Their days were punctuated by meals, scripture readings, exercise sessions in the cramped yard where the tall fence blocked much of the sunlight, card games, and then bed. There was little to look forward to, and yet she counted the minutes until Sednev, their footman, announced luncheon, or a guard came to accompany her and her father downstairs to the yard. Her mother seldom went with them as her sciatica was crippling and her headaches frequently left her bedridden. Leaving the house was forbidden; they were not even allowed to attend services at the local church.

Maria’s only distraction was chatting to the guards whenever she could make an excuse to slip out of the family’s rooms. She befriended several of them and learned about their childhoods, their interests, their ambitions, even their sweethearts. She asked about the countryside around Ekaterinburg, and heard that they were close to the Ural Mountains, the great chain that divided Russia into two halves, where brown bears, wolves, and elks roamed and there was dense forest up to the snowline. She asked about the jobs they had done before coming to the Ipatiev House and learned of the Zlokazov brewery, the Makarov cloth factory, and the steam mills that ground wheat, steel, or gunpowder. Most of the guards were friendly, with only Commissar Avdeyev remaining aloof.

Maria had always enjoyed male company. As a child, she’d had several friends among the officers who crewed the royal yacht, the Shtandart, and she’d enjoyed playing billiards, quoits, or deck tennis with them. During the war, she’d befriended the staff at Stavka, her father’s headquarters, and had spent many evenings in Tsarskoe Selo visiting wounded soldiers in the hospital. It was there she developed a particular fondness for an officer called Kolya Demenkov. Oh, Kolya. She still sighed to think of him. She used to describe herself in letters to friends as “Mrs. Demenkov” and go to sleep every night dreaming of him, imagining what it would be like to be his wife. Where was he now? She had no idea. She couldn’t remember his face clearly anymore; it had all been so long ago.