Rasputin's Daughter by Robert Alexander

stumbled along, I glanced into the salon, half hoping to see the drunken Princess Kossikovskaya and Countess Olga dozing away. Instead the room was dark, its many chairs pushed neatly up against the walls. When we passed through the dining room, I noted that the bronze chandelier was still lit, but the pastries and nuts, the dried fruits and candies, had all been put away, as had the large brass samovar. Dunya had obviously worked hard after we left, not only seeing that the ladies departed without a problem-perhaps she had called one of their footmen to escort them-but making our apartment ready for the following day, when another horde of my father’s seekers and devotees would line up outside our door and down the long stairs. So she should be still awake.
    When I steered Sasha into our kitchen, however, I found it dark, the single electric bulb hanging from the ceiling extinguished. Dismayed, I led him across the room.
    “Just hang on to the sink while I get a stool. Can you do that?” I asked, as I reached out with one hand and pulled the light chain.
    Flinching as the light burst on, he nodded.
    Leaving him at the sink, I dashed to the far corner, where I yanked aside a curtain. To my dismay, the cot tucked into the corner was empty. Grabbing a small wooden stool, I returned to Sasha and placed it right behind his knees. As he sat down, a deep, painful moan trickled from his lips.
    “It’s okay,” I said.
    But it wasn’t. None of this was right, particularly Dunya’s absence. She was supposed to be with us from early morning until late at night, cooking and cleaning, until, just like all the other maids in the building, she would retire to her small chamber under the rafters of the very top floor. She shouldn’t have left yet, not without either Papa or me at home. She should be in her little corner, resting and watching out for my sister. Dear Lord, was Varya all right? Could she be missing too?
    “Sasha, I have to check on my sister. Are you all right for one minute? You won’t faint, will you?”
    He shook his head, attempted a small laugh, and said, “And I won’t run from you either.”
    “No, I don’t think you could.”
    I raced from the kitchen and down the hall. Papa’s first child, a son, had died soon after birth. His second, Dmitri-our brother, Mitya-was sweet but mentally simple and lived and worked with Mama in Siberia. I was next and had moved to the capital seven years earlier. Last was Varya, several years younger, who had come to St. Petersburg just three years ago. She was my friend and confidante. Please, I prayed with pounding heart, let her be safe, let her be unharmed.
    Dashing to our room, I threw open the door. And there she was, the dear lump, buried beneath the comforter and fast asleep, blessedly hogging most of the bed, as was her annoying habit. Despite the ruckus and my deep, heavy huffing and puffing, she did nothing more than moan and squirm. After a moment of standing there, staring at her peacefully sleeping, I shut the door.
    So had nothing happened here tonight? No, I thought, as I made my way back to the kitchen, that wasn’t right. Sasha, after two years, had shown up wounded, and Dunya had gone missing. Worse, some thug had chased me up the stairs-was my would-be assailant still lurking outside the door? Gospodi, perhaps I should place a call to the Aleksander Palace. A message could be got to my father, who would be beset with worry. And the Tsaritsa would see that someone was sent at once for our protection. I must call immediately, I thought.
    Then I heard Sasha moan. No, I thought, the very first thing to do was take care of him. Returning to the kitchen, I found him still sitting on the stool but slumped against the sink. Just how bad was he?
    “Sasha, let’s get your coat off.”
    He nodded ever so slightly but didn’t move, so I reached around and undid the heavy buttons of his wool coat. Touching him, I felt the hard strength in his back, his arms, and