The Rebel Daughters

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

14th December, St. Petersburg 1825

T he winter solstice fell on the fourteenth of December. It was the lowest, darkest day of the year and Anna awoke with a sense of foreboding. Tsar Alexander was dead. Never again would he see his beloved capital in the north, and the city was in a state of mourning. No one went out and windows were swathed in black drapes. It seemed impossible that the tenor of life could change in so short a time. People spoke in low voices, moving quietly around their black-festooned homes and the streets were deserted.

St. Petersburg was riven by conflicting reports. Alexander had no legitimate children and no one knew who was the rightful heir. Was it Constantine, his next brother and governor of Poland? He had a reputation for courage and caring for his soldiers and was popular with the army. Anna believed Sasha would support him, but Constantine had not come back from Poland. It was even rumoured he had abdicated in favour of the youngest brother, Nicholas – a cold fish, if ever there was one. Others accused Nicholas of hatching a conspiracy to usurp the throne. It took five days for dispatches to travel between Warsaw and St. Petersburg. A fortnight had passed and still there came no announcement.

‘We’ve become the laughing stock of Europe,’ Count Brianski declared. ‘Russia has no ruler, only two prospective tsars passing around the crown like a cup of tea.’

The Russian soldier held a mystical belief in the supremacy of the rightful tsar and the army was becoming restless. Sasha had been recalled to barracks and only allowed home twice to see Sofia. Anna had tried to talk to him but only succeeded on the last evening when he was on the way out. As they stood in the hall, she pleaded with him to break ties with all secret societies.

‘You’ve been listening to gossip, dear Anna. Everything will be alright, I promise.’

‘But Count Bulgarin insisted—’

‘And what does Count Bulgarin know about anything? I love my family and am fully aware of my duties.’ Sasha looked pale, even as the epaulettes on his jacket lifted in a shrug. ‘Should anything untoward happen, I know you’ll look after Sofia and our unborn son. I entrust them to your care.’

He spoke in a tone that alarmed Anna. What did he mean, ‘should anything untoward happen’? Why couldn’t he explain what was going on? Was he trying to protect his friends? She was his sister and would never betray him. Just when she needed reassurance, he had frightened her half to death. Thinking back to this last conversation, Anna let her head fall against the bedhead. Nicholas Bulgarin said a petition had been submitted to the tsar. Surely, once there was a new emperor, they could argue their case with him?

It was still dark, but Anna could hear doors opening and the careful tread of servants on the stairs. Soon Mazra would come with her breakfast and light the fire, then she would get dressed and go to see Sofia.

An hour later, wearing the same black outfit as the day before, she crossed the landing and tapped on her sister-in-law’s door. She heard a faint ‘Entre’ and went in. Only one small candle was alight, and she opened the heavy damask curtains before she went to kneel beside the bed. Pale grey light filtered into the room. She rested her elbows on the counterpane with her chin on her hands so her face was the same level as Sofia’s. Her sister-in-law’s hair was spread like fine gossamer over the pillow and her eyes were open.

‘Are you unwell? Is it the morning sickness?’

‘I couldn’t sleep last night. Every time I closed my eyes, I dreamt of demons and death.’

‘I hope Sasha didn’t say anything to upset you?’

‘No, on the contrary. He was happier than I’ve seen him for weeks. He told me how much loved me – and that our son will be born at the dawn of a new Russia.’

‘Try to sleep now. Mama will come and see you later.’

‘The dawn of a new Russia.’ The words echoed in her mind as Anna closed the door and made her way downstairs. Her mother was absent from the drawing room, and she searched the house until she found her in her private sitting room. Valentina was sitting on a chaise longue and staring out of a window.

‘Sofia’s staying in bed for now, Mama. She had a bad night.’

Silk and satins were too showy for mourning and Valentina wore a plain bombazine dress with a starched collar. Apart from two high spots of colour in her cheeks, her skin was white as marble as she sat with her hands clasped in her lap. Anna noticed how her fingers moved restlessly, hooking round each other, while the rest of her body was still. Her mother believed in self-restraint at all times and her fidgeting hands made Anna nervous.

‘Your father received a message. Nicholas has declared himself Tsar,’ Valentina murmured, almost as if she was speaking to herself. ‘A group of officers have marched their regiments to Senate Square and are refusing to swear allegiance to Nicholas. They’re protesting that Constantine is the rightful heir. Papa’s gone to find out what’s happening. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen. He went by droshky so as not to be recognised.’ For the first time, Valentina turned her gaze to her daughter’s face. ‘He’s alone, Anna. I fear for his safety.’

