Page 56 of The Unseen
Elena’s dream came to an abrupt end one Sunday in August when Father Mikhail held a memorial service for the royal family.The details were still unknown, but news had leaked out of Russia that Emperor Nikolai II, his wife, Empress Alexandra, and their children had been executed at Yipatiev House, the manor in the Siberian city of Yekaterinburg where they’d been kept under house arrest.
“Animals! Cretins! Bloodthirsty beasts!” Elena screamed, as soon as they got home and she could vent her emotions. “How could they? How could they lay their filthy hands on those defenseless, God-fearing souls? They’ve martyred them, is what they did. Nikolai and Alexandra were scions of divinity, God’s children on Earth. They might as well have slaughtered God himself,” she raged.
“They have, actually,” Valentina pointed out unhelpfully. “The Soviet government has outlawed religion. They believe faith to be the opium of the masses—that’s a quote from Karl Marx—and they intend to abolish the Church and forge ahead with a secular society.”
“Wha-a-at?” Elena sputtered. “Abolish the Church? Why, they are paving the road to hell, those scythe-wielding heathens. I hope they roast over the pyres of hell, tormented for eternity by never-ending agony the likes of which they could never have imagined in their inferior peasant brains.”
Elena collapsed into a chair, sobbing as she buried her face in her hands. Tanya and Kolya remained quiet. They were all shocked to the core by the notion that someone could shoot helpless young women and an ailing boy in cold blood. Valentina remained by her mother’s side, but Tanya and Kolya retreated to their rooms, eager to get away from the gloomy atmosphere of the parlor and find distraction in a book or a game.
“Are you as devastated as Mama is?” Valentina asked Cousin Dmitri later, once Elena had retired to bed, having taken a double dose of laudanum.
“I think killing the royal family is an act of barbarism, to be sure, but I never really believed they would be allowed to live, notafter the Bolsheviks executed Grand Duke Michael, the Emperor’s brother. You see, Valya, as long as the royal family was alive, the Whites had something to fight for. With their deaths, the restoration of the monarchy is nothing more than a pipe dream.”
“There are other Romanovs.”
“Yes, and they are in exile, terrified and impoverished. Perhaps if the White Army wins the Civil War, the next in line might be invited to take the throne, but the way things stand now, I wouldn’t get too hopeful.”
“And what of you, Cousin Dmitri? Had you ever planned to go back?” Valentina asked. She still knew precious little about her mother’s cousin. Dmitri enjoyed talking about his youth in Russia but changed the subject as soon as questions were raised about his marriage to Emily and his arrival in England. Now that Valentina knew a little more of British society, she found it odd that Emily had worked as a governess in Russia when her family clearly had money and could not only have easily supported their daughter but provided her with a handsome dowry. The house in Belgravia had been a part of her inheritance. Valentina might have imagined that Emily’s father disinherited her for marrying Dmitri, but Emily had already been in Russia, earning a living, when she met their cousin.
“My life is here, Valya. As is my livelihood.”
“What exactly do you do, Cousin Dmitri?” she asked. She’d asked her mother, but Elena had no idea where Dmitri’s money came from. She found the subject of money vulgar and gladly accepted his financial support without asking impertinent questions.
Dmitri looked as if he were about to dismiss Valentina’s question, but something changed his mind, and he replied. “I own several textile factories up north. Over the past few years I’ve been under contract with the British Army to supply them with wool for uniforms. It’s been a very lucrative proposition, I must admit.”
“So, you benefit from the war?” Valentina asked. It seemed wrong to grow rich off the deaths of millions, and Dmitri’scomments about Stanislav Bistritzky now seemed even more unfair.
“Someone has to dress the army, Valya. They need uniforms, boots, belts, caps, and socks. I made a profit, yes, but I have also provided an invaluable service. I’ve kept our boys warm and dry.”
“It still seems wrong somehow,” Valentina replied.
“And that, my dear, is why women are not suited for business. They don’t have the mental wherewithal to comprehend the intricacies of commerce.”
“And do you think women should be able to vote?” Valentina asked. She was of two minds on the subject, but being a woman, she felt instantly defensive when someone belittled the suffragette movement. She’d read about it in the papers and greatly admired the women who not only quietly supported the idea but actually put themselves out there on the front lines of the conflict, and risked their reputations, personal safety, and even imprisonment to fight for the right to vote.
“God preserve us, Valya. Don’t tell me you fancy yourself a suffragette.” Cousin Dmitri laughed, as if she’d said something highly amusing. “Women voting. What a ridiculous notion. In order to vote, you must understand the issues and form an intelligent opinion on how they should be best addressed. Women are not capable of such advanced thought. My dear, don’t let all this tomfoolery go to your head. Men and women have their roles to play, and your role is no less important. You are meant to be a wife and mother, a companion, a caretaker, and an object of admiration and desire. Why would you want to take on the burden that we men have to carry? You should be grateful we spare you the necessity to familiarize yourselves with the tedious issues involved in every election. Besides, you’re not a British citizen, so the subject is moot.”
“Are you a British citizen?”
“Yes. I renounced my Russian citizenship when I married my Emily, God rest her soul.”
“You still miss her, don’t you?”
“Every day. I always put flowers on her grave on her birthday. She loved birthdays.”
“I used to love birthdays too,” Valentina said with a sigh. “Well, I think I’ll go to bed now. I want to put this awful day behind me.”
“Good night.”
Valentina retired to her room, but she wasn’t ready to sleep. She was deeply disturbed by the events in Russia but was equally upset about Dmitri’s comments. He thought it wrong for a man to make a living by reporting news because he was a Jew, but saw no issue with selling wool to the British army and making a hefty profit. He also thought her, and her sex in general, to be too feebleminded to understand anything beyond current fashions and the managing of a household. Even a year ago, Valentina had aspired to nothing more than marriage and family, but having been practically on her own and having seen what it took to survive, she now had somewhat different ideas. She didn’t want to be wholly dependent on a man, not even if he was her husband. She wanted to have an income of her own, one that would give her some freedom and a say in her future.
Tomorrow, she’d go speak to Stanislav Bistritzky, but tonight, she needed a distraction. She reached for her book. Clive Brenner had recommendedThe Woman in Whiteby Wilkie Collins when she’d said she wanted to read something absorbing. Of course, the language was beyond her and she struggled to understand the story, but she gleaned enough to remain interested. She found a Russian-English dictionary in Cousin Dmitri’s study and looked up every word she didn’t know. She started a notebook in which she copied out the words and their meanings. The process of writing the words down helped her remember them for next time, and she discovered that after a few weeks her comprehensionof the story seemed to improve. She was still only halfway through, but at least now she began to understand the complexities of the plot.
After plowing through a chapter, Valentina was tired enough to attempt sleep. She closed her book, put away her notebook, and turned out the lamp. She closed her hand around the egg pendant of her necklace and whispered, “Good night, Alyosha,” as she did every night.
TWENTY-NINE
Valentina took the omnibus to Fleet Street and then walked the rest of the way. McGovern’s Print Shop was tucked away on a side street, its front window less than clean and the dark green sign faded and peeling. She hoped Stanislav wouldn’t be angry with her for coming, but she had no other way to contact him and had no wish to speak to him in front of Cousin Dmitri on Sunday. Stanislav had told her where he worked during one of their conversations, and said that he and his brother took their dinner break at noon.
