Mariana finally decided to accept the tsar’s invitation only when Viktor suggested that the audience might greatly help her papa Sergei’s situation. She reluctantly allowed herself to get caught up in her father’s enthusiasm; it would not have been proper to appear before the royal family glum and depressed, worried over the uncertainty of her dear Daniel’s disposition. It helped a little when Dmitri, who had knowledge of such things, assured her that it was unlikely the Japanese would execute an American citizen.
“And he is a Trent, you know,” her father assured her. “If anything happened to him, it might cause an international incident. The Japanese are in no position to risk war with America.”
Mariana had never thought much about the importance of Daniel’s family. He hardly ever mentioned it. She wondered if her father might be exaggerating a little. But it was something to hang on to, and a reason for hope.
The preparations for the big day helped take her mind from her worries. She let the beautiful new dress cheer her. Again, Eugenia outdid herself, proving her taste impeccable, and Mariana showed her good sense in letting her grandmother have her way. Eugenia knew that white was in fashion, especially for afternoon wear, and she chose a filmy white gauze with soft gathers in the skirt, three rows of horizontal tucks above the hem, elbow-length sleeves with the bodice and long basque of broderie anglaise. A blue sash at the waist was clasped with silk roses. Mariana’s hair was pinned up, and she wore a wide-brimmed hat decorated with ostrich feathers and chiffon.
After so many months in her nurse’s uniform, which was usually stained and wrinkled—or, more lately, in bedclothes—it did feel good to dress up. But it felt somewhat odd, too. She thought of her friends at the front, and all the soldiers who were still suffering danger and deprivation.
At two-thirty in the afternoon the hired troika came for Mariana and her father, who, much to his ecstasy, was to accompany her. He, too, had dressed for the occasion in a new, and expensive, gray pinstripe cashmere suit, gray Homburg, and black cashmere overcoat with a fur collar. He looked almost as exquisite as his daughter. But this was a big moment for Dmitri, for he had never been presented to any tsar. And, though he was only along as chaperone, he knew this was as much his great social opportunity as it was Mariana’s.
Their appointment was for three-thirty, and it would take most of the preceding hour to travel to Tsarskoe Selo, where they were expected at the Alexander Palace. Mariana bundled up in a rabbit fur coat, and Dmitri insisted that his daughter be tucked warmly into the sleigh with several thick furs and blankets.
Before the sleigh reached the palace gates, they drove through the town clustered around the tsar’s residence. All around were many mansions of the aristocracy, whose occupants’ entire existence was dominated by the royal family and the life of the court. Dmitri chuckled with satisfaction as they passed through.
“I’ll warrant we’re the talk of the town today, Mariana,” he said.
“But why, Père?”
“The Court gossips miss nothing out of the ordinary, my dear. So when a couple of nobodies like ourselves are presented to the emperor and empress, you can be sure there is talk. I expect our mail delivery will be full of invitations—everyone dying of curiosity about what transpired. Our social prospects are about to soar!”
“I thought that happened a few years ago when you and Grandmother had that big party for me.”
“That was but a pale shadow of the future. After today we will have stepped into an even more elite circle.”
Mariana said nothing. Why spoil her father’s excitement? But she had no desire to reenter society, especially one that was more elite. Her time in Manchuria might have had its difficulties and stresses, but she had never felt more alive with purpose. She understood why Daniel had such a passion for his work—it fulfilled him, gave his life meaning. She had no heart to return to the world of aristocratic idleness. She wasn’t sure what exactly she would do, but she did know that what she had experienced on the front line in the war had forever altered her direction in life.
In a few minutes the troika pulled up in front of the palace gates. Within the eight hundred acre compound of the Imperial park there were two palaces. The Catherine Palace was the larger and more ornate of the two, built by Peter the Great’s daughter, Elizabeth. Its blue facade with elegant white columns and gilded trim matched Versailles in grandeur. With two hundred rooms, it was a study in opulence, literally dripping with gilded carvings on the ceilings, the wainscoting, and the window and mirror frames. The walls were resplendent with works of art, and the floors were inlaid wood of the most intricate designs.
