He was now eight and, like any small boy of that age, Alexei loved to run and play, to have games of tag with his sisters and kick balls and ride a bike. And every time he did so, her heart was in her mouth. Two sailors were always on hand in case of any accidents, but if and when an accident happened, their usefulness was nil. All that could be done was for Alexei to be carried to bed and for the vigil to begin. Some bleeds were not as agonizing as others – although they still could end in death. The most crippling bleeds were when the blood flowed into a joint, and that joint became excruciatingly deformed. She then had to endure the agony of hearing Alexei shrieking, ‘Please, Mama. Please take the pain away. Please, Mama! Please!’

Night after night, week after week and month after month she had knelt on the cold stone of the chapel in the imperial park and prayed for the bleeding episodes to come to an end. They never had, but five years ago God had answered her prayers. He had sent her Father Grigory.

Father Grigory Yefimovich Rasputin had arrived in St Petersburg from Siberia, a self-styled starets, or holy man, who had the reputation of being a faith-healer. When Alexei had injured his leg while playing at bunny-hops, Alicky, in utter despair and remembering what she had heard of Father Grigory, had sent for him.

In his mid-thirties, tall and muscular with an unkempt beard, night-black hair hanging to his shoulders, ingrained dirt in his hands and nails, deep-set eyes of a disturbing intensity and wearing knee-high boots and the ankle-length coat of a peasant, he had been brought from St Petersburg to Tsarskoe Selo. Once in Alexei’s bedroom in the Alexander Palace, Father Grigory had shown not a flicker of awe or intimidation at finding himself in the presence of the Tsar and Tsarina of All the Russias, and had addressed them not as their Imperial Majesties, but as ‘Batyushka’ and ‘Matushka’ – Little Father and Little Mother. Then he had raised his hand, made the sign of the cross, knelt by the side of Alexei’s bed and begun to pray.

Throughout his long prayer Alexei’s whimpers of pain came less and less often, and then at last Father Grigory had risen to his feet. ‘Your pain is going away, my child,’ he had said in a hypnotically soothing voice. ‘You will soon be well. Thank the good God for healing you, and then sleep.’

That Alexei was able to do so was proof to Alicky that she hadn’t summoned Father Grigory in vain. Although it wasn’t until the next morning, when the hideous swelling showed every sign of reducing in size and there was no recurring pain, that she had known without a shadow of a doubt that Father Grigory had been sent to her by God.