Danielle Steel: Zoya

“Come quickly!” Feodor was urging them, and with a swift move the old Countess swept Sava up off the floor, pushed her into Zoya's arms, and hurried her out the door to the waiting troika.

CHAPTER

5

As the troika began to move, Zoya turned to see the flames leaping above the trees, devouring what had once been her home and was now only the shell of her former life. But within moments, Feodor guided them expertly into the back streets as the two women huddled together, their bags at their feet, filled with the clothes they had taken with them, their jewels concealed in the linings, and little Sava trembling in the cold as Zoya held her. There were soldiers in the streets, but no one tried to stop them as they wended their way through the back streets toward the outskirts of the city. It was Thursday, March 15, and far away in Pskov, Nicholas was reading the telegrams sent to him by his generals, telling him that he must abdicate. His face was deathly pale, as he saw treason around him everywhere, but he was no paler than Zoya, as she watched St. Petersburg shrink behind them. It was more than two hours before they were on the back roads, on the way to Tsarskoe Selo, and it was a long time before they got there. They had no news as they moved along, and no clearer understanding of what had happened. All Zoya could think about was the vision of her mother, her robe in flames as she leapt to her death from the upstairs windows … and her brother as he must have been, as the flames enveloped him, lying dead in the room where she had so often visited him when she was a child … Nicolai … “stupid Nicolai” she had called him. She wondered if she would ever forgive herself … only yesterday … only yesterday when everything was all right and life was normal.

Her head was wrapped in an old shawl, and her ears ached from the cold, it made her think of Olga and Tatiana with their earaches from the measles. Such simple disasters had been their lot only days before … such small, stupid things like fevers, and earaches and measles. She could barely think as her grandmother held tightly to her hand, and they both silently wondered what they would find in Tsarskoe Selo. The village came into sight in the afternoon, and Feodor circled expertly around it. Wandering soldiers stopped him twice, and Feodor thought only for a moment about pressing the troika through. But he knew instinctively they might all be shot if he did, so he slowed carefully and said that he was carrying a sick old crone and her idiot granddaughter. Both women stared emptily at the men, as though they had nothing to hide, and the old Countess was grateful that Feodor had thought to take their oldest sled, with chipped paint but still useful runners. It was one they hadn't used in years, and although it had been handsome once, it no longer was. Only the extraordinarily fine horses he used suggested that they had great means, and the second group of soldiers laughingly relieved them of two of Konstantin's best black horses. They reached the gates of Tsarskoe Selo with only one horse prancing nervously as he pulled the old troika. The Cossack Guards were nowhere in sight, there were no guards anywhere, only a few uneasy-looking soldiers.

“Identify yourselves,” one man shouted at them roughly and Zoya was terrified, but as Feodor began his tale, Evgenia stood up in the back of the troika. She was simply dressed, and, like Zoya, with only an old wool shawl covering her hair, but she was imperious as she stared him down, and pushed Zoya behind her.

“Evgenia Peterovna Ossupov. I am an old woman and a cousin of the Tsar. Do you wish to shoot me?” They had killed her grandson and her son, if they wished to shoot her now, they were welcome to it. But she was prepared to kill them first if they laid a hand on Zoya. Zoya was unaware of it, but her grandmother had a small pearl-handled pistol concealed in her sleeve and she was willing and ready to use it.

“There is no Tsar,” he said fiercely, a red armband suddenly seeming more ominous than it had before, as the old woman's heart pounded and Zoya was seized with terror. What did he mean? Had they killed him? It was four o'clock in the afternoon … four o'clock and their entire world had come to an end … but Nicholas … had they killed him too? … like Konstantin and Nicolai …

“I must see my cousin Alexandra.” Evgenia was imperious to the very tips of her fingers, as she stood staring at the soldier. “And her children.” Or had they killed them too? Zoya's heart was racing as she sat frozen behind her grandmother's skirts, frightened to her very core, as Feodor stood tensed and silently watching. There was an endless pause as the soldier considered them and then suddenly stepped back, calling over his shoulder to his compatriots.

“Let them through. But remember, old woman,” he turned to her with harsh words, “there is no more Tsar. He abdicated an hour ago, in Pskov. This is a new Russia.” And with that he stepped aside, and hoping he had cut off his toes, Feodor whipped the troika past him. A new Russia … an end to an old life … all of the old and the new blending in terrifying confusion, as Evgenia sat white-faced beside her granddaughter. Zoya whispered to her as they passed the Feodorovsky Church, unable to believe what she had heard. Uncle Nicholas wouldn't do it….

“Grandmama, do you think it's true?”

“Perhaps. Alix will tell us what has happened.”

But the front doors to the Alexander Palace were strangely silent, there were no guards, no protection, no one anywhere, and as Feodor knocked loudly at the huge palace door, two nervous servants appeared and let them in. The halls seemed terrifyingly empty.

“Where is everyone?” the old Countess asked, and one of them pointed to the doorway Zoya knew so well, leading upstairs to the private apartments. There were tears on the woman's face as she wiped them away with her apron and finally answered.

“The Empress is upstairs with the children.”

“And the Tsar?” Evgenia's eyes shot green fire at the woman crying helplessly.

“You've not heard?”

Oh, God, no … Zoya prayed …

“They say he has abdicated in favor of his brother. The soldiers came to tell us an hour ago. Her Highness doesn't believe it.”

“But he's alive then?” Evgenia felt relief flood her body like new life.

“We believe so.”

“Thank God.” She swept her skirts around her, and glanced sharply at Zoya. “Tell Feodor to bring everything inside.” She didn't want the soldiers touching their clothes with the jewels sewn into the linings. And as Zoya returned to her a moment later with Feodor at her side, her grandmother ordered the maid to take them upstairs to the Tsarina.

“I know the way, Grandmama. I will take you.” And quietly she walked the halls she knew so well, the halls she had walked with her friend only days before.

The Alexander Palace was eerily quiet as she led her grandmother upstairs, and knocked gently on Marie's door, but there was no one there. She had been moved to one of her mother's sitting rooms, to be nursed with Anna Vyrubova and her sisters. Quietly, they moved along the hall, knocking on doors, until finally they heard voices. Zoya waited until someone bid them to come in, and slowly the door opened to reveal Alexandra, standing tall and thin, holding out a glass of tea to her two youngest daughters. Anastasia had tears on her cheeks as she turned to the door and Marie sat up in bed and began to cry when she saw Zoya.

Zoya was too overcome to speak as she rushed across the room and threw her arms about her friend, as Evgenia went to embrace her exhausted cousin.

“My God, Cousin Evgenia, how did you get here? Are you all right?” Even the old woman had difficulty speaking, as she embraced the tall, elegant woman who looked so desperately tired. Her pale gray eyes seemed to be filled with a lifetime of sadness. “We came to help you, Alix. And we could not stay in St. Petersburg any longer. They set fire to the house this morning as we left. We left very quickly.”