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Chapters (84)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. The Lost Daughter
  4. Prologue
  5. Chapter 1
  6. Chapter 2
  7. Chapter 3
  8. Chapter 4
  9. Chapter 5
  10. Chapter 6
  11. Chapter 7
  12. Chapter 8
  13. Chapter 9
  14. Chapter 10
  15. Chapter 11
  16. Chapter 12
  17. Chapter 13
  18. Chapter 14
  19. Chapter 15
  20. Chapter 16
  21. Chapter 17
  22. Chapter 18
  23. Chapter 19
  24. Chapter 20
  25. Chapter 21
  26. Chapter 22
  27. Chapter 23
  28. Chapter 24
  29. Chapter 25
  30. Chapter 26
  31. Chapter 27
  32. Chapter 28
  33. Chapter 29
  34. Chapter 30
  35. Chapter 31
  36. Chapter 32
  37. Chapter 33
  38. Chapter 34
  39. Chapter 35
  40. Chapter 36
  41. Chapter 37
  42. Chapter 38
  43. Chapter 39
  44. Chapter 40
  45. Chapter 41
  46. Chapter 42
  47. Chapter 43
  48. Chapter 44
  49. Chapter 45
  50. Chapter 46
  51. Chapter 47
  52. Chapter 48
  53. Chapter 49
  54. Chapter 50
  55. Chapter 51
  56. Chapter 52
  57. Chapter 53
  58. Chapter 54
  59. Chapter 55
  60. Chapter 56
  61. Chapter 57
  62. Chapter 58
  63. Chapter 59
  64. Chapter 60
  65. Chapter 61
  66. Chapter 62
  67. Chapter 63
  68. Chapter 64
  69. Chapter 65
  70. Epilogue
  71. Acknowledgments
  72. An Excerpt from JACKIE AND MARIA
  73. Chapter 1
  74. Chapter 2
  75. P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . .*
  76. About the Author
  77. About the Book
  78. Historical Afterword
  79. Sources
  80. The Love Lives of the Romanov Daughters
  81. Reading Group Questions
  82. Praise for The Lost Daughter
  83. By Gill Paul
  84. About the Publisher

On May 22 there was a late snowstorm that gusted against the whitewashed windows and left the family huddling around the stove for warmth, blankets tight around their shoulders. The following morning, Maria ventured out into the yard, hoping the snow would not delay the arrival of her siblings. It was already melting, but the ground was slippery and the sky was gray and threatening. Soon rain began to fall in large, slushy drops, driving her indoors.

Avdeyev came to the drawing room at eleven to tell them that “the party” was on their way from the station. Maria looked wistfully at the whitewashed windows, wishing she could have watched out for them. What would her sisters make of this grim, faceless house?

Half an hour later, she heard a commotion in the hallway and rushed out to see Tatiana trudging up the stairs, her French bulldog Ortipo under one arm and a suitcase in her other hand. Next came Alexei, who was being carried by his carer, followed by the others and two more family dogs, Joy and Jemmy. They had all gotten soaked in the rain and looked bedraggled and bone-weary, but Maria embraced them one by one with great excitement.

“I’m thrilled to see you. Come in! It’s this way. You poor dears, you look half perished. I’ll have Sednev brew some tea.”

They greeted their parents, then slumped into chairs. Dr. Botkin, the family doctor, who had arrived with the party, crouched to examine Alexei, who looked pale and exhausted.

“What an appalling journey!” Tatiana sighed. “Four long days in a rusty steamship then a filthy third-class train carriage. At moments I felt sure we would not survive—but here we are.”

“This room is very dark,” Anastasia commented. “Where is our bedroom?”

“I’ll show you. Come with me.” Maria led her by the hand through the dining room to the newly opened up bedroom that the girls were to share. It had a parquet floor and floral wallpaper but did not as yet have any beds.

Once they were alone, Anastasia whispered, “Last night was awful. The guards were drunk and so disrespectful we did not get a wink of sleep. Such things they called to us . . . I hope never to hear the like again. Thank goodness Papa and Mama were not there or they would have caused an enormous fuss and who knows what would have happened?”

Maria hugged her. “It is safe here. Deadly boring, but safe. Now you’ve arrived I hope we can have some fun.”

“Where are we to sleep?” Anastasia looked around, her nose wrinkled. “And why are the windows whitewashed? It doesn’t seem like a place where we can have fun; it’s more like a mausoleum in which we have been interred.”

Maria sighed. Her sentiments exactly.

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