Anastasia Romanov: The Last Grand Duchess #10 (11 page)

At tea, the Empress appeared with Alexei.

The Tsarevich had dirty-blond hair, gray eyes, and a dimple in each cheek. He was wearing a sailor suit very much like the one Felix wore, and he carried a spaniel named Joy in his arms.

“So you're our guests from America?” he said.

Felix, Maisie, and Alex Andropov nodded.

“I'm the heir to the Russian throne,” he said proudly. “And that means you have to stand up when I enter the room.”

“Don't be rude,” Tatiana scolded gently.

“It's true!” Alexei insisted.

“All right,” he said, reluctantly. “You don't have to stand if you don't want to.”

He studied each of their faces thoughtfully.

“Do you have a bicycle?” he asked Felix.

“Um . . . yes,” Felix answered.

“Do you?” he asked Alex.

Alex shook his head. “I'm not allowed,” he said.

Alexei's eyes grew bright.

“Neither am I!” he said. “We should be best friends, then.”

“All right,” Alex said.

Alexei narrowed his eyes.

“Do you play a lot of tennis?”

“None,” Alex said.

Alexei grinned. “Wonderful!”

Just then, Olga burst into the room, her cheeks flushed.

“I have the most lovely news!” she said.

Olga didn't wait for anyone to ask her what her news was. “Mama is giving me a full dress ball for my birthday!” she said happily.

Maria and Tatiana shrieked with delight.

“Olga is turning sixteen in November,” Anastasia explained to the others.

“I hope we're still here for it,” Maisie said, trying to sound sincere.

Anastasia's eyes widened. “But you must stay for it! You must!”

“What color will you wear?” Maria said dreamily.

“Where will the ball be held?” Tatiana asked.

Olga smiled. “At Livadia,” she said. “Isn't that perfect?”

Felix smiled, too. “Yes,” he agreed with relief. “Perfect.”

In September, they boarded the Imperial train back to Livadia.

The train had blue cars with the gold double-eagle crest on them. To Felix, it was like a palace. Ornate cars for the Tsar and Tsarina included a private study for him; a sitting room for her in her favorite color, mauve; and a huge bathroom with a specially designed bathtub that didn't slosh water, even when the train was moving. The children had their own suite of cars, too, and there were compartments for all the staff. The dining car had a kitchen almost the size of the one at Elm Medona, and a dining-room table that seated twenty people.

As they stepped aboard the train, Maisie grabbed Felix and whispered, “Get that egg.”

“I know!” he said, then hurried to catch up to Anastasia.

Alex Andropov appeared beside Maisie, looking pale.

“Are you sick?” she asked him.

“No, it's just . . .”

“What?” she said impatiently.

“Well, I heard the aides-de-camps talking about the threat of a bomb,” he said.

“Where?” Maisie asked, dread creeping into her stomach.

“Here,” Alex said. “The train. You know the revolutionaries don't like the Tsar.”

By now they had reached the children's quarters.

“Maybe we should get off?” Maisie said as she felt the train start to move.

Something caught her eye out the window. “Alex! Look!”

She pointed to another train, also with blue cars and the gold double-eagle crests chugging behind them.

“Do you think the bomb is in there?” Maisie asked, frightened.

But Alex was grinning.

“That's a decoy train,” he said. “The revolutionaries won't know which is the right one, so we're probably safe. Clever, eh?”

But Maisie was trembling too much to appreciate the cleverness of a duplicate decoy train. Instead, she sunk onto one of the white sofas and closed her eyes.
Felix had better find that egg
, she thought.
Fast
.

Maria came into Maisie's room that evening.

“It's time for
zakouski
,” she said.

“What's that?” Maisie asked, wearily. She still had not fully recovered from her fright over a possible bomb earlier. And
zakouski
apparently didn't have another translation, so even with the shard,
zakouski
was just
zakouski
.

“You know, little snacks,” Maria said. “Come on.”

Maisie didn't have much of an appetite, but she followed Maria through the train to the dining car, where everyone was standing around eating from a big buffet of food.

Felix was happily spooning something black onto his plate beside cucumbers and radishes.

When he saw Maisie, he smiled. “Caviar,” he said, pointing to the black stuff. “Can you believe it? It's delicious.”

What's next?
Maisie wondered as she took some slices of ham. Now her brother, the pickiest eater in the world, was eating fish eggs. And liking it.

She took a bite of ham, and then another. Most of the food was fish—sardines and salmon and herring. At least they had some good ham.

