We had a journey ahead of us, the boy and I and his two guards. Eighteen hundred miles or more by rail to the port of Bergen in Norway, then by sea to Scotland, then by railroad again to King’s Cross in London, at which point he could be the Tsarevitch once more, and not merely a boy in a suit accompanying his great-uncle. Hanbury had plans made beyond that, but my attention was given entirely to the journey.

The snowfall intensified as we waited at Finland Station. This was to our advantage, as it kept the people around us to their own business, with their heads down. We four men gathered around the Tsarevitch, blocking him from general view. It was his first time there not in the royal pavilion – the Imperial Family had their own section of the railroad station. The train pulled in to the platform, with our designated railcar precisely where it was supposed to be. It had its own guard, a man called Ivan, who explained to Hanbury in Russian that the car had been built for the Empress Maria Feodorovna, though I am sure Hanbury knew that already. He never told me as much, but I wondered if the Dowager Empress as she then was – the mother of the Emperor – was in on the plan. I knew her not to be in Rasputin’s thrall and concerned that the monarchy would be brought down by him. Hanbury had told me that.

Hanbury stayed in the railcar until the moment of departure, upon which he saluted the young Corporal Romanov and wished him well on his mission, before shaking the boy’s hand tenderly and saying he dearly hoped to see him again soon. It was safe to do this then, as the platform beside us was empty but for snow and bootprints.

As a final gesture, Hanbury looked to one side and cleared his throat while his hand opened a coat button, and he allowed the boy to reprimand him once again for his untidy state.

The carriage, I was told, was bulletproof, walls and windows. It had a generator to provide an independent power supply, a dining section with a kitchen where the cook was already preparing a meal, a number of sleeping berths, a bathroom and an observation compartment. This fine Russian car would take us only as far as Torneo, at the furthest extent of the Emperor’s territories, on the Finnish border with Sweden, at which point we would cross the border to the Swedish station in Haparanda.

I can’t say how long Hanbury stayed on the platform to watch us as we pulled away, for he was still standing there, all by himself, as I lost him in the snowfall and the curve of the track.