‘The Count Peter Andreyevich Tolstoy,’ my lady-in-waiting announced. ‘And the Duchess of Holstein.’
I turned in surprise. Tolstoy was so old now that he hardly ever left his dacha, where he loved to watch birds. Also, I had not expected Anoushka to visit from Ekaterinenhof: Karl had taken the best revenge he knew by deepening the rift between my sister and me. Thick snow had been falling since the previous afternoon, making the city’s roads impassable. Outside, I spotted Tolstoy’s coachman chatting to the guard at the palace gate, both of them warming their hands at the sentry-post brazier. I was still in my velvet dressing-gown, teaching my parrot some fine, juicy words. Later, I was to meet Augustus for a game of chess. ‘See them in,’ I said, placing the squawking bird – which hurled the funniest cacophony of slander at me – back in its cage.
My heartbeat quickened when I curtsied to Anoushka, who lingered behind Tolstoy on the threshold. How gladly I would share my joy in Augustus with her and thereby double it. ‘Sit,’ I said, ‘and have some spiced chai.’
‘We have no time, Tsesarevna,’ Tolstoy wheezed. ‘We have to go and see the Tsarina.’
‘See Mother? Why? What has happened?’ Already, I was looking for boots to wear, slipping out of my soft leather pantoffles.
‘Menshikov is to announce the engagement of his eldest daughter Maria to Petrushka,’ Tolstoy said.
I was dumbfounded. ‘That is impossible. Maria Menshikova is almost thirty years old and Petrushka barely thirteen!’
‘To Menshikov, nothing is ever impossible. Petrushka’s godfather Dolgoruky came to see me this morning, all wheezing and upset. He was at the Winter Palace but neither the Tsarina nor Menshikov would receive him.’
‘No wonder – he’s a disgusting Old Believer. He must be beside himself with fear. This engagement will make him lose any hold over Petrushka,’ I said, satisfied by that thought at least.
‘Not only him. Our existence is threatened, too,’ Tolstoy warned.
‘Menshikov wants the throne. We have to stop him.’ Anoushka’s voice was clipped and she made it plain there was to be no further conversation between us, turning away from me and sighing at my slowness. I hurried after them, pulling on a fur-lined cloak while I was walking. What would happen to Russia if Menshikov succeeded in placing his daughter on its throne? Petrushka was to be his puppet and Russia his personal purse, funded by the endless sources of the realm’s bounty and its millions of men, toiling endlessly like armies of ants.
‘I cannot go back on my word,’ Mother wept, struggling for breath. ‘I have agreed to Menshikov’s proposal.’
‘Allowing this marriage will endanger not only Russia, but also your daughters’ lives,’ Tolstoy said, kneeling before her, palms pleadingly upturned. ‘They pass on the right to occupy the throne, if not to inherit it themselves,’ he added, looking at me.
Mother panted, one chubby hand placed on her heart. In the almost two years of her reign, she had undergone a shocking change, gaining weight and losing all interest in life. When Father died, he had taken her spirit with him into the grave: they were always one being.
A faint rustling came from behind a folding screen next to her desk. I turned to look. Someone was hiding there and listening. ‘There will be a double engagement – Lizenka’s betrothal to Augustus and Petrushka’s to Maria Menshikova. Do you not wish for his happiness?’
‘If you did, you would never contemplate such a match,’ Anoushka said.
‘Menshikov wants to drive us apart,’ I added. ‘Petrushka will be at his beck and call. He wants to rule Russia! Do you know what that means for me? Your decision places me in mortal danger for I have not yet renounced my right to the throne, as Anoushka did… ’
‘You exaggerate, Lizenka,’ Mother said, but sounded hesitant.
‘Enough!’ At that moment Menshikov stepped out from behind the screen, unashamed about his eavesdropping. His face, set with anger, looked more than ever like that of a roughly hewn puppet at a country fair. ‘You will pay for this, Tolstoy,’ he snarled.
