The Secret Wife: A captivating story of romance, passion and mystery

You must have heard about the marriages with Balkan princes that our parents have been rumoured (erroneously, I believe) to be arranging for some time. For a while I corresponded with my cousin George of Battenberg, but never with any intention of marrying him, let me assure you! Olga was asked to consider Prince Carol of Romania, who came to visit us in Livadia last summer, but she does not want to leave Russia when she marries, so we came up with a cunning plan: we both suntanned our faces before they arrived, knowing that in royal circles it is considered paysan. We were polite to Carol but I think he took the hint because no further meetings have been arranged.

Olga and I are agreed on two things: that we only want to marry Russian men, and that we want to marry for love, as our parents did. I can imagine nothing worse than being forced to marry someone I do not like for political reasons, but am assured by Mama that will never be the case and that we may choose our own husbands. Now I am embarrassed to have told you so much, but you asked and so here is my answer.

I hope you are keeping warm, mon amoureux, and not straying into the way of any more bullets. Do you ever think of me or is your life too full of plans for defeating the Kaiser’s army? Are you comfortable in your bunker at night? Are you getting enough to eat? Is there snow where you are? The snow here is five foot deep and I worry that you may catch cold. Every night as I lie in my cosy bed, I worry about where you are lying and wish you could hear my thoughts through the frosty night.

Did you receive my letter in which I told you of Anna Vyrubova, Mama’s lady-in-waiting, being in a train crash? She is most seriously injured and we are all terribly concerned but at least she is conscious and able to eat a little. Mama is nursing her personally. She is so very dear to us.

As you are very dear to me.

Que Dieu vous garde.

Tatiana

It was minus five degrees outside but Dmitri was flushed as he sat in his bunker reading and re-reading this letter by candlelight. The earthen walls glittered with ice and his breath misted the air. We only want to marry Russian men and we want to marry for love. Surely it was a hint, perhaps even an invitation? He could imagine her blushes as she wrote and wished he could kiss those pink cheeks over and over.

All of a sudden he yearned for her with a passion that was tantamount to madness. He couldn’t bear their separation one moment longer; it was tearing him apart. What was it about her that moved him so? His feelings could not be reduced to logic; quite simply, he adored the very essence of her.

Dmitri felt so sick with longing that it could only be assuaged by writing back to Tatiana straight away and spilling his feelings on paper. Recklessness took hold and he wrote with the question that was foremost on his mind:

Mon Ange,

Your letter has filled me with hope and drives me to write that I wish with all my heart and soul I might one day be the Russian man you choose to marry. I don’t have royal blood or a fortune anything like the size of your family’s, but I promise I would alternately worship and tease you in exactly the right proportions for the rest of our lives. The possibility that I might have a chance of gaining your parents’ approval fires me with renewed determination to survive this grotesque war. My love for you gives me an invisible cloak that bullets and shells cannot penetrate.

Please do not tell anyone of this proposal lest your father think it disrespectful that I have not asked his permission first … but a private understanding between us would make me the happiest man in the world.

When the letter was finished Dmitri lay back on the wooden pallet that served as his bunk and daydreamed about marrying Tatiana. Maybe the wedding could take place in the Romanovs’ private chapel, the Grand Church at the Winter Palace, with its ostentatious gold stucco and its dome with lunettes picturing the Apostles. He imagined his parents and sisters sitting alongside the Tsar and Tsarina. His father was a stern, critical man who believed Dmitri was not rising through the army ranks as rapidly as he should, but surely he would be proud of a son who married a Romanov? His sisters would love to become acquainted with the grand duchesses, and undoubtedly the relationship would enhance Valerina’s marriage prospects. Dare he send the letter?

Dmitri thought about it overnight and when his feelings were the same the following morning, he rushed to give it to the postal clerk before he could change his mind. As was his habit, he addressed the envelope to Tatiana’s maid, Trina, so that the officer who censored their mail would not discover the true object of his affections. He could not risk gossip leaking out.

