Free Rasputin's Daughter by Robert Alexander Page A

close, I had to try. When I saw a loose brick on the floor, I grabbed it, used it to hold the rear door open for my return, and charged out. A small but very real part of my mind was sure that if I didn’t find out tonight, I never would, and I hurried into the bitter night. My shoes crunched in the snow, my dress swung from side to side, and as I scurried through the rear archway and into the courtyard of another building, I saw him, his fur hat pulled snugly over his head.
    “Fedya!”
    But my voice disappeared, caught and blown away by a snowy wind. Prince Felix didn’t stop, so I chased after him as he ducked to the left, following a small discreet alley.
    We were never, ever allowed to go out with our heads uncovered, and my mother would have been furious had she seen me rushing hatless and cloakless through the terrible cold. But I paid no heed, felt nothing, not even when my feet slipped on the icy cobbles and I nearly tumbled into a snowbank. Hardly anyone knew this back way to and from our apartment, which was why the rear steps weren’t guarded and why Prince Felix used it almost exclusively. I assumed he had parked his car or had a chauffeur waiting for him in some discreet location. And indeed, I caught another glimpse of his narrow figure as he made a final turn through a low passage that led onto the small side street. Ducking, he moved on, reached the snow-covered sidewalk, and turned right.
    “Fedya, stop! Stop!”
    Running as fast as I could, I struggled to catch up with him. But just as he disappeared from sight, a long motorcar eased past the end of the archway. My heart immediately tensed. Wasn’t that the very same touring car I had seen earlier, parked on our street?
    Flushed once again with fear, I slowed, easing my way through the passage. Stopping, I clasped the ice-cold stone walls and peered around the edge of the building. Yes, it was the same one, and it now pulled alongside Prince Felix and came to a stop. Sure that the man with the gun was about to leap out, I nearly screamed for Fedya to run. But the prince appeared not in the least bit apprehensive. Rather, it was as if he had been expecting the car. And he not only seemed to know the vehicle but also its occupant-not the man with the gun but someone altogether different, a tall handsome young man who climbed out of the rear seat. I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing, for I knew him too. It was none other than the Tsar’s twenty-five-year-old cousin, Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovich, also clad in a military hat and greatcoat. An Olympic athlete and lover of fine automobiles, he was known about Petrograd as something of a rake and better known as the Tsar’s favorite. The Empress had once loved him dearly as well but had come to feel otherwise, for she’d heard rumors of the young grand duke’s drinking, of his late-night activities during wartime-and of his inappropriate affection for Prince Felix.
    Of course, there had been great gossip about town of the relationship between these two young men who belonged to the very top tier of nobility. At first and for one simple reason, the Tsar and Tsaritsa tried to ignore what they were hearing: Dmitri had become engaged to their eldest daughter, Olga Nikolaevna. When the sordid stories of Dmitri started cropping up, however, Aleksandra was so upset that she had forbidden the young grand duke from seeing Felix, even setting the secret police upon the two. Nevertheless, reports came back that her orders were being ignored. People had seen them together, tongues were wagging more than ever, and the Empress heard it all, both whisper and report of Dmitri and Felix drinking until morning, dancing, and inviting male ballet dancers into the private dining rooms of the Hotel Europe. Worse yet, when Dmitri moved into his own apartments in the Sergeeivski Palace, Felix not only helped him lavishly decorate his rooms but moved in with him for a while as well.
    One night during those days I had