‘Yes.’ Her voice was unsteady. ‘It could be natural bleeding. It has to be. But if it isn’t? Oh God, Nicky! What if it isn’t? God couldn’t be so cruel as to have given him to us and then to have given us such a burden to bear, could he?’

Nicky didn’t answer her. His birthday fell on the feast day of the Old Testament prophet, Job; and, like Job, he believed in fate and the impossibility of battling it.

The arrival of the doctor went some way towards reassuring him.

‘It is just a slight leakage, Your Imperial Majesty,’ he said to Nicky, after swabbing away the trickle of blood and beginning to bandage Alexei’s tummy. ‘The umbilical-cord stump probably dropped off a little too soon. His Imperial Highness is not in any distress. Tomorrow will show how little cause there is for anxiety.’

‘Should we have told him the reason for our anxiety?’ Nicky asked, when they were in their own room, lying in the darkness, clasped in each other’s arms. ‘How can he have made an accurate diagnosis, without being in possession of all the facts?’

‘We can tell him tomorrow – if we have to. But pray God we don’t have to, Nicky.’ Tears rolled down Alicky’s cheeks, falling onto his naked chest. ‘Pray God his diagnosis is correct and that there will be no sign of bleeding tomorrow, and no sign of any sinister bleeding in the future.’

He pressed her hard against him and then, feeling her response, rolled her beneath him. Her lips parted, even before his mouth closed on hers. Lovemaking had always been their joy and comfort, and it was their comfort now. Tomorrow would bring reassurance. Tomorrow there would no longer be any anxieties about Alexei’s health. Tomorrow, God willing, all would be well.

The next morning Alicky rose as dawn was breaking. If Alexei’s navel had continued to bleed throughout the night, she wanted to know. She didn’t want evidence being wiped away before she had seen it for herself.

The nursery was filled with soft early light. The nurserymaid was asleep on the night-sofa; the head nurse in her bedroom adjoining the nursery. Only Baby was awake, placidly blowing bubbles.

As she leaned over the cradle, her heart was slamming against her breastbone. ‘Please let the bleeding have stopped. Please! Please! Please,’ Alicky whispered fervently, her whole heart in her prayer; her entire being in it.

With trembling hands, knowing the future of the monarchy rested in what she was about to see, or not see, she removed the covers to reveal the bandage the doctor had bound her precious son’s tummy with. It was still neatly in place.

And it was saturated with bright-red blood.