‘Papa’s more than able to look after himself.’

‘The message said three thousand men. God knows how this will turn out.’ Valentina’s face changed and the brittle smile left her lips. She gave a half-sob, then silenced herself. Lifting a crease in her skirt, she crushed the fold of material in her fist.

‘Please don’t worry. I’ll go to find Papa and bring him home. I’ll take the carriage and ask Omelko to drive.’

‘It’s too dangerous, darling—’

‘Listen to me, Mama.’ Anna cut her off and took Valentina’s hand. It felt cold compared to her own and she squeezed hard. ‘I’m no longer a child and Omelko’s strong as a bear. He’ll keep me out of harm’s way. It’s only a protest and will probably be over by the time I get there.’

Without waiting for an answer, Anna called to Mazra to bring her fur hat and cloak and then hurried downstairs. The clock was striking twelve as she went out and stood on the top step. A bitterly cold wind blew from the north as she waited impatiently until the closed carriage on its runners drew up under the portico. Omelko handed her in, then climbed onto the driving board and gathered up the reins.

The low, glancing light of the winter sun slid along the frozen banks of the Neva, streaking the snow with pink as they headed towards Senate Square. Small groups of people were gathered at corners, roasting chestnuts in braziers. A few solitary figures stood on the pavements, but the frozen streets and canals were mostly empty and wrapped in eerie silence. They passed a shop window with candles still burning. A man, wearing spectacles, sat scribbling at a desk. He was doing an ordinary job on an ordinary day and Anna tried to stay calm. Sasha knows his responsibilities, she thought. No doubt the message sent to the house was greatly exaggerated. It won’t be anything serious, just a few squabbling soldiers. I only have to find Papa and persuade him to come home.

They were crossing St. Isaac’s bridge when they were brought to a halt. The carriage windows had iced over, so she couldn’t see and she tapped on the roof. Omelko climbed down and opened the door. Getting out, she stood on the top step so that she was high enough to get a clear view. The road ahead was jammed by a regiment of Finnish Dragoons. There was no way they could get past them. Gripping the top of the door to keep her balance, she looked over the soldiers’ crested caps to the expanse of white between the Senate and the Winter Palace.

Snow that had fallen during the night was melting and the ground gleamed with a coating of ice. In front of the bridge stood the statue of Peter the Great on his horse. In its dark shadow, Anna saw lines of soldiers armed with bayonets in battle formation, standing in squares and stamping their feet to keep warm. There were officers walking up and down shouting orders as adjutants on horseback cantered from one end of the line to the other. She made out the high stiff-feathered caps of the Moscow Regiment and the bearskins of the Grenadiers. They were too far off to distinguish clearly but she couldn’t see the uniform of Life Guards. This was far bigger than she had imagined. God willing, Sasha had stayed away.

St. Isaac’s church was under reconstruction and the workmen on the scaffolding had downed tools and were tearing off planks and bricks. A dense, disorderly crowd had gathered below, and artisans and labourers were running from the building, carrying bricks and fragments of stones. There were so many people! Some were well-dressed in greatcoats and high hats; others wore tattered sheepskins and ragged cloaks. Women wrapped in shawls moved among them, handing out vodka and hunks of bread. It was meant to be a peaceful demonstration but there was an air of menace in the crowd that sent a quiver of fear through Anna. Papa could be anywhere. Even if Omelko could force a way through the soldiers on the bridge, how could he find him in such a throng?

Squinting against the glare, Anna turned to look towards the Winter Palace and glimpsed the Chevalier Horse Guards in their white and blue uniform with high red collars. With a rising sense of alarm, she realised the emperor’s regiments massively outnumbered their opponents. If Constantine had refused the crown and the army remained loyal to Nicholas, the protestors would be crushed. And now the mounted guard seemed to be preparing for a charge. A bugle sounded. As the cavalry charged, galloping towards the rebels, they were met by a volley of bullets. There was a thumping sound of horses falling before the order to retreat rang out, followed by noise of receding hooves.

The tsar’s troops immediately regrouped, soldiers dragging heavy artillery into position and, between lines of cavalry, Anna glimpsed the gaping mouths of cannons. Horror squeezed her heart. Never before had she witnessed any kind of violence, let alone bloodshed. How could this be happening?

