Anastasia Romanov: The Last Grand Duchess #10 Read Free

from sight.
    â€œI guess,” Alex said sadly.
    â€œI’ll come tomorrow,” Maisie said. What was he all sad about? She was the one who had just lost her best friend.
    â€œDon’t you have
Crucible
rehearsals tomorrow?” Felix reminded her.
    â€œThe next day, then,” Maisie said. “The report isn’t even due for two weeks.”
    â€œIt’s just that I called my grandmother and told her you were coming, and she’s making
pirozhki
.”
    â€œI don’t know what that is,” Maisie mumbled, wondering how she had gotten herself into this predicament in the first place.
    â€œAnd
blini
,” Alex continued. He added, “Traditional food of Russia.”
    Maisie sighed.
    â€œYou’re Russian?” Felix asked politely.
    Alex nodded. “I’m a direct descendant of the Romanovs.”
    â€œAnd they’re . . . famous Russians?” Felix asked.
    â€œThe royal family!” Alex said.
    â€œLike the Tsar?” Felix asked.
    When Alex nodded, Felix grinned.
    â€œMaisie,” Felix said, “I think it would be a good idea for both of us to go to Alex’s house today.”
    Maisie glowered at her brother. All she wanted to do was go home, climb into bed, and feel bad.
    â€œIn case we ever, you know,” Felix said, staring at her hard, “go to Russia.”
    Maisie could practically hear Great-Uncle Thorne reprimanding them for being unprepared, for using The Treasure Chest all willy-nilly. This time, it seemed very important to actually be prepared. Hadn’t Great-Uncle Thorne said Phinneas Pickworth wouldn’t even allow him and Great-Aunt Maisie to go to Imperial Russia? Hadn’t he said it was unsafe?
    Felix and Alex were both waiting for her to say something.
    â€œWhy are we just standing here?” Maisie asked them. “Let’s go!”
    Alex Andropov lived in a dark red Colonial house on Spring Street with a plaque beside the front door that read:
    T HE L LOYD E DWARD H OUSE
    B UILT 1792
    â€œWow!” Felix said. “Your house is really old.”
    But Alex waved his hand as if that didn’t interest him.
    â€œThis whole street is full of houses built during the Colonial days,” he said. “Down there, the White Horse Tavern is even older; 16-something.”
    Maisie and Felix stole a glance at each other. They were impressed. But clearly Alex wasn’t. He jiggled a large key in the lock of the blue front door until it finally slipped into place. Then he turned it, and the door creaked open.
    â€œTsarist Russia goes back to 1533,” Alex said as he stepped inside and motioned for Maisie and Felix to follow. “But Russia goes back to around 862.”
    They were standing in a small foyer with an umbrella stand filled with umbrellas, and a steep crooked stairway. On either side of the foyer there was a pale green door open to a room.
    Felix wrinkled his nose. The house smelled strongly of cabbage.
    But Alex smiled. “I smell
pirozhki
.”
    â€œGreat,” Felix said, trying his best to sound enthusiastic.
    Alex wasn’t taking note of either of them. Instead he bounded into the room at the right, calling, “Babushka!”
    Maisie and Felix followed him. The room had heavy maroon drapes tied with thick gold braided rope that ended in fat tassels, and a thick Oriental rug over wide floorboards. The furniture looked too big for the small room, and they had to squeeze past some of it to keep up with Alex, who hadn’t even paused. He continued through the next room, which was only slightly larger but also full of oversize furniture. A long dining-room table dominated the room, and a dozen throne-like chairs crowded around it. Maisie paused to study the walls, which were painted with a mural that depicted life in a foreign country, probably long ago.
    When Alex realized she wasn’t behind him, he peered around the corner.
    â€œMoscow,” he said,