NEWS OF THE CIVIL WAR DID NOT OFTEN REACH THE REMOTE farm where Peter and Maria lived, but Peter heard snippets when he took farm produce to markets around the region. He and Maria had pinned their hopes on the White Army advancing and driving back the Bolsheviks, and they rejoiced when they heard that Admiral Kolchak’s troops had crossed the Urals and captured the strategic town of Tsaritsyn in June that year.

“Surely it must only be a matter of time before we can come out of hiding and search for my sister and my relatives?” Maria asked. “My grandmother must still be alive, and my cousins—and perhaps Tatiana is with them.”

She tried to imagine finding Tatiana and introducing her to her little nephew, but the picture refused to come into focus. Was she kidding herself? The entire nation had been ripped in two and hers could not be the only family to be broken apart. That was what civil wars did.

A couple of months later, Peter came back from market with news. “I heard from a British merchant that your grandmother, Maria Feodorovna, was rescued from the Crimea by a ship sent by the British king, George V, and that she is currently his guest in London.”

“And Tatiana?” Maria asked immediately, her heart leaping. “Is she in London too?”

He shook his head. “My source didn’t mention her. Perhaps she is keeping a low profile in case the Bolsheviks are still intent on wiping out the direct line of inheritance to the throne.” He glanced at little Stepan, asleep in a cot he had carved from pine, and Maria followed his gaze. Of course! Her baby son was an heir of the Romanov dynasty. That could put him in danger if anyone were to find out.

“Is there a way we could get to London?” she asked, then answered her own question. “Even if we could reach Murmansk or the Baltic shores, it would not be easy to board a ship sailing for Britain, would it?”

Peter shook his head. “Passenger ships, trains, all forms of transport are operated by militant workers. If we sold some of your jewels to pay for our passage, they would demand to know where the money came from. Besides, I don’t think we should take this little man from a safe home and subject him to the hardships of such a journey.”

They both looked at the sleeping child. His blond baby curls were darkening and his features becoming more distinctly his own, but he retained an equanimity of character that Maria thought was just like his father’s. He seldom cried, but watched the world carefully, drinking it all in.

* * *

By the end of 1919, all talk of traveling to London was abandoned after Maria found she was pregnant again. Svetlana reacted with irritation to the news.