Maria got up and pulled on the undergarments and skirt into which she had sewn jewels, and saw her sisters doing the same. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, the weight of the fabric making it harder to fasten the buttons. She pulled on her boots and laced them, then picked up her camera and her travel bag.

When they were all ready, they walked out to the drawing room to meet Maria’s parents and Alexei. The four servants—Dr. Botkin, Demidova, Trupp, and Kharitonov—were there too, and Yurovsky was waiting. He bent back his fingers with a loud crack, then opened the door and led them to the hall.

“At least we are getting out of this place,” her father remarked, and Maria could tell he was straining to be jovial.

As they passed the stuffed bear, her mother crossed herself, and each of the girls did the same.

Chapter 6

Ekaterinburg, July 17, 1918

YUROVSKY LED THEM OUT INTO THE COURTYARD. Maria looked around and was puzzled to see there were no cars waiting. The sound of gunfire was louder now they were outside, and she shivered. Yurovsky opened another set of doors further along the wall and led them down a short flight of steps, then through a series of guardrooms and hallways until Maria was quite disoriented. They arrived in an empty storeroom with a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling.

“You will wait here until the transport arrives,” he said.

The room was about twenty-five by twenty feet, Maria estimated, with a barred window on one wall and double doors behind them.

“How long must we wait here?” Alexandra demanded. “Alexei and I cannot stand for any length of time. Could you bring chairs?”

“Of course. Chairs.” Yurovsky turned and gave an order to a guard standing behind him, an ugly man Maria had never seen before.

Two chairs were brought. Her mother and Alexei were seated, then Yurovsky surveyed the group with a frown. Nicholas was standing in front of Alexei, with Alexandra beside him.

“Could you all stand behind the chairs?” he asked, waving the girls and the four servants into a group, almost as if posing them for a photograph. They shuffled into place, and he nodded. “That will do.”

He turned and left, closing the door behind him, and they looked at each other, bemused. Maria clung to her bag and her camera, reluctant to put them down. Everyone was uneasy. It hung in the air like fog.

“Why did he bring us downstairs if the transport was not ready?” Olga asked.

“It’s most irritating,” her mother replied. “They do their utmost to punish us, God knows what for.”

“It’s in case of shelling by the Czechs,” Dr. Botkin said. “We’ll be safer in the basement if the house takes a direct hit.”

The cleaning girl began to cry quietly and Dr. Botkin put an arm around her, murmuring words of comfort.