The Romanovs

I must now pause in this narrative, for a moment, to convey to you my impressions of the Imperial Family as I came to know them: physically, medically, personally.

However, one thing I must relate in general, the Imperial Family truly loved each other dearly. And this in particular, the Tsar and Tsarina were devotedly still in love, even after more than twenty years of marriage, the turmoil of a monstrous revolution, the loss of their crowns and continuous threats to their lives and those of their children. In fact, the Tsar still referred to the Tsarina by his nickname for her, ‘Sonny.’

Please also note this, that before the revolution, and to the best of knowledge even to this date, there had been no hard words spoken or written about the Grand Duchesses, so kind and beloved were they.

Tsar Nicholas II, though only fifty, had aged considerably from his last, published photographs. His beard had gone prematurely grey, as had his temples. His soft, grey eyes, even when happy, still showed great pain.

Though only about five-feet-six, while his father, Alexander III had been six-foot-six, and his uncle, the Grand Duke Nicolai was close to seven feet tall, the Tsar gave the impression of additional height with a ‘Maypole posture,’ which means moving with a very erect carriage. To see this small, powerless man, once a god on earth, carrying his beloved son in his arms in the summer sun, was quite touching, indeed.

As it turned out, the Tsar loved the outdoors. He told us once that his favourite comment to his wife when she would gently reprimand him about his strenuous outdoor exercises, was this: “Sonny, scratch any Russian, and there’s a peasant beneath.” So perhaps because of his regular exercise, the Tsar was in excellent health, considering all he had been through.

Because he spoke English perfectly, as did all the Imperial Family, Holmes and I were able to converse with him at great length. We were both charmed by his adroit sense of humour, and a basic innate kindness that we could not help noting was so at odds with how the press had always portrayed him.

The Tsar had been trained from childhood to be aloof and reserved. Yet from all his misfortune had sprung a gentle, fairly open inquisitiveness; and when conditions were safe, we saw him on many occasions speaking even to Reilly’s men, who had been instructed to treat the Imperial Family with the utmost of deference still. I even noticed one or two of the men hold their caps when speaking to members of the family; one even called the Tsarina ‘Matushka.’

The Tsarina Alexandra had recently become forty-six, and she, even more than the Tsar, had aged tremendously.

When she married the Tsar, she had been one of the great beauties of Europe. She was the daughter of Queen Victoria’s daughter, Alice, making her first cousin to both King George and Kaiser Wilhelm. Indeed, she grew up as the Grand Duchess of Hesse-Darmstadt.

Now her once thick, chestnut hair, had harsh lines of grey coursing through, and her complexion, once perfect, was pallid and heavily lined. Though she suffered from irregular heartbeat, migraine headaches and long bouts of melancholia, I diagnosed her state to be more of mind than of body. Her melancholic nature had finally completely taken hold, and even though she was deeply immersed in her adopted religion of Russian Orthodoxy, or perhaps because of it, the more mystical side of her nature reinforced her melancholia, and she simply wished to die. It was as simple as that.

I also believe strongly another contributing factor here was that the Tsarina blamed herself for Alexei’s haemophilia; and this retreat from life was her way of taking revenge on herself for the suffering she had brought to her boy.

Because of this, she was especially close to Alexei, looking after him as would a nurse. Among the girls, however, the Grand Duchess Tatiana seemed her pet.

Though Holmes and I tried, in the few days we could, the Tsarina would not permit us into her ever-shrinking world; though she thanked me profusely for treating Alexei so successfully.

Alexei was a high-spirited fourteen-year-old boy in the diseased body of a boy much younger. He was exceptionally thin, this a combination of his most recent encounter with his disease, the constant torment he and his family had been under, and a mild case of malnutrition.

Alexei, like his mother, seemed to be finally giving up. He had not been taking food well recently. One can only guess at what the emotions of such a sensitive boy could be, based upon all that had happened, especially to his father who he absolutely revered.

His large, dark eyes, though at times lively, were also old. They seemed to bear unfathomable secrets of the ages.

I grew quite close to Alexei, since it was he I was especially there for, and because I came to look upon him as the son I missed so terribly, and would come to miss even more as events forced me to stay away.

The Grand Duchess Olga was the eldest of the children. She was beautiful, as were all the Grand Duchesses, but at twenty-two, she was already a woman with a strong will of her own; and a deep suspicion because of all that had happened, that she would never share with a man the love and tenderness akin to her parents’. This distressed her greatly, although she never spoke of it outwardly.

She was tall, about five-foot-six, with what my mother would have called ‘sunlight-brown’ hair, and large, expressive, blue eyes. Although her royal temperament flared at times, showing she might be more like her mother than her father, it appeared that she showed her love for the Tsar more than the other Grand Duchesses did.

She was generally thoughtful and unaffected and in as good health as could be expected under the circumstances; although, she was still quite thin from her bout with measles which all the Grand Duchesses had come down with shortly before the family was shipped out of Petrograd.

