Papa was concerned about me leaving the house while the cleaner took my place but he trusted Malama. We all did. She was a sweet girl, by the name of Yelena, and she was terribly nervous as she slid off her blouse, skirt and headscarf and swapped them for my gown, while Olga and Maria kept watch by the door. I thanked her for her loyalty and promised that I would see her in the morning. As I walked out with the other girl, Yelena’s friend, I saw Anton, the vilest of the guards, watching us and kept my head down, fiddling with my sleeves, waiting to feel a hand on my shoulder at any moment. Suddenly we were on the street and it seemed so bright and open, I was dazzled by the light. I didn’t know where to go but the girl led me to a street corner and there was my beloved Malama and he was smiling. Oh, the joy of that moment, when all my fears were momentarily banished! We rode back to a cottage he had rented and we embraced and talked and talked and embraced, and it was beautiful. I loved him more than ever that afternoon. Such sacrifices as he has made for me could never be repaid.
I didn’t want him to leave the cottage that evening – perhaps I had a premonition of what was to come – but he was confident of his plan to rescue us all. So I bolted the door and while I waited, I looked round at Malama’s few possessions. His spare clothes, the meagre bread and cheese in the kitchen, his tooth powder and brush, and I loved them for being his. Oh, I would give anything to leap back to those moments, the last moments of innocence.
I heard horses approach and the door being rattled and I ran to hide in the wardrobe. Why there? It was the first thought that came to mind. There was nowhere else. With terror, I listened to the sound of the door being hacked down then there were men’s voices in the cottage. The wardrobe was pulled open and when I saw the ugly pockmarked face of Anton the guard, I knew I was doomed. He grabbed me by the hair to pull me from the wardrobe and spat in my face, calling me prostitutka and all kinds of awful words. I ordered him to let me go and he slapped me then threw me to the ground. He didn’t care if I was hurt, had no concern about what my father might say. ‘We followed you here, you and your boyfriend,’ he said. ‘Did you really believe you could get away? You royals think you are above the law.’
He tied a dirty rag over my mouth so I could not scream for help, and secured my wrists behind my back. When he hauled me onto his horse’s back, I assumed we were returning to the Ipatiev House. At that stage I was not afraid for myself but for what they would do to Malama if they caught him. The two men riding alongside did not look at me. They seemed to take orders from Anton. I suspect it is because he is a bully and they are scared of him.
When the horses stopped, it was not at the familiar house but outside some dirty hovel. Anton pulled me from his horse and shoved me hard in the back to force me inside. There was no one in the street, nowhere to run. It was dimly lit but I could see there were two rooms with straw mattresses on the floor and little else. Anton pushed me into one of the rooms and shut the door and I stood there shivering, deeply shocked. Malama would be back at the cottage soon. What would he do when he found me gone? How would he ever discover my whereabouts? If only there had been time to write him a note, give him a clue – but it all happened so suddenly.
I could hear the men drinking next door, their voices becoming increasingly raucous, and I wondered when Yurovsky, the commander of the guards, would arrive. I would appeal to him to return me to my family immediately. When Anton opened the door he laughed a truly evil laugh, and I could feel how much he despised me. All those times I spoke haughtily and reprimanded him had sown a deep hatred and now he wanted his vengeance. He hit me hard across the face, knocking me backwards onto the bed, then he fell on top of me, ripped at my clothes, and violated me. The pain was indescribable, his rancid smell utterly repulsive, but worst of all was the thought of Malama, my husband, and what it would do to him if he ever found out that his precious wife was no longer pure. I can’t bear for him ever to know.
16th July, Tuesday
While Anton slept I crept up and tried the door, but it was locked and there were no windows. I could feel blood between my legs where he had ripped me open and a dull ache in my belly as if he had damaged something deep within. I could see from a chink beneath the door that it was dawn outside and worried myself sick thinking about poor Yelena, the cleaner. If I could not get back to the house that morning, she would be stuck inside and my family would be terrified for my safety. Why had Anton not taken me there? Did Yurovsky know of my escape? For all that he was unsympathetic to our plight, I could not believe he had condoned this brutal attack. Anton must have planned this on his own and persuaded his two cronies to help.
I decided that when he woke, I would be nice, pretend to like him, and try to persuade him that I would tell no one if he would just take me back to the house. I had worked the rag off my mouth by now although my hands were still tied and as soon as he woke I spoke kindly, using terms of endearment. My attempts did not persuade him for one moment, though. He violated me again then tied me securely, feet as well as hands, before leaving. The hovel fell silent. I rolled to the door and nudged it with my shoulder but it wouldn’t budge. I knew Malama would be looking for me and couldn’t bear to think of his distress. What would he do? Where would he turn?
I tried everything I could think of to get free during those long hours, pulling and twisting my ankles and wrists until they were bleeding. I was raked by savage thirst and when I drifted into sleep I dreamed of cool, clear mountain lakes and woke even thirstier than before. The light faded and now it was night again, with no chink of light coming from the outside. Anton and his friends returned and I realised this must be the house where they slept.
He was drunk when he barged in, swinging a lantern that made me blink. And then he said the most hateful words in the world: ‘Your family are all dead and it’s your fault. By trying to escape you signed their death warrants and tonight the executions were carried out. How does that make you feel?’
He tore the rag from my mouth, wanting to hear my reaction, and I screamed as hard as I could from deep down inside and only stopped screaming when Anton hit me on the head and knocked me unconscious.
17th July, Wednesday