Anastasia Romanov: The Last Grand Duchess #10 (7 page)

But she was already sweeping back out of the room, saying, “I must show Nikki.”

The girl left with her, skipping out the door, and leaving Maisie very much alone.

Someone who clearly was a maid showed Maisie to her room, which was small and plain and disappointing. It did have a little balcony that looked out to the sea, and Maisie stood out there taking in the beautiful view and wondering where Felix had landed. She watched as two footmen carried her trunk inside, and soon enough they knocked at her door and deposited it in her room. Before she'd even finished unlatching it, a maid appeared to unpack for her.

“Oh, that's all right,” Maisie said. “I can do it.”

She glanced around, and not finding what she needed, asked shyly, “But if you could point me to the ladies' room?”

“Of course, of course,” the maid said, and bustled Maisie through a door and into an adjacent bathroom.

When Maisie went back into the bedroom, she found the maid fussing with her clothes after all.

“Shall I prepare your clothes for this evening?” she asked.

“Sure,” Maisie said, amused that someone was taking these old clothes so seriously.

The maid gathered a velvet gown and the tiara in her arms, and promised to return to dress Maisie.

“In the meantime,” she said, “you should get dressed and meet the others downstairs for the blessing of the house.”

Maisie combed her hair, trying to tame it as best she could before going downstairs. She paused on her way at a door that was ajar, revealing several rooms all done in mauve-and-pink chintz. Outside the windows, Maisie saw the ocean and snowcapped mountains.

“Stunning, isn't it?” a man dressed in military clothing asked, startling her.

“Oh!” Maisie said, letting out a little squeal.

The man smiled beneath his big droopy mustache.

“Have you been to this part of the world before?” he asked her.

Maisie shook her head no.

“Unspoiled land,” he said, his voice dreamy. “It's been the summer residence for the royal family since the 1860s. But this palace is new, of course.”

“It's beautiful,” Maisie said.

“Construction took seventeen months, so you can imagine how exciting it is to have it finished at last. And in time for Olga's sixteenth birthday in November, too.”

He pulled the door shut and offered his elbow to Maisie.

“Shall we?” he asked.

She felt very grown up and special entering the main rooms below on the arm of this gentle, dashing soldier, dressed in a soft white gown with an empire waist and a satin sash. Maisie hoped that somehow Felix had found his way here and would be downstairs, too.

Everyone's attention was on a group of priests assembling in the dining room. Dressed all in black, with gold cloths over their tunics, very long beards, and very tall hats, the priests stood two by two with the oldest alone at the front. They each held large gold cylinders with holes in them, and even larger crosses. One of the priests set about lighting the incense inside the cylinders, and very quickly the room filled with pungent smoke.

The priests began to sway, swinging the incense back and forth as the leader chanted prayers.

As the priests moved from room to room, leaving a trail of scented smoke behind them, all the guests followed. Maisie kept an eye out for Felix, and for any of the royal family. But the crowd was big enough, and the smoke thick enough, that it was difficult for her to see everyone.

The priests blessed every single room. All one hundred and sixteen.

Maisie thought she might scream with boredom after a while, and as soon as she could, she ducked away from the crowd, backtracking to be sure to avoid running into anyone.

She went through the glass doors she had entered earlier that day, and stepped into the rose garden.

As soon as she did, she heard someone whisper to her.

The same girl who'd been up a tree that afternoon was up another tree here.

“You do like climbing trees,” Maisie observed.

“I am going to get in so much trouble if they notice I've slipped away,” she said gleefully.

“I guess you like getting in trouble, too,” Maisie said.

“I do,” the girl agreed. “I'm the naughty one of OTMA,” she added proudly.

Maisie smiled politely.
OTMA?
she thought. The word must not be Russian, or with the shard on she would have understood its meaning.

“It's an acronym, you know,” the girl said.

“An acronym?” Maisie repeated.

“A word created from initials,” the girl explained.