The Grand Duchess Marie was as close to the Tsar’s peasant adage as you could get in the Imperial Family. She was quite robust and strongly-built, and I was told that in her healthier days, she could lift her tutor. Now, she, too, was still abnormally thin from the measles.

At eighteen, Marie was the most simple of the Grand Duchesses in her tastes and quite surprisingly middle class in her attitude about family. I suspect she got that from observing how content her mother and father had been with each other and with the children.

The youngest of the girls, the Grand Duchess Anastasia, was sixteen, and the soul of the party, so to speak. Anastasia loved to make her family laugh, especially her brother, and would go to extreme lengths to send her loved ones into fits. She once stuffed napkins in her nose, swung her arm like a pachyderm’s trunk, and galumphed around claiming she was a gift from her dear cousin, George, the Emperor of India.

Anastasia was still at that awkward, ungainly stage, small and squat, and telling me that soon she would be as tall and slim and beautiful and elegant as her sisters. She absolutely idolized them all. And she was especially proud of the colour of her hair, which was very near spun gold, so beautifully did it shine in the sun.

I have saved my description of the Grand Duchess Tatiana for last because she will play such a prominent part in the rest of this journal. Tatiana was one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, excepting Mary and Elizabeth. At twenty, she was the tallest of the Grand Duchesses, five-feet-seven, the most elegant, and the thinnest, also, from the measles. She had magnificent dark hair, obviously inherited from her mother, a darker complexion than any in her family, and the most magnificent, gently slanted, blue eyes you could ever hope to look into.

She had also inherited her mother’s reserved manner, and kept to herself more than the other Grand Duchesses, always seemingly lost in some deep thought. Yet who knows what truly stirs the depths beneath a tranquil ocean’s surface? And without a doubt, she was her mother’s pet.

I loved to look at Tatiana because she was so beautiful, and because I missed my wife so. But Tatiana was a human work of art, so graceful in her locomotion, so perfect of proportion. And like all the Grand Duchesses, so innocent of many things.

Thus ends my very brief, general description of the Imperial Family. Much more of substance shall be related as my journal continues.

Our locomotive was moving quickly, Reilly’s men with captured machine guns on the roofs of the cars, the last car in use as a barracks.

The Imperial Family had been put into the various compartments of our railway car; the curtains drawn and their doors shut. The Tsar, Tsarina and Alexei were in Holmes’ and my old compartment, Marie and Tatiana in Reilly’s, Olga and Anastasia in another. Holmes and I would be sharing what used to be the compartment of Stravitski and Obolov. Reilly and Obolov were to stay in the barracks car.

By now we’d all been told about Stravitski, but Obolov just could not believe that his dear friend had been taken from him twice like this. Obolov would not be the same as before and since Reilly saw this, he began to distance himself from Obolov and draw closer to Lt. Zimin.

We were all tense and nervous, except Holmes, fearing an attack at any moment, not knowing if around the next turn the tracks would be blown and the Reds would be waiting.

But amazingly, nothing happened that night. In fact, by four A.M., all except the Imperial Family were dozing in the salon.

July 19, 1918

I awoke about eight to find Anastasia standing in the salon looking from man to man. Since I was the first to open his eyes, she smiled at me and asked, “What are we to do about breakfast?”

With those words all others awakened, and Reilly asked her to return to her compartment; it was dangerous for her to be out, and food would be brought into the salon shortly for her family.

I am not sure, but I think she flirted with Reilly as she thanked him and rushed back to her compartment. As she closed her door, I heard her excited voice saying something to Olga. If she was like any other sixteen-year-old girl, I can guess at the conversation she had with her sister.

Reilly said something to Obolov and he left the car. Then he turned to Holmes and me.

“There is much we must discuss.”

“Indeed,” said Holmes.

“First, now that there is time, I thank you both for helping save my life.” Holmes waved his hand dismissively.

Reilly continued. “Nevertheless, I’m told you’re both responsible for the Imperial Family’s rescue from Ekaterinburg. I don’t know yet how you accomplished their rescue in unison with mine and my men, and I’m sure Preston and Thomas had something to do with it, but what you did was nothing short of miraculous.”

“I’m sure there are many people who would agree with you,” answered Holmes. We all smiled.

“Yes, well, I’ve sent Obolov for food. I’ll have to watch him now. Anyway, this is the last time he’ll be permitted in this car. I will come and go, and you shall be free to do likewise when it’s safe, but the Imperial Family will remain in this car for all our sakes.”

Then he said to himself, but really to us, “I wonder why Yurovsky has not come after us?”

“He may do so or not,” said Holmes, “and if not, it is thanks to some papers I left on Father Storozhev’s desk.”

“Papers? What papers?” I asked.

Holmes was about to answer when the Tsar appeared at the edge of the salon. We were startled.

“I hope I have not disturbed you, gentlemen.”

“No, no, not at all, your Imperial Majesty,” we embarrassedly mumbled, or words to that effect.

“It is just that I first would like to thank you all, though I still do not know who you are, for saving the lives of my family. They are more precious to me than my crown. I am sure I shall know in time who is behind this, but it is you directly to whom I owe my undying gratitude. I only pray that I may someday be in a position of repaying in part the insurmountable debt I owe you all.”

