Today I would like to feature (belatedly) author Jennifer Laam's 2013 release, The Secret Daughter of the Tsar! Thanks to the publisher I have an excerpt to share with you and a copy of Laam's book to give away!
PROLOGUE
Hvidore
Estate, Copenhagen
October
1927
The clanging of
the old woman’s summoning bell echoed across the kitchen. Annika raised her
voice higher with the other girls to drown out the sound. She wanted to hear
the latest gossip free from interruption.
The
laughter soon gave way to intermittent giggles and then ceased altogether. A
moon-faced sous chef regarded her with a sly smile, as though Annika’s every
move was destined for failure. Annika stuffed another bite of herring in her
mouth and let the greasy skin slide across her tongue. The glacial stares sank
her spirit like a stone. If Annika proved derelict in her duties, she’d be
released without pay. Someone else would inherit the unenviable task of
gratifying Marie Romanov’s every last whim. She passed a linen napkin over her
lips and excused herself.
Upstairs, Annika
found Marie perched in her favorite flowered armchair. Despite the frigid
autumn chill, the exiled dowager empress had ordered her chair moved from its
place in the sun to a less conspicuous corner of the room. Annika suspected Marie
didn’t want the young visitor to count her wrinkles in the fading light.
The visitor was
bent over a tarnished silver samovar now, pressing the wolf’s head-shaped spout
to refresh Marie’s tea. “Nicholas and Alexandra encouraged your granddaughters
to pursue sports, did they not?” He spoke impeccable Danish, but his thick
German accent struck each consonant like a mallet. “I understand that even at
the end, while the royal family was held captive in Siberia…” When he spotted
Annika at the door, he hesitated mid-pour and forced a tight smile.
“There you are,”
Marie snapped. “What took so long?” She drew her ratty ermine stole closer
around her neck and made a flicking motion with two fingers. “Show Herr Krause
to the door. His audience with me has quite
come to a close.”
Annika lowered
herself into one of the quick curtsies that sufficiently pleased Marie without
making her calf muscles ache terribly. The German visitor scowled at her and
Annika responded with a small shrug.
Despite his fine-looking features, she found nothing appealing about
this grim young man.
Herr Krause turned
the crushing weight of his attention back to Marie. “Your highness, I can’t
leave yet. You haven’t finished telling me of your family’s holidays along the
Baltic Coast, before the troubles began.”
Underneath her
thick layer of facial powder, Marie’s expression softened. She caressed the
gilt edges of the leather album on her lap. Her gaze flashed over a discolored
photograph of her four granddaughters standing in a row, shortest to tallest,
hands clasped together. The girls wore identical white cotton dresses and giant
sunhats with long ribbons. Their heads were tilted coyly to the side, flirting
with the camera, untroubled by any hint of the difficulties to come.
“Nicky and Alix
are excessively fond of tennis.” Marie reached for the delicate porcelain cup
perched underneath the samovar. Herr Krause pressed the hot water spout once
more. The tea emitted a fragrant aroma of cloves and cinnamon. “They have
taught the older girls to play and lament Grand Duchess Tatiana’s weak serve.”
“I understand your
son Tsar Nicholas was an avid athlete,” Herr Krause said. “And even in his
final days sought comfort in his daily walks and calisthenics.”
Marie
snatched her cup back. Boiling water splashed Herr Krause’s hand. He yelped and fell back into a chair. Annika
found Marie’s speed astonishing, given her age. Then again the dowager empress
always greeted reality with nasty swipes, like a bear disturbed during winter
hibernation. “See him to the door,” Marie said crisply.
Herr Krause snatched a linen napkin from atop
Marie’s china cabinet and pressed it to his hand. His slender backside melded
into the faded upholstery of the guest chair until he appeared intractable. “I
don’t understand.”
