‘And who can’t – without us making the situation even worse than it presently is – be told of it. The revolutionaries are jumping on this latest untruth and, unless we do something to end the lies, there is no telling what the outcome will be. Our Friend will understand, when the situation is explained to him. And in a few months’ time he will return and, when he does, we will meet him in one of Tsarskoe Selo’s minor palaces; not here, at the Alexander Palace.’

Alicky’s heart was hammering so hard she thought it was going to burst, but when she thought of the unspeakable vileness of what was now being printed in the press about her and Father Grigory, and of how much Nicky must be hurting on her behalf because of it, she understood why he was suggesting that Father Grigory leave St Petersburg for a little while.

‘All right, lovey,’ she said at last. ‘Just for a few months – but only for a few months. Do you promise?’

‘I promise.’ The relief in his voice was vast.

And fighting down her fears, wanting to give him comfort, she slid her arms up and around his neck, her lips parting for the reassurance of his kisses.

In the weeks after Rasputin had left for his home village of Pokrovskoe in western Siberia, Alicky was even more vigilant than usual concerning what she allowed Alexei to do. He wanted to swing on the rope that one of his sailor-attendants had, at Anastasia’s request, tied to the branch of a tree, so that she could hurl herself through the air while hanging onto it. When she had learned of the existence of the rope swing, she had immediately ordered it to be removed.

Alexei wanted to play tennis, something he was usually allowed to do, but which she didn’t dare risk when, if he fell and a bleed resulted, there would be no Father Grigory to bring it to a swift end.

A high-spirited child, Alexei grew fractious, kicking his sailor-attendants in frustration, shouting that he wanted to be a normal little boy; that he wanted to do the things normal little boys did; that he was bored, bored, bored.

‘You won’t be bored for much longer, for we go to Spala in a week’s time,’ Nicky said to him encouragingly, ‘and you know how much you enjoy being there.’ Spala, the family’s favourite hunting lodge, was a large wooden-built palace set in the middle of a forest in a remote area of Russian Poland, and was somewhere the family always enjoyed holidaying.

‘It’s September,’ Nicky continued, pleased to see that Alexei’s face had already brightened. ‘There will be blackberries to pick and lots of wildlife to see. Do you remember how last time we saw both wolves and wild boar?’