By the time the Tsar had finished his thanks, his eyes were filled with tears. He dabbed at them and made light of his discomfort with the following:

“On a more mundane note, my son and wife are getting quite hungry, and they have sent me to you in hopes of procuring something to eat.”

It was Reilly who spoke, and it suddenly dawned on us as we saw it dawn on Reilly’s face, that he was not sure how to address the Tsar. Would it be Your Imperial Majesty, or would it be Citizen Romanov? His decision would shape the Imperial Family’s journey.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” said Reilly, “The Grand Duchess Anastasia, not more than two minutes ago, asked the same question; and upon receiving an answer vanished back into her compartment.” Holmes and I could see the Tsar seemingly gain inches upon being addressed so deferentially. He became more erect, while a small, grateful smile took hold on his lips. The smile, in turn, gave way to a small laugh. “And what was the answer?”

“Forgive me, Your Imperial Majesty, breakfast is being brought to us as we speak. When it arrives I shall inform you and your family so that you can come to the salon, if that is all right with you.”

“I believe it will be, yes. I shall go and speak with the Tsarina about it.”

I stopped him from leaving.

“Your Imperial Majesty, if your son is awake, I should like to examine him and see how he is doing. I am a doctor.”

The Tsar remembered and was most apologetic.

“Oh, yes, yes, of course. Thank you doctor for your care of my son. Just give me a moment to speak with the Tsarina and I shall call you in.”

His handshake was firm and tender at the same time. “Thank you again,” said he. He then made his way back to his compartment.

“Bravo,” said Holmes to Reilly, “you have put heart in a man who has had his ripped out. You have done well, comrade.”

Reilly looked embarrassed.

“Yes, well, it couldn’t hurt, after all. Anyway, I must...” Reilly stopped in mid-sentence and looked to our rear. Holmes and I turned to see what caused this interruption and found, standing there, the Grand Duchess Tatiana. She was staring intently at Reilly as he at her. Now it was I who felt embarrassed, as if I was somewhere I should not be. Or that I had walked in on two lovers.

By Jove, that was it! I could not believe it. I would have been willing to wager a year of my life, and would win that bet as you shall see, that Reilly had fallen in love, at first sight, mind you, with the Grand Duchess Tatiana. With truth being stranger than fiction, she was likewise fascinated by Reilly.

Holmes, being Holmes, and not having much interest in such matters, interrupted their reverie with a gracious, “Your Imperial Highness, may we help you?”

Tatiana kept her eyes on Reilly as she likewise inquired about breakfast, and it was Holmes who told her, with Reilly and Tatiana still looking at each other, what had just been told to her father.

She finally took her eyes to Holmes, thanked him and left, halting for a split second, but not turning.

I looked at Reilly. “I think I had better speak with you,” I said.

“Not now, Dr. Watson,” said Reilly absentmindedly, and left Holmes and me alone in the salon.

I smiled, put my hand on Holmes’ shoulder and said, “Holmes, my friend, that hard-hearted, cold, calculating, murderous rogue named Relinsky, has just had his entire character changed in the flash of an eyelash.”

Holmes looked at me.

“Holmes,” I was laughing now, “he has fallen in love with Tatiana.”

“Furthermore, I am positive that she has fallen in love with him.”

With that revelation and a roll of his eyes, Holmes sat down.

I examined Alexei with both the Tsar and Tsarina looking on, and saw that the swelling on his right arm where the guard had hit him was continuing to go down. This was excellent. What was imperative, however, was that Alexei take food. I said this to him in a mock form of admonishment, and maybe because I was new, or had helped rescue his family, Alexei promised to try.

We left the Imperial Family alone to eat, with two of Reilly’s men attending them. Holmes, Reilly, Obolov and I ate in the last car. As we partook of breakfast, still thrilled with our luck, we began passing through Kungur.

Reilly had told the soldier-engineer to slow down while going through Kungur but not to stop. We held our breath in fear of Red barricades. There were none.

It was at this point Reilly inquired about all that had happened the night before, which Holmes told him; and that Holmes inquired about the events at Cheka headquarters, which Reilly told us.

Then Reilly asked Holmes about our ‘luck,’ and what the papers Holmes left for Yurovsky had to do with it. I myself was about to ask that question, and was absolutely astounded, as was Reilly, with Holmes’ answer.

“Well, gentlemen, my idea came when Preston said something about everyone wanting the Romanovs, but he wasn’t sure if it was dead or alive. Then Yurovsky went on about how the Romanovs were his responsibility and how he could not afford to let them fall into the hands of the Whites.

“So I left a little note for our friend, Yurovsky, telling him that he was absolutely correct in his mistrust of us and that we were, in fact, White agents.”

Reilly practically knocked over the table, so quick was he to sit bolt upright. “You said what?”

“Sit down, comrade, and listen further.”

“My ears won’t tolerate madness, comrade,” spat Reilly.

