The Royal Nanny (19 page)

I jerked alert as a welcoming cannon boomed and crowds cheered.

Johnnie was cheering too, jumping up and down. “Big noise, Lala, big noise!” he cried. “Papa shooting guns at Chad's birds. They all fall down dead, but not my peeps! Not me neither!”

I knelt and hugged him. He clung to me, and I was so grateful to God to be here and to have my boy healthy, unlike the little heir to the Russian throne, a secret I was willing to take to my grave for poor Mrs. Eager. The silver frame with her photograph and note felt heavy in my handbag until I could safely slip it—I hoped—to her dear, lost girls.

W
aves crashed on the beach and seagulls screeched overhead. Harry, George, and the “Tsarevich Alexey” shouted as they chased plovers and ran from the reach of the breakers. Mary, though I knew she'd just as soon dive into the waves as watch them, followed the lead of the four grand duchesses and kept her feet dry in her high-button shoes. David, nattily attired in his cadet naval uniform, escorted the five girls.

He did so proudly, which warmed my heart. He was in a fine mood, not only to have escaped the naval school he detested for a day or two, but to have been able to see his grandfather, though the king and queen stayed mostly on the
V
ictoria and
A
lbert
and let some of the activities come to them. After all, it was Prince George and Tsar Nicholas who were heading up this royal visit.

I kept Johnnie on a tether, for I wasn't sure what he would do and I was not in the mood to fight the surf to retrieve him. At least, I thought, little Alexey could run about a bit, though
followed closely by his personal one-man guard. I noted that the entire Russian retinue had been so protective of him when they first came ashore.

Despite all that worry, Johnnie lifted my spirits. I was happy to see him so entranced by the many shells scattered on the sand.

“If these she shells, Lala, where the he shells, the boy ones?” he asked me, turning each one over, evidently searching for its private parts. Well, I'd had no answer for that one, not now at least.

He was also fascinated by the Brownie box cameras the Romanov sisters carried, snapping pictures of each other, even of us. Soon Johnnie picked up a piece of driftwood and aimed it at me, then at the others, chattering, “Click, click, click.” The grand duchesses even posed for his imaginary camera, so sweet and kind of them, but then they were used to obeying their brother, barely a year older than Johnnie. For one moment, when the oldest two girls, Olga and Tatiana, posed, flashing lovely smiles, I almost dared to slip the photograph in my handbag to them. But their guards stood too close, and we were quite exposed to view.

“Our
dyadkis,
” Olga explained to Johnnie when he aimed the driftwood at the men with a
click, click.
If any of the Russians had been told Johnnie was a different sort of boy, they were not acting like it. “It means uncles, but they are just our companions, our own private shepherds of the flock, yes, Tati?” she asked her sister, and they shared a little laugh before moving on again.

There was one opportunity missed, I thought, and clutched my handbag closer, praying I'd get a chance to secretly pass them the picture. I could see how Margaretta Eager had loved these girls, so full of life.

The entire beach was cordoned off and patrolled by the tsar's many security men, just like the whole island, as far as I could
tell. Some of the guards rode bicycles, so wait until I told that to poor quarantined Bertie. Margaretta had been right that Tsar Nicholas—the adult British royals called him “Nickie”—was guarded like no one else I had ever seen.

Despite the beautiful day, it began to cast a pall over me. Just as the royal Russian children's guardians kept an eagle eye on them, so they did on all of us. I began to despair I would not be able to pass on the picture and note. After all, their visit here was to be only four days, and my young charges, Harry, George, and Johnnie, were not to be included in most of the activities on the royal yachts or at Barton Manor, where the British royal hosts would entertain ashore. So today could be my last chance.

I hustled Johnnie along behind them again, hoping for a moment the guards or the watchful Tsaritsa Alexandra or Princess May, who sat in deck chairs on the sand, would not notice a quick explanation and exchange. Finally, the Russian children stopped so that little Alexey could skip clam shells into the waves.

“Oh, you be careful,” Olga, the oldest girl, told the boy. “Don't pick up sharp ones. Let's all find good ones for Alexey to throw!” she cried.

The four Russian girls, attired in light gray matching sailor-styled dresses and ribboned straw boaters tied on their heads, formed a protective barrier around their brother, and a beautiful barrier it was.

