|
At seven the next morning, Romelle stirred awake.
She opened her eyes to a kiss. Rebel lay on the pillow beside her, his pink tongue lapping her cheek.
"Oh, my dear friend!" she whispered. "Together again!"
She sat up, lifting her arms in a luxuriant stretch.
Rebel leapt to the floor and skittered to the half-open door with a joyful bark.
A round face appeared around the jamb at his call. Enormous eyes peered at Romelle with avid curiosity.
A plump young girl stepped into view. She wore a nurse's cap over fine, ash-blonde hair that spilled halfway to her waist. The bib of her crisp, white apron was embroidered with a red cross. Under the apron peeked a plaid dress to mid-calf, topping dainty boots.
"Good morning, Miss Romy," she greeted with a curtsy, "I'm Russia's Florence Nightingale, and I've come to take your pulse. You slept so long, I thought I'd better give it a check. May I, please?"
Rebel nudged her heel with his nose and wagged his tail in approval.
Romelle smiled. "If Doctor Rebel is your consulting physician, I suppose you may, Nurse Nightingale."
The girl took up the wrist between delicate fingertips. She carefully monitored the throbbing of the artery by means of a watch.
"Doctor Bart says there's music in the pulse," she informed her patient. "If it's weak and uneven, the tone of the system is out of pitch. But if the pulse is strong and smooth, the system's in harmony. Yours plays a very nice tune, Miss Romy. You're going to be alright."
She put the wrist down, her eyes lingering on Romelle's features.
"I can see the resemblance," she added. "Yes, you are the doctor's daughter."
Tears filled Romelle's eyes. "You really do know...my father?"
"Oh, yes! He made me an honorary nurse! He says I have the right hands for the work, and the stomach for it, too. I'm not at all afraid of blood...unless Alexis..." Anastasia stopped short, then continued, "well, I'm just not afraid."
Romelle smiled, the child's reference to Alexis seeming unimportant. "Should I call you Nurse Nightingale, or have you another name?"
"I only use that name when I'm on duty." She removed the nurse's cap, folded it carefully, and placed it in the pocket of her apron. "Because your pulse is in perfect pitch, I can go off duty. You may call me Anastasia, now. I have three sisters. Olga is the eldest, then comes Tatiana, and next, Marie. We also have a brother. Alexis is the youngest, but he outranks us. He is the Tsarevich, the Crown Prince. We girls are merely grand duchesses. Say, Doctor Bart told us your mother was a duchess, too!"
"Yes, Queen Victoria, your great-grandmother, made her a duchess after she died when I was almost three. Has my father told you many things?"
"Doctor Bart tells wonderful stories. We've learned lots from him. He told us how
Captain Duncan saved Annie and him in the American Civil War. Alexis loves that one because it happened on a battlefield. And Doctor Bart told us how Annie and Pepper saved you from the fire, when all those houses got stuck at the railway trestle after the wall of water swept them away, and how your mother blew on the whistle he made when he was a little boy....."
"Look, Anastasia!" Romelle interrupted, reaching into her nightdress to pull out the chain around her neck, "This is the very whistle my father told you about. I've worn it all my life."
Anastasia clapped her hands. "Oh! It really is the same one? Oh, wait till Alexis hears about this! Your father blew it on the battlefield, too. That's how Captain Duncan found him!"
A light tap at the open door announced the arrival of a second girl. A snub-nosed blonde, she carried a dress of daffodil wool piped with hunter-green silk.
"Good morning, Miss Romy, I'm Olga," she introduced herself. "I see you've already met everyone's favorite nurse. Now, Schwibzik, my 'Little One,' don't you think you should be getting over to the infirmary? I've just heard that the new patient is awake. Alexis is already there, demonstrating the Cossack manual of arms with his toy rifle!"
"That naughty child!" Anastasia complained. "Alexis knows very well new patients should always have their pulse taken when they wake up! What if it's out of tune? Will you excuse me, Miss Romy? I really must attend to this."
Romelle smiled and waved goodbye as Anastasia raced from the room donning her cap on the run. "She's a charmer, Olga. My goodness, you're such a pretty redhead! That dress will look absolutely gorgeous on you!"
"Please come stand beside me, Miss Romy," Olga suggested.
Romelle slipped out of bed.
"Mama thinks we're about the same size," continued the Tsar's daughter. "Yes, we're not far apart. I'm so tall for my age! Oh, I hope I shall have a lovely figure like yours when I'm grown! Fortunately, this dress is full-cut because my weight goes up and down. It ought to do."
Romelle stood back. "Olga, that's as nice as any offer could be, but I really cannot accept. You see, I am in mourning for my husband. I could not possibly wear yellow at this time. I have a perfectly good coat-and-dress ensemble in black. I've been traveling in it, but someone freshened it up for me yesterday on the train. That's all I need right now, along with the other few things I brought along. I'm traveling lightly. Besides, I don't expect to tarry with you long. I must be on my way tomorrow. I've a long trip ahead."