All that day he did not tell anyone, not even his friend Malevich who had at last returned to the front fully recovered from his wounds. That evening as they sat around the fire slurping bowls of watery venison stew, his fellow officers teased him for being silent and withdrawn and Malevich led the ribbing.

‘I think Cornet Malama has a sweetheart,’ he joked. ‘Have you noticed how eagerly he awaits postal deliveries, and how he rushes to his bunk to read any letters in privacy? Pray tell us, Malama, who is the lucky lady?’

Dmitri shook his head, grinning. ‘As if I would tell a bunch of delinquents like you lot!’

‘See how he blushes,’ another mocked. ‘He definitely has a secret.’

‘It’s the heat of the fire,’ Dmitri maintained.

He wished he could talk about Tatiana – he wanted to tell the world of their love – but any wrong move at this stage could spoil his chances, especially if it spilled into the newspapers. His heart was so full he scarcely felt the biting cold of the Prussian plain where they were dug in. Huddled in his bedding roll that night, he imagined Tatiana’s arms around him, her face against his, as he sank into dream-filled sleep.

Chapter Eight (#ulink_8cbc3655-5a04-537d-9c78-442813d1fce2)

The war continued to go badly for the Russians. The Germans introduced the new long-barrelled howitzers, which they hauled around on wheeled carriages, and now they could wreak destruction wherever they chose. Massive shells hurtled down without warning. The ground shook, stones rained from the sky and more bodies had to be buried after each ear-shattering explosion. It took hours of hacking at the frozen earth with a pickaxe to dig a grave, and many bodies were piled in together, without the dignity of solitude in their final resting place. Dmitri spent his days trying to direct their own shelling towards the howitzers but felt they were making no progress.

When he came off duty each evening, he rushed to the postal clerk. A few letters arrived that Tatiana had sent before receiving his; they were charming, but he was going mad waiting for her response to his proposal. When it came, he knew instinctively this was the one. The envelope was of the same type as the others, it was sealed in the same way, but his heart pounded and he felt sick with nerves as he tore it open.

Malama sweetheart,

I received your letter of the 28th of January this very morning and have rushed to my room to write as soon as I could. The answer to your proposal is yes, yes, yes; with all my soul I wish to be your wife. You should see how I blush to say these words. I know Mama and Papa will agree, since you are so courageous and noble and true. Mama has already told me she admires you, and I know Papa will too. I can’t wait for the day when I can call you my husband. If only the war could be over next week and you could rush home to claim your bride! I fear the waiting will be unbearable.

Dmitri read and re-read the paragraph, unable to believe his eyes. Was he misunderstanding it? The underlined ‘yes, yes, yes’ seemed unequivocal. Was it really true that he might become Tatiana’s husband? He read on, giddy with excitement:

I understand that until then we must keep our engagement secret but I hope you will not mind that I have confided in Uncle Grigory. Do you know him? The Siberian spiritual leader they call Rasputin, who is a great friend of our family. He saw me sitting pensive by a window and guessed that I was pining for a loved one so I found myself telling him about you. He asked to see a letter from you, because he says that men can judge other men’s intentions far better than women. After some hesitation I produced your proposal letter from the folds of my gown, where I had tucked it to keep it close. He read it, and when he finished he handed it back, saying ‘He truly loves you, and he is obviously a good man.’

I was overjoyed, as you can imagine, and told him how much I want to marry you. I explained that my mother and sisters do not yet know we are in love, although they have met and admired you, and I made him promise to keep our secret. Uncle Grigory closed his eyes and held my hand for several seconds, one finger on my wrist as if he was feeling for the truth. He has mystical powers and his predictions always come true. ‘Yes, you will marry him,’ he said. ‘Yet there are dark days ahead.’ I suppose he means because of the war.

I hope you do not mind me telling him, Malama. Since your letter arrived I have been bursting with the news that we are to wed. I find it hard not to tell anyone else, but I agree that is how it must be since you must apply to my father for permission and I can’t see how he might give it till the war is over. Until then it will be our precious secret, something I can hug to my breast to ease the agony of missing you.