“Well, I have not bayed at the moon lately,” said Holmes. “I told him we represented powerful international forces that knew the Whites were eventually doomed, and all they wanted was the safe exit of the Romanovs from Russia. For that, they would keep the true fate of the Romanovs an eternal secret, because they also knew the Reds would stop at nothing anywhere in the world to have them killed if it was known they were alive.

“I reminded him that the Whites would, in fact, be in Ekaterinburg any time now, as we all knew, and that other White forces were heading down from the northwest, which they are, in a pincer movement. This would undoubtedly force Yurovsky to consider one of four possibilities.

“The first being that he and Beleborodov, the Chairman of the Urals Regional Soviet, and all the local Bolsheviks, surrender to the Whites; who, of course, will most certainly put them to death immediately.

“The second being that they try to break through the overwhelming White forces, which they most probably will not be able to do. Once captured and found to be the jailers of the Romanovs, they will be lucky if they are merely executed.

“The third, that if they do break through and make it into Bolshevik territory again, they will be arrested by either the Red Army or the Cheka for letting the Romanovs fall into White hands without a struggle; and they will most certainly be executed.

“Finally the fourth possibility, and one of my own devising. What if they leave evidence proving they have killed the Romanovs? Moscow will be pleased that the decision of what to do with the Romanovs has been taken out of their hands, and they can show their hands as clean to humanity. It will show how strongly committed the common people are. How their revolution has now finally and completely swept the old order away and enabled a new order to emerge supreme.

“The news of such an event will halt the onrush of the Whites since they have only been converging on Ekaterinburg with the intention of freeing the Romanovs. It may even throw the entire White counter-revolution into disarray because the symbol of what they had been fighting for has now been removed. Even if they hold up their advance ever so slightly, it will give better odds that Yurovsky and his men can slither out of the vice before it is too late.

“I reminded him about the deserted mines called ‘The Four Brothers,’ just outside of town, and suggested that this is where they claim the bodies were disposed of. Since it is a mining town, there are plentiful supplies of acids and chemicals which may be used to destroy as much false evidence as possible; including bones they should disinter from the local graveyard. Since Ekaterinburg is the epicentre of the fighting at the moment, no one should question in minutiae the evidence of the Romanovs’ deaths, if it is handled wisely and adroitly. How they choose to portray their method of execution I left to Yurovsky.

“In case he felt like a gambler and decided to follow us or wire ahead once the lines were back up, I also reminded him about the orders signed by Lenin himself. How would other Red forces behave? Especially the Cheka in Perm, from whence we had just come and who knew of Lenin’s safe order of passage; they of course did not, but Yurovsky did not know this. How indeed would they react after Colonel Relinsky’s account of the offhand dismissal of Comrade Lenin’s orders, and the counter-revolutionary actions on the part of a Regional Commissar of Justice who is obviously now terrified of losing his life because of his irrational actions in the face of advancing White Armies? Oh, I laid it on with a thick brush, all right.

“Of course, I could not write Russian, so I had Thomas do it. That was why he was not with us for a time. He was busy translating my notes into Russian.

“I also suggested they bring Preston and Thomas into this affair in the following fashion, for they most certainly shall not be able to keep them out of it: Yurovsky, when asked about the shooting of the previous night, shall tell Preston that Relinsky escaped, and with the aid of myself and Watson, made a foolish, and ultimately unsuccessful attempt at freeing the Imperial Family. He will state, of course, that he knows Preston and Thomas had nothing to do with this; because even if he would like to murder them for the sake of murdering someone, he needs them as credible witnesses and as contacts to London.

“He shall insist that Preston let London know, through his ambassador in Moscow, of course, of this latest White outrage, and that there can no longer be a guarantee of Romanov safety. Since no one except the guards has access to the Ipatiev House, no one will know that they are no longer there. As usual, Preston shall demand to see the Imperial Family, Yurovsky can, as usual, refuse. It shall seem like business as usual and buy Yurovsky time to fake the executions.”

Reilly and I just sat there staring at Holmes. Finally it was Reilly who spoke.

“That is the most fantastic scheme I have ever heard. It is either the work of a true genius or the demented imaginings of a raving lunatic.”

Holmes looked at him and asked, “Which do you favour?”

“I am not yet sure,” said Reilly quietly, “I am not yet sure.”

“Well, whilst you decide, I am certain that Yurovsky has already secretly met with Beleborodov and Yermakov on my proposals, and perhaps even with key leaders of the guards to explain to the rank and file their imminent peril should the truth be known; and this blissful quietude to which we are heir is the result of their direct inaction.

“Now, if you don’t mind, whatever this is that I was trying to eat has grown quite cold.”

Holmes and I decided not to return to the Imperial Family’s car. We would give them complete privacy. Of course I would attend Alexei a few times a day but we would not enter the car unless summoned by a member of the family.

Just as night came, well past Kungur and in the middle of the eternal emptiness that is the vast body of Russia, Reilly halted the train because he felt the Imperial Family, and his men as well, needed a half-hour’s relaxation after the previous night’s exertions; and here, quite in the middle of nothing, it seemed safe to do so. Furthermore, he confided, given all that was happening on this gigantic field of play, he was not sure when we would again have this opportunity.

