Имоджен Эдвардс-Джонс - The Witches of St. Petersburg

Grand Duchess Militza Nikolayevna – second eldest daughter of King Nikola of Montenegro (she was one of twelve children, only nine of whom survived into adulthood.)

Grand Duke Peter Nikolayevich – cousin to Tsar Nicholas II of Russia, married to Militza.

Grand Duchess Anastasia (Stana) – third eldest daughter of King Nikola of Montenegro.

George Maximilianovich, sixth Duke of Leuchtenberg – Stana’s first husband.

Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolayevich (Nikolasha) – brother of Grand Duke Peter Nikolayevich, Commander-in-Chief of the Russian Army, Viceroy of the Caucasus and cousin to Tsar Nicholas II; second husband to Stana.

Tsar Nicholas II(1894-1917) – ‘Nicky’

Tsarina Alexandra Fyodorovna(née Princess Alexandra of Hesse-Darmstadt) – Empress also called ‘Alix’ and ‘Sunny’

Their children:

Olga

Tatiana

Maria

Anastasia

Alexei, the Tsarevich.

Grand Duke George Alexandrovich – younger brother to Tsar Nicholas II. He died of TB by the side of the road in Georgia when he was twenty-eight years old.

Dowager Empress Maria Fyodorovna(née Princess Dagmar of Demark, known as Minny or Dagmar) – widow of Alexander III, mother to Tsar Nicholas II.

Grand Duchess Elizabeth Fyodorovna(Ella) – elder sister of the Tsarina, married to Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich, uncle to the Tsar.

Grand Duchess Vladimir, Maria Pavlovna(also known as Miechen) – one of the richest women in all Russia.

Grand Duke Vladimir Alexandrovich – husband to Maria Pavlovna and uncle to the Tsar.

Count Felix Sumarokov-Elston – married to Princess Zinaida Yusupova, the richest woman in all Russia, parents of Prince Felix Felixovich and Prince Nicholas Felixovich.

Prince Felix Yusupov – married to Princess Irina Alexandronva, daughter of Xenia (Tsar Nicholas II’s sister) and Alexander Mikhailovich (Sandro). He was one of the murderers of Rasputin.

Anna Vyrubova(née Taneyeva) – the Tsarina’s best friend.

Dr Shamzaran Badmaev(otherwise known as Dr Peter Badmaev) – apothecary, philosopher and purveyor of fine drugs, born in Tibet.

Countess Sophia Ignatiev – purveyor of Black Salons.

Philippe Nizier-Vachot (Maître Philippe) – guru and Martinist, from Lyons, France.

Grigory Yefimovich Rasputin (Grisha) – man of God, Hierophant and Holy Satyr from Siberia.

They hammered on the entrance to the palace, pounding with their fists. The heavy wooden doors shook on their hinges and cries of bloodlust rang out into the night.

‘Open up! Police! Open up in the name of the Tsar!’

Militza stood in the hall. She could hear him panting with fear from behind the heavy silk curtain. She glanced across. His pale eyes stared at her from the darkness. The most powerful man in Russia was finally asking her for help. He’d arrived drenched in sweat, his clothes sodden, his bare feet crimson with cold. He’d come careering through the woods like a deer chased by a pack of hungry wolves, had begged her for protection, implored her, promised her anything, everything – and she could hardly contain her pleasure.

They hammered again. The glass in the windows at the front of the palace rattled. A few of the domestic household, some sixty souls, were now gathered on the stairs, some shocked, some quizzical, some clasping their hands together in terror. All were staring at the doors. These were dangerous times; there was more than a whiff of revolution in the air and anything could happen. The burgundy-liveried footman went to open the door.

‘Wait!’ commanded Militza, taking a step forward and raising her hand. She pulled a diamond comb from the back of her head, shook her long, dark hair over her shoulders and partially opened the front of her red velvet robe. ‘Now,’ she said and nodded.

The footman pulled back the brass lock and opened the great doors. An icy blast tore into the hall. In front of her stood a seething gang of some twenty or so policemen. Dressed in navy tunics with lambskin helmets, they surged towards her, their breath white and their eyes wild with the chase. The young officer in charge lunged forward.

‘It has gone midnight! What in God’s name,’ Militza demanded, dramatically crossing herself, ‘are you doing waking my household at this hour?’

‘Where is he?’ barked the officer, leaning in, glancing around the hall.

‘How dare you!’ Militza stood her ground.

‘I am sorry, Your Imperial Highness.’ The young man withdrew slightly, cheeks tinged with contrition, clutching a piece of paper. ‘We are searching for Rasputin. Grigory Yefimovich Rasputin — ’

‘The devil!’ someone shouted.

The young officer swung around. ‘Quiet!’ he snarled. He turned slowly back and, wiping his mouth on his coat sleeve, he smiled. ‘We believe he came this way.’

‘Well, I am sorry to disappoint,’ Militza replied, returning his smile, ‘but I have been here, alone, all evening and, as you can see…’ She looked down at her smooth, white, carefully exposed skin, ‘I am about to retire.’

The young man immediately averted his gaze. She had managed to disconcert him, but it was only momentary. ‘I would like permission to search the palace.’

‘You doubt my word?’ Militza glared.

‘Witch!’ came a shout from the back of the pack.

‘He is not here,’ she said, ignoring the accusation. She stood aside, calling his bluff. ‘You are very welcome to search the palace of Grand Duke Peter Nikolayevich, cousin of the Tsar, should you so wish, but you will not find the dog.’

The mere mention of her husband’s name called them to a halt. At least some titles still managed to instil a scintilla of respect, fear even, despite the ever-shifting sands.

‘That will not be necessary, Your Imperial Highness.’ He paused, fixing her with a stare. Militza’s face was impassive, her body completely still. She had always been an excellent liar. His men’s feet pawed the ground, itching for a fight, but the officer was not quite brave enough to enter. ‘We know for certain Rasputin came this way.’

Militza stared, a gentle half-smile curling her lips. ‘So…’

The officer cleared his throat. ‘We’ll stand guard on the entrance to your estate. It is, after all, our job to protect you.’

‘Protect me, indeed.’ She nodded, taking in his young face, the blond moustache struggling to cover his top lip. ‘How kind of you. I shall send out warm refreshments for your men.’