‘They’re so pathetically infantile. Do you know that for Cousin Toria’s sixteenth birthday next month, Aunt Alix is going to give a children’s party for her? A children’s party! Can you believe it?’ His snort of disgust was the last thing Alicky heard before the rhythmic rocking of the train sent her to sleep.

She had expected their arrival at the train station in St Petersburg to be similar to their royal welcomes whenever they stayed with Granny Queen at Windsor Castle, or Osborne House, or Balmoral. A red carpet and immaculate formality, but nothing so excessive that it would plunge her into agonies of shyness.

The noise and the crush when they stepped from their train onto the station platform, to be met by Sergei and his uniformed and bemedalled entourage, were totally unlike anything she had ever experienced, or even imagined. Flags – the red and white of Hesse-Darmstadt, the gold and black of the House of Romanov and even, here and there, the red, white and blue of Granny Queen’s Union Jack – waved in what appeared to be an endless sea. Brass bands played deafeningly. Church bells rang out. The coaches waiting for them were as ornately gilded as Britain’s coronation coach.

‘The Romanovs don’t believe in doing things by halves, do they?’ Ernie said admiringly as the coach he was sharing with Alicky and Irène moved off, drawn by eight white horses postilion-ridden and accompanied by footmen in powdered wigs and scarlet livery.

All the way to the Winter Palace, Alicky kept her eyes not on the cheering people lining the streets, but on her lap and her lace-gloved hands. It was nice that the people of St Petersburg were welcoming Ella so eagerly, and she was very glad they were doing so, but crowds of any kind unnerved her, no matter how hard she tried not to let them do so.

‘Oh, look, Alicky!’ Irène grabbed hold of her arm. ‘The Neva! I’d no idea it would be far, far wider than the Thames. Do look, Alicky. Please.’

Reluctantly she raised her head. They were crossing a bridge and although it was lined by flag-waving Russians, over their heads was a mesmerizing view of the broadest, most awe-inspiring river she had ever seen. And it wasn’t only the river that took her breath away. Pale-stone mansions as big as palaces lined both banks and beyond the mansions, and as far as the eye could see, delicate spires rose ethereally; pumpkin-shaped domes glittered; towers and steeples pierced the sky; turrets and pinnacles gleamed with gold. It was a scene of such awe-inspiring beauty that the breath caught in Alicky’s throat. Why had no one told her that St Petersburg was a city straight from a fairy-tale? Why had no one warned her that once she had seen it, she would want to remain in it forever?