CHAPTER 11

JULY 1918, YEKATERINBURG, RUSSIA

Nana Ruthie, Anya and Fritzie walked down the high street of Yekaterinburg. It had so far been largely untouched by the war, despite its proximity to the strategic Trans-Siberian railway. Red flags flapped in the wind, declaring the town’s allegiance to the Soviet committee that had taken control – without a shot being fired – back in October. And in case anyone was in doubt as to which side of the Red/White divide the citizens of Yekaterinburg were on, hammers and sickles, crudely painted on doors and shutters, marked the town as one wholly embracing the new Russia.

Before packing their meagre belongings into a carpet bag, Nana had tied a red ribbon into Anya’s hair and wrapped a washed-out red scarf around her own, tying it under her chin. She ensured – for the third time that morning – that Anya had their cover story straight: they were domestic servants from Moscow. Their White aristocratic masters, of whom they wholly disapproved, had been arrested. Nana, calling herself Saskia Obledavich, claimed she had been the cook and Anya – renamed Mitza – was her granddaughter. The little dog had been the family pet, but Mitza was fond of it, so they had brought it with them. They were heading east to find some distant relatives whom they hoped would take them in. Who and where these relatives were changed the further east they went. But as they had only been asked their story once before, they had so far got away with it. The reality was, they didn’t look important enough to stop, and no one east of Moscow knew who the Andreiovich family was – apart, perhaps, for the people at the Ipatiev House, and that’s where Nana and Anya were headed.

On the two-mile walk from the train yard to the centre of the industrial town, Nana had made Anya recite nursery rhymes in Russian with a working-class accent. The girl was getting very good at it – perhaps she might have the makings of an actress, or, like Nana herself, a spy. Nana sighed as she remembered when she had first been approached to be the eyes and ears of His Majesty’s government in the Russian court. If she had known then what she knew now, she would have turned down the offer and stayed in her comfortable semi-detached townhouse in Tower Hamlets.

In 1915, she had had a good job working as a translator of trade documents for the Chancellor of the Exchequer at number 11 Downing Street, while her friend, Gertrude King, worked there as governess to Lloyd George’s daughter, Megan. It was well known that the Chancellor had his eye on moving in to Number 10, and he did in fact do so in December the following year. Asquith’s approach to the war was attracting a lot of flak, and Lloyd George was not-so-secretly involving himself in foreign policy. So when Gertrude approached Ruth on behalf of the Chancellor, and asked her to meet with him about a “translation job abroad”, Ruth suspected there was more to it than met the eye. And she was right.

Ruth Broadwood was the daughter of a famous linguist who had travelled the world with the British Foreign Service, writing “phrase books” for the diplomats, to help them get the basics of whatever lingo was spoken in Queen Victoria’s vast colonies. Ruth, whose mother had died when she was young, had accompanied him until he retired after the Boer War. It was an exciting life but, as she approached middle age, she felt the need to set down some roots. She nursed her father until his death in 1910 and then, using his contacts in the Foreign Office, got herself a plum job with the Exchequer. There were a few male eyebrows raised that she was the “wrong” gender, but none of the other applicants could rival her vast knowledge of world languages. And it was this that had attracted David Lloyd George to her – that and the fact that she looked like a typical British spinster, straight out of a Brontë novel.

So after a bit of training in how to be a governess and the basics of espionage, she travelled to St Petersburg with forged references from some minor British royals. She was to be a back-up governess to the Romanov children in case the main governess fell ill. But as it turned out, the existing governess was in robust health and during the year she spent in the Winter Palace, she never got to see the children once. In 1916, the tsarina suggested her time would be better spent elsewhere, and sent her to the house of a distant cousin in Moscow.

Ruth was frustrated by the move but unable to say no to the Russian empress. The purpose of her deployment to the Romanov court had been because of Lloyd George’s concerns that the tsarina’s much-rumoured dalliance with the “mad monk” Rasputin would precipitate a Bolshevik-led revolt that would ultimately lead Russia out of the war, freeing Germany and the Austro-Hungarians to concentrate all their efforts on the Western Front. Lloyd George wanted eyes and ears in the court. Ruth reported what she could to her contact at the British embassy, but as she never quite got into the family’s inner circle, she was limited as to what she could see and hear. Just before her redeployment to Moscow there was talk of “indisposing” the existing governess – much to Ruth’s alarm. But it never came to that. And as it transpired, the Moscow placement turned out to be far more fruitful.

Count Sergei Andreiovich was a military advisor to the tsar. He had been sent to France as a liaison officer to the Western allies in 1914 and relayed information back and forth between the Russian government and the Allied military top brass. However, early in 1915 he disappeared – some said he was dead, some said he had gone undercover as a spy, but no one really knew. Until, that is, Nana Ruthie moved into 67 Ulitsa Ostozhenka to look after little Anya.

