The Witches of St. Petersburg

‘All right, May,’ she said and smiled and nodded again. ‘I understand the joke. Four candles because you are four. Don’t blow them all out otherwise we won’t be able to see anything.’ Militza chuckled. Peter glanced across at his wife. It was not a laugh he recognized. ‘Your sister is here, May,’ she said.

The sound of skipping increased dramatically and the whole group felt a breeze on their backs as if a small child was running around behind them. The silver servant’s bell on the mantelpiece rang three times and random books flew off the library shelves while the smell of spring flowers filled the air. A May bough. Alexandra looked around the room, trying to see where the heady scent was coming from.

‘May, stop showing off,’ said Militza shaking her head from side to side. Her tone was kind but firm. ‘Your big sister wants to speak to you.’ She turned to look at Tsarina, her eyebrows raised in expectation. The Empress looked blank. Eighteen years of sorrow and sadness and she did not know what to say. Her mouth went dry. She looked across at her husband for support. His pale blue eyes stared back.

‘Um,’ said Alexandra, clearing her throat. She looked around the room, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of her. ‘May? Is it really you?’ Three more books fell off the shelves as the patter of feet continued to run around the room. George shifted in his seat, more than slightly uncomfortable; he was not enjoying himself. In fact, if the Tsar had not been expected, George would sure as hell not have been there either.

‘May?’ the Tsarina continued, glancing around. ‘How are you? I miss you so very much.’

Militza nodded. ‘Are you sure that is what you want to say?’

‘How do we know you’re actually talking to her?’ asked George, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

‘I am fine,’ continued Militza in a sweet singsong voice that bore little resemblance to her own. She turned to face Alexandra, completely ignoring George. ‘May is fine. She is happy. Lots of people are looking after her. How is Mrs Orchard? Is she still looking after you?’

‘Mrs Orchard!’ Alexandra held her hands up to cover her mouth. Her face softened slightly as a wave of sadness rolled over it. ‘Dear Mrs Orchard… our English nurse,’ she announced to the table and then shook her head in disbelief. ‘Marie was always her favourite. How extraordinary! She is well, May. She is looking after my little Olga now. Just like she looked after you.’ Alexandra’s voice was high and strained, cracking slightly with emotion. ‘I have a little girl, just three months old. But then, you probably know that already.’

Militza smiled suddenly, a playful smile. She raised her shoulders with the sort of exaggerated exuberant delight that adults use towards small children. ‘Oh, that sounds delicious. Lucky you!’ Alexandra looked at her expectantly. ‘Sorry.’ Militza shook her head. ‘She said that she loves baked apples and rice pudding.’

‘Really…?’ said Alexandra quietly. She bowed her head and took a lace hankie out of her evening purse. Her tears were almost entirely silent and she barely moved. Finally, she looked up. ‘She always asked for them…’

‘It’s almost every child’s favourite,’ declared George, pushing his chair back slightly and stretching his arms above his head. ‘Does anyone mind if I get a little brandy?’ As he stood up to make his way to the library door, two more candles suddenly blew out and a tray of small crystal glasses crashed to the floor. The noise was shocking and the whole table recoiled.

‘May!’ shouted Militza, holding up her right hand. ‘Calm down!’

‘Calm down, Marie,’ Alexandra joined in.

‘Darling! George! Please sit down,’ hissed Stana. ‘Spirits don’t like being ignored, especially four-year-old girls.’

George walked very slowly back to his seat and, as he sat down, the two candles ignited once more.

‘Good,’ nodded Militza. ‘She is happy,’ she declared. ‘OK,’ she nodded again. ‘And she wants to say she is sorry about all your toys.’

‘My toys?’ asked Alexandra.

‘Yes,’ confirmed Militza. ‘The ones they burnt. What a terrible smell!’ She shook her head. ‘My nostrils are filling with the smell of soot and burning.’ She stared at the Tsarina. ‘They burnt your toys after she died?’

‘All of them.’ Alexandra shook her head again. ‘All my lovely toys. Gosh,’ she sighed, as the memories came flooding back, ‘they burnt everything to prevent the spread of diphtheria.’

‘How terrible,’ Stana sympathized.

‘My favourite toys were gone, as well as Mother and my sister… I remember weeping in the playroom, not being able to find my teddy bear, not being able to find anything…’

The Tsar leant across the table and took hold of his wife’s hand. ‘But you are all right now, darling,’ he said, gently patting her hand. ‘You have me and little Olga.’

‘Your mother gives you her blessing,’ Militza interrupted suddenly, sitting up. ‘Right, of course.’ She looked at Alexandra. ‘She says not to mourn her, that she is happy. She is with… Frittie?’