The Count rose to his feet, looking despondent. ‘You are the traitor here, Menshikov. The She-bear Russia will have your bones. Just give her time.’
‘Then she will crunch you up for starters.’ Menshikov stepped closer to Mother, glaring at Anoushka and me. ‘Once your engagement has been announced, Lizenka, both of you girls are off to Germany. Spring is as good a time as any to travel there.’
‘I feel faint,’ Mother murmured, sniffing at a silk handkerchief, which was stained with blood. She wiped her face; thick red clots stuck to her pasty white make-up.
‘Mother… ’ I started to say. The sight had scared me witless. Did she suffer from consumption? A move to the clean, salty air of Peterhof would be the best thing for her.
‘Come, Catherine Alexeyevna, you need rest,’ Menshikov soothed her, and Mother looked at us, pleading for our forgiveness while unable to resist him. He led her into her bedroom, kicking the door shut. From behind the closed door came hushed talk and muffled sobs.
For a moment, silence reigned. ‘By my soul, I have tried to prevent this,’ Tolstoy sighed.
‘Karl and I wanted to leave for Germany in any case,’ Anoushka said, looking shaken.
‘Having to leave is different from wanting to leave, Anoushka,’ I said. ‘Russia is our inheritance. What if you have a son? Once Menshikov has Petrushka wed to his daughter, nothing prevents him from taking aim at the Russian throne.’
*
In the icy corridor, Prince Alexis Dolgoruky waited for us, leaping up from a stool. ‘There you are!’ He clawed at Tolstoy’s lapels, terrified by the thought of losing all influence over Petrushka. ‘This must not be! We cannot abandon Russia to a scoundrel and an upstart like Menshikov.’ Even if he was hostile to my father’s reforms and sounded pompous – the Dolgorukys themselves had founded Moscow in the twelfth century and had laid the Kremlin’s foundation – I nevertheless had to agree with him.
‘We have no choice. The Tsarina listens to Menshikov. He will have his way,’ Tolstoy said. ‘But the Tsarina has yet to designate her heir.’ His words hung ominously in the air. Petrushka was not Tsarevich yet. Should I, too, be asked to give up my right of inheritance upon marrying Augustus? The thought made me as irritable as a Siberian tigress starved after the long winter.
Mother looked magnificent at the traditional blessing of the waters at Epiphany, wearing a riding habit of silver cloth and a wide-brimmed triangular hat, white plumes swishing from it. The parade on the ice lasted for four hours; in the late afternoon, she coughed blood and fainted.
Menshikov delayed the formal announcement of both my and Petrushka’s engagement and camped by my mother’s bedside. No private word with her was possible, though I spent every moment possible with her, bursting with last questions to which I sought answers, last words of love for her. Her end was near. I had never doubted Mother’s devotion to us, even though loneliness had been our playmate while we were young. All I wanted was to hold and thank her; to pray for her soul’s peaceful passage into the afterlife. When Anoushka joined me, Karl kept close by. My sister’s face was stern and drawn when I curtsied to her and kissed her hand, preventing me from sharing my feelings. We were to become orphans in the span of just two years, on our own now – a terrifying thought in the face of Menshikov’s determination.
Once more, a ruler’s passing was not merely a woman and a mother dying: courtiers, military commanders and high officials jostled for space in the death chamber, a tussle barely kept in check by her ladies-in-waiting. Outside the door, Alexis Dolgoruky headed a swarm of courtiers who all waited, undecided whom they must flatter and fear, ignorant of who next would decree their fate. I heard them whisper: ‘Has the Tsarina designated her heir?’
‘Is it Menshikov?’
‘A pie-maker’s son? He is no better than a heyduck. No, it will be the Tsesarevna Elizabeth.’
‘Hardly. She is to marry a foreign Duke while Petrushka is the grandson of Peter the Great, the last living male Romanov. He can be the only true heir!’ Trust Alexis Dolgoruky to point that out, forgetting the power Menshikov had over his young godson.
