Ivan stood to one side, his hand stretched out, just as he had at the train. “Welcome to the Volkonsky Winter Palace,” he said. “Welcome home!”
The three girls stepped over the crust of snow and into the palace. Behind them the door closed with a deep, dull thud, as if everything that had happened before that moment was now shut out.
Ivan had called it “a diamond in the snow,” which had made Sophie think of vast frost-white rooms, glittering and cold. But what they stepped into was a palace of shadows, of twilight, everything cobweb-colored. The hard, freezing air of the park outside had been replaced by the smell of dust and time-shredded fabrics, as if no doors or windows had been opened for decades.
They stood in an atrium flanked by tall gilt mirrors, the glass spotted with pools of black, and chairs covered in dust sheets. Candles, almost burned down to the wicks, flickered from drunkenly arranged sconces on the walls. A grand staircase twisted up and up, into the shadows, winding around a chandelier as large as a boat. Sophie could just see it underneath a cloud of ripped and frayed muslin.
It didn’t look like a “palace of dreams,” either. Perhaps this was the real reason it would not appear in any guidebook. Who would make the journey to come here? It was so dilapidated.
Sophie saw Delphine’s face settle into a sulky frown. This clearly wasn’t the sort of grand country house she was used to visiting. But Sophie didn’t care that the building looked half forgotten. To her, that made it more precious, like finding something that no one else much cared for.
“I thought Dr. Starova said we were going to adacha,” Marianne muttered.
“And I thought Ivan said the Volkonskys had a fortune,” whispered Delphine.
Ivan seemed to sense their unease. He stamped the snow off his boots rather too enthusiastically. “Make some noise!” he shouted, his voice echoing around them. “No Russian likes to leave snow on their shoes!”
Obediently, the girls kicked the snow from the toes of theirvalenki.
“Apart from a few servants,” Ivan spoke gravely, looking at Delphine, “the palace has been empty and locked up for nearly a century.”
A draft sidled up to them then, as if the palace were sighing, and the candles quivered, throwing extraordinary shadows that looked like prancing animals. Some larger movement caught Sophie’s eye at the top of the staircase, but when she peered up she saw nothing.
“Why did the Volkonskys leave?” she asked.
“The revolution,” said Ivan simply, as if that were explanation enough. “One dreadful night in 1917 destroyed the family forever.”
“That was when Russia got rid of the Tsar,” Marianne said, seeing Delphine’s incomprehension. “It caused the downfall of the Russian Empire and led to civil war and the birth of the Soviet Union.”
“How do you know?” Delphine looked suspicious. “We haven’t studied that in history.”
“I read the guidebook,” Marianne said. “It’s important to know about the country you’re visiting.”
“Those are the facts,” Ivan said. “But they hardly describe the reality.” He sighed. “When I first arrived here, shortly after the princess had taken up residence, I was heartbroken that such a gem, such a jewel, had been so badly treated.” He shook his head. “Any true Russian would feel a deep and heavy sadness when they walked along corridors that had once echoed with music, parties, and happy family life.” Then he smiled. “But the Princess Anna Feodorovna Volkonskaya has sworn to change the fortunes of the palace or die!”
He smiled awkwardly as the girls looked at each other. “The princess decided you would be most comfortable in the old nursery. It is a part of the palace where the heating still works.”
They followed Ivan up the staircase. “Please,” he said quietly as they climbed past a section of the balustrade that had fallen away, “watch your step. The soldiers ruined so much the night they hunted down Vladimir, the last Volkonsky prince.”
“What do you mean?” Sophie whispered.
“Twenty revolutionaries on horseback broke into the palace, intent on murdering the young prince. He knew they would come, of course: Such acts of violence had happened across even this remote province. But Prince Vladimir did not meet his would-be murderers with prayers. He strolled down the stairs in the uniform of the Imperial Hussars, a decanter of vodka in his hand. When told he was an enemy of the people, he spat on the boots of the commanding officer. And then he said that he would be happy to speak to them, but only with his family around him. He ran up this very staircase, and they chased him on horseback. Can you imagine what it must have felt like to have twenty horsemen gallop up these steps after you?”
Sophie turned and looked down the broad stone stairs. She would never have been able to run up them fast enough to escape twenty horsemen. “But why did he do that?” She suddenly wanted to know why the young man had behaved in such a foolhardy manner. “Why didn’t he hide? Or try to escape?”
“A good question, young Sophie,” Ivan replied. “And one that shows a finer understanding of the prince than that of those who pursued him. For why would he — the bravest man in the Tsar’s army — run away?”
They had reached the top of the stairs. Ivan turned to them. His eyes shone in the candlelight. Ahead of them was a wide corridor, which the stubs of candles in the few sconces barely illuminated. “The prince ran down this corridor to the gallery, where there is a painting of almost every Volkonsky that ever lived.” Ivan sighed. “There he waited for the horsemen.”
Sophie stared down the corridor. In the distance she could see a pair of double doors, lyres painted on the panels, and the same fierce creature she had seen painted on the door of the train. The pairing of those small harps and the snarling wolves seemed odd, as if someone expected the wolves to sing. She could almost hear the snorting of the horses, their hooves on the stone, the yells of the men.
“He must have been so afraid,” she whispered. “What happened then?” She simply had to know.
“Without ceremony or respect for his rank, observed only by the family portraits,” Ivan said, “they shot him.”
Sophie gasped. She felt almost sick.
“That’s dreadful,” said Delphine solemnly.