I also think it might have been something more.

Reilly asked me to inform the Imperial Family of his orders, and to stress the importance of their partaking of the freedom of the night with its moon and soothing air. I did.

I stayed in the salon while the Tsar spoke with the Tsarina and the Grand Duchesses, and after a few moments, all, except the Tsarina, appeared with wide smiles on their faces; Alexei, of course, in the arms of his father.

They followed me outside, where some guards had already taken defensive positions, and began to stroll the countryside, the girls picking a few wildflowers for themselves and their mother; Marie kissing her father on the cheek and presenting him with a bouquet.

I watched the guards watching them, and saw the smiles on these men’s faces, obviously thinking of their own families, and, I believe, wishing our charges well.

Then I saw Reilly was moving back and forth quite strangely, as if he could not make up his mind about something. I did not have to strain my intellectual powers to guess on what he was thinking, and had my suspicions confirmed when the Imperial Family broke up into smaller groups, Tatiana and Olga going off together. Reilly walked over to them.

He saluted them quite correctly and they acknowledged his salute in the best Imperial manner. Then the three walked slowly in circles talking, Tatiana and Olga sometimes laughing.

Reilly was working his magic once more.

After no more than fifteen minutes or so, Reilly and the Grand Duchesses began coming back, and Reilly signalled to the others in the Imperial Family to do likewise.

They all re-boarded the train, Reilly helping the Grand Duchesses up with the gentle strength of his hand, and I watched as Reilly’s and Tatiana’s hands remained as one for just a touch longer than the rest.

July 9, 1918

This evening, the guard at the door of the Imperial Family’s car told us the Tsar wished Holmes, Reilly and me to join his family. This we did with alacrity.

It was at this session, again with the Tsarina absent, that we explained as much as we could to the Tsar of the true events of the world outside his confinement, which deeply distressed the family. We also explained who we were and the dangers that could well lie ahead.

At the sound of our names, the Tsar became wonderfully excited, as did Alexei. It seems that many were the times the Tsar had read to Alexei my accounts of the adventures of Sherlock Holmes, and even the Grand Duchesses had a vague understanding of who we were.

Holmes and I were absolutely surprised to learn that on one of the Tsar’s holidays with King George, he had even said that when he could bring Alexei to England, he would love to have his cousin arrange an audience for us.

Alexei became something of a grand inquisitor, firing rapid and numerous questions at us. These were not idle questions, but specific questions about specific cases and they were all intelligent questions. It was a joy to behold, and I saw the happiness on the Tsar’s face as he watched his boy come alive.

The Grand Duchesses talked among themselves, and to Reilly, with the bulk of Reilly’s attention being paid to Tatiana. At one point, I am positive I saw the Tsar notice this mutual interest, and then turn back to Holmes with an understanding in his eyes and in his smile of precisely what was happening between his daughter and Reilly. If I was correct, I thought to myself, then this man was truly a very unique man and father, indeed. Given our circumstances, and the extreme tenuousness of our very existence, the Tsar was tacitly giving his daughter permission to love for perhaps the only time in her life she might do so.

July 10, 1918

This morning we arrived in Perm. Even though the Imperial Family knew to stay closeted inside, Reilly thought it best to impart a gentle reminder. Then, with Lt. Zimin, and leaving Obolov with the guards at the train, Reilly left to go to Cheka headquarters and Colonel Mikoyan.

He returned in an hour. Yes, the lines to Ekaterinburg were finally restored and no, there had been no unusual messages. Either luck, or Holmes, or a combination of the two, was working overtime.

Reilly also informed us that he thought it best for us to leave as soon as fresh water, food and fuel could be put aboard. He said he finally did show the Lenin papers to Colonel Mikoyan, in command in Perm, who was very correct and, Reilly laughed, seemed to regard the papers he touched as sacred articles once he realized who had signed them. There would be no trouble in Perm.

Though the colonel would have liked to know who or what was aboard the train, Reilly simply asked to be alone with the colonel, as if to take him into his utmost, deepest confidence, and then told him that the train was carrying something so secret, that even Comrade Trotsky did not know. This was a private, and highly personal mission that he, Colonel Relinsky was undertaking for Lenin. Relinsky then leered and laughed to the colonel to give him the impression this mission involved women. The colonel understood immediately and laughed and leered in response.

Now Mikoyan, his chest puffed out, could regale his comrades about the highly personal affairs he was privy to about Comrade Lenin. Reilly had done a masterful job. Holmes and I shook our heads in amusement, and Reilly, after asking if everything was in order in the Imperial Family’s car, went about seeing to his men.

We left Perm three hours later, and had a very good laugh to see, as we pulled out, our Cheka colonel waving us off at the station, complete with what appeared to be a small guard of honour.

The day concluded without further incident, the only matter of note being Reilly’s increasing sense of “not finding a place for myself,” as he put it. Plain and simple, the man wanted to see Tatiana and he could not just go barging in on her. He was ridiculously restless, and for the two seconds I saw him stop his movements, which resembled a June bug racing from flower to flower, plus the look on his face, an uneasy feeling that took hold that he was actually wishing for something untoward to happen so he could again rescue his maiden fair.

