Having eased her mind a little, and helped by a stick and her lady-in-waiting, she walked the short distance to where the luncheon table was set out, and where Nicky, Ella, Sergei and her little clover leaves – which was how she lovingly referred to her four daughters – were waiting for her.

Such a relaxed, informal luncheon would have been impossible if they had been living in the Winter Palace or any of the other palaces in St Petersburg, for there formal court protocol was set in stone. Only here, at Peterhof, and at the Alexander Palace at Tsarskoe Selo could she and Nicky live the informal family life she had grown up with as a child and that was so vitally important to her.

The conversation that had come to a halt as Alicky took her place at the table had been about the war that Russia was fighting in far-away Manchuria, against the Japanese.

Five months ago Japanese destroyers had attacked the Russian fleet at Port Arthur and war had been declared. Initially no one had been very worried, for it had been assumed that Russia’s army and naval strength would soon bring the Japanese to their knees. It wasn’t working out like that, though, and the war was beginning to cause a lot of anxiety. It had also hit very close to home. The battleship that Nicky and Sergei’s cousin Kyril was serving on as First Officer was torpedoed, with the loss of more than seven hundred lives, and as well as nearly drowning, Kyril had suffered life-threatening injuries.

Aware that war was perhaps not a suitable topic for a woman about to go into labour at any minute, Sergei changed the subject by saying, ‘How are your social projects managing, without you being able to be hands-on at the moment, Alicky? Which of them has precedence?’

‘The nurse-training school at Tsarskoe Selo.’ She smiled across at Ella. ‘Do you remember how, when we were children, Mama once established a similar project in Darmstadt?’ She turned her attention back to Sergei, ‘Our mama was always trying to think of ways of improving people’s lives. Once, she—’

She stopped speaking and, with the blood rushing to her face, pushed herself abruptly away from the table. ‘I think the baby is coming! I’m sure it is.’

Her last two babies, Marie and Anastasia, had both come with wonderful speed and this one came even more quickly. Within an hour of Alicky leaving the table, the baby’s head was crowning and minutes later, as Nicky gripped her hand so tightly it was bruised for days, a healthily plump baby boy slithered into the midwife’s broad, capable hands.

‘It’s a boy, Alicky!’ Nicky could hardly believe his eyes. ‘Thanks be to God. It’s a boy!’ Tears of relief and gratitude poured down his face. They had a son! Russia had a Tsesarevich. The long, hideous years of torment were finally over.