Alex Andropov sidled over to her, his plate full of everything the buffet offered.

“I'm surprised you like that,” he said, impressed.

Maisie chewed more ham and shrugged.

Alex laughed. “Well, not many Americans like the idea of eating reindeer tongue, that's all.”

Maisie stopped chewing.

“Reindeer
tongue?
” she said, spitting what she had in her mouth into her hand.

Alex laughed harder.

“That's disgusting!” Maisie said.

Felix looked over at her.

Maisie mouthed:
Find that egg. Fast.

The preparations for Olga's birthday ball took up all the time back at Livadia. With so many people in the palace, it was easy for Felix to move around unnoticed. Everyone was more interested in getting fit for their gowns, having their hair cut and curled and pinned, festooning the rooms with decorations, tending the gardens, and dozens of other tasks than noticing what Felix was up to.

Almost immediately upon arriving, he went to the room where the eggs had been displayed on the large marble mantel.

The room had already been transformed for the ball. The chandelier sparkled even more than usual. The floor gleamed with polish. The scent of white roses in enormous crystal vases hung in the air.

Felix paused in the doorway to take in the beauty of the decorations before he began to cross the gleaming floor.

But halfway into the room he stopped and stared.

The eggs were all gone.

In their place sat a large black-and-white photograph of Olga, her hair piled high on her head, and the smallest hint of a smile on her face. The picture had been placed in a gold frame decorated with shiny rubies. It was smack in the center of the mantel, with vases of white roses on either side of it, and not one Fabergé egg anywhere in sight.

As if he were seeing a mirage, Felix went over to the mantel just to be sure.

He stood, staring up into Olga's face, his heart sinking.

How could he tell Maisie that the egg was gone?

Maisie was certain that Felix was avoiding her. Caught up in the excitement of the ball, he'd probably forgotten to retrieve the egg. She had to admit that the excitement was contagious—Maisie was looking forward to the ball, too. She'd even wrapped the invitation in tissue paper to preserve it, tracing the scrolls and curlicues of the letters. Even though they'd written her name as Maisie Pickworth, Maisie still loved the way the invitation looked and read:

Their Imperial Majesties invite you to dinner and a dancing party to be held on Thursday November 3rd, 1911, at 6:45 in the evening,
at the Livadia Palace

Maisie Pickworth

Military cavaliers in frock coat with epaulets.

Civilians in evening dress with white tie.

Still, she wanted to be home and sit on her pink pouf and eat potato chips with James Ferocious beside her.

For Olga's birthday, her parents gave her a diamond ring and necklace with more pearls and diamonds than Maisie could count. All the Grand Duchesses wore white gowns, except for Olga. Hers was pink, and with the sparkling necklace and her hair swept up in curls, she looked lovelier than anyone Maisie had ever seen.

Before the ball began, dinner was served with everyone seated at small round tables set with heavy ornate silver, flickering white candles, and flowers from the Empress's garden at Livadia. The Tsar and his wife sat the head table with Grand Dukes and Duchesses and ministers of this and that. Maisie, stuck at a table with a bunch of kids, including the Prince of Greece, who ate with his mouth open and whined all during dinner, couldn't stop watching Olga and her table. Olga's cheeks were pink from excitement, and she kept whispering to her escort, a dark-haired handsome boy with intense brown eyes. Tatiana was at that table, too, and so was the Emir of Bukhara, whatever that was. It all looked much more interesting than the kids' table, that was for sure. Of course Felix got to sit with Anastasia and Maria at a table where everyone seemed to be having much more fun than Maisie.

“I don't like beets,” the Prince of Greece whined.

“Then don't eat them,” Maisie grumbled.

The Crimean regimental band began playing loud music, as if they were at a parade. At least she wouldn't have to listen to the Prince of Greece anymore, Maisie decided, eyeing Olga as she beamed at her escort.

Finally, dinner ended. But that only began the endless presentations of the guests to the Tsar and his wife. Maisie thought they would never end. But of course they did, and when she returned to the dining room, all the tables were gone and the whole room had been transformed for dancing. Still more flowers filled the room, and an orchestra began to play a waltz as soon as the guests walked in. In a flash, couples waltzed past Maisie and Alex Andropov, who stood awkwardly, afraid they'd be forced to dance, too. But no one even noticed them.

Alex elbowed Maisie lightly.

“Look at the Empress,” he whispered, indicating across the room where the Empress sat in an armchair beside a column with Alexei, who was dressed in a white sailor suit and watching the party. She looked miserable.