He did not have too much longer to wait.

July 11, 1918

By seven A.M., our train had come to a slight pass between Glazov and Kirov. Reilly, Holmes, Obolov and I had risen about an hour earlier and this was just as well as a shell landed near enough to shake us almost off our feet. It appeared that our journey was no longer going to be without incident. Before Holmes and I could even gather our thoughts, Reilly was on his way to Tatiana’s car.

In an effort to elude further shells, the train gathered speed as it continued through the pass. Then, just as a decent speed had been reached, the emergency brake was pulled. The track in front of us had been blown and everyone in our car was sent careening to the floor or smashing against the walls as the train screeched to a halt.

My first concern was for Alexei. I began to run to his car as Holmes and the men scrambled outside for cover. The guards on the roof were already returning fire with our captured machine guns.

The ladies of the Imperial Family were being directed by Reilly to exit the car as quickly as possible, and I was relieved to see Alexei being carried out by the Tsar, who gave me a quick nod that the boy was all right.

Reilly helped the Tsarina down to a waiting guard, and everyone was directed to seek shelter behind a small incline on the obverse side of the direction from where the shelling originated.

Reilly told me he was off to organise his men, and also said that if the shelling continued, we were finished. We could not stand up to a sustained artillery bombardment. Then, before I could say anything, he glanced at Tatiana and rushed off.

The shelling continued with me thanking the Lord mightily that our enemy’s aim was so poor. Anastasia was crying, as was the Tsarina, Marie trying to comfort her sister. The Tsar was holding Alexei’s head down despite his son’s best efforts to get a better view of the battle. Tatiana held her mother tightly and Olga was flat on the ground, her hands covering her head in the instinctive, protective position.

A shell hit the rear of the soldiers’ car, only blowing apart the rear platform. Our guards on the roof were trying to fire towards the artillery to keep them from shelling our positions, but without much success. I saw some of our guards fall, either wounded or killed. I could not go to their aid.

While all this was going on I was also wondering if Holmes was safe, but knew, of course, he would be. It was then I heard bugles coming from our rear. When I turned to see from where, and from whom, the sound came, I was astonished to see another train stopping behind us; a train, like ours, flying the red flags of revolution.

We were the ones caught in the vice. The Reds had us trapped and now my only thought was that I would never again see Elizabeth or John.

Then, much to my surprise and relief, I saw that the Red troops pouring out of the train were firing not on us, but at the direction from which the shelling came. For whatever reason, they were there to help us, not attack us. While thanking the Lord for this bizarre deliverance, and wondering heavily at what God hath wrought, I received the answer to my question. Colonel Mikoyan appeared from the train, directing his troops against the ridges in front of us.

It was at that moment I realized I must get the Imperial Family back into their compartments. If they were seen by any of these new troops, our game would be up. Since I was the only man now with them, I screamed at them to get back into the train and to be quick about it. They did not know why, but they obeyed immediately, I personally lifting the Tsarina aboard.

I got them all back into their compartments, grabbed a rifle from the hand of a dead guard on the coupling, closed the door from the outside, and felt, but just for an instant, that I was a young surgeon again at Maiwand.

My brief reverie was interrupted by one of the new troops. He was trying to climb aboard the car. I pushed him back with the side of my rifle and he began calling to some of the other troops to come help him. I was certain that he had seen the Imperial Family and he wanted to claim his prize. Now he was holding my rifle and pushing in, and I was holding and pushing out. Just as I got into position to kick him down, he let go and fell backwards. Reilly was standing there, his pistol now aiming down at the dead soldier.

I moved aside and let him up.

“Are they all right?” he asked as he opened the door.

“Yes, she is,” I answered.

Reilly smiled for a brief second and dashed in.

Meanwhile the new troops seemed to be pushing back the forces on the ridge. The shelling had stopped and Reilly’s men had joined the Perm Reds in a counter-attack up the ridge. I lowered my rifle and fell back against the wall of the car.

Reilly came out and as he jumped down and ran towards his men I heard him yell over his shoulder, “Yes, she is.” And as I stood watching him run off, I also heard, “Well, that was unexpected.” I looked down to see a quite dishevelled Holmes, also with rifle in hand, looking up at me.

After about thirty minutes, the Perm Reds, and some of our men, began plodding back to their respective trains. Only sporadic firing was heard and I knew from my own battle experience that enemy stragglers were being hunted.

By the time we saw Reilly returning, walking closely with Colonel Mikoyan, I had told Holmes that the Romanovs were safe, and how I had so undiplomatically bundled them back into the car for protection. He agreed wholeheartedly with my actions.

Then Holmes and I went down to meet Reilly and Mikoyan. They were both laughing.

Reilly introduced us as British diplomats, all the while Mikoyan still laughing and chattering away at Reilly. Reilly, we could see, was forcing a laugh, as he began telling us what had happened.

