The Witches of St. Petersburg

Militza nodded and turned. As soon as she walked through the open doors, the sweet, sickly odour of incense and lilies filled the air. It smelt more like a funeral than a wedding. Lit by the glow of a thousand candles, the cream of St Petersburg society was lined up, decked out in their finery and, as they jockeyed for the best position, their diamonds, emeralds, rubies, pearls, gold and silver silks all coruscated like a basket of wet vipers writhing in the sun. Militza was momentarily blinded by the opulence and gripped on to her fan all the more tightly as she walked through the church. She heard the conversation dip and felt the glare of a hundred pairs of eyes. Dressed in a yellow silk dress, with a yellow diamond necklace and the small diamond tiara her husband had recently presented to her, she nervously scanned the church.

The first to approach her was the Tsar’s sister, the Grand Duchess Maria Alexandrovna who was married to Prince Alfred, Duke of Edinburgh, second son of Queen Victoria. Her diamond and Burmese ruby parure was impressive, yet her little round face was impassive and sagging with boredom.

She yawned gently. ‘So here we all are, again. Twice in four weeks.’ She managed a pinched smile as she thrice kissed the air next to Militza’s cheeks. ‘What a horribly hot day.’ She flapped her huge mother-of-pearl fan by way of a demonstration. ‘And my brother is not coming. He is in Denmark. Copenhagen. With Mama’s family,’ she added with a little shake of her coronet. ‘A previous engagement.’

‘Shame,’ added Prince Alfred, who looked as weary as his wife as he surveyed the scene. ‘It makes it so much less of an occasion without the Tsar.’

‘And your father, the King of…?’ Maria Alexandrovna paused very pointedly, fiddling with her large ruby ring.

‘The Crown Prince of Montenegro.’ Militza could feel her cheeks beginning to flush with irritation. This was not the first time someone had pretended not to remember the name of her country.

‘Not here either?’ she remarked, her lips pursed, already knowing the answer.

‘Sadly, my mother is confined.’

‘What is it now – ten?’ The Grand Duchess giggled. ‘Not even the old serfs had that many children!’

‘Twelve,’ replied Militza her eyes finally alighting on the tall, slender frame of her husband. ‘Will you excuse me?’

She fled, weaving her way through the rustle of silk and glimmer of diamonds straight to his side.

‘There you are!’ He leant over to kiss her. ‘Everything all right?’ he whispered in her ear.

‘I’ve given her a little something for her nerves.’

He stood and smiled at her. Dressed in an immaculately fitting red Hussar’s uniform, with large gold epaulettes that highlighted his broad shoulders, there was a glint in Peter’s grey eyes, a generous curl on his moustachioed lips; he was a charming ebullient sort, who always looked as if he was about to tell the most excellent story.

‘Good girl,’ he replied, tapping the back of her hand. ‘I wish you’d spared a little for me!’ he added, with a small sigh as he gazed across the church. ‘It’s quite a turnout. Difficult for a young girl. Well done you.’ He nodded, squeezing her hand. ‘I remember our wedding day,’ he added.

‘I should hope so!’ Militza smiled. ‘It wasn’t that long ago.’

‘Four weeks and five days.’ He smiled. ‘That tiara suits you.’

‘You chose well,’ she replied.

‘Thank you, my lady.’ He bowed in jest. ‘I have an eye for beautiful things,’ he declared, before turning to talk to the guests standing on his right.

‘For the love of Christ!’ hissed a rather beautiful woman as she bustled in front of Militza. Wearing an overly embroidered court dress trimmed with pearls, she had two heavy diamonds swinging from her earlobes and a substantial diamond and pearl tiara on her head. She exuded the ennui of entitlement. ‘I don’t know why we are here!’

‘I agree,’ mumbled her husband, stroking his thick moustache. ‘Who’s heard of a court wedding without the Tsar?’

‘Can you blame him? I only wish I too had managed to slip away to Demark. It’s embarrassing. Such a dark little shrew of a girl. With no money! And from some God-awful backwater no one has ever heard of. What on earth is George doing? Couldn’t he get anything better? Montenegro, of all places. The streets are full of goats!’

‘Have you heard they’ve even brought a crone with them?’ added her husband. ‘A crone! I suppose they can’t afford a proper lady-in-waiting.’

Militza dug her sharp fingernails into the palms of her hands. How she wished her father had not forced both her and Stana to come here. Even the nunnery on Lake Skadar was preferable to this.

‘Ah, Felix! Zinaida! Lovely to see you!’ declared Peter, turning towards his wife and noticing the couple in front of her. ‘Militza, my darling,’ he added, ‘have you met the Yusupovs? The most glamorous couple in all of Russia!’