Q.E.D. Part 3
Stefan's servants met Lila and Reginald at the dock, and carried Lilain her wheelchair up the long flight of steps to the front gate. ThenReginald pushed her chair down the path to the door.
The yard had a wild look about it. There were thick stands of trees,which blocked most of the sunlight and left Windemere in perpetualshade. The face of the old mansion was veined with ivy and clematis,clinging to the stone sculptures, infusing the inanimate with theanimate. Unlike many wealthy homeowners, Stefan Cassadine had nodesire to tame the grounds surrounding his estate by imposingsculptured hedges and trellised rose gardens. And Lila, havingdescended from the Druids, understood his respect for nature.
Stefan opened the front door and watched the small processionapproach. She is still beautiful, he thought. He remembered when hewas four years old, finding a photograph of Lila taken when she wasperhaps 19 or 20 and thinking that Aphrodite herself could not havebeen as lovely. He asked his mother who the woman in the photographwas, and she told him that she was a "distant cousin of noimportance." She took the picture from him, and he never saw itagain. When Lila came to visit, less than two months later, herecognized her immediately. He sat through the entire eveningspellbound, straining to hear every word.
In a four year-old's mind, the conversation between Lila and hisparents carried little significance. Years later, he found hisgrandfather's diary and those words heard years ago finally madesense.
When Lila arrived at the front steps, Stefan waved his servants offand helped Reginald lift Lila's wheelchair to the doorway.
"I'm sorry there's no ramp, Mrs. Quartermaine. I'll remedy thatsituation as soon as possible."
Lila looked up at her host and smiled. She'd heard Alan talk aboutStefan's "dour demeanor", but the man she saw was grinning at herlike an eager pupil, hungry for his teacher's approval.
"It's quite all right, Mr. Cassadine. I know that these older homesare rarely 'wheelchair accessible'."
"You're very gracious, Mrs. Quartermaine." He gestured toward theliving room. "Thank you for accepting my invitation. Please comein."
He led Lila and Reginald into the living room, where Nikolas waswaiting. Stefan introduced himself and Nikolas to Reginald andoffered him a seat. Then, he turned to Lila.
"We've met before, Mrs. Quartermaine, but we've never been properlyintroduced." He knelt down and kissed her hand. "I am StefanCassadine, at your service, madam."
Lila had to stifle a smile at Stefan's formal manner. "Please, Mr.Cassadine, call me Lila."
Stefan stood up and smiled. "Thank you Lila, and please, call meStefan." He put his hand on Nikolas' shoulder and brought him forwardtoward Lila. "This is my nephew, Nikolas Cassadine."
Lila reached up to take Nikolas' hand, and found herself staring intofamiliar eyes. He was a strong boy, athletic, much like the man hewas named after, yet he carried himself with a subtle grace that hemust have learned from his uncle.
"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Quartermaine."
"And I you, Nikolas. I've had the pleasure of knowing your mother,Laura Spencer. She's a lovely woman."
Nikolas wanted to retort that he wished he'd had the same "pleasure",but a look of warning from his uncle silenced him. He thanked Lila,instead.
Stefan had tea brought in and then dismissed his servants.
"I know that you're a busy woman, Lila, so I'll get to the point. AsI'm sure you've surmised, this is more than a simple socialgathering." Stefan stood up and walked over to the wall by thefireplace. He pressed a button under the mantle, and part of thepaneling opened up, revealing a wall safe. He opened the safe andremoved an old notebook. "Years ago, I found this diary hidden in oneof the caves on the Cassadine island. I invited you here, Lila, toverify its authenticity, and," he looked over at Nikolas, "to help meto complete my nephew's knowledge of his family's history." He passedthe book to Lila, who seemed almost afraid to touch it.
She opened the book to the first page and recognized the handwritingimmediately. It was the same handwriting she saw in all of thoseletters addressed to her mother; letters smuggled out of Greece byReginald's great-grandfather. The script was crude, written by ayoung man who had spent far more time in a sickbed than studyingpenmanship. But the words had an eloquent sadness about them, and shefelt her eyes fill with tears.