“It’s quite all right, he doesn’t understand English. It seems that Yurovsky decided to try a gamble. He finally telegraphed to Mikoyan here that we were White agents who kidnapped the Imperial Family and killed many of his men in the process. Our train was to be stopped by every means available.

“After Mikoyan argued telegraphically with Yurovsky, he cursed him and said he would go after us. But he made it clear that if this was a wild goose chase, he would see to it personally that Yurovsky and his men would be arrested and shot. So bizarre did Mikoyan feel the message to be that to avoid any embarrassment he took the only copy of the telegram from the operator, ordered the man, on pain of death, to remain silent about it and brought him along on this expedition.

“Then, he came after us.”

“But they joined in our fighting,” said Holmes, “why didn’t they join in those Reds up ahead and annihilate us all?”

“Because, Mr. Holmes, the troops up ahead weren’t Reds. They were Whites.”

Before we could take that in, Mikoyan, still laughing, Reilly later told us, said he had better take a look inside for himself anyway. With arched eyebrow, he said he just had to see who was causing this fuss. Some of his men were only a few paces away.

As he began to pull himself up, Holmes and I looked at each other to see if the other could stop him. Before we could think, there was a shot from behind and the back of Mikoyan’s head exploded. He fell backwards and landed at our feet. In that fraction of a second, Holmes and I spun around to see from where the shot came. There was Reilly, his arm still straight out, with the pistol pointed at Mikoyan. As Mikoyan’s men came towards us, their weapons at the ready, Reilly whirled around and emptied his pistol into the already dead body of one of his own men. He then began screaming in Russian at the corpse as the men led by an officer came running up.

Reilly continued screaming at the body as he began kicking it. Mikoyan’s men began a frenzy of stabbing the body with their bayonets. It was like a feeding frenzy of sharks. Holmes and I stepped back for safety amidst this senseless brutality.

Quickly spending themselves, they turned towards us as Reilly stepped between us as barrier and talked with the officer. Whatever Reilly said, it worked. The officer had his men carry Mikoyan’s body back to their train. The officer turned and saluted us all, and his train began backing up to Perm.

Holmes was about to demand an explanation when, after just a few hundred feet, the train stopped, and the soldiers began coming towards us once more.

“Holmes, it looks like we’re in for it again.”

“Calm yourself, Dr. Watson, please just watch,” said Reilly. And as we did, we saw the Perm Reds begin digging up the track between their train and ours. They were going to lay it into the spaces in our path blown by the Whites.

The cold sweat into which I had once again broken, evaporated at this, and I told Holmes and Reilly I could use a spot of whiskey. To which Reilly replied, “Will vodka do?”

Before Reilly could turn from killer to host, he hoisted himself aboard the car. Holmes and I followed closely. Reilly went straight to Tatiana’s car and pounded. Tatiana opened the door, and when she saw Reilly standing there, she simply threw the door wide as he pulled her to him and began kissing her. Marie literally sat there with her mouth open. I pushed them both inside the compartment and closed the door so I could get past them to Alexei; and so they would not be seen.

I knocked at the Tsar’s compartment and announced myself. The Tsar opened the door as I saw Alexei huddled in his mother’s arms, she rocking back and forth, chanting something in German.

The Tsar and I looked at each other, he with great concern, I with fear from the look, or lack of it, I saw in the Tsarina’s eyes.

The Tsar gently separated Alexei from his mother, the body seemed all right, and I bent down to the Tsarina.

“Your Imperial Majesty?” Nothing but the chanting. I tried again. “Your Imperial Majesty?” The chanting continued as she looked blankly into the drawn window shades.

I looked up at the Tsar with question in my eyes.

“It is a German lullaby her father sang to her when she was a little girl,” said the Tsar. “She had always been afraid of the dark, and this was the only thing that would comfort her. She began it when we got back into the compartment, just after she grabbed Alexei from me.”

I noticed the look of great fear and incomprehension on Alexei’s face and asked the Tsar if it would be acceptable for Holmes to carry Alexei into the salon while we stayed with the Tsarina.

“Of course, doctor, yes.” He handed Alexei to Holmes, and as Holmes started towards the salon, Alexei said, “Don’t worry, papa, Dr. Watson is a good man, a good doctor, he will help mamma, I promise you.”

The Tsar looked at me and I went back to further examine the Tsarina. Her heartbeat was fairly regular, her pupils were not dilated, but it was grievously obvious, the Tsarina was no longer with us.

Dr. Freud of Vienna has treated cases like this, and I shall paraphrase what he has said. Sometimes, a final, sudden shock may send a more delicate or troubled psyche running for lasting, emotional cover; at last free from fear and harm. It is the only true protection the mind can create and deal with on its own terms. There have been cases where a patient has returned to what can be called normal, but, unfortunately, the majority of such cases remain locked in their self-forged fortress. I explained all of this to the Tsar.

“She has always been frail of spirit, Doctor,” he said, fighting to maintain an imperial composure. “Even when we were first married, she had much to endure. People called her cold and aloof, but she was just too sensitive. How could anyone who is cold and aloof raise such warm, loving children? Because she was German she felt no one accepted her. When the war came, no matter how much she did for the soldiers with her nursing and her immense donations, people said because she was German she was secretly helping the enemy.

