The Rasputin Dagger Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue: Russia St Petersburg

  Russia Siberia: Summer 1916

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Petrograd (St Petersburg): 1917

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Petrograd (St Petersburg): 1918

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Siberia Yekaterinburg: 1918

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Aftermath

  About the Author

  Also by Theresa Breslin

  Copyright

  About the Book

  ONE DAGGER TO TAKE A LIFE.

  ONE DAGGER TO SAVE A LIFE.

  Russia, 1916: a country on the brink of revolution.

  Nina Ivanovna must travel to St Petersburg, to escape the past and find a future.

  Stefan Kolodin, young and idealistic, wants change for Russia and its people.

  Amidst the chaos of a city in revolt, their lives collide and a passionate, stormy relationship develops.

  But soon Nina is drawn into the lavish lives of the royal family and begins to fall under the spell of their mysterious monk, Grigory Rasputin. The ruby-studded dagger he owns is, chillingly, a mirror image of the one left to Nina by her father.

  And it carries a deadly curse.

  This book is for TRB

  We were singing as we marched along.

  Hymns at first – for many people carried icons and holy pictures: images of Christ Jesus, His Blessed Mother, the Apostles and Martyrs. I had no use for minor saints. I’d made my own banner where I painted a portrait of the Emperor of Russia. We called him our ‘Little Father’ and, as I had no father of my own, Tsar Nicholas was the face I held aloft.

  Workers were streaming from the factories and houses, and my mother and I merged with the main flow heading towards the royal palace in the centre of the city. Flags were waving, and the clamour grew louder as the Tsar’s imperial anthem rose into the bitterly cold air.

  My mother took my free hand. ‘Stay by me,’ she said.

  I scarcely heard her. My heart was beating to the sound of the singing and tramp of shoes on snow. We surged onwards.

  ‘To the Winter Palace!’

  ‘What will happen when we get there?’ my mother asked a tall man, who was leading a section of the crowd.

  ‘The Tsar will give us tea and cake!’ It was a joke. But I half believed him. Today, the twenty-second of January, was my birthday. I was twelve years old and dizzy with excitement.

  My mother laughed. ‘There are thousands upon thousands here.’ She indicated the crush of bodies. ‘Not everyone will have cake.’

  ‘We only want enough bread to stop us starving. And fair working conditions. Men and women must not work an eighteen-hour shift for a pittance.’

  There was a rumble of support from those around us.

  The tall man was suddenly serious. ‘A delegation from the head of the procession will present the Tsar with our petition asking for a people’s council to be part of the Government.’

  ‘The Winter Palace!’

  A shout went up as we entered the square before the palace. Now I could see how enormous it was! Line upon line of shining windows, with pillars and arches and statues. Rooftops a hundred foot high, shimmering like frosted icing under a thick covering of snow.

  ‘The Tsar! The Tsar!’

  Was he really there? On the balcony?

  Instantly I dropped my mother’s hand and began to burrow through the masses to the front. If I could be part of the delegation I might eat cake on my birthday with Tsar Nicholas!

  ‘Stefan. Where are you?’ my mother called after me. ‘Stefan!’

  It was the last word I heard her say.

  Soldiers were waiting in the square.

  Cossacks and Hussars – with rifles ready.

  They did not order us to disperse.

  Without warning bullets thudded into the marchers – men, women, children. The singing stopped and the screaming began. Those unharmed scattered and ran. Others hobbled or crawled on all fours to get away. Banners and bunting lay torn and discarded. In the midst of the melee I stood alone, rigid in terror. An easy target. Another round of fire rattled out, spitting death. Then I was slammed to the ground as my mother threw herself across me like a human shield.

  And she fell down, her face close to mine, her blood staining the snow bright red.

  Chapter 1

  ‘I murdered a man.’

  ‘What!’ I exclaimed.

  My papa’s eyes, wild and staring, fixed on my face. ‘He threatened my family … said he would do them harm. So I went to his house and I stabbed him to death!’

  ‘No!’ I gazed at my father in horror.

  ‘I did, Nina. I stuck a knife in his chest!’

  ‘Don’t say such things.’ My voice was high with shock. ‘You could never stab someone.’

  ‘I am a murderer,’ he sobbed.

  ‘No, no, Papa.’ I tried to calm him – and myself – my fingers trembling as I reached to stroke his forehead. ‘You are ill with a fever which gives you bad dreams.’

  ‘Listen to me, Nina,’ my papa insisted. ‘I am dying and I want you to know the truth.’

  ‘This cannot be true.’ I spoke to reassure us both, for nothing much happened in our sleepy village in a remote part of Russia. ‘No one has ever been murdered here.’

  ‘It was sixteen years ago, not long before you were born. I still have the dagger!’

  ‘Papa,’ I soothed him. ‘Be quiet now and rest.’

  ‘I did it for you, Valentina. For you! If this man had lived he would have destroyed you!’