Olga, thirteen, David's age, was a pretty blonde and seemed kindhearted, even when she ordered her sisters about. I'd heard rumors that she would be a good match for David someday, but I could tell he was much enamored—for the first time in his life, I believed—with the second sister, Tatiana. Imagine, someday possibly a Russian queen for England! But there was too much bad
feeling toward their country, I thought, just as the Russians, so Margaretta had said, detested the Tsaritsa Alexandra for her English and German blood.

Speaking of blood, it was obvious that the four grand duchesses and the unwitting David and Mary were working hard to find shells that wouldn't cut Alexey. I assumed his sisters knew the reason for that, but nothing untoward seemed to occur to the British royals.

“Lala, Lala!” Johnnie interrupted my thoughts, training his piece of driftwood at me. “I want pictures of you and Mama.”

And not his father, I realized. Sad that the fear of Prince George had to start so early for the children. In Russia, it seemed the other way round, for I had seen the tsar hug his son and, laughing, tell Prince George, before they went off somewhere together, that the boy's nickname was “Alexey the Terrible.”

“I say,” Prince George had told him, “I have five of those, including the little one with his nanny.”

The tsar's sharp, blue gaze had sought Johnnie, and there I stood, under the scrutiny of His Imperial Majesty of All the Russias. I was tied to the boy, perhaps the way the tsar would like to have his precious heir tied to someone for his safety. I bobbed him a curtsy. He resembled Prince George so much, to the shape of their heads and faces, their sharply trimmed beards, navy jackets, caps, even their build and height. Indeed, the two looked more like twin brothers than cousins, even to the blue color of their eyes.

But right now, I was watching David, noting his eyes were all too obviously for Tatiana, who was twelve. Though graceful and lively, she seemed delicate, a stunning girl with her curly, auburn hair and huge, gray-blue gaze. If I drew attention to myself—and
they learned I had a message from Margaretta, which said I knew not what—would I get in trouble? Worse, could this seemingly kind royal family, who obviously trusted no one, think I was a danger? I dreaded being dismissed the way she had.

I'd considered too giving the picture to one of the two younger Russian girls to give to the older ones. Maria and Anastasia seemed to venture out on their own a bit more. Maria had been especially beloved by Margaretta. She'd been described to me as a bit shy and clumsy, so maybe we nannies favored the ones who weren't so talented, outgoing, and bright.

The youngest, blue-eyed Anastasia, at age eight, seemed to fear nothing, even be a bit naughty, so she reminded me of Mary. And little Alexey had brown curls and huge blue eyes and seemed a daredevil, one who liked to order others around too. I'd seen him salute the guards so that they had to salute him in turn. No wonder his father had that little nickname for him.

Suddenly missing my own father, who had called me “Lottie,” I sighed and sucked a deep breath of tart sea air. When I licked my lips, I tasted salt. It was hard to walk on the soft, dry sand, and the wave-washed area sucked my steps down a bit. Such a lovely day and here I had knots in my stomach over trying to secretly give the girls a gift and keep Johnnie, Harry, and George in sight, though Finch was watching the two older ones too. But what really made me glad, even more than Johnnie's joy, was the fact that the prince had said Harry could go without his braces today, and the child was running free.

How I wished the same for the tsar's guarded children, who had to sleep on the protected yacht, stay together in a group—and make it hard for me to get so much as one private word with them.

T
HAT AFTERNOON, A
gift from heaven! Princess May informed me that the two oldest grand duchesses, Olga and Tatiana, were to be allowed to shop on the high street in West Cowes, and would I take Mary ashore and accompany them?

So here was my chance, my last chance, I thought. I left Johnnie taking a nap under Martha's watchful eye aboard the
V
ictoria and
A
lbert,
though he had fussed when he heard I was going out. Mary and I took the tender ashore and hurried past several rows of Russian guards to wait for the tender from the
S
htandart
. I'd heard their yacht had a crew of 275 sailors, and we saw six of them were on the boat with the grand duchesses. But, oh no, I saw two women who hadn't been along on the beach this morning stepping onto the dock with the girls.

We greeted the Russians, and our little shopping entourage started up toward the high street, where many of the fancy London stores had summer shops during the yachting season. Grand Duchess Olga began introductions. I had to smile when she called Mary a duchess too. “And this is our governess, Sofya Tyutcheva, and our friend Mariya Vishnyakova,” she told Mary.