Olga frowned. "We were hoping you'd stay longer than that! Everyone will be so disappointed! Please, don't go away so soon!"
Olga's eyes were brimming with tears.
Romelle could not resist taking the girl in her arms.
"Sweet little cousin," she said, "I can't believe anyone who doesn't know me could be so loving and so kind!"
"But you're one of us, Miss Romy!" Olga cried. "After what your father has done for Alexis, you are one of us! After what he has done for Russia!"
Romelle backed away, still clinging to Olga's shoulders. "What do you mean? What has my father done?"
The Tsar's daughter shook her head incredulously. "You don't know? Why, Miss Romy, were it not for Doctor Bart, the Romanov dynasty might have ended with us after almost three hundred years! Your father has saved Alexis' life. If it were not for Doctor Barton Creel, there would be no Magic Wine!"
"Magic Wine?"
Olga bit her lip in distress. "Oh, I've spoken out of turn! I thought you had been told everything. Mama and Papa said that explanations were to be given to you on the train coming from the Polish border!"
Romelle jabbed the air with her finger. "Ah! I see! Your father advised me last night that explanations had been considered, but the plan changed! It was thought best to leave me alone to recover from the drug."
Olga still seemed concerned. "It's something I shouldn't talk about, Miss Romy. I'm sure my father will inform you properly today."
Olga brightened. "Won't you come have breakfast, please? Perhaps you can meet our Alexis. He ought to be on the way back from the infirmary now that Miss Nightingale's gone to take charge."
The Tsarevich was a handsome boy with gray-blue eyes set in an oval face. Glints of bronze highlighted his light chestnut hair.
"Don't address me as Prince or Highness or anything like that," he told Romelle at the breakfast table. "I would be pleased if you called me Alexis. There's a story connected with my name. I love stories. Your father is very good at them. He doesn't know this one, though."
"Tell me, please, Alexis," urged Romelle.
"Two hundred years ago," he began, "there was a Tsar named Peter the Great. He was seven feet tall!"
He gazed at her. She looked suitably impressed.
Satisfied, he continued. "Tsar Peter built St. Petersburg. That's where our capital got its name."
Again, she appeared to be impressed.
"Tsar Peter had a naughty son named Alexis who tried to make a revolution," he went on. "His papa found out and threw him into prison. They tortured him to death."
Romelle clapped her hand to her bosom and turned pale. Alexis grinned, delighted to have shocked her.
The Tsarevich leaned forward to press his point. "Do you know what he said before he died? He said, 'Damn the Romanovs!' That's a curse, Miss Romy. So no one in our family has been named Alexis since then, except me."
"Do you believe in curses, Alexis?" she asked, thinking of Dragon's Heart.
His face took on a disturbingly precocious look.
"I sometimes wonder," he said.
A servant brought in a tray with a silver goblet of dark liquid. Without a word, the Tsarevich drank it.
Alexis turned his eyes to Romelle again. "That was the Magic Wine your father makes for me."
"May I ask what it is, Alexis?"
He scooted back his chair and tugged at his trouser leg.
Romelle caught sight of a dark bruise on his shin.
"Oh, Alexis, you've hurt yourself, dear."
"Wait, Miss Romy. You'll see."
Within minutes, the mark had faded away.
"There!" he exclaimed. "The Magic Wine did that!"
"It is magic!" she choked.
"Your father brings it to me twice a year, in early spring, and late fall."
"Alexis, what caused the bruise?"
"I had bad dreams last night," he confessed. "I thrashed about in bed, I guess. When I woke up, I was bruised. Nagorny was very upset."
"Who is Nagorny?"
He gestured over his shoulder to a husky sailor standing at the far end of the room whispering with a footman.
"Why was he angry?" asked Romelle.
Alexis laughed. "Nagorny is my nursemaid. He's supposed to protect me from myself! Of course, it wasn't his fault. It's the curse that did it, I suppose."
"The curse?"
"I told you about the curse on my name."
"Ah, that curse."
"Nagorny goes with me everywhere. Every day, we go out in the carriage with my mother at two o'clock. Usually, we drive to a church far away, where nobody knows who we are. My mother prays. I know she's praying to get rid of my sickness."
Romelle stared at him, not comprehending, but sensing intuitively that she should not ask further.
He lifted his tiny hand and stroked hers. "Don't worry, Miss Romy. The Magic Wine keeps me safe. And there's always Father Grigory. He's a priest. He comes if I fall really hard. He prays over me, and takes away the pain."
She leaned to kiss the Tsarevich on the forehead.
He patted her hand.
|