“
O
.
T
.
M
.
A
.,” Maisie said out loud.

“The first letter of each of our names!” the girl announced, climbing even higher in the tree.

“Oh!” she gasped. “From up here I can see the mountains. You should come see!”

Maisie hesitated. She wasn't much of a tree climber.

The girl scampered down far enough to extend her hand and help Maisie onto the lowest branches.

“I don't know,” Maisie said, staring up through the leaves into the girl's chubby face.

The girl wiggled her fingers for Maisie to take them.

With a sigh, Maisie relented.

She grabbed on to the girl's hand and let her pull her upward until Maisie got her footing.

Maisie did not like it up there.

“Come on,” the girl said, climbing higher.

“I . . . ,” Maisie began, but the girl wasn't listening.

Maisie clumsily put her foot into a knot on the bark of the tree, and tried to lift the other foot onto the next branch.

But her foot slipped, and in a second she was dangling from a branch, both legs swinging free.

“Help!” she called.

The last thing she heard was the girl exclaiming, “Hold on!”

Then Maisie's hands let go of the branch, and she plummeted to the ground below.

Chapter Six

ANASTASIA

M
aisie lay on her back, staring up at the dappled fading light coming through the leaves of the trees. She was aware of distant voices and footsteps approaching. She was aware of the sharp, constant pain in her right arm. And she was aware of the roses surrounding her, their thorns pricking her cheeks and hands. Maisie had fallen directly into a rosebush.

“Look what you've done now!” a man was saying in a loud stern voice.

The girl with the strawberry blond hair and blue eyes appeared above Maisie.

“She's not dead!” the girl announced, happily.

“That's a relief,” came another girl's voice.

Now a second face appeared.

This girl was very pretty, with pink cheeks and brown hair and the biggest blue eyes surrounded by the longest eyelashes that Maisie had ever seen.

“It would be very exciting if she were, though, wouldn't it, Mashka?” the girl asked her.

A third face joined the others.

“Papa has sent for the doctor,” she said.

She patted Maisie's hand. “Once,” the girl said in a confidential tone, “she put a rock inside a snowball and threw it at me. It hit me right here, in the face, and practically knocked me out.”

The girl seemed like a fairy-tale princess to Maisie. Very tall and regal looking, with thick auburn hair and high cheekbones.

“It did knock her down,” the first girl said.

“You cried,” a fourth voice said, and another face appeared above Maisie.

“No I didn't!” she protested. Then she laughed. “Maybe a little.”

The fourth girl was blushing. “What an embarrassment,” she said. “To drop a guest out of a tree. Mama had to go lie down she was so upset.”

“Hey!” said the first girl, the one whom Maisie had met earlier.

Her face came closer to Maisie's.

“Remember? OTMA?” she asked.

Maisie nodded.

“That's us!” the girl said.

“Olga—” she pointed to the blushing girl.

“Tatiana—” she pointed to the regal one.

“Maria—” she pointed to the pretty one.

The girl grinned impishly.

“And me! Anastasia!”

At that, Maisie burst into tears.

The four Grand Duchesses looked surprised.

“There, there,” Olga said.

But Maisie couldn't stop crying. Yes, her arm hurt. A lot. But much worse was the realization that these were the Grand Duchesses, the daughters of Tsar Nicholas and Tsarina Alexandra, and that someday in the near future, they were all doomed to be murdered in the most horrible way.

She thought of the message inside the egg, held out by this very girl in front of her: Anastasia. She had said:
HELP ME
.

“I do have some good news,” Anastasia said, bursting into Maisie's room.

Maisie lay propped up in bed, many pillows behind her head, and her arm resting on even more. After poking it and turning it and moving it every which way, the doctor had declared her arm sprained, not broken. He'd washed the blood from her cheeks and hands where the thorns had pierced her, and then several footmen had lifted her out of the rosebush and up the stairs into bed.