Aha, I thought, the villainess who had cut off Margaretta's letters to and from the girls, and the one who had become nanny to Alexey. So, on this little excursion, when I thought I'd find an excuse to pass the photograph, there would be more hostile, watchful eyes on us than ever.

I
TOO, LIKE
my new friend, Margaretta, fell in love with the lively, lovely grand duchesses. They were so excited to be shopping on their own, buying gifts for friends including someone they called “dear Grigory” or “Rasputin,” someone I knew nothing of.

It didn't take any of us long to realize we were at the center of
a fishbowl with vacationers, yachtsmen, and natives to the isle following us and pressing in to get a glimpse of the tsar's daughters and Princess Mary. So perhaps the guards were needed after all.

The Russian shoppers bought souvenirs and some luxury goods, including perfume for themselves at a shop called Beken and Son. Even the shopkeepers acted like starstruck worshippers, crowding us together. More than once, I told myself, now was the time to pass the photograph, but one of their “uncle guards” or the two hawk-eyed women were always watching. But I saw Olga had brought her camera and was having trouble balancing it with her purchases tied in paper and strings, so I stepped in to hold the Brownie for her before the others could.

“Here, Your Grace,” I said. “Before we go out in the crowded street again, please let me take a photo of you and Grand Duchess Tatiana with Lady Mary.”

Their guards, the
daykins,
or whatever that word was, nodded permission and stepped back. Olga and Tatiana stood on either side of Mary. I had not the slightest notion how to use a Brownie camera, but I recalled how Johnnie had pretended with his piece of driftwood, so I peered into the glass eye, centered the tiny images, and pressed the button. I took one more. Then, rather than giving the Brownie right back, I risked putting the picture frame from my handbag under the camera and handing it to Olga, pressing the small frame into her hand.

“What is . . .” she began to say, before I interrupted her. Thank heavens, everyone had started chattering again.

“A frame you can use if you could send the Princess Mary a copy of the picture as a memento,” I said in a rush. Then, I whispered, “It's from your dear friend Mrs. Eager, for the four of you, no one else, a note in back of it. She misses and loves you all.”

She looked at me, wide-eyed, then glanced at the photograph in her trembling hands. I could almost hear her brain click like a camera, remembering, thinking.

“How kind of you,” she said, passing the camera to Sofya who had edged close to us, while Olga slipped the frame unseen into the small paper bag with her perfume. “Could you please carry my camera, Sofya? I may want to take more.”

Frowning, the woman nodded and stepped back. “Tell her, we shall cherish this,” Olga whispered to me, not looking at me now. “Tell her we miss her too.”

“Miss who?” Sofya was back that fast, leaning in, for she'd evidently passed the camera off to someone else.

“I don't want to miss another shop before we must head back, dear Sofya!” she said and turned away, then back to me. “And thank you for that photograph on our grand shopping tour,” she said to me. I saw her blink back a tear. She was as bright as she was beautiful. “The photo you took will be very dear to all of us, and I shall send you a copy—you and Duchess Mary.”

She hustled out the shop door to join her sister amidst the growing crowd of gawkers outside. Oh, yes, I saw again why Margaretta missed her Russian girls. My handbag felt much lighter and my heart too. What a perfect, blessed day. Surely, nothing bad could happen now.

T
HAT EVENING, DURING
an elegant Russian-British family dinner ashore at Barton Manor, to which Harry, George, and, of course, Johnnie, were not invited, I sat with my three youngest charges on the deck of the
V
ictoria and
A
lbert
and watched the sun set. I felt at peace for the first time since Margaretta had asked me to pass the picture to the older Russian girls. Except for Bertie's not being here, all seemed right with the world.

I reclined in a canvas deck chair with a sleepy Johnnie tight beside me. Harry and George shared the one next to us, as we watched for the tender that would return their parents and Mary, for David, poor boy, was heading back to his cadet training, when he wanted so to go back to the mainland with all of us.

Johnnie sat up straighter. He'd seemed nervous, even after his nap today, and yet so tired his eyes seemed almost to cross. How grateful I had been that, compared to the poor little tsarevich, he was doing well. Margaretta had mentioned rumors that Alexey was ill, but the truth of his even darker secret I had not heard whispered once today.