“The
tsar has not suffered through his last days yet.” Marie’s husky voice rose in
pitch. The thin blue veins in her neck
strained against her papery skin. Annika shifted her weight and prepared to
stand silently for a quarter of an hour at least, while Marie delved into
another bewildering account of how the tsar and his family might have escaped
the Bolshevik firing squad to live in hiding in Paris or San Francisco or the
Siberian wastelands. Annika had heard a hundred scenarios, each more outlandish
than the last.
This evening,
however, Marie merely patted the fringed bangs cut high on her forehead. “We
will rescue Nicky, Alix, and the children. We will find my missing
granddaughter.” Her voice cracked and dropped an octave. “Alix will forgive me
then.”
Herr Krause
extended his hand toward Marie. She shot him a withering look and he quickly
dropped his hand back into his lap. “Forgive you for what?”
Marie pursed her lips and leaned against the
window sill. She drew the silken curtains back and stared at the gravel beach
outside. Marie’s sorrowful, searching gaze once again reminded Annika of the
precarious nature of the old woman’s circumstances. Hvidore belonged to Marie,
yet since the Russian Revolution she had lived here only at the pleasure of her
nephew, King Christian of Denmark.
“You are fatigued. I have stayed too long.”
Herr Krause tossed his soiled napkin back on the cabinet, rose to his feet, and
started across the room. He stopped abruptly at the door, bony knuckles splayed
on the loose knob.
“Don’t abandon
hope, dowager empress. Remain steadfast and true.” Herr Krause drew back his
right leg and placed his left palm over his heart. A welt blistered beet red on
the back of his hand. “We will restore your family’s throne. I promise you
that.” He bowed deeply in Marie’s direction, and then followed Annika out to
the hall.
Most visitors to
Hvidore couldn’t keep their gaze from wandering to the domed ceiling, the
statuary lining the walls, or the silvery crests of Baltic waves visible from
the high windows. This opulence seemed misplaced in the otherwise sensible
residence, like the furs and pearls Marie wore with her practical house dress
and sturdy black shoes. Yet Herr Krause’s gaze remained fixed on each step
before him. He removed a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wrapped it
around the welt on his hand. “Does the dowager empress not understand what
happened to the tsar’s family?”
“The poor creature
lost everyone in the Revolution.” Annika trailed her fingers along the wrought
iron railing as she led him down the central staircase. “She won’t speak of
them in the past tense and refuses to indulge those who do so.”
Herr Krause winced. “Should I return and
apologize?”
“I
doubt it will do any good. It looks like she’s lost to the world for the
evening.”
He tilted his head to the side. “Did you
understand what she said about a missing granddaughter?”
Annika suppressed
a shiver. She didn’t care for this topic. On the other hand, once Herr Krause
left, she would spend the rest of the night in Marie’s room with a needle and
colored thread, embroidering flowers on dish towels while the old woman rambled
on about the old country and the old ways. “She mentioned a missing
granddaughter before. Some of the girls think she’s talking about Anna
Anderson.”
He gave an abrupt
laugh. Annika didn’t care for the harsh sound of it. “The lunatic who claims
she’s Grand Duchess Anastasia?”
“No
one knows. No one dares remind the dowager what happened. Why should we? The
truth is too horrible to bear.” Annika imagined the Romanov family on that
final night, crowded together in the basement of the house in Siberia where
they were kept prisoners. By now, she knew the story too well. She could hear
the girls’ high-pitched screams, the blast of gunfire, and the sickening sound
of flesh ripping underneath the curved tip of a bayonet. Sometimes, she felt as
though she’d been in the room herself.
“Besides, the
dowager empress dismissed Anna Anderson’s petition immediately.” Annika
quickened her pace. “She called her a silly imposter out for money. Of course,
the dowager is eighty years old. She
can’t distinguish the living from the dead anymore, poor woman.” Annika stopped
just short of the main doors and opened the hall closet. She stood on her tip
toes to retrieve Herr Krause’s overcoat and black fedora from the top hooks. “I
wouldn’t put much stock in anything she says about a missing granddaughter.”