The house was much smaller than the royal palace and she had easy access to all parts of it. Using the training she had received from the Secret Service, she was quickly finding and copying letters and overhearing snippets of conversation that suggested Andreiovich had become disillusioned with the tsar and tsarina’s increasingly autocratic style and had joined forces with some reformers, trying to influence Nicholas II to bring about democratic reforms before a revolution erupted. He had voiced his views to some fellow officers who, it seemed, turned on him. He was shot trying to get away. Allied troops found him, nursed him back to health and then he claimed asylum. He now feared for his family’s future in Russia and wanted them to leave and come to Paris. However, his exact whereabouts were unknown.

Nana Ruthie relayed all of this information to her contact at the British embassy, who declared it to be “most useful” and instructed her to stay in place. Then, one afternoon in March 1917, she struck gold. The lady of the house received a visit from Princess Selena Romanova Yusopova. Nana had seen Selena on the London stage during a tour of the Bolshoi, and met her briefly at the Winter Palace in St Petersburg. She had also read a file on her, provided by the Secret Service, marking her as a “person of interest”. Nana Ruthie could not imagine for a moment why the silly, affected prima donna might be a person of interest to British Intelligence, but after reading the file she changed her mind.

Princess Selena had once been completely and inexplicably in love with Vladimir Lenin, despite him being happily married with children. It seemed as if Lenin had seen Selena on tour in Paris and presented her with a bouquet of flowers in appreciation of her performance in Shaw’s Arms and the Man. Selena read a coded romantic overture into the gesture and started following Lenin’s career. She attended a few Bolshevik meetings, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, and in London tried to get Emmeline Pankhurst and Dorothy Denby to introduce her to him. She eventually did get to meet him and he, thinking she might genuinely be interested in Bolshevism, politely entertained her.

Back home in Russia, she kept up a casual association with local Bolshevik intelligentsia who frequented theatrical circles. Her family were surprisingly unalarmed by Selena’s flirtation with left-wing politics, seeing it as just another expression of her “eccentricity”, and turned a blind eye to her pale-pink leanings. The file did not suggest that she was a serious Bolshevik, just that she had friends in Bolshevik circles who might try to use her connections with the royal family to further their aims. It never occurred to whoever compiled the file that Selena might genuinely be complicit in an anti-royal plot.

A few weeks after the February Revolution, which had forced through reforms and the abdication of the tsar, but not yet brought in full Bolshevik rule, Princess Selena visited Countess Sofia Andreiovich. As soon as Nana Ruthie heard the two women were going to take tea in the conservatory she slipped in ahead of them and positioned herself behind an elephant fern. She was far enough away for them not to hear her breathing, but close enough, with the acoustics of the tiled floor and glass walls, to hear whatever confidences they might share. And after a little bit of chit-chat, they got down to business…

“It really shouldn’t have come to this; if only Nicky and Alix had listened to people like Sergei,” commented Sofia.

“Yes, Sergei would never have wanted them to abdicate. They just needed to be a bit more sensible about everything. Now look where we are,” observed Selena.

“In the middle of a revolution.”

“Surely not the middle, Sofia. Last month’s goings on will be the last of it, I’m sure.”

“Are you? I can’t say I’m convinced of that – not at all. The people are angry. It won’t be long until the Red Gnome –”

“If you mean Vladimir –”

“Lenin. Of course. Don’t look at me like that; you know what he’s capable of.”

Selena sniffed and took on an offended tone. “He is capable of great things.”

“Don’t be a fool! This is not one of your silly plays. You cannot take off your costume and go home after the curtain falls. This is the new Russia. There is no going back. And by the looks of things, there’s going to be bloodshed… oh, for heaven’s sake, Selena. Sit down.”

“I will not have Vladimir spoken of like that!”

Sofia’s voice softened as if speaking to a child or a startled pony. “All right, I’m sorry. I hope you’re right about him. But that’s not why you came, is it? To discuss the – to discuss Lenin.”

From her vantage point Nana Ruthie could only see the two women’s feet. Selena reached down and opened her bag. She took out something about the size of a grapefruit wrapped in cloth. She sat up, taking the object out of Nana’s eyeline. Whatever it was made Sofia gasp.

“How did you get that?”

“Alix gave it to me. She asked me to make sure it was kept safe. She’s scared that the Bolsheviks will loot the palace. I told her, of course, that they would do no such thing… What? Oh, do stop it, Sofia, or I shall leave. I came here needing your help, and this is the way you treat me –”

Sofia sighed. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. You were saying… about the egg…”

Selena humphed and Nana Ruthie could imagine her folding her arms over her spectacular chest.

