The Secret Wife. Gill Paul

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СКАЧАТЬ glowered. ‘On your birthday? Is he so close to the family?’

      Tatiana pursed her lips. ‘Yes, he is. I must introduce you so you can see he is nothing like the image you have. He’s a very sweet, gentle man.’

      Dmitri snorted. ‘Even if he is a good man and all the stories I have heard are wrong, the fact remains that the Russian people mistrust him. They blame his influence for all that is wrong with the country: for the food shortages, for the lack of progress in defeating Germany, for the railway strikes … He boasts of his power over your mother, saying he can make her do anything.’

      ‘I didn’t know there were food shortages and railway strikes.’ Tatiana frowned. ‘But how could these be Rasputin’s fault? He is a holy man, a healer.’

      ‘Of course they are not his fault directly, but people think they are, and that’s what matters. Your mother would do well to ban him from the palace while she is running the country’s affairs. Perhaps he should go back to Siberia, at least till after the war.’ He worried about speaking so frankly to Tatiana, who looked upset and bewildered, but it felt as though he had a duty to do so when he might one day be a member of the family.

      ‘There’s something I must explain,’ she said quietly. ‘Come, sit down.’ They were in the grounds of the Catherine Palace and she led him to a bench with a view over the chain of waterfalls that gushed into the Great Pond. He waited as she chose her words.

      ‘It is a family secret but, as you are to be one of us, I think it is time you were told … You know that Alexei has frail health?’

      Dmitri frowned. Everyone knew that.

      Tatiana bit her lip. ‘I am worried that you might change your mind about marrying me if I tell you the rest.’

      Dmitri grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly. ‘Whatever the secret, I promise I will not change my mind.’

      She nodded, as if she had known this would be the case, then continued. ‘Alexei suffers from the bleeding disorder known as haemophilia that also afflicts some of my cousins in Prussia.’ Dmitri gave a sharp intake of breath and Tatiana continued: ‘When he bumps his leg even mildly, it can mean bleeding into his joints and he has almost died several times in his short life. Back in 1912 after he injured himself jumping onto a boat, he was so poorly that he was given the last sacrament. But every time, Uncle Grigory manages to heal him where the doctors have failed. He has brought Alexei back from the edge of the grave many times. This is why the family cannot be without him. But of course we can never explain this to the Russian people because Alexei is the male heir who must carry on the Romanov line …’

      Dmitri could see the problem; they could not admit to such fragility in the succession. ‘I’m so sorry, angel. It must be a terrible worry for you all.’ Suddenly Alexandra’s reliance on the wild man and Nicholas’s forbearance of him made sense.

      ‘It is something you must consider,’ Tatiana told him. ‘Were we to have a son, there is a chance of him inheriting this vile disease because it is passed through the female line. That’s why it is only fair to warn you now in case you wish to reconsider your proposal.’

      Dmitri was aghast: did she know him so little? He fell to his knees on the path in front of her, his voice shaking with emotion. ‘There is nothing that would make me reconsider – nothing. Now I know the truth about your brother, I love you more than ever.’

      ‘You are so pure and unselfish,’ she marvelled, placing her hand on his shoulder.

      He felt unworthy, remembering his recent burst of selfishness when she went on holiday. Sometimes his love felt like a kind of uncontrollable madness. But he was proud beyond measure that she had shared with him the very sensitive family secret.

      The trust between them had grown daily that spring. She had often confided in him when her sisters annoyed her, or when her mother’s illnesses were hard to bear, but to share this particular confidence meant she considered him one of the family, and he was deeply honoured.

      After Tatiana went back to work, Dmitri pondered what she had said. If Alexei proved too frail to produce an heir, how would it affect the succession to the throne? Would Nicholas be succeeded by Olga and her husband, followed by their children? And what if Olga failed to marry, like his sister Valerina? Would the succession pass to Tatiana and himself? He did not want to be tsar. The desire to rule was not in his nature. His deepest wish was that one day he and Tatiana would have a home in the countryside where they could keep horses and dogs, and have children of their own, God willing. If one of their sons inherited the bleeding disorder, they would deal with it in due course.

      He felt as though it was tempting fate to think so far ahead. What if the war continued to go badly for Russia? How many years might it be until they could marry? What if she fell for someone else before then? Was there a possibility that Tatiana could be forced into an arranged marriage as part of a peace treaty? He tortured himself with these imagined scenarios, and only relaxed during his afternoons with Tatiana when he felt the sureness of her love calming him.

      The weather in St Petersburg that June was magnificent: warm and cloudless, with just an occasional overnight shower to freshen the flower displays that bloomed profusely across the royal estates in both formal and informal gardens. At last the news from the front was encouraging: General Brusilov’s offensive had forced the Austro-Hungarian army to retreat and by the end of the month they had advanced sixty miles and taken 350,000 prisoners. It proved what the mighty Russian army could do when they had a decent leader at the helm, and gave them all succour.

      However, the picture changed in July when German troops were diverted from the Western Front to fight back and Russian casualties once more began to mount. On the 27th of August, Romania decided to declare war on Austro-Hungary, and as a result Brusilov had hundreds more miles of front line to defend, right down into the Balkans. Suddenly, there were whispers in the guardroom that all able-bodied men were to be called back to the front and Dmitri prayed fervently he would not be among them.

      One evening in early September he heard that a new influx of wounded officers had arrived at the Catherine Palace and among them was the man named Volodya, with whom Tatiana was rumoured to have formed an attachment in his absence. He had suffered a spinal injury, Dmitri heard, and could be there for some time. Jealousy gnawed his insides like a hungry rodent.

      He had never asked Tatiana about Volodya, partly because he was too proud but also because he feared that some tiny passing expression would give away the truth that she’d had feelings for him, and he couldn’t bear that. He considered visiting the hospital to catch sight of his rival but couldn’t face the anguish if he walked in and found Tatiana chatting to him, smiling at him.

      Then, as cruel fate would have it, the morning after Volodya’s arrival a letter came with fresh orders for Dmitri: he was to report to a post in Moldova by the 20th of September. He slumped to the ground, his heart beating rapidly. How could he leave Tsarskoe Selo when his rival was there and Tatiana would see him every day? Dmitri sat breathing hard, all kinds of crazy plans flashing through his mind. He would sneak into the ward by night and hold a pillow over Volodya’s face. He would ask Tatiana to elope with him and they would run off together to a country that was not involved in this bloody war.

      And then came an idea that was not quite so far-fetched. There was only one way he could return to the front with any kind of equanimity. It had to be worth a try.

       СКАЧАТЬ