Hard and shrill, the electric bell rang with a chill just then, shattering the peace of that midsummer’s night and interrupting Botkin midsentence. He immediately put down his pen without the slightest thought that he would never pick it up again. Instead, he focused on the bell, understanding that something was quite wrong, for that was the alarm that roused them for morning inspection, yet here it was now approaching one at night. Concerned, Botkin slid back his chair and stood. He adjusted his gold wire-rimmed spectacles and pulled at his leather suspenders. He could hear noises from beyond – noises from the room of the guards – and he glanced into the living room, where the manservant, Trupp, had been roused from his sleep and was now propped up on his elbows.

“What’s happening?” asked Trupp, his eyes puffy with sleep.

Botkin shrugged and ran one hand over his round balding head. “Bog znayet.” Only God knows.

The door leading from the front halls rattled and opened, and Yurovsky emerged into the living room.

Botkin stepped forward, and asked, “What’s the matter?”

The komendant calmly replied, “The town is uneasy tonight and it’s too dangerous for all of you to remain upstairs. Would you kindly wake up Citizen Romanov and his family and ask them to dress as quickly as possible? For safety reasons all of you will be moved downstairs. This will only be for a short period, so instruct them not to bring anything at all along.”

“Yasno.” Understood.

As if he were inviting friends to the dinner table, Yurovsky’s summons to mass murder was that easy, that simple. When the komendant disappeared, Botkin turned to Trupp, and the two men silently stared at each other, both of them wondering what this really meant.

Finally, Botkin took a deep breath, screwed up his eyes, and said, “I’ll go wake them.”

Wearing just an undershirt and his suspenders and pants, he crossed into the dining room, where he turned the switch for the electric chandelier. No sooner had the lights burst on than Nikolai appeared in the doorway on the opposite side of the room.

“What is it?” asked Nikolai, wearing his nightshirt. “We heard the bells.”

“By orders of Komendant Yurovsky we are to dress and move downstairs. He says it’s for our own safety – apparently there’s some sort of unrest in town.”

“Unrest? What kind of unrest?”

“This I cannot say, Nikolai Aleksandrovich. He simply told me to wake you and the others, and that we are to dress as quickly as possible and move to the cellar. He also said this will only be for a short while and that we are not to bring anything.”

Nikolai hesitated in thought before beckoning Botkin forward. “What do you think, could this be it? Could our friends be on the way?”

“Quite possibly, but it’s difficult to say.”

“Have you heard anything – shots, horses – anything at all?”

“Nyet-s.”

“Neither have we.” Brushing his mustache with the back of his right hand, Nikolai stood in nervous thought. “Still, we must be prepared. After all, we can hear the fighting getting closer and closer. The town is sure to fall any day now.”

“We can only hope.”

“Wake the others and tell them to be calm but ready for anything,” ordered the Tsar.

“Trupp is already up. I’ll wake Demidova and Kharitonov.”

Botkin moved toward the other rooms off the dining room, where the Tsaritsa’s maid and cook slept. The Tsar, meanwhile, retreated to the room of his daughters, where all four of them sat up in their cots, the colored glass chandelier now ablaze overhead. Aleksandra, wearing a white linen nightgown, stood in the doorway of her bedroom, and even Aleksei stood there, balanced on one foot and leaning against the doorjamb.

“What is it, Nicky?” asked Aleksandra, her brow wrinkled with anxiety.

“Komendant Yurovsky has ordered us to get dressed and move downstairs. Apparently there’s some sort of unrest in town.”

Aleksandra audibly gasped and pressed a hand to her chest. “What do you think, could it-”

“I don’t know the full story, but he says it’s for our own safety. He claims it’s to be only for a short while and that we’re not to bring anything with us.”

“Oh, Nicky, God has heard our prayers and they’re coming! I just know it, they’re coming for us!”

At this the girls began to move about and mumble with excitement, the vision of three hundred officers on horseback looming in their virginal minds. Nikolai, however, understood that the situation, whatever it was, was most precarious, and he turned and checked the dining room. No one was there.

“We can’t let on to a thing,” he commanded his small tribe. “We can’t let them know our hopes. We just have to be alert and ready for any situation. And we all have to look out for one another. Understood?”

“Da, Papa,” softly replied the children in near unison.

“The girls should wear everything, shouldn’t they, Nicky?” pressed Aleksandra.

He thought for a moment, and answered, “Everything.”

Of course they all knew what that meant. If the family was about to be rescued, they had to carry with them not funds for the Tsar to restore himself to power, but means for them to live. So the girls knew they should wear their diamond-packed corsets, which were not only awkward and uncomfortable, but difficult to put on and lace up. It would take quite some time.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the house Yurovsky paced about, complaining, “These Romanovs! They bathe so much, they read so much, they ask so many questions – and it takes them so long just to get dressed!”

Of course it did. The girls had never worn the corsets before and they were having trouble not only getting them on, but making them as inconspicuous as possible beneath their clothing.

“Do as well as you can, girls,” instructed Aleksandra, her voice hushed, as she helped her daughters. “We can’t let any of the guards suspect. And don’t forget, we may have to move quickly.”

Of similar heft was Aleksandra’s corset. But that was not all she wore. Nyet, nyet, nyet. When it came to the Empress of Rossiya, she also wore a plate of fine gold weighing more than two pounds that was bent like a bracelet.

“Here, my love, let me help,” said Nikolai as he slipped the plate up her thin arm, then pulled down the long sleeve of her dress.

“Does it show?” she whispered.

“Not at all.”

Around the Empress’s waist Demidova then fastened the large belt into which Aleksandra herself had stitched her ropes of beloved pearls, some the size of a robin’s egg.

“Is that comfortable, Madame?” asked the maid.

“Just fine.” Turning to her husband and son, Aleksandra said, “Don’t forget your hats.”

“Of course not,” replied the Tsar.

Adjusting his own cap, Aleksei grinned, thrilled with the charade. “How do I look, Papa?”

“Perfect. Like a brave soldier.”

Father and son wore their simple army clothes – coarse wool pants, field shirts, worn boots, and of course their forage caps, into which had been sewn those diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires that were too big for the girls’ corsets. The remaining oversized gems – including a 70-carat diamond and 90-carat emerald – Aleksandra and her daughters had stitched into three traveling pillows, two of which she distributed to her daughters, one to Demidova.

“If they ask about the pillows,” instructed the Empress, “tell them these are simply for our comfort while we wait.”

When he saw his wife reach for her favorite icon, Nikolai said, “Sunny, my treasure, we’re not to bring anything.”

“But what about Saint Feodor’s? I can’t possibly go anywhere without it.”

“Trust me, if fortune shines upon us and we leave this very night, I’ll send someone back for it.”

She hesitated, then replied, “Certainly, my love. You always know what’s best.”