  ‘You are confused,’ I whispered, for in his delirium Papa had called me by my mother’s name.

  My father groped at his neck and pulled off the chain he wore, upon which hung a tiny golden key. ‘Take this,’ he said, ‘but don’t unlock the casket unless you have to. And’ – he gripped my hand tightly – ‘do not ever leave our family home, Nina. If you do, then your life will be in peril!’

  Chapter 2

  After the funeral the family lawyer came to sort my father’s papers and read his will.

  This man, Viktor Ilyich Volkov, wa
s a forty-year-old widower. With his dark hair and trim beard he considered himself handsome; but his mouth was often drawn down in a mean expression, and Dmitri, our steward, had noticed his eyes were full of envy whenever he walked around our house and grounds. In the past, when the lawyer visited my father to help him conduct the business of running our estate, he had often brought his two small children. Although my sixteenth birthday had passed I was happy to spend time with them, and read aloud stories from Papa’s collections of Russian folk tales. My mother died when I was born and I was a lonely child, so I enjoyed the boys’ company. I did not enjoy the company of the lawyer. Recently, as my father’s health worsened, Viktor Ilyich had become more familiar in his ways.

  ‘Such pretty things you have here.’ As he entered my father’s study the lawyer picked up a silver-framed photograph from a side table.

  ‘That is an image of my mother.’ I spoke briskly, irked that he’d been so bold as to lift it from its appointed place.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘The beautiful and richly dressed Valentina, who died so tragically young. Not many people knew your mother.’ He hesitated. ‘I suppose your father told you of their early life together …?’

  I didn’t want to share any personal memories with this man and so I said, ‘Would you be so good as to return that to me?’ I held out my hand.

  ‘Of course!’ As he put the photograph in my palm the lawyer wrapped the clammy fingers of his other hand around mine in a caressing motion.

  ‘Sir!’ I pulled my hand free of his.

  ‘I wish to express my deepest condolences, Nina, on the death of your father.’

  ‘I thank you.’ I bowed my head, overcome with the grief of my great loss.

  ‘Ah, I see you are full of sadness. You must allow me to comfort you, Nina. Please …’ He moved nearer.

  I struggled to regain my composure for I wanted to be left alone to mourn in peace. ‘May we proceed with the matter of the will, Viktor Ilyich? And … I am proud to carry my father’s name, so you must call me “Nina Ivanovna”.’

  ‘My dear Nina, it is not necessary for us to use our formal middle names. From now on we should speak to each other by our given names. Please call me Viktor.’

  ‘It is not appropriate,’ I replied.

  ‘But it could be!’ The lawyer’s manner was friendly. ‘I thought you liked my sons?’

  I nodded cautiously, for I’d no inkling why the lawyer should suddenly make a remark about his children.

  ‘I could do with some help there,’ he sighed. ‘I am a mere man. They need a woman’s touch.’

  ‘They may visit me,’ I said. ‘And I will visit them, if you permit?’

  ‘A better arrangement would be that we all live together.’

  It was such a ridiculous idea that I tried not to laugh. Did he think that because I had agreeably watched over his sons when he was with my father, I would want a position as their governess? I strove to be polite. ‘I cannot leave my home.’

  ‘I’m not suggesting that you should leave here.’

  ‘I thought that you were proposing that I should become a governess to your children?’

  ‘Not at all – I am proposing that you become my wife.’

  ‘Your wife!’

  ‘Why not?’ He gave me an ingratiating smile. ‘You like my boys and they love you. I can sell my own house to live here and run the estate. I’d give you an ample housekeeping allowance and I’d permit you to keep these storybooks’ – he waved his hand towards the bookcases which held Papa’s precious manuscripts – ‘that meant so much to your father. And’ – his eyes roved over me – ‘we’d get to know each other better too.’

  ‘This is preposterous!’ I bit my lip to quell the sense of nausea at the thought of Viktor Ilyich Volkov any closer to me than he already was. ‘Even though I am a young woman, I can, and I will, run this estate as my father would have wished.’

  At my response and obvious revulsion the lawyer’s smile became thinner. ‘As soon as the will is ratified I will manage this household.’

  How dare he! It was for me to decide who would be my estate manager. I resolved to sack him and appoint another lawyer immediately. ‘This was my father’s household,’ I said. ‘It is mine now.’

  ‘The first part of your statement is true. The second is not.’

  It took a moment for the sense of what he was saying to sink in. ‘I fail to comprehend,’ I said. ‘My father told me the terms of his will. He bequeathed all his possessions to me – and me alone.’

  ‘Indeed that is true, but’ – the lawyer spoke distinctly – ‘only after his debts are paid.’

  ‘What debts are these?’

  Viktor Ilyich shook his head. ‘I see that I will have to explain things to you, Nina, as obviously your father did not have the time or the inclination to do so.’

