, we were making our way along the side of the palace and on to the path that bordered the banks of the river. The night was warmer than most I had known; we could breathe without seeing clouds of unspoken words dissolving into the atmosphere before us and my trousers were not clinging to my legs with that damp sensation that characterized so many St Petersburg evenings. The first sight that greeted us was the vision of the half-completed Palace Bridge, whose construction had begun even before I had arrived in the city, but which had been halted by the war and stood as a stark reminder of how our progress had been stunted in recent years. Stretching from the front of the Hermitage and across to Vasilievsky Island, the enormous brick and steelwork supports stood in place on either side of the Neva, but there was no sign that the two would ever meet; instead they stretched out towards each other, like a pair of lovers separated by a great expanse of water. I caught Anastasia staring in their direction, her expression a little disheartened, and found myself hurting for her.

‘You’re looking at the bridge?’ I asked.

She nodded but remained silent for a moment, imagining what might have been. ‘Yes,’ she said finally. ‘Do you think they will ever complete it?’

‘Of course,’ I said, my confident tone masking my uncertainty. ‘Some day. It can’t stay like that for ever.’

‘When it began I was perhaps eleven or twelve years old,’ she recalled, smiling a little. ‘Alexei’s age. The construction law decreed that no work could be done on it between nine at night and seven in the morning, the time when, perhaps, you might consider it most suitable to work on such a project.’

‘Really?’ I asked, surprised by her knowledge of such things.

‘Yes. And do you know why they did that?’

‘No.’

‘Because it would have kept me awake. My sisters and me that is. And my brother.’

I looked at her and laughed, sure that she was teasing me, but the expression on her face told a different story and I could only laugh again, amazed by the extraordinary life she lived.

‘Well, you can sleep all you want now,’ I said finally. ‘There will be no workers, or any steel for that matter, until the war is over.’

‘That day cannot come quickly enough,’ she said as we continued to walk.

‘You miss your father?’

‘Yes, very much,’ she admitted. ‘But it’s more than that. And it’s not for the reasons my sister wants the war to end. I have no interest in balls or fine dresses or dancing or any of those trivialities which St Petersburg society treasures above all other things.’

‘You don’t?’ I asked, surprised. ‘I thought you might have enjoyed such entertainments.’

‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I don’t dislike them exactly, Georgy, it’s not as simple as that. Sometimes they can be amusing. But you have no idea what life was like here before the war. My parents went to a different party every night of the week. Olga had just come out into society. They would have found her a husband soon. Some English prince, most likely. And they will, once the war is over, that much is certain. There’s always talk of her being intended for Cousin David, the Prince of Wales.’

‘Really?’ I asked, surprised, for I hadn’t thought that Olga was yet promised to any man. ‘How long have they been in love?’

‘In love?’ she asked, turning to me and raising an eyebrow. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Georgy, they’re not in love.’

‘Then how—?’

‘Don’t be naive. Surely you know how these things work. Olga is a beautiful young woman, don’t you agree?’

‘Well yes, of course,’ I said. ‘She has a more beautiful sister, however.’

Anastasia smiled and pressed her head to my arm as we continued to stroll along. The statue of the Bronze Horseman was on my left, looking for all the world as if it was ready to burst into a charge and race towards the waterfront. ‘Then she will need a husband,’ she continued. ‘She is the eldest daughter of the Russian Tsar, after all. She cannot marry just anyone.’

‘No,’ I agreed. ‘No, I can see that.’

‘And it has always been said that she and Cousin David would make a perfect match. He will be king one day, of course. When Cousin Georgie dies. That might not be for many years yet, of course, but then the throne will be his. And Olga will be Queen of England. Like our great-grandmother, Queen Victoria.’

I shook my head, confused by the associations between all the royal families of Europe.

‘Is there anyone you’re not related to?’ I asked.

‘I don’t think so,’ she replied in a perfectly serious tone. ‘No one who matters, anyway. Cousin Georgie is King in England. Cousin Alfonso is King in Spain. Cousin Christian is King in Denmark. And then, of course, there is Cousin Willy, the Kaiser in Germany, but we are told not to refer to him as cousin any more. Not now that we are at war. But he was Queen Victoria’s grandson, just as Mother was her granddaughter. Perhaps it is all a little strange. Do you think it odd, Georgy?’

‘I’m not sure what to think,’ I said. ‘I can’t keep track of all these names and the countries they rule over. I thought Prince Edward was the Prince of Wales.’

‘Same person,’ she said. ‘David is his given name, Edward his regal name.’

‘I see,’ I said, not seeing at all.

‘And if Olga is to be married to the Prince of Wales and become Queen of England, are Tatiana and Marie to suffer similar fates?’

‘Of course,’ she said, pulling her greatcoat tighter around her, for the night had grown cold now, even if the sun did still consent to give us light. ‘They’ll find some silly prince for both of them, I’m sure of that. No one as illustrious as Cousin David, perhaps. Tatiana might marry Cousin Bertie, I suppose. Mother proposed that idea last year and Father approved. Then they could be sisters in the English court, you see, which would be very convenient.’

‘And what of you?’ I asked quietly, stopping now and taking her arm to pull her around to face me. The tides of the river were flowing towards the banks and as she turned the wind lifted her hair away from her forehead, causing her to close her eyes slightly against the breeze, even as she put a hand to her neck to tie her headscarf more carefully.

‘Me, Georgy?’ she asked.

