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