Alicky coped by not taking part in the general packing. Instead she oversaw the stowing of Romanov jewellery into large portable jewel chests. The jewellery was the only kind of finance they were now left with and, whatever else was going to be left behind to be looted, she was determined it wasn’t going to be her family’s future financial security.

The day before they were due to leave, Kerensky sent a message that they would not be going to the Crimea, as the railway line to the south was in the hands of the Bolshevik revolutionaries. Instead they would be travelling east.

‘And he said that we should pack warm clothes and furs,’ Nicky told the devastated children. ‘And he also said we should expect a journey of at least five days.’

‘Five days?’ Olga did the maths. ‘The only place five days’ train travel east is Siberia.’

At Marie’s gasp of horror, Alicky said swiftly, ‘Grishka was born in Siberia, in a village called Pokrovskoe. Perhaps we will be able to see it from the train.’

‘And he once lived in Tobolsk, in Siberia,’ Tatiana said. ‘I know, because he told me that although Tobolsk is only a small town, it seemed a vast city to a village boy like him.’

‘Then if it is a town, perhaps the train line will run through it.’

The difficult moment was over. The packing continued.

They were to begin their journey in darkness, at one o’clock in the morning. Scores of steamer trunks, large chests and wooden boxes were piled in the lapis-and malachite-decorated entrance hall and the rooms leading off of it. Kerensky, who was overseeing their departure, had asked that they gather in the entrance hall with their luggage.

The hours ticked by. Two o’clock. Three o’clock. Curled up in whatever comfortable chairs they could find, the girls dozed. Alexei struggled to keep awake, helped by his little dog, which thought it only reasonable that the two of them keep going for walks through the surrounding rooms.

Nicky paced the marbled floor, smoking cigarette after cigarette.

Kerensky was repeatedly on the telephone, furiously demanding to know what the hold-up was; demanding to know when the cars that should have been there hours ago, to ferry them to the waiting train, were finally going to arrive.

Dressed in a wine-red travelling suit and with a matching hat tilted so that it shadowed her eyes, Alicky was seated on a chair that had once belonged to Marie Antoinette, her kid-gloved hands clasped tightly in her lap.

Siberia. How ironic that the only place deemed safe for them was the place Grishka had come from.

Finally there came the sound of cars and trucks approaching the palace.

Kerensky said tautly, ‘The family will leave first. The household staff accompanying them will leave second, and only then will soldiers begin loading the luggage into the trucks.’

The girls stirred and rose wearily to their feet.