  ‘Explain what things?’ I asked with increasing impatience. ‘Let us finish our business and you may be gone.’

  ‘Our business, as you call it, will take some time.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to. Let me see my father’s will and whatever else is attached to it so that I may take over the running of the estate.’

  ‘The estate is too complex for you to manage.’

  ‘No it is not,’ I said. ‘My father shared his skills and encouraged me to think for myself. You believe that I’m not capable because I am a woman and I am young.’

  ‘Apart from those reasons there is also one insurmountable obstacle which prevents you from running this estate,’ Viktor Ilyich replied. ‘When the Imperial Government took men for soldiers to fight against the German Kaiser, they requisitioned horses and grain stores as war supplies. Your father had to borrow money to maintain your buildings, livestock and workers. The estate was signed over as surety and the money has never been repaid.’

  ‘Who loaned my father this money?’

  ‘I did.’ Viktor Ilyich coughed. ‘We had an understanding …’

  ‘What kind of understanding?’

  ‘That after your father had departed this life – may God keep his soul safe until we meet again’ – he made the sign of the cross – ‘our agreement was that you could not live by yourself in this house, so it would be better if you came under my protection.’

  ‘I have all the protection I need,’ I said. ‘My father’s workers are loyal.’

  ‘But diminished in number. Our war with the German invaders does not look to end soon. The army will come again for more horses and men. There is no money available to clear your father’s debts. Therefore I own the estate, this house, and everything in it.’

  Viktor Ilyich went behind my father’s desk and sat down in Papa’s high-backed leather chair. ‘And everything in it,’ he repeated.

  His face showed triumph.

  ‘I own you.’

  ‘No one owns me!’ I cried out.

  ‘There, there.’ He placated me as one would a child. ‘I should have used a different phrase. I apologize. I was attempting to make the situation absolutely clear to you.’

  ‘The situation is far from clear!’ What Viktor Ilyich said could not be true, yet he was so assured, so confident, that a worm of fear entered my soul. ‘I want to see the official documents.’

  ‘Of course you may see them.’ His tone was patronizing. ‘But I doubt if you will follow their meaning.’

  ‘My father was a scholar, and he educated me himself, so I will follow their meaning well enough,’ I snapped.

  ‘Try not to sound so harsh when you are speaking, Nina. It is unbecoming in a lady.’

  For answer I went and tugged on the cord to ring the bell to summon our steward. ‘Dmitri will see you out,’ I said. ‘And I will inform you of what I intend to do.’

  ‘Hush, Nina. There is no need for us to argue. Your problem is real and I want to offer you a solution. If we were married then you wouldn’t have to leave your family home.’

  ‘Lady?’ Dmitri appeared at the door. I suspect he’d been hovering in th
e hall since Viktor Ilyich had arrived, as I knew he liked the lawyer even less than I did. ‘You rang for me?’

  ‘Yes!’ I could scarcely speak. ‘Mr Viktor Ilyich is leaving. Would you please escort him to his carriage?’

  ‘My pleasure.’ Dmitri’s eyes met mine, and in them I saw a gleam of approval.

  Viktor Ilyich glanced at Dmitri, whose bulk filled the door frame. ‘This is foolishness on your part, Nina,’ he said. ‘There is no way that you can live without accepting my offer.’

  ‘I do not need your offer of marriage in order to survive.’

  ‘Actually, you do!’ the lawyer spat at me. ‘You own nothing. You have no source of income for food or clothes. Your father spoiled you and shielded you from the hard facts of life. It has made you proud and haughty, Nina.’

  Dmitri coughed and opened the door wide. The lawyer ignored him. ‘A woman has not the strength of will to manage anything other than the housekeeping duties and childcare. Neither has she the wit to choose who would be a good match for her in marriage. It is a man’s place to decide such a thing. In the absence of your father and, being appointed by him as your family lawyer, then I am making that decision.’

  ‘I dismiss you as my lawyer.’

  ‘By dismissing me you are acting like a selfish child!’

  Dmitri took a few steps into the room. The lawyer started in fear. Then he recovered himself and said, ‘I am prepared to put up with your lack of respect, but only for a certain length of time. Within a week the local magistrate will ratify the will and then I will be back to claim what is mine.’

  ‘I bid you good day, sir,’ I said.

  ‘There is nowhere you can go, Nina. No one here may give you aid. I now own this estate: the land and everything on it.’ Viktor Ilyich gave Dmitri a vicious look. ‘If any servant or estate worker shelters you, then I will evict them out onto the public road. I will seize their goods and burn the roofs of their miserable hovels over their heads. They and their children will become worse than serfs.’

  I heard Dmitri’s intake of breath.

  ‘You have seven days to reflect upon your situation,’ the lawyer went on. ‘Bear in mind that your father has no relations you may ask for help. On your mother’s side there are none who will take you in – or even acknowledge your existence.’