 When Romelle finally awakened, pinpoints of bright sunlight stabbed at her eyes. She was lying in a four-poster bed. Her fingers cautiously explored the silken sheets beneath her. She turned her head. The sheets were mauve in color and trimmed with fine lace, as was the satin comforter carefully plumped about her. She wore a nightgown not her own, and over a mauve velvet chair lay her black traveling clothes, looking crisp and freshly ironed.
Snowclad fields streamed past a wide window faintly frosted at the edges. The clackety-clack of metal wheels and a sleepily rhythmic motion informed her she was still aboard a train.
She sat up. The scent of fresh coffee wafted from an adjoining room. She marveled at the luxuriant nap of the gray carpet that welcomed her toes to the floor. Donning a filmy negligee spread across the foot of the bed, she stepped into fluffy slippers and followed the aroma.
The next room extended the width of the railroad car and half its length. On a linen-draped table sat a pot of steaming coffee and a tray of fresh brioches. A solitary chair at the table's side invited her to sit down. She attacked the rolls ravenously, smearing them with butter and jam. She had never felt so hungry in her life.
Sofas and lounging chairs lined the walls of the coach. From her place at the table, she could look back through the bedroom to a door in the wall beside the bed.
Her hunger sated, she went to it and found a bathroom. Thick, mauve-colored towels swung from silver racks above an elegant silver tub filled with piping hot water. All the fixtures were solid silver, as well.
There was a toothbrush on the shelf above the wash stand. She cleaned her teeth and stepped into the tub.
After luxuriating in the bath, she dried herself and donned her clothing.
There were exit doors at either end of the coach. She tried them both. They were locked. She sat on a divan and watched villages roll by, and two or three towns. The train stopped at none of them. No one joined her in the car.
A series of unanswerable questions echoed in her mind.
Who brought me here? Am I still aboard the Moscow Express? Where is Rebel? How long have I slept?
The clamor made her head ache, but her thoughts would not be stilled.
Philo! Philo! Why would anyone want you dead? You were so kind, so good. Everyone loved you. I thought you were the destiny for which I have been spared, but I was wrong. You once told me that my father stayed away because he did not want to visit the curse of Dragon's Heart upon us. I see now that it makes no difference. If there is a curse, it strikes us anyway, wherever we are. Oh, Father, you are the only family I have left! To be with you, even if for no more than a little while...that is all I ask. May your ruby be the beacon that lights my way...the ruby...where is it?
She went to her purse.
The ruby was gone.
In a daze, she sat down again and cried.
In late afternoon, she heard a bell ring in the entry room to the coach. She rushed toward it, but found no one there. She noticed, though, that a small door stood open in the wall. It revealed a boxlike shelf containing a silver-domed tray. She carried it to the table.
The dinner was delicious, as elegant as any in Paris. It was served with a decanter of superb wine. Filled with emotion, she merely picked at the food.
How Rebel would enjoy this! she thought wistfully.
The bell rang again. This time, she found a plate of cheese, some fruit, and a dish of sherbet on the shelf. More coffee was provided.
After moonrise, the train clattered to a halt.
Romelle waited breathlessly on the divan, staring at the entry room. The door opened. A bearded man in a scarlet tunic, black fur cap, and boots entered, and bowed.
She sprang up. "What place is this? Where am I being taken?"
He indicated that she should follow. A saber clanked at his side.
 She went out behind him, entering a second coach through a covered breezeway between the cars. Here, a smiling woman who, likewise, did not speak offered her a hooded cape of black fox. Romelle waved it away, but when an outside door opened, a blast of freezing air quickly changed her mind. Accepting the cape, she tossed the hood over her head.
The uniformed man handed her down from the coach into a graceful, open sleigh drawn by three spirited horses. The driver, wrapped in heavy furs against the bitter cold, directed the troika from the station along an avenue lined with brightly lighted mansions. At its end, iron gates swung wide. They entered an estate of broad lawns dotted with thick clusters of ancient trees. Obelisks and monuments stood dark sentinel in the snow. Triumphal arches rose among them. She glimpsed an Oriental pagoda on a hilltop, silhouetted in exotic splendor against the moon.
They passed an opulent palace that glistened in blue and white, but angled toward a less magnificent structure where the sleigh drew up. Guardsmen in long greatcoats, caps, and boots stomped briskly forward, lining up in facing ranks to make an aisle of the stairs. One of them handed her down from the sleigh. A brace of two led the way inside.