‘Yes. Who are you to marry? Am I to lose you to some English prince? Or a Greek one? A Danish one? An Italian? At least let me know the nationality of my rival.’

‘Oh, Georgy,’ she said sadly, turning away from me, but I was not about to let her go so easily.

‘Tell me,’ I insisted, pulling her closer. ‘Tell me now, so that I can prepare for my broken heart.’

‘But it’s you, Georgy,’ she said, her eyes filling with tears as she reached forward to kiss me. ‘It’s you that I intend to marry. No one else.’

‘But what can I offer you?’ I asked, desperate with love and desire. ‘I bring you no kingdom, you understand. No principality. No land over which to reign. I come without title or provenance, without money or expectations. I am simply me. I am just Georgy. I am no one at all.’

She hesitated and looked deep into my eyes. I could see the sorrow there. The anguish. I knew that she cared nothing for my lack of prospects in the world, that I did not need to be of royal blood for her to love me. But still, this matter lay between us and divided us, like the tides of the Neva, separating the two unfinished sides of Palace Bridge. The war would end, the day would come, and the Tsar would decide. Another young man would arrive in St Petersburg. And he would be introduced to Anastasia and they would dance a mazurka together at the Mariinsky Palace while the whole of society watched them, and she would have little choice but to obey. And that would be the end of the matter. She would be betrothed to another. And I would be lost.

‘There is one possibility,’ she began, but before she could say anything further, we were interrupted and we both jumped in fright. So intent had we been on our conversation that we had lost track of everyone around us, and the sound of a man’s voice next to me shocked us back into the real world.

‘My apologies,’ said the young man, a fellow of around my age, dressed in an outfit similar to my own. ‘Could I trouble you for a match?’

I glanced at the unlit cigarette he held out towards me and patted the pockets of my coat for a light. Anastasia stepped out of my grip as I did so and retreated a little along the path, wrapping her arms around her body to protect herself from the cold as she looked down into the water. I located a small box of matches in my pocket and as the young man took one, I noticed his companion, a young peasant girl, staring at Anastasia. She was around the same age as my darling, no more than sixteen, with pretty features, spoiled only by a noticeable scar which ran along her left cheek from directly beneath her eye for perhaps two inches to a point below her cheekbone. The young man, who was handsome, with thick blond hair and an easy smile, lit his cigarette, smiled and thanked me.

‘We’ll all want to sleep tomorrow afternoon,’ he said, glancing out towards the bright horizon.

‘Probably,’ I said. ‘I keep thinking I should feel tired already and yet I don’t. The light is playing tricks on me.’

‘Last year I stayed up for the entire three days,’ he said, taking a long drag from his cigarette. ‘I was supposed to return to my regiment immediately afterwards, but I slept too long. I was nearly shot for it.’

‘You’re a soldier, then?’ I asked.

‘Was,’ he said. ‘I got shot in the shoulder and lost the use of this arm.’ He nodded towards his left side. ‘So they let me go.’

‘Lucky you,’ I said, smiling.

‘Not so lucky,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘I should be there, not here. I want to fight. And you?’ he asked, looking me up and down to reassure himself that I was healthy. ‘You are in the army?’

‘On leave,’ I lied. ‘I have to return at the end of the week.’

He nodded and his expression seemed regretful. ‘I wish you well, then,’ he said, glancing towards Anastasia and smiling. ‘I wish you both well.’

‘And you,’ I said.

‘Well, enjoy your evening,’ he added, turning to take his lover’s hand, but she was staring at Anastasia with nothing short of awe upon her face, as if Mother Mary herself had descended from heaven to walk among us along the banks of the river. She knew who Anastasia was, of course, that much was obvious. And like most of the moujiks, she considered her to be appointed to her position by God himself. I held my breath, waiting to see whether she would cry out and betray us, but her dignity came to the fore and she shook her head to snap out of the daze, and instead simply reached forward and took Anastasia’s right hand in her own, before sinking to her knees on the wet cobbles and pressing her fingers to it for a moment. I stared at this beautiful young woman, whose face had been terribly injured in who knew what way, pressing her lips against the pale, unblemished hand of the girl I loved, and felt a sudden rush of wonder for where I found myself. She looked up after a moment, and bowed her head.

‘May I have your blessing?’ she asked, and Anastasia’s eyes opened wide in surprise.

‘My…?’ she began.

‘Please, Highness.’

Anastasia hesitated, but did not move. ‘You have it,’ she said, smiling gently as she leaned forward and embraced the girl. ‘And for what little it is worth, I hope that it brings you peace.’

The girl smiled and nodded, took her injured soldier’s hand, and they walked on without another word. Anastasia turned to me and smiled, her eyes filled with tears.

‘It’s getting cold, Georgy,’ she said.

‘Yes.’

‘It’s time to go back.’

I nodded and took her hand and we returned to the palace in silence, saying nothing further about the conversation we had been engaged in regarding Anastasia’s marriage prospects. We had been born into different lives, it was that simple. We could no sooner change who we were than alter the colour of our eyes.

We separated as we entered Palace Square with one final, sorrowful kiss, and I made my way towards the doors which would lead to the staircase for my own room. Looking up towards the dark, unlit windows, I noticed a dark figure watching me from the third floor, but as I narrowed my eyes and blinked, trying to make out who was standing there, exhaustion caught up with me at last and the vision seemed to dissolve and disappear as if it had been nothing more than an illusion. I thought no more of it for now and went on my way to bed and to sleep.