“Then revolution, imprisonment, and barbaric treatment at the hands of our enemies. I have been amazed she has not slipped into a comforting, protective world of her own before this. I believe it was only because of Alexei and the girls that she did not.

“Tell me, Dr. Watson, perhaps with rest, and kindness, and love, she might...” He broke off in mid-sentence, fell to his knees by her side, grabbed her hands in his and kissed them repeatedly as he kept sobbing, “Sonny, Sonny...”

I left him alone with her.

When I got back to the salon, Alexei was seated on Holmes’ lap, of all places, a not completely incongruous sight since Holmes has performed the same function for John when he was just a baby. Anastasia, Olga, and Marie were seated by the table. Tatiana was not there. Reilly was absent also. I thought it best not to inquire of Tatiana’s whereabouts, and decided to let all know the condition of the Tsarina. I also felt Tatiana’s absence to be a blessing since she was the closest to her mother, and I thought it better that she be told later by her sisters or father.

Alexei began to cry, as did Anastasia. Marie and Olga just looked at each other, their eyes damp. Then Olga moved next to Holmes and took Alexei to her, comforting him as had her mother, rocking him back and forth, her lips on his forehead, her hands holding him tightly.

Holmes and I went outside; and though the news of the Tsarina had disturbed him, he went to the heart of our problem.

“Watson, this is the first chance we’ve had to speak since the battle. What make you of the attack by the Whites?”

“Holmes, it is an absolute puzzle to me. I thought, from what Kolchak said, that they would simply surround the train at Viatka, Relinsky would tell his men to surrender, and we would be safe. I have not the vaguest notion of what is going on.”

“Nor do I, Watson. However I am sure our friend Relinsky does.” Holmes looked around. “By the way, where is he? For that matter, where is Tatiana?”

“Holmes, are you so removed from everyday passions that you still cannot comprehend the most normal events unfolding before you?”

“I’m sure I don’t understand what you’re getting at, Watson.”

“Then let me give you an elementary lesson.” I had been waiting for years to reverse the direction of that word.

It was several hours before the Perm Reds had finished their task. Reilly had returned to us a short time after Holmes had wandered off, and as he walked towards the construction, he gave me a look that showed great inner turmoil. I simply thought it had to do with his liaison-de-coeur. I was to be proven monumentally mistaken.

Reilly heartily thanked the Perm officer, saluted him majestically and waved him and his men back to their train. Holmes appeared from nowhere and the three of us watched as the Perm train finally backed away for good.

Holmes immediately turned on Reilly.

“Before you begin to explain what is happening here, what was that business with Mikoyan and your dead soldier? What were you screaming? What did you say to that officer?”

Reilly asked us both to step away from the train, away from his men, and especially Obolov who was now standing on the roof of the soldiers’ car, staring down at us. He directed us to a flat area at the top of one of the ridges our train had been passing through.

“Gentlemen, with all I have to tell you now, I am not sure if I should suggest you seat yourselves on the ground or chance a reaction from you both I do not wish. Before we find out, I’m going to hand you my pistol, Mr. Holmes.

“Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, I’m surrendering my weapon, because it’s the only way I know of trying to prove to you my good faith.

“First, so you will understand why I am perhaps better suited to deal with certain indelicate situations than yourselves, I am going to tell you exactly who I am and a very brief account of my peregrinations during this war.”

Reilly then gave us most of the information I have already imparted to you about his past.

“Now, to answer your immediate question about Mikoyan, it was obvious to me that both of you could do nothing. And in that situation the only possible course of action was to shoot him instantly. Remember, he had taken the only telegram, which I have removed from his tunic, and given orders to this telegraph operator, upon death, not to reveal what the message was. Through his laughter, he recounted the death of that poor man in the battle. Therefore, Mikoyan’s death would obliterate any trace of who is in our railway car.

“Secondly, I obviously could not be seen as the man shooting Mikoyan, so I merely shifted the blame to one who would not mind. What I was yelling was, ‘traitor, traitor’. Mikoyan’s men then believed that man to have been a White traitor in our midst. It was that simple.”

“Simple to you, perhaps,” I said. “That is the finest example of quick thinking and action I believe I have ever seen.” I noticed Holmes did not appreciate my remark.

“Now, gentlemen, I am going to relate to you something very painful. What we are all truly here for.” Holmes and I took a step closer to Reilly.

“Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, in Petrograd I had told you to believe nothing of what any Russian said, and only one tenth of what any Englishman said. By that yardstick, you could measure my credibility in a percentage of mere fractions. I have never spoken truer words than those.

“I was not sent to aid you in your task of rescue, I was sent to make sure you failed. Not only that you failed, but that you and the Imperial Family all died in the attempt.”

I just stood there, almost not even able to breathe.

Holmes, however, just shook his head in revelation and said to me, “So, Watson, we finally know why we were here. We were to be the scapegoats.”