I must go to the hospital now but will write later. When I am writing I feel close to you and wish there were more hours in the day so I could write more.

Mon amour est pour vous, à jamais.

Tatiana

Dmitri stared at the letter, with a tumult of emotions. There was the exhilaration of Tatiana accepting his proposal but also irritation and alarm that she should have told Rasputin about it. Dmitri had not been introduced to the bearded wild man, but had heard only ill of him. The thought of him touching Tatiana’s wrist and reading the intensely private letter made Dmitri wild with jealousy. What if Rasputin told the Tsarina, to whom he was said to be very close? It could utterly spoil his chances of one day being accepted into the family. What had Tatiana been thinking?

‘What do you make of Grigory Rasputin?’ he asked the men that evening as they ate their meagre bowls of stew, accompanied by hunks of rough, gritty bread.

‘Who is he?’ a young officer asked.

Malevich replied: ‘He’s a self-seeking charlatan who presents himself as a man of God while spending his time carousing in brothels and bars. He has inveigled his way into the Romanovs’ inner circle and their relationship with such a reprobate does them no favours. I hear the Tsar would banish him to Siberia but the Tsarina has fallen under his spell and will not hear of it.’ He shook his head in disbelief.

‘What do you think he seeks from them?’ Dmitri asked sarcastically. ‘Surely not riches, power and influence?’

Malevich snorted. ‘Of course. It’s a very lucrative connection for him.’

Another joined in. ‘It’s a shame the assassination attempt in May was unsuccessful. I hear he is trying to convert the Tsarina and her daughters to the Khlysty sect, who believe that you must sin as much as possible and then ask for forgiveness later. They claim repentance is only genuine for the greatest sinners: a very cynical philosophy and one that suits Rasputin right down to the ground.’

‘That would certainly account for his many transgressions,’ Malevich agreed. ‘Nude swimming; wandering round the palace in his nightshirt; even entering the bedroom of the grand duchesses while they lie sleeping. It is not a healthy association. I heard he makes love to every lady he meets – including his own daughter.’

‘Oh, that’s vile …’

Dmitri was disturbed. How could the Tsarina not see through such a man, with his crazy eyes, dishevelled clothing and disrespectful manner? Back at his tent, in a burst of ill humour, he scribbled off a hasty note to Tatiana:

My very own angel, I wish you had not been so trustful of Rasputin. No doubt he is all smiles and weasel words inside the palace walls but believe me when I tell you that in the outside world he is known as a scoundrel. I am afraid that if he spreads our secret it could ruin any chance of us one day being wed. Of course, I understand your desire to tell someone of our love – I feel the same way myself – but could you not have whispered it to Ortipo instead? She would have made a better choice of confidante than the wild Siberian, and I expect her response would have been more intelligent. I cannot stop to write more now but will try to find a moment soon.

Your very own, Malama.

He sealed the note and hurried to the postal clerk’s tent to send it, still feeling discomfited. How could Tatiana not see through such a ruffian? Was she so lacking in judgement?

He pondered the question as he lay in bed that night, unable to sleep, and it came to him that her very limited exposure to the outside world must mean she did not have well-tuned instincts about human nature. She was a good creature who saw only good in everyone she met. It would be his role gently to teach her more of the world.

As soon as he realised this, he regretted the pompous tone of his note and hoped it would not upset her or even change her opinion of him. He lay awake long into the night worrying and as soon as the camp awoke the following morning he rushed to the postal tent to retrieve his letter, only to find it had already been dispatched.

Chapter Nine (#ulink_1098c712-270d-519e-adec-d169727f78f7)

All day Dmitri agonised over his note. Would Tatiana be hurt that he sounded critical? Might she even fall out of love with him? His turmoil continued till nightfall, when he was distracted by devastating news: the Russian XX Corps had been surrounded in Augustow Forest by four German corps without any Russian commander getting wind of it. For five days they had held out under intense gunfire, in a snowstorm, until all hope was lost. It sounded as though most of the 70,000 men had been killed outright and the remainder taken prisoner. Yet again it had been possible because of lack of information about German troop movements.