M. Rose - The Secret Language of Stones

Grigori looked up. “Yes, I said I would.”

Monsieur nodded. “And when we’re there, please don’t ask me again. I’ve told you. There is a place for you in the operation. You must trust me to explain it at the right time.”

Grigori shrugged and returned to the book. Anna frowned at his bowed head and turned to Monsieur. “Has there been news?”

Monsieur sighed with exaggerated futility. “No one has any more information about the fate of the family, no. Additional wild rumors are circulating suggesting where the empress and the children might be in hiding. One day it’s the Ukraine. Another it’s a dungeon in the Winter Palace itself. No one knows. It’s taking a terrible toll on the Dowager.”

“I can imagine how painful this must be for her. Her son dead and not knowing the fate of his wife and her grandchildren. She herself in hiding.”

“And she herself without funds,” Monsieur said.

I saw Grigori’s mouth twitch, as if he wanted to say something but was holding back.

“These brutes who took over our country are criminals,” Anna said. “But all over the world, they are praised for their bravery. When will everyone realize what they did? When will they be ousted from power? Will we ever go home, Pavel?”

“No,” Grigori said, looking up from his book. In his voice, a determination that disturbed me. “We won’t ever go home . Our home isn’t there anymore. The revolutionaries broke the system, changed the rules.”

Anna looked at him with sympathy, seeing his anger as an expression of pain. “You miss it too, don’t you?”

“The past is over,” he said. “We can’t keep looking back.”

Anna winced at Grigori’s harsh tone. Monsieur frowned.

“You are upsetting your stepmother, Grigori. The past is over, but there is a future that is waiting, yes? There is always a future and-”

Monsieur broke off. I’d heard it too. The damn sirens starting up again. He went to the door, opened it, and listened.

“This is bad, isn’t it?” Anna asked.

“Yes,” Monsieur said.

Grigori paced, then stopped beside the north wall, the same orientation where downstairs, in the vault, I’d found the peephole looking into the tunnels that Monsieur Orloff didn’t own, that must belong to one of the other nearby shops. Bending down, he picked something up off the floor. A piece of the mortar like the one I’d dislodged.

“What is this?” he asked.

Monsieur Orloff examined it. “Some mortar from the wall, I expect.”

Grigori stared at the wall as if trying to see through it to the other side.

I should tell them about the vault now, I thought. But before I said a word, Grigori caught me by surprise by mentioning the very subject I wanted to bring up.

“How safe is your vault, Papa?”

“As safe as the vault in Van Cleef and Arpels and Cartier and any of the banks on rue Royale. The same concern built it.”

“That’s still where the tsar’s treasure is?” Grigori turned and asked his father. “You haven’t moved it?”

The tsar’s treasure? What was Grigori talking about? I’d never heard it referenced before.

“There is no tsar’s treasure.”

“But if it did exist-that’s where it would be, yes?”

Monsieur glared at him.

I turned to Anna. “What are they talking about?”

“A few years ago, a rumor circulated that to safeguard his future, and the future of his family, at the first sign of the uprisings and dissent among his people, the tsar sent gold and treasure out of Russia.”

“Before the revolution?”

“That’s the rumor, yes,” Monsieur interrupted. “But it’s not true.”

Grigori picked up the story. “So my father says. To protect us all probably. But I believe the story. The tsar was no fool. Supposedly, he gave each of a dozen trusted emissaries a portion of his holdings and sent each one out of Russia to live in another country and safeguard his wealth.”

“Why are we discussing this foolishness?” Monsieur asked his son. “Why are we talking about this now?”

Grigori’s gaze went from the wall back to his father. “Because you said the Dowager is almost destitute. Because we’re living in dangerous times. Because I’ve heard rumors the Bolsheviks are on the hunt for that treasure to fund the revolution. And would stop at nothing to get it.”

“What is it you are getting at, Grigori?”

“Just wondering how safe we are. What if the Bolsheviks suspected us and started to follow us, spy on us?”

“Stop. You’re upsetting your stepmother.” Monsieur went to Anna’s side, sat beside her, and put his arm protectively around her shoulder.

“Anna, we are not suspect. Fabergé made sure of that. Everyone believed his story that one of his assistants had stolen the firm’s enameling secrets and he’d fired the thief. Why would anyone guess it was a lie? Our friends saw us leave in disgrace, don’t you remember? There were no slip-ups.” Monsieur was saying it, though, as if he were schooling her more than reassuring her. He then looked from his wife back to his son. “You are not to speak of this again. Do you understand me?”

Grigori rolled the mortar between his fingers, and it disintegrated into powder. He rubbed his hands together to dislodge the dust and then wiped them on the back of his pants.

“Opaline, after our meeting tonight, will you have some supper with me?”

What an unfair trap. Asking me in front of his father and stepmother during a moment of such tension put me on the spot. Especially since I knew Monsieur hoped our relationship would progress and my agreeing would ease the strain between them.

“Yes?” He hesitated when I hadn’t answered.

I agreed.

When the sirens stopped fifteen minutes later, we ventured upstairs to the Orloff apartment. Sitting around the wireless, we listened to the news that a German bomb had exploded not far from the Palais. Then, that the reporter awaited more information. We waited with him, worrying, weary of the war and its incessant intrusions. Living in a state of low-level anxiety that at any moment escalated at the sound of the wailing distress signals took its toll. An impact none of us could measure.

After a few more tense minutes, the reporter announced the bomb had hit between two apartment buildings, damaging both. One collapsed. At least five people were dead and many more were feared dead and wounded.

Grigori left, returning to his shop for two more prescheduled appointments. He wanted to be there if indeed his clients arrived. Monsieur said he would keep the jewelry store closed, but wanted to lock everything up. Anna asked me to stay for tea.

Once we were alone in the apartment, she said: “Actually, the tea can wait if you can. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Something I saw a few days ago in the crystals. I wasn’t sure about showing it to you, but now I think I should.”

We walked into her bedroom, where she lit a candelabra, and then together went through her closet and into her monde enchanté .

From one of the very top shelves, she retrieved a crystal ball almost hidden by the ones in front of it. She placed it on the velvet cloth in the center of the card table and sat down. The candlelight illuminated the orb.

Larger than the others, slightly gray, with internal occlusions that suggested a mountain ridge.

Closing her eyes, Anna took several deep breaths, held still for a few moments, and then she slowly opened her eyes and looked into the crystal.

“Yes, here it is again. Can you see anything?” She pushed it toward me.

I stared into the sphere, like looking into the crystals I worked with. I saw a stunning and complex rocky internal landscape but nothing supernatural. I tried moving my head, but saw only the reflection of the candle flames and my own face staring back at me.