Herr
Krause grabbed her arm. Annika tried to wriggle out of his grip. It wasn’t
painful, but he held her fast. “What does she say? What have you heard?”
His icy blue eyes
bore into her, reminding Annika of the Romanian hypnotist who sometimes
performed at Tivoli Gardens in the summer. She understood now why Marie had
allowed this young man into her chambers when she’d shunned so many visitors
before. “Late in the afternoon, when her mind is least clear, I hear her
calling out: ‘Alix. Forgive me. We’ll keep her safe. We’ll protect your fifth
daughter.’”
“I don’t understand.” Herr Krause dug his fingers
deeper into Annika’s flesh. “Tsar Nicholas and Empress Alexandra had only four
daughters and a son.”
“Yet another figment of the dowager’s
imagination, I’m sure.”
“Of course. Clearly, she is an ill woman.”
Herr Krause released Annika’s arm and allowed her to retrieve his hat and coat.
“Perhaps I might speak with Dowager Empress Marie again in the morning, when
her thoughts are more lucid.”
An entire morning free of the dowager’s
prattling? Annika smiled to herself. “I could tell her you were misinformed
about the fate of the tsar and his family. She might agree to see you again
then.”
Herr
Krause bent forward to take her hand. He kissed her fingertips with
surprisingly soft lips. “I would like that very much.”
Annika
opened the front door to a freezing coastal gale. Undeterred, Herr Krause
placed his hat on his head, tightened his coat around his chest, and took the
steps down to the courtyard two at a time. He looked back one last time and
tipped his hat in her direction. She
found his sudden burst of energy odd, considering he’d spent the better part of
his afternoon dealing with Marie’s delusions. Then again Marie often commented
on the strange quirks of the German race. Perhaps the old woman was more
perceptive than Annika realized.
Publication Date: October 22, 2013
St. Martin's Griffin
Paperback; 344p
ISBN: 125002868X
A compelling alternate history of the Romanov family in which a secret fifth daughter—smuggled out of Russia before the revolution—continues the royal lineage to dramatic consequences.
In her riveting debut novel, The Secret Daughter of the Tsar, Jennifer Laam seamlessly braids together the stories of three women: Veronica, Lena, and Charlotte. Veronica is an aspiring historian living in present-day Los Angeles when she meets a mysterious man who may be heir to the Russian throne. As she sets about investigating the legitimacy of his claim through a winding path of romance and deception, the ghosts of her own past begin to haunt her. Lena, a servant in the imperial Russian court of 1902, is approached by the desperate Empress Alexandra. After conceiving four daughters, the Empress is determined to sire a son and believes Lena can help her. Once elevated to the Romanov’s treacherous inner circle, Lena finds herself under the watchful eye of the meddling Dowager Empress Marie. Charlotte, a former ballerina living in World War II occupied Paris, receives a surprise visit from a German officer. Determined to protect her son from the Nazis, Charlotte escapes the city, but not before learning that the officer’s interest in her stems from his longstanding obsession with the fate of the Russian monarchy. Then as Veronica's passion intensifies, and her search for the true heir to the throne takes a dangerous turn, the reader learns just how these three vastly different women are connected. The Secret Daughter of the Tsar is thrilling from its first intense moments until its final, unexpected conclusion.
About the Author
Jennifer Laam's debut novel is The Secret Daughter of the Tsar (St. Martin's Griffin, October 2013). She holds a master's degree in History. Jennifer has lived in Los Angeles and the suburbs of Detroit, and has traveled in Russia, England, France, and Finland. In addition to Russian History, Jennifer's interests include film, music, pop culture, and politics. She currently lives in Northern California.
http://www.jenniferlaam.com
Giveaway
Passages to the Past has one copy up for grabs. To enter, please complete form below. Giveaway is open to US residents only and ends on January 18.
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