“We will look at the Upper Park now and stop for lunch before we enter the palace,” the guide said, checking her watch. She led them around to the other side of the building, and Val saw acres of immaculately kept formal gardens with rows of fountains and parterres. There wasn’t so much as a leaf on the ground or a dead head on a flower. The gardeners must patrol regularly, checking for decay and correcting every imperfection immediately.

They stopped on a bench to eat a picnic lunch. The guide unpacked slices of stodgy bread, hard-boiled eggs (at which Nicole wrinkled her nose), cold meats, and cheeses. As they ate, Val took the opportunity to show the woman her gold Fabergé box. She had brought it with her because she knew the company had been based in St. Petersburg during the time of the Romanovs and it seemed likely someone there might know about it.

“I’m trying to find how it opens,” she said.

The guide narrowed her eyes, peering at the inscription and trying without success to force it. “Perhaps we can ask one of the curators,” she said. “I will make inquiries.”

When they were eventually ushered inside, at the exact time printed on their tickets, they found the palace interior awash with gold and ornament. It was almost too much, Val thought. No surface was left undecorated. The overall effect was of fabulous, unlimited wealth, which was probably what the designers intended.

In each room, a guard sat on a chair in the corner, watching that they did not touch any of the priceless items. Their guide spoke in Russian to a woman guarding the Yellow Banqueting Hall, then turned to Val.

“There is a curator here who is a Fabergé expert. We can show him your box. Follow me.”

“Nicole and I will stay and explore, if that’s OK,” Bill said.

The guide was unhappy about leaving them, but agreed with a sniff that she would take Val to meet the curator, then return straightaway.

* * *

The Fabergé expert, whose name was Stepan Alexandrovich Dubov, smiled when he saw Val’s gold box.

“Ah! It’s a sun, moon, and stars box,” he said, in perfect English, with an accent that was only slightly foreign. “I haven’t seen one of those for a while.” He looked at the hallmark on the back. “Henrik Wigstrom was the workmaster.”

“What is a sun, moon, and stars box?” Val asked.