Nearby was the Alexander Palace, built by Catherine the Great for her beloved grandson who was to become Alexander I. It was simpler than the Catherine Palace, with only one hundred rooms, but in no way lacking in Imperial richness and decor. Here, in one of the wings, Nicholas and Alexandra made their home. Alexandra had redecorated to give it the air of an English country estate.
Mariana and Dmitri were taken by a servant into one of the formal drawing rooms of the Alexander Palace to await the arrival of the royal couple. The furnishings were of cherry, and the sofas and chairs were upholstered in bright chintz of mauve, Alexandra’s favorite color, yellow and blue. The gold brocade draperies were closed, since it was almost dark outside. A tall stove covered with intricately decorated tiles kept the room at a comfortable warmth. Several vases of fresh flowers shipped in from the Crimea were placed around the room.
Mariana and Dmitri waited in silence, both struck with jitters. In ten minutes the door opened suddenly and in came a rather striking black man dressed in a gold-embroidered jacket, red trousers, white turban on his head, and shoes with curved toes like that of an Arabian prince. His entry signaled the imminent arrival of Their Majesties.
Father and daughter, schooled in Court protocol by a lady-in-waiting for days before the audience, immediately rose and faced the door. Mariana stole a quick, nervous glance at her father. He was a shade paler than normal, and she thought she detected a tremor of his lip beneath his moustache. She was definitely shaky herself and wondered if she remembered the proper curtsy. It eased her nerves a little when she recalled Anna’s oft-told story of her encounter with the tsar, Nicholas’s grandfather, Alexander II, and how he had nearly run right in to her in a corridor of the Winter Palace. Except for Uncle Misha’s gentle prodding, Anna would have forgotten to bow. But Alexander had smiled warmly at the frightened servant girl that day. Mariana hoped Nicholas II would be as benevolent today.
Then they came.
Nicholas stepped aside to allow his wife to enter first. She was tall, slim, and attractive, as elegant as fine porcelain. Her features, which tended to be slightly angular, were softened by reddish gold hair and dark blue eyes. She wore a simple gown of ecru lace, belted at the waist with matching satin. Several strands of pearls hung around her long neck, and her hair was piled up into a bun near the top of her head. She wore no other adornments; it was as if this audience was just a part of her daily routine. Mariana felt better and began to relax at bit. She curtsied, and Dmitri offered a low bow.
Nicholas, dressed in a plain military tunic with dark trousers tucked into knee-high leather boots, doted on his wife with obvious affection. He saw to it that she was seated comfortably, even though a footman was there for that purpose, and motioned for Mariana and Dmitri to sit. Mariana perched near the edge of her chair, her back straight, uncomfortable about being seated in the presence of the royal couple.
“It is an honor to meet such a courageous young woman,” Alexandra said. “When my husband and I heard about you, I felt you should come to our home so we might in some small way repay you for your services. I know there are so many others over there who are deserving of recognition, but in extending our hospitality to you, it gives us a sense that we are touching them also.”
“Your Highness, your words make it so much easier for me to accept being singled out. Whatever I have done was so little compared to what others have suffered and are at this moment suffering.”
“Tell me, Countess Remizov,” asked the tsar, “what is the prevailing mood of the men over there?”
“I’m probably not the best judge, since I only see the soldiers after they have been wounded. To be honest, I must say some of these are bitter and resentful, but most of their hostility is focused at the Japanese. Many, even among the wounded, are proud to have served Russia. They love their country, Your Highness.”
“And what of their tsar?” He quickly added with an apologetic smile, “I’m sorry—I won’t make you answer that.”
Alexandra interceded. “Did you enjoy your work as a nurse, Mariana Dmitrievna?”
“Oh, yes, Your Highness, very much so. I felt so useful. However, I did nearly quit when my uncle died.”
“Your uncle was an officer with which regiment?” asked Nicholas.
“He was a private in the Ninth Infantry, sir.”
“A private?” Nicholas cocked a curious eyebrow.
