1918: The Lost Daughter – Maria Romanova writes to her sisters from Ekaterinburg (especially for TripFiction!)

17th October 2018

The Lost Daughter by Gill Paul, historical novel set mainly in Russia

Maria Romanova and her parents travelled to Ekaterinburg first and the rest of the family followed three weeks later. She did write a brief letter to her sisters describing her first impressions, but here Gill has imagined an expanded version especially for TripFiction readers…

30 April 1918

Dearest Sisters,

My first impression of Ekaterinburg was of the well-appointed railroad station, with restaurants and all manner of facilities for weary travellers. That seemed a good omen, for in my experience those who travel have broader minds than those who do not. Beyond the station there are wide avenues and a square lined with trees bursting into bud: I spotted linden and poplar, birch and aspen. Wooden one-storey houses are huddled around the square, perhaps providing accommodation for railroad workers, and an electric streetcar clangs its bell as it strains up the hill. When we stepped out, the road was muddy from recent rain and Mama and I had soon splattered the hems of our gowns.

At the top of a steep rise is Voznesensky Prospekt, a smart street where most houses are in the neoclassical style, with pillared entrances and arched double windows. (I imagine Mr Gibbes sighing with joy if he reads this missive, to know that I remember the term he taught us. I only hope I am using it correctly.) There is a Cathedral of the Ascension, whose tall golden spire we could see from afar. We were not permitted to look inside but I hope fervently that we will visit soon for the Divine Liturgy.

Directly opposite is our new residence, the house of a merchant named Ipatiev. At first glance it appears but one storey high, because it sits on a slope, but from the sides and the back there are a full two storeys. It is a little small, and hemmed in by a ten-foot wooden fence, but the carved cornices and lintels, topped by a traditional green iron roof, are quite pleasing to the eye.

I felt a sense of dread as we stepped into the gloomy hallway. It smelled of beeswax and damp and did not feel as if it had been lived in for some time. We were led up some stone stairs to the first floor, which is to be our domain. Mama and I shivered at the sight of a stuffed black bear on the landing, with those horrid glass eyes you find in taxidermy. A fire had been lit in the sitting room but we were chilled and did not remove our coats as we were shown around.

The tour did not take long as there were were not many rooms to peruse: a drawing room with an arch down the centre dividing it in two; a rather cramped dining room, and a single bedroom I am to share with Mama and Papa. Outside there are further doors leading off the corridor but all are locked. The bathroom is on the diagonally opposite side of the house from our bedroom and I worry how we will contrive to wash and return to our rooms again without running the gauntlet of the guards, not to mention our servants.

I strongly suspect Mr Ipatiev does not have a wife, because the décor is dark and foreboding: oak floors and tables, mahogany dressers and pier glasses, black marble panels, and wallpaper in shades of dark green with pink and red floral pattern. Only in the bedroom is a woman’s hand in evidence, with yellow and white striped wallpaper, a bronze chandelier and a velvet brocade armchair.

There are no camp beds, no pillows, no wash bowls, no bed linen, no table linen. In fact there is nothing, so you need to bring everything. Where we will put your luggage, I have no idea. Ours is at the moment in the living room. There is a lot of dust but we acquired a broom and Nyuta sweeps all day long.

I am drawn to the windows where I peer out across the rooftops. I am glad we are on top of a rise because I can see far beyond this street to the very edges of the city. There are factory chimneys belching smoke on the outskirts and then rich green forests carpeting gentle hillsides beyond. Although the weather is chilly and damp, with frost in the air, that is where I wish I could be now: walking in a forest, listening to the wind in the leaves and the calls of the birds, and talking with you, my dearest darling sisters. Please come soon.

Your loving Maria

Thank you to Gill for a fascinating ‘imagined’ letter!

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