“Your brother has arrived,” Anastasia said, flopping onto the bed beside Maisie.

“Don't bounce,” Maisie moaned as sharp pains shot through her arm.

“He's very handsome,” Anastasia said.

“Where is he?” Maisie asked, eager to see Felix at last.

“The Big Pair has swept him away,” Anastasia said unhappily.

“What's the Big Pair?”

Anastasia laughed. “Olga and Tatiana, of course! Mashka and I are the Little Pair because we're the youngest. Except Alexei, of course. But he's a boy.”

“Do you think you could bring Felix here?” Maisie asked.

“I suppose,” Anastasia said.

She cleared her throat.

“He arrived on horseback with three Tartars. It was so exciting!”

Maisie frowned. Tartars?

“The local people,” Anastasia explained when she saw the confusion on Maisie's face. “They invaded Russia hundreds of years ago, but of course we conquered them under Catherine the Great, and now their allegiance is to Papa instead of their khans.”

Before Maisie could answer, Anastasia smiled. “I love them,” she said. “The women are beautiful. They cover their faces with veils and look so mysterious. And the men are so dashing!”

Unsure of how to respond, Maisie smiled back.

“So? You'll get Felix?” she reminded Anastasia.

“Happily!” Anastasia said, and bounced off the bed, sending new sharp pains through Maisie's arm.

Before Maisie could reprimand her, Anastasia was out the door, running down the hallway and shouting, “Olga! Tatiana!”

“Darling,” a man said gently, “Mama is resting. And so is Alexei.”

A knock sounded at the bedroom door, and when Maisie called, “Come in,” the man who had escorted her downstairs earlier entered.

He had a tray with a bowl of steaming soup on it and a glass of tea. Maisie remembered that Alex Andropov's grandmother had served tea that way too, in a glass instead of a cup.

“A little soup always nourishes the sick,” the man said.

When he placed the tray on the table beside the bed, a sour smell floated toward Maisie.

“What kind of soup is this?” she asked, trying to sound polite.

“Cabbage,” the man said, smiling, as if that were the best soup in the world.

Maisie nodded, but didn't pick up the silver spoon that rested beside the bowl.

“We haven't met properly,” the man was saying. “What with the blessing and then your accident . . . well, it's been a little busy around here.”

“Maisie Robbins,” she said. “Phinneas Pickworth is my—”

“Yes,” he said, “Sunny told me. We adore Phinneas. Such a character! Such . . . such an American!”

What an odd thing to say
, Maisie thought.

“Well, Maisie, eat your soup and rest up. And please forgive Anastasia. She's a bit rambunctious, that's all.”

He turned to leave, but Maisie said, “But you haven't told me who you are.”

The man laughed.

“Why, I'm the Tsar. Tsar Nicholas,” he said shyly.

“You're the Tsar?” Maisie said, shocked.

He stood no more than five feet eight, and had such a shy, sad smile and such gentle eyes that she couldn't imagine why anyone would fear him or want to overthrow his government.

“I'm afraid so,” Tsar Nicholas admitted.

“Of all of Russia?” Maisie asked.

He laughed again. “All of it,” he said.

“But you're so nice!” she said. “I thought Tsars were tall and fierce.”

Tsar Nicholas considered this.

“I suppose some have been,” he said, finally.

Maisie's mind was racing.

“Then that beautiful woman with the auburn hair is the Empress?” she asked, just to be sure.

“She is beautiful, isn't she?” he said softly.

“This wasn't at all what I expected,” Maisie said, thinking of Bolsheviks and conquering Tsars and all sorts of scary things.

“That's good,” the Tsar said. “I think?”

“Oh yes,” Maisie said. “It's good.”

“Now you must get better,” the Tsar said as he headed toward the door. “Next week is Easter, and you don't want to be stuck in this bed during Easter, do you?”

It must have been a rhetorical question because he left without even pausing for Maisie's answer.