She saw infantrymen bend a knee beside their guns and bow their heads in prayer. This was a battle within the army itself. Many of the protestors had fought with Alexander in the war against Napoleon. They were known personally to Tsar Nicholas. Surely, no Russian soldier would draw the blood of a fellow comrade? There was a moment of stillness and, with a dropping in her stomach, Anna realised the tsar’s deadly purpose. This wasn’t a show of brinkmanship. The emperor’s men were armed with muskets and cannons while the rebels wielded only pistols and swords. Something terrible was about to happen and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She was powerless to save her father.

The hiatus was broken by occasional shooting in the air and ragged cheers from the insurgents. And then, from the imperial ranks, a single horseman rode out on a grey horse. As he came closer, she recognised General Miloradovich. He was a friend of Madame Davydov, a hero of the battle of Borodino and adored by the ranks. He began riding back and forth and Anna strained to hear what he was saying, He was urging the men to lay down their arms, promising if they returned to barracks they would not be punished. For a moment, the insurgents’ line seemed to waver until an officer of the Dragoons rode up and ordered him to withdraw.

General Miloradovich ignored him, calling to the troops to listen, until he was drowned out by yells of ‘Hurrah for Constantine!’ Lifting an arm in a gesture of peace, he turned his horse’s head towards the palace. He was riding away when a man in a long coat with a hat pulled down over his face dashed out of the crowd. He had a pistol in his hand with the barrel aimed at General Miloradovich’s back. Two shots rang out and the general slumped in the saddle. Petrified, his horse reared up and he fell to the ground where he lay face down and motionless, his blood staining the snow with a pool of red.

Anna’s brain swirled in confusion and panic. General Miloradovich had been murdered by one of the rebels! And now the crowd of people were surging forwards towards the Winter Palace. Builders were hurling bricks and stones, attacking regiments loyal to the tsar as they closed in on the square. Police with batons began moving among the crowd in an attempt to disperse the onlookers. And then, above the screaming and chaos, came the ear-splitting thunder of cannon fire.

Thick clouds of black vapour curled upwards, blotting out the sun, and the world became an inferno of noise and flame as one explosion followed another. The air was thick with acrid smoke and people were running in all directions, shouting and crying. Anna heard shattering glass as a window cracked. A riderless horse galloped past. Omelko was shouting at her to get down, but she could not move. She stood transfixed until his arms came round her waist and he lifted her off her feet and manoeuvred her into the carriage. There was a click as he locked the door and Anna retched violently. She opened the window, breathing in gulps of cold air, then shut it and sank back against the swabs.

The mob were on the rampage. At any moment, the door would be broken open and she would be dragged out! We’ll all be killed, she thought frantically as men and women buffeted the carriage, screaming at soldiers who blocked their way. Clenching her chattering teeth, Anna forced herself to look out. The bumping and pushing came from people trying to escape beyond the vehicles stuck on the bridge. A soldier in the uniform of the Life Guards staggered past. A bullet had hit him in the throat and foam bubbled from his discoloured lips. Another man was being held up by two comrades with blood pouring through his sleeve. Dear God, these were men from Sasha’s regiment! Had Sasha and Peter Dashkovy led them to this carnage?

At last, Omelko managed to turn the horses and they began to move forwards. Progress was slow against the tide of government troops marching in the opposite direction and the sky so dark it seemed dusk already. Figures with torches flitted past the window but, in her mind, Anna saw only blackened faces and wounded, dying men. As shock set in, her whole body began to shake, her only thought that, somewhere in Senate Square, her father was in mortal danger.

This was a nightmare from which there would be no awakening. She had seen Russians kill their own people, bodies trampled by horses and men bleeding to death. Innocence had been shattered and the memory would haunt her forever. She wanted to weep, but her eyes were burning as if there would never be tears in them again. She hung her head and the drive home seemed to last forever before they turned through the gates into the courtyard.

As Omelko lowered the steps and gave her a hand out, Anna collected herself enough to instruct him to go back and search for Count Brianski. James, the footman, opened the door and she gave him her cloak and hat without a word. Just holding herself erect required concentration as she started up the stairs. Passing a mirror, she caught sight of her reflection and stopped. Her face was white as a paper mask with two black holes for eyes. For a moment, she saw herself as a child terrified of the dark. Her heart had begun its awful thudding again. She bit her lips and pinched her cheeks to give them colour.

Her throat was so parched, she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to speak. I can’t break now, she thought desperately. I have to appear calm or I’ll terrify them both. Mama must never know what happened today. If I frighten Sofia, she might lose her baby. Dear God, what shall I say?