“I’m sorry, Selena…”

“All right. Apology accepted. So Alix has got it into her head that all the Romanov treasure is going to be looted and scattered to the masses. So she’s asked me – and a few others – to ensure some key pieces are kept safe. Will you be a treasure-keeper, Sofia?”

“You want me to keep a royal Fabergé Easter egg?”

“Just until things settle down. Will you?”

“I suppose so. At least until Sergei and – at least until I have decided whether or not the family is going to leave.”

“I’m so sorry. I forgot about poor Sergei. Is there any news?”

“No.”

“Do you fear the worst?”

“I do not, Selena, and I would appreciate it if you did not voice such morbid thoughts.”

“Of course. That was quite insensitive of me. So… the egg… will you?”

Sofia sighed again. “Yes, I’ll do it. Give it here.”

“Before I do, there is something you should know. In case – well – in case Alix is right and things get – well, things get out of hand. I’m sure they won’t. Vladimir won’t let it, but…”

“What is it?”

“Let me show you.”

Nana Ruthie repositioned herself, desperate to see. She risked the women seeing her, but…

“It’s a key! A tiny key!”

Nana still couldn’t see. If she shifted a little this way…

“A very important key. So important in fact that the old tsar – Uncle Alex – asked Monsieur Fabergé to hide it in one of these eggs.”

“What is it a key to?”

Nana Ruthie could finally see. Just a little bit, but enough. Sofia held a ruby and diamond encrusted golden egg on her lap. A tiny compartment was open and she held an equally tiny key in the palm of her hand. Nana wished she had seen how the compartment had been opened, but she would have to figure that out later. If she ever managed to see the egg again. For now she needed to concentrate on what Selena was saying…

“It’s a key to another egg. And in that one there’s a map.”

“Do you have that egg too?”

“No. Someone else does. Alix and Nicky thought it wise that each treasure-keeper does not know who has the companion egg to their own. The contents of the map are – how should I put it? – incendiary.”

“Oh?”

“Oh yes. They show the location of a secret vault.” Selena’s voice took on a theatrical timbre. “If the contents fall into the wrong hands…”

Nana saw Selena take the egg and key from Sofia and close the secret compartment. She opened and closed it again for good measure. Ah, so that’s how it’s done; that ruby there…

Sofia had an incredulous look on her face. “No offence intended, Selena dear, but why would Alix and Nicky entrust this to you? They fear the Bolsheviks, and they know you have – well – Bolshevik friends…”

Selena sat bolt upright. “My loyalty to the family has never been brought into question! And never will. Alexandra trusts me, she always has, even though she and I differed over Rasputin – as did you and she…”

“Indeed. I for one was glad he died. Shocked by the way it happened – whatever was Felix thinking? – but not unhappy that he had finally gone. Which is my point exactly. We saw things differently. Why then is she trusting you – and me – with my husband a known reformer?”

“For exactly that reason. No one would suspect us. It’s genius!”

Sofia did not look convinced, but curiosity got the better of her. “So… what’s in this vault?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“You don’t know.”

“I most certainly do. I told you: Alix trusts me. And just to prove how much, let me tell you.” Her voice became sotto voce; Nana Ruthie could imagine her on stage at the Bolshoi or the Royal Albert Hall. “There are secret documents pertaining to all the royal houses of Europe. You know that between them Nicky and Alix are related to them all. Well, so was the late tsar – and Empress Maria Federovna.”

Sofia’s voice was disdainful. “Of course, everyone knows that!”

“But what they don’t know is that Tsar Alexander had been collecting incriminating evidence that could bring down every monarchy on the continent. He kept it for insurance. Just in case he needed their help or they decided one day to turn on him.”

Sofia opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again. She was an intelligent woman – far more so than Selena – and Nana realized that she was weighing up the probability of whether or not Selena was telling the truth. And if she was, what it might mean to her circumstances.

“So, if I help you…”

“Not me – Nicky and Alix…”

“So if I help Nicky and Alix, will they help me?”

“I’m sure they will. If they can.”

“Indeed. If they can. And that’s a big ‘if’. However, I have nothing to lose. Sergei is still missing and I will need all the help I can get to find him. I believe the tsar knows where he is. So yes, go and tell them I will help them. I will keep the egg – for now – but in return I want everything Nicky knows about Sergei’s whereabouts.”

“And if he does not know…”

“Oh, he knows. And if he wants his little secret kept secret, he will have to help me. Do we have a deal?”

Selena looked at her cousin and handed over the egg. “We have a deal.”

 

Nana Ruthie, Anya and Fritzie walked past the wrought iron gates of the Ipatiev House, flanked by two Bolshevik guards. Nana instructed Anya not to look in. They would not be entering the residence the conventional way. This was just a reconnaissance.

Nana felt the little key on the silver chain, cool against her chest, and gripped Anya’s hand more tightly.