A variety of handsomely dressed servants scattered before them in a flutter of ostrich feathers and capes until they came to a double doorway.
The doors parted. A tall, black man stepped out with a smile.
"Come right in, Ma'am," he greeted her amiably. "It's always nice to meet a fellow American. My name is James Hercules, but everyone calls me Jim."
He offered his hand.
Romelle shook it gratefully, but she gaped with surprise.
"We don't stand on formality here in the bosom of the imperial family," Jim continued kindly, helping her remove the fur wrap.
"Imperial family?" she queried. "Jim, where am I?"
He looked stunned. "You don't know? Why, this is Tsarskoe Selo, the Tsar's Town! You're here at the request of the Little Father."
Romelle lifted her hands and shoulders in helpless perplexity.
"The Little Father of the Russian people," Jim explained, bowing slightly toward a youngish, handsome man who stood nearby in a wide doorway hung with portieres, "Tsar Nicholas the Second!"
The Tsar's black wool dinner suit was tailored in the height of Parisian fashion - narrow lapels turned back on a short jacket, velvet vest double-breasted, trousers tapered.
"Welcome to my home," he said warmly in perfect English, motioning her into the drawing room behind him.
Flustered, she instinctively fluffed her hair and smoothed her dress before dipping in a curtsy.
"Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty," she responded in an unsure voice. "I am....."
He smiled and extended his hand. "I know perfectly well who you are."
With some trepidation despite his words, she accepted his hand. He lifted hers to his lips and kissed it lightly, then clasped it to lead her to a wide divan.
"Please sit here," he said. "We must talk."
He sat across from her in a large chair which made him look small. He was hardly Romelle's idea of the autocratic ruler of the largest nation on earth. Dignified, bearded and slim, with a waxy mustache, the Tsar projected the air of a scholar who belonged in a quiet university library.
"Your Imperial....." she began.
"As Doctor Bart's daughter," he broke in, "I insist that you call me Uncle Nicky."
Overwhelmed and confused, Romelle could manage no more than a nod in acknowledgment of his graciousness.
"In exchange for considering me your uncle, I should like to have the privilege of speaking to you as though you were one of my daughters," he proceeded. "I want you to feel at home. Doctor Bart has been as much a comfort to me as an older brother. Therefore, please consider my children your young cousins. They already look upon you as a family member."
"Sir...Uncle...Nicky," Romelle said haltingly, "I don't understand. I have not seen my father since I was three years old. Has he...has he been with you?"
The Tsar's face softened so much that she caught a sense of his being deeply moved.
"Mostly in spirit, you might say," he replied. "He can only come here under conditions of the utmost secrecy. Travel is dangerous for him, and we dare not risk losing him. My son, my little Alexis...feels very close to your father although he does not see him often. His life depends upon....."
The Tsar touched his hand to his mouth and cleared his throat, then proceeded more brightly. "My son had great plans for meeting you at our railway station tomorrow afternoon. He'll be quite disappointed that he can't fire his rockets to welcome you!
"The change in plans was so sudden, you see. My wife's private railway car was sent to wait for you at Brest, on the Polish border, after my agent, Chavadzy, had alerted me by telephone from Berlin that you were on the way from Vienna. You were to have received an explanation of sorts when you were transferred from the Moscow Express before continuing here to Tsarskoe Selo, which is now our principal home. Moscow lies hundreds of miles to the southeast. St. Petersburg, our capital, is only fifteen miles north. Your 'Aunt Alix,' as my wife hopes you will address her, is anxiously awaiting you."
"Forgive me, sir...Uncle Nicky," Romelle interposed, "but I am still confused. I scarcely know who I am, or where I am, and I assuredly do not know why I am here. I've been trying to remember what happened last night. My dog...my brave companion...is gone...my Rebel....."
The Tsar smiled. "Rebel is in good hands. You will see him in the morning."
She leaned back against the downy cushions of the sofa. "Thank God, he's alright! Thank God!"
"You have many things to be thankful for, young lady," added the Tsar. "You have been through a terrifying experience. Allow me to reconstruct what I know of it. The woman who sat near you in the dining car was a spy and a thief, an Oriental woman who had surgery to make her eyes look Western."
Romelle gasped. "I would never have known! But her makeup, I recall, was heavily applied. She said she had come from a Bohemian spa. She gave me some candy....."
The Tsar sighed. "Drugged."
"That never occurred to me! She ate the first piece!"
