Next they followed a corridor toward a second set of steps and the lavatory. It was closed to the public but she could see the rope bellpulls the family were supposed to ring when they wanted to use it. They walked through what used to be a kitchen, with a huge iron range, then into a dining room with red and gold wallpaper and a dark-wood sideboard and table. It was eerie to think of the Romanovs eating their meals there, unaware that their days were numbered.

The bedrooms along the far wall of the house were sparsely furnished, with tall south-facing windows—no longer whitewashed as they had been in the Romanovs’ day. Val could see out across the town. A cathedral was visible in one direction and she imagined that must have been galling for the family, who were disappointed not to be allowed to attend church after they arrived in Ekaterinburg. The rooms were small; it would have been a crush for fourteen to sleep in them. And only one toilet! Did they have a rota?

They walked into the adjoining sitting and drawing rooms next and saw that they were lined with display cabinets of old photographs and newspaper cuttings. Val peered into the first cabinet, pen poised, and Bill translated the captions for her.

“This is Yakov Yurovsky, the commandant in July 1918,” Bill said, pointing to the first photograph. The man had a thatch of dark hair, a bushy beard, and a moustache that curled at the sides. Val thought he had mean eyes.

“This one is Peter Ermakov, and the revolver alongside is said to be his.”

Val glanced across to where Nicole was examining some needlework lying on a side table. She did not appear to be listening.

“My father had a gun just like that,” she said, making a face. “I don’t know why.”

Bill moved on to a photograph of a handsome young man with dark hair and smiling eyes. “This one is Ivan Skorokhodov. Hey! Wasn’t that your father’s name?”

“What?” Val peered at the picture. “It was, but this doesn’t look anything like him. But I’m sure this man was in one of the photographs from Dad’s camera.”

“It says he was a guard here but spent three months in jail in 1918 after getting too close to the Romanov family.” Bill looked at her, a question in his expression.

“I know Dad spent some time in jail, so I suppose it’s possible, but . . .” She couldn’t see any resemblance at all.

The next picture showed a man called Konstantin Ukraintsev. “Here’s another one whose picture was in your dad’s camera, and it says he was also dismissed for getting too close to the family,” Bill told her. “There’s a theme here. The Romanovs must have been likeable people if they had to keep changing the guards when they became too friendly.”