Inside Mother’s room, swathes of frankincense and myrrh rendered breathing painful; a fire blazed, its smoke choking us. The windows were closed, curtains drawn. The room was as hot as a banja when Menshikov bowed down, listening with a frown to Mother’s whispers, her last wishes. He rose to announce: ‘The Tsarina’s will be done! Petrushka Alexeyevich Romanov is to be Tsarevich and heir to the throne. He will marry Princess Maria Menshikova and come of age at sixteen. Until then, a State Council is to reign – the Duke and the Duchess of von Holstein, the Tsarevna Elizabeth, Vice-Chancellor Ostermann – and me.’
Tsarevna Elizabeth. I clenched my fists: so I was not be Tsesarevna any more, but simply the Tsarina’s daughter. So be it. My mother gasped.
Menshikov announced: ‘The Duchess of Holstein and the Tsarevna are to receive one million roubles each for relinquishing their right to the throne to Tsarevich Petrushka and his possible descendants.’
Anoushka glanced at Karl, who gave a curt, content nod. His gambling was the talk of town; still, they presented a united front, a wall so finely rendered that no crack was visible in it. ‘The Tsarina’s personal possessions – her dresses, silver plate, china and jewellery – are to be divided between her daughters,’ Menshikov added.
The door opened and in came Petrushka, followed by Buturlin. Before anyone could prevent him, Dolgoruky slipped in behind them. Petrushka looked bewildered after the chase from the countryside to the city in the middle of the night. He had grown almost as tall as Father, already standing more than seven feet in his boots. Menshikov glowered at Dolgoruky, warning him away as one great beast might another: the Tsarevich was his prey!
All I cared for was my mother. The darkness drew close, cloaking her. Around her the silence widened, a silver lake on which she would soon embark upon her last journey. As she took her very last breath, a short and painful-sounding gasp, I lunged forward, pushing Menshikov aside, sobbing, to seize her hand: a heartbeat later, her thumb ceased to caress my palm and her raised chest stilled, caught in its last gasp. Menshikov and Dolgoruky both wanted to wrestle the Imperial seal from her finger. I, however, folded her hands inside mine, hiding them away, protecting Russia from usurpers as long as I could. Finally, I slipped off the Imperial seal and handed it over to Ostermann, my fingers trembling. The Vice-Chancellor marvelled at it for a second or two before bowing his aching, swollen knee to Petrushka, his former pupil. While Feofan Prokopovich blessed the young Tsar, Ostermann slipped the ruby ring onto my nephew’s long, slender finger, where it hung slack, before pressing his lips to the crimson stone.
He struggled to contain his emotion as he rose and shouted: ‘The Tsarina is dead. Long live the Tsar! Long live Peter II.’ Then he cried uncontrollably, clutching both Petrushka’s hands, kissing his fingers again and again. As I myself fought tears, I met Buturlin’s eyes. He stood tall, guarding his young Tsar. Even though Augustus was standing behind me, his hands on my shoulders in a gesture of comfort, my eyes meeting Buturlin’s made the air between us crackle like a lightning strike. I felt his restless, pent-up energy from endless, sedate months spent with Petrushka in Oranienbaum. While I had never told Augustus about my forbidden, foolish feelings for Buturlin, his searing gaze singled me out, his longing for the unattainable palpable. No! Life had moved on for me and the childish past must be relinquished. Then it was my turn to curtsy to Petrushka and swear my Oath of Allegiance to the young Tsar. Yet as he raised me to my feet – standing two heads taller than me – his hands would not let go of mine. Surprised, I looked up: his eyes were no longer a boy’s, but a man’s.
I felt as if I was surrounded by a pack of wolves – wild, ferocious beasts that the plains of Holstein at least no longer harboured. I thought with relief of my imminent escape to safety there.