"An old trick," he said, "to take the piece off the top, doubtless the only undrugged one in the package. Then you left the dining car with her."
"That's another strange thing, sir! Rebel never follows anyone but me, yet he left with her. I had no choice but to go after him."
The Tsar coughed, reddening a trifle. "As nearly as we can tell, the woman had a female dog in her compartment, apparently chosen for the assignment because it was in...it was...well....."
Romelle threw up her hands as the answer struck her. "The female was in estrus! Now, I understand! The woman first approached Rebel in the dining car with a caress of his nose. Later, as she left, she waved a handkerchief in front of him. How clever! She was luring him with the female's mating scent! No wonder Rebel couldn't resist! Yes, when we arrived at the compartment, the woman opened the door, and out raced the poodle. Rebel went mad! He chased her along the corridor, barking. I remember going after him, but I became dizzy. The woman suddenly yanked me into the roomette with her. Someone rushed past the door calling Rebel's name, and that's all I remember."
She looked directly at the Tsar. "Sir...Uncle Nicky...I have been such a lot of trouble to you. I don't understand why you are being so kind. I have come all this way on a special mission, and now...what I came for...what I was taking to my father...oh!"
She groped for her purse to find a handkerchief, then realized she had left the bag in the railway car.
The Tsar took a kerchief from his pocket. "Please use this, my dear. I cannot tell you how sorry I am for your loss. Captain Duncan was a great man. My wife and I met him once, when he came to the Crimea with the Empress Eugénie. I can understand your need now to go to your father. I promise you, I shall do all that I can to help."
The Tsar rose abruptly from his chair. "Tomorrow will be a day to clear up mysteries. Surely, you are exhausted after such a trying adventure. Come, your Aunt Alix is waiting to meet you. We want you to get some rest."
Thick carpeting muffled their footsteps as they left the drawing room and passed through mahogany-paneled halls. Through one doorway, Romelle saw a formal dining room with red velour chairs. Red velvet draperies, trimmed with gold braid, hung at its long windows.
"We use that one for more formal entertaining than we plan to indulge in while you're with us," the Tsar said with a gesture toward the room. "I hope you'll be comfortable in the less glamorous family quarters we maintain here at the Alexander Palace. It may not be what you expect. We live in rather a Spartan style!"
They stopped before an open doorway which gave on to a cozy sitting room. A glance inside reminded Romelle of the railway car that had carried her from the Polish border. Here, too, mauve color prevailed. The walls were covered with damask, the lamp shades with lace, and the bamboo chairs with chintz. Overstuffed divans looked inviting, set on highly polished floors peppered with pastel rugs.
The purplish theme prevailed in great bouquets of lilacs, orchids, and wood violets in Chinese vases and silver bowls. Religious pictures and icons adorned the walls, along with an instantly recognizable portrait of a young and beautiful Marie Antoinette. Romelle thought of Philo's New Year's party for Eugénie at Versailles.
A tall, pretty woman came forward to greet them, her upswept hair crowned with a diamond tiara. Her well-shaped figure was shown to advantage in a décolleté gown of eggshell lace. Ropes of pearls graced her breast. Diamonds sparkled in her ears.
She rushed to embrace Romelle, then stood back, holding her hands. "I am your Aunt Alix. How pretty you are! And why not? Doctor Bart's daughter would be lovely."
She surveyed Romelle with an appraising eye. "What good fortune! You're just about Olga's size! That takes care of the clothes. We've already unpacked your bag. You brought so little with you, but I can understand that, considering the circumstances of your departure. Oh, my dear, we were so sorry to hear about Captain Duncan's death. It must have been so dreadful for you! We met him only once. He was so charming. What do they call you?"
Almost at a loss for words, Romelle stammered, "Ro...Romy is what most people call me," she replied, "as well as Romelle."
"Romy! We have that name in my native Germany!" the Tsaritsa declared with delight. "I shall be quite comfortable calling you that, if I may."
"Of course, Madame," said Romelle.
"Aunt Alix, please, Romy. You must call me Aunt Alix. Are you hungry? Would you like something before retiring?
Romelle shook her head.
"The dinner on the train was excellent, but I haven't been very hungry," she said in a trembling voice.
"Very well, Romy, to bed! Let me show you to your room. My children wake up early. There'll be no holding them when they find out you've come! Unfortunately, two of my daughters, Tatiana and Marie, are off visiting their Aunt Elizabeth and shan't return for a week."
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