"Have you seen this, Nikolas?" she asked.
"No, I haven't."
"Then perhaps you should be the one to read it to me." She wiped hereyes with a handkerchief. "I'm afraid my eyes aren't good forreading, right now."
Nikolas looked over at Stefan, who nodded his head in agreement."Yes, Nikolas, why don't you read the first entry?"
Nikolas took the diary from Lila and started to read...
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July 17, 1918...
"When the time comes, fall to the floor. Lie very still."
English. The words were in English, and the whisperer startled me asif he had suddenly screamed. English was the language of my parents.It was not the language of the guards.
I looked around, trying to see who had spoken, but I saw no one. Mylegs were hurting, and I moved so slowly.
Later that night, Papa woke me and told me to dress. I had sleptpoorly and my knees felt swollen and they buckled when I tried towalk. I felt like a porcelain doll, as Papa gently dressed me in asoldier's outfit that was a miniature of his own. Beneath my shirt,he'd wrapped a corset around my chest. It had jewels sewn into thelining. The children always wore what was left of the royal treasurywhenever we traveled.
Then, Papa removed his ring and kissed it and placed it in my hand.He knelt down and leaned in close to my ear and whispered: "I have nocrown to place upon your head, my son, but from this day forward, youare Alexie II, Tsar of Russia. I give my blessing to you and to yourfuture wife." He stood and I looked up at him, and he looked back atme, as if he wanted to say more, but he did not. I saw a single teartrace a thin line along his face. He looked old and tired.
The ring was too large for me. I wore it on my index finger.
Guards appeared at our door. This place was no longer safe, theysaid, and they were going to move us, but first, they wanted aphotograph to send to the new government in Moscow, to prove that wehadn't escaped. The dark man led my family and servants and me to thebasement room. Papa had to carry me.
Mama asked for two chairs, so she and I could sit down. The dark mancalled to the guards and they brought us chairs. The dark manassembled us for the 'photograph'. It was important that we bearranged just so. I learned why later.
Instead of bringing a camera, the guards brought rifles andrevolvers. There were eleven of them, including the dark man. Therewere eleven of us, as well. The dark man read from a paper. It was adocument condemning us to death.
Papa looked at each of us and then back at the man. His last wordswere, "You know not what you do..." The dark man drew his revolverand shot Papa at close range. Then, they all fired bullets at him,all wanting to take the credit for executing the tsar. I felt Papa'sblood on my face and hair.
They opened fire on the rest of us, and the room filled withgunpowder and the air echoed with the screams of the others andme.
I fell to the floor. I couldn't lie still. I tried to cover my headwith my arms.
Mama and Papa and two of the servants were dead. I looked up at mysisters. The bullets were ricocheting off of their chests. Thejewel-lined corsets deflected the shots. This frightened the guardsat first and for a brief moment, the shooting stopped. Then, theycame at them with the butts of their rifles and bayonets. My sistersand remaining servant were running around the room. Our executionerswere furious that we weren't dying in a quick and orderlyfashion.
One of them kicked me. I felt the barrel of a gun pressed to my head.The sound of the gun going off deafened me permanently in my rightear. But there was no bullet.
I lay there, perfectly still, eyes closed, unable to watch my familyand servants die around me.
The room became quiet. Someone felt my wrist, checking my pulse. Iwas wrapped in a sheet and thrown in the back of a truck with thecorpses of my family and friends. Their bodies still felt warm.
I was bleeding inside, a familiar sensation to one with my "royal"disease. One of the guards had spared me, but perhaps I was to dieanyway. I no longer cared at this point.
We drove on for what seemed like an eternity. Then, the truck stoppedand I heard two men talking in a language I had never heard before. Ilater found out it was Greek.
I was lifted out of the truck and placed in a cart. Then, I feltanother body being placed next to mine. I was still afraid to move orspeak, but I prayed silently that someone else lived through thecarnage.
The cart lurched forward and I heard the truck leave. I felt the bodybeside me move. In a rare moment of bravery, I reached through thefolds of my shroud and grasped the hand of my sister, Anastasia.