The Gathering Storm by Robin Bridges Page B

week!”
    I made one last quick curtsy to her and her brothers before following Elizabeth and Alix into Elizabeth’s carriage.
    Alix seemed to relax on our drive back to Smolny. Her smile came a little easier when I asked if she’d had a pleasant time. “I love being outdoors, especially in the winter,” she said.
    “Will I see you at the Anichkov Ball next week?”
    “Of course, my dear,” the grand duchess said, though I could have sworn I saw Princess Alix frown.
    And then it was gone and she smiled again. “I am looking forward to it. I have only attended a few balls in Darmstadt.”
    “Au revoir, Your Imperial Highness,” I said to the grand duchess, as I got out of the carriage at the Smolny gate. “Auf Wiedersehen, Your Highness,” I said with a final wave to Princess Alix.

    Elena pounced on me as soon as I returned to our room. “Did the tsarevitch ask after me? What did you tell him? What did he wear? Did he skate with you?”
    I ignored her until I could hear from Augusta that there had been no further word from the hospital on Dariya’s condition. Augusta pointed out that that was a good sign. We’d have heard instantly if Dariya had taken a turn for the worse.
    She was right. Reassured, I patiently told my friends everything about the outing and everything I knew about Princess Alix of Hesse. Except for the grand duke’s suspicions. The girls immediately seized on my description of how well Alix and the tsarevitch had gotten on together. Elena’s dance with him at the Smolny Ball was long forgotten.
    Elena was not happy. She threw her hairbrush across the room, and it hit the wall with a loud thud. “No!” she cried. “He belongs to me!” She flung herself down on her bed and sobbed.
    I looked at Elena, then at the other girls, who quickly left our room. I hoped Elena would not make a scene at the Anichkov Ball. Or cast another spell on the tsarevitch.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

    S everal mornings later, the Smolny dining room was buzzing over breakfast with alarming news. Crown Prince Rudolfe of Austria had killed his lover and himself! Although no one knew the whole story, rumors were flying throughout the school.
    The Bavarian princesses sobbed as they packed their trunks and were hastily dispatched back to Austria-Hungary for their uncle’s funeral. Erzsebet was upset she would miss the ball. “I didn’t even like the crown prince,” she sobbed as she and her sister, Augusta, climbed into the carriage to take them to the train station. “Please write and tell me all about it,” she called out the window. Elena and I both promised.
    “There may not be a ball, girls,” Madame Orbellani said as we all walked back inside after seeing them off. “St. Petersburg should go into mourning out of respect for the Austrian emperor and his wife.”
    “No ball?” Elena cried. “That would be horrible!”
    Madame Orbellani shrugged. “What if it was your own brother who had died in such a tragedy?”
    “He would never do anything so dishonorable,” Elena said, stomping off to the dance hall.
    Madame Orbellani sighed as we followed her. The servants had already draped the front parlor with black crepe.
    “Does anyone know why he did it?” I asked her. I couldn’t imagine killing someone you supposedly loved, then killing yourself.
    Madame Orbellani shook her head. “No one knows. I am certain we will hear many stories, though, in the weeks to come, before anyone ever discovers the real truth. It is not your concern. You have other responsibilities. Now hurry along, or you’ll be late for dance lessons.”
    “But if there’s not going to be a ball, why do I need lessons?” I protested. I had a new medical journal from Papa that I was eager to read. An article about the circulatory system looked particularly interesting.
    “There will always be balls, Katerina Alexandrovna. Perhaps not this month, or even the next, but soon St. Petersburg will dance again. And my girls will be the best