Felix recognized the chubby girl with the strawberry blond hair and blue eyes immediately.

“Grand Duchess Anastasia,” he said, and gave a curt bow.

Anastasia giggled.

“Felix Robbins,” Felix continued, liking the way her face lit up when she laughed.

“Oh!” Anastasia squealed. “You're Maisie's brother!”

Her demeanor changed quickly.

“Don't be angry at me,” she said. “Please, please, please.”

Angry?
Felix thought. He didn't think he could be angry with this girl. Something about her made him just want to grin.

“I didn't know she was so clumsy,” Anastasia said, her voice stubborn now. “I didn't
make
her climb that tree.”

“Maisie is okay, isn't she?” Felix asked.

“Oh no!” Anastasia said, and burst into tears.

“Isn't she?” Felix asked again.

“It's her fault! I swear to you!”

And at that, Anastasia placed her hand over her heart dramatically.

Then she laughed again.

“It's just her arm,” Anastasia said, dismissively.

“Broken?” Felix asked with dread.

“Not even! She's absolutely fine. By Easter she'll be . . . she'll be climbing trees again!”

Felix sighed with relief.

Then a thought came to him.

“When's Easter?” he asked.

“Next week, silly!” Anastasia said, linking her arm through his. “Come on now. I'll bring you to this invalid sister of yours.”

Despite her relief at seeing Felix here, Maisie was not happy to see Anastasia this time.

“I can't believe you let me go,” she said, angrily.

“I can't believe you couldn't climb even one branch,” Anastasia countered.

“Maisie cannot climb trees,” Felix said, laughing softly. “At all.”

Maisie glared at him, her relief at finding him in front of her safe and fine fading.

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” she demanded.

“Side?” Felix said. “I didn't know there were sides. I just know that you don't know how to climb trees—”

“See!” Anastasia said with so much delight that Maisie glared harder. “It's all your own fault!”

Maisie closed her eyes.

“I need to rest,” she said. “The Tsar insists.”

Anastasia laughed at that.

“That's Papa!” she said. “Tsar Nicholas II!”

“Anastasia!” Grand Duchess Tatiana said from the doorway. “Mama would not like to hear you bragging like this.”

Anastasia's cheeks blushed pink.

“I wasn't bragging,” she muttered. “Governess,” she added under her breath.

Tatiana tugged playfully on Anastasia's hair.

“That old nickname is not going to upset me, Malenkaya,” she said.

“I'm not little.” Anastasia pouted. “Don't call me that.”

Felix studied Grand Duchess Tatiana. Tall and slender, she had such grace and poise that he found himself speechless beside her. Speechless in a different way than Anastasia made him feel.

“Papa wants to be sure our guest has eaten all of her soup,” Tatiana said, crossing to the bed.

She glanced down at the tray.

“Why, you haven't even touched it!” she clucked. “And now it's gone cold.”

Tatiana picked up the tray and said, “I'll bring you a fresh bowl.”

“No!” Maisie said, half-sitting.

Tatiana looked surprised.

“I mean, no thank you. I just want to sleep for a bit.”

Maisie would have liked to tell Felix that the soup was cabbage soup and therefore disgusting, but he wasn't even looking at her. Instead, he was gazing at that horrid Anastasia.

“All right, then,” Tatiana was saying. “Then we'll leave you for a bit.”

“Felix,” Maisie said. “I do need to tell you something.” She shot a look at Anastasia. “In private,” she added.

“What?” he asked, even though they were most definitely not in private.

Maisie beckoned him to come close.

“What?” he asked again, closer but still in earshot of Anastasia.

“I need to whisper it to you,” Maisie said, frustrated.

Anastasia said, “Telling secrets in front of others is rude.”

Felix hesitated, but Maisie yanked him nearer.

“The Empress has the egg,” she whispered.

“The Empress has—” he began.

“Ssshhh!” Maisie hushed.

“But why does she have it?” Felix whispered back.