Ekaterinburg, Russia, May 1918
Three weeks after the departure of the Tsar and Tsarina, Trina came to Dmitri’s lodgings to tell him that Alexei had been judged fit for the journey and the remaining Romanovs were being taken to join their parents in Ekaterinburg. Dmitri packed his belongings and paid his landlady an extra week’s rent to apologise for the lack of notice then hurried up to the Governor’s House. Some old-fashioned tarantass carriages were standing by, presumably to take them on the first leg of the journey. Dmitri rushed to a horse dealer and bought himself a mount on which he could follow.
He watched as the royal party, twenty-seven of them including servants and tutors, were escorted into the carriages, along with the three dogs: Ortipo, Alexei’s Spaniel, Joy, and the family’s Pekingese, Jimmy. Alexei was carried out by a manservant with Tatiana close by, soothing him. She didn’t look up, too concerned for her brother.
Dmitri rode behind the carriages, keeping out of sight amongst the trees and sleeping rough whenever the party stopped at an inn for the night. It was a bone-rattling journey on rough roads and Dmitri feared for poor Alexei, for whom every jolt would mean excruciating pain. His glimpses of Tatiana showed her looking harassed and anxious and he yearned to rush out and throw his arms around her. She was supporting everyone else and there was no one to support her.
Five days later they arrived at the railway junction of Tyumen, and Dmitri could see the girls looked bewildered as they were ushered onto a train, which had none of the comforts they were used to. The royal train had been like a palace, with sumptuous beds and sofas, chandeliers, dining tables and individual reading lamps. This train, by contrast, had hard seats in unadorned carriages leading off a bare corridor, and members of the public were also permitted to travel on it. He made sure Tatiana spotted him and caught the look of relief on her face when she realised he was travelling with them, although he couldn’t get closer than two carriages away from the royal party.
The train departed with a screech and the air filled with the smell of smoke, while black soot smeared the windows. Dmitri tried to walk along the corridor to look in on Tatiana but was prevented by guards. When night fell he lay awake picturing her lying on exactly the same type of bench as him and wondered if she would get any sleep. Were their meals better than the tasteless soup and rough bread he had managed to procure? He hoped so.
On arrival in Ekaterinburg, he alighted from the train and watched as a contingent arrived from the local soviet. Crowds of townspeople jostled, eager for a glimpse of the royal visitors, and Dmitri mingled with them, trying not to attract attention. Several hours passed, during which officials came and went, before at last the royal children emerged with just three servants. It seemed the rest of the party were being left behind. They were instructed to carry their own bags, and Dmitri seethed with helpless rage as Olga, Tatiana and Anastasia struggled to lift them. The sole manservant couldn’t help because he was carrying Alexei. As they staggered out towards the road, the crowd began to jeer. Dmitri yearned to remonstrate, to rush forward and carry their burdens for them, but had to stand by powerless as Tatiana rallied the others and they walked up the hill, heads held high, surrounded by Red Guards.
The first sight of the Ipatiev House was a shock. It was much smaller than the Governor’s House and was surrounded by a tall fence just a few feet from the walls, so there would be hardly any space for them to walk outdoors. From what Dmitri could gather, it was built in the modern style but the windows were painted white to prevent anyone seeing in or out, and there were guards with machineguns sitting in sentry posts at every corner. This really was a prison and the gaolers were taking no chances. Tatiana turned and gave him one last haunting look before disappearing inside.
Dmitri walked around the house, noting where the guard posts were located, and listening for any sounds from within. It was unseasonably cold for May, with flurries of snow falling, and he supposed that might stop the family from stepping out of doors to stretch their legs. There was a knothole in the wood at one point and he bent to put his eye to it but was unable to see anything except the walls of the house with those spookily blank windows, as though the inhabitants had been erased.
He had to find lodgings but this time he judged it best to choose somewhere remote, in case he was able to rescue the family. He walked until he found an alehouse, where he asked if anyone knew of a farmer with a cottage to rent and a horse for sale; he had left his last horse in Tyumen when they got on the train. Word was passed around and finally it seemed someone had a friend who had a cousin who might be able to help. The friend’s cousin was sent for and he arrived leading a horse, then took Dmitri to the outskirts of town where a little cottage nestled on the edge of a pine forest. A price was agreed, the horse was tethered, and Dmitri went inside to sit alone in the gathering gloom.
He felt sick with fear that Tatiana should be held in such a place amongst such people. Trina was one of the staff left behind on the train so he had no way of getting letters in or out. His wife was trapped behind that tall barricade by heavily armed guards in a town where there was only hostility towards her family. The end was drawing near. He could feel it in his bones. There wasn’t much time left for him to find a way of saving her.
Next morning, Dmitri rode around Ekaterinburg getting his bearings. The town sat on the eastern side of the Ural Mountains and he could see scars on the towering rockfaces caused by mining. He knew they dug for precious stones here: the kind of stones the Romanovs had once used for their jewellery and Fabergé eggs without giving a thought to the source. There were some beautiful buildings – churches, cathedrals, theatres and private houses, built in the classical style – but there were also many factories spewing out smoke, noisy paper mills and foul-smelling tanneries where the working population earned their crust. Voznesensky Prospekt, on which the Ipatiev House stood, was the main thoroughfare. Dmitri rode past the house but even on horseback he was unable to see over the barricade and he could hear no signs of life from within.
Four houses down the hill, a brass plaque mounted on a wall indicated the British consulate and he pulled up his horse. Might it be worth enquiring within?
Dmitri was ushered into a hallway where he sat in a leather armchair for around twenty minutes until he was called to meet the consul, Sir Thomas Preston. He was a tall, distinguished-looking man, probably only in his thirties, with narrow eyes that scrutinised Dmitri as he entered the room. Dmitri introduced himself as a former member of the royal escort, one who was much concerned with the Romanov family’s welfare, and asked if there was anything the consul could do to help them.
Sir Thomas tapped a pen on the desk, regarding him with regret. ‘I make daily enquiries regarding the condition of the Tsar and Tsarina and will now include the grand duke and duchesses, but I probably have no more information than you. This morning I received a delegation from the staff members who still remain on board the train with nowhere to go and I am endeavouring to secure accommodation for them – although it appears some have been imprisoned. Information is sketchy.’
Dmitri was impatient. ‘Can’t the British government do something to help? These are relatives of King George V. I am outraged by their indifference.’
Sir Thomas pursed his lips before replying. ‘Do you hear the news from the Western Front? Do you know how many are dying in the trenches? I’m afraid they are preoccupied with other matters back in London.’