Out of the corner of her eye, Mariana noticed her father shift nervously. She supposed her peasant ties were a skeleton he would have preferred to have remained in the closet. But Mariana was proud of that part of her life.
Alexandra said, “This is most interesting. Do tell us all about it. But first, I believe tea has arrived.”
During tea, prodded by the tsar and tsaritsa’s questions, Mariana related a concise sketch of her unusual family. She kept vague Dmitri’s role in the tale, but implied that he had been forced by circumstances to leave the country. Nicholas was more interested in Sergei and Anna, anyway.
“This Sergei Viktorovich would have sacrificed his position for the woman he loved. A true man of honor,” said Nicholas.
“Oh, yes, he is, Your Highness.”
“And, I recall the same to be true of your grandfather. How is he now?”
“He is well, sir. But distressed, as we all are, about my uncle Sergei’s recent difficulties.”
“I was sorry to hear about that.”
“It’s not your fault, Your Highness.”
“Thank you for saying so, but I am involved because the original offense was against my grandfather. And also because I am in a position to affect the situation.”
“Your Highness, I am appreciative of your concern, especially since you have so many other things on your mind, with the war and all.”
“I would like to help your uncle. I would like to pardon him and restore him to his full place in society.”
“You . . . you would?”
“You deserve no less. You and your family have served the Crown well, even if perhaps you haven’t always agreed with it. I believe you have all paid enough for past indiscretions.”
Sudden tears spilled from Mariana’s eyes, and the empress actually rose and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “My dear, I should like to visit with you again sometime.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said Mariana through her tears, then, in a sudden impulse she kissed Alexandra’s hand tenderly.
On the ride home, Dmitri was positively bursting with pleasure. Though he had been practically ignored during the interview, he was obviously proud at how his daughter had deported herself. Mariana realized with amusement that as Dmitri recounted the experience over and over her father’s role in the event seemed to be growing as they moved farther from the palace, but she didn’t mind his exuberance. Realizing that Dmitri’s monologue would continue, with or without her participation, she returned to the privacy of her own thoughts.
She had met the emperor and empress of Russia—and had not made a fool of herself! In fact, they had actually seemed to like her and wanted to see her again. That alone was almost too much for her to fathom. But on top of it all, Papa Sergei would be freed from prison! And he could be Prince Sergei Fedorcenko once more. Mariana knew that since Viktor’s recovery and reconciliation with his son, Sergei had regretted more than ever that he couldn’t claim his real name.
She was so happy for them. Would her mama now claim her proper title? Princess Anna Fedorcenko. It would fit her very well, for Anna was the most noble person Mariana had ever known.
Only Mariana’s uncertainty about Daniel marred her complete happiness—not only because of her worry for him, but also because he was her best friend and she couldn’t share this extraordinary day with him. He had been in her thoughts, as always, first thing that morning, and was still on her mind and in her heart as the troika pulled up before Anna’s building on Vassily Island. Mariana had asked Dmitri to stop there before going home so she could tell Anna the good news. She wished now she would have asked the tsar more specifically about when he thought Sergei would be released, but it was wise, when one received a boon from an emperor, not to push too far.
Anna answered the door, and Mariana was surprised to see her mama smiling; Anna had been so dismayed about Sergei that she had fallen into a persistently glum mood. Why was she smiling now? Had she already heard the news?
“Mariana, you must have heard,” said Anna.
“About Papa, you mean?”
“No . . . I thought you came here because you had been home and heard about—” Anna stopped abruptly, all color draining from her face. “What about Papa?” Her voice was filled with alarm.
“It’s okay, Mama! Don’t worry—I have good news.” Mariana threw her arms around Anna. “The tsar is going to pardon Papa!”
“Oh, my—!” Sudden tears cut off anything else Anna might have said.
Dmitri came up and patted Anna on the shoulder. “I am so happy for you, Anna,” he said with deep sincerity.
“And so am I,” came a familiar male voice from the parlor doorway.
Mariana’s head jerked up.
“Daniel!”
She left her mama and ran into his open arms, weeping and laughing. For all his lack of brawn, Daniel easily swept her up and swung her around joyfully.