Princes and Princesses

by Cartland, Barbara

  How could she feel anything like that for a man who was prepared to murder her father as Vladimir Demidovsky had murdered a man?

  She was aware that the town of Lvov was a long way from The Castle, much farther than the distance they had travelled from Hungary.

  The road mercifully was level and in good repair and the horses were making excellent progress.

  By the time they reached the first inn on the road, they all, with the exception of Vida, were hungry for something to eat.

  She was so agitated that she felt that it would be impossible for her ever to eat again.

  The food was anyway unpalatable. At the same time the tea in its samovar was excellent and very reviving.

  She could understand how the Russians, whatever else they left behind, never went anywhere without their samovars.

  The horses were fed with the very best oats, which Henri had been shrewd enough to instruct the coachman to purloin from the Prince’s stable.

  As they set out again, Vida thought with joy that their pace was still good, but before long she realised that she was too optimistic.

  Later in the afternoon the road became much steeper with a broken surface strewn with rocks and thick with trees. And because of the danger of a broken axle, they were forced to go slowly.

  She almost cried with frustration, but there was nothing she could do about it.

  Instead, she could only pray fervently that in the Monastery her father was safe and that she would reach him before the Prince and his minions were able to do so.

  Then she told herself that, because His Highness was so clever at being an enigma to the British Government and perhaps even to people as astute as her father, he would not personally be involved in what happened next.

  He would probably relay the information to the Czar’s Secret Police and they would do the rest.

  She felt herself shudder as she remembered the terrible crimes they had committed and the horrors they had perpetrated in Russia since Alexander III came to the throne.

  His reign had opened with a persecution of the Jews that was unequalled in history.

  She remembered her father telling her that over two hundred and fifty thousand destitute Jews had been forced out of Russia into Western Europe.

  “Let them carry their poison where they will!” the Czar had said.

  There were a thousand other shameful actions that Vida could not bear to think about, but she could not suppress them and they kept recurring in her mind until she felt she would go mad.

  By the time they had passed through the mountainous region it was growing dark.

  There was therefore nothing they could do but spend the night in a village where the only accommodation for travellers was dirty and so inadequate that Vida felt that, after the comforts of The Castle, as if they had stepped down into a bog.

  She and Margit occupied a small bedroom together and, as they were quite certain that the beds were verminous, they slept in their clothes, lying on the rugs that Henri brought in from the carriage.

  Their supper consisted of a Russian soup that smelt unpleasant and tasted even worse and thick slices of black rye bread.

  There was, however, the inevitable but drinkable tea.

  It was difficult not to think of the delicious dishes she had been served with the previous evening and the caviar that had been available at any hour of the day.

  But hunger, sleeplessness and the smell of the unwashed rooms were unimportant beside the fact that she was much nearer to her father than she had been before.

  At least she knew where he was and that was all-important.

  Once again they set off at dawn and now the road was far better, although it was not possible to go as fast as Vida would have liked.

  They reached their destination after a long and tiring day, hungry and feeling indescribably dusty and dirty from the journey.

  The seventeenth century Monastery was just outside the town surrounded by a high wall, which Henri pointed out as they passed it.

  The bell tower of the Church rose above it and there was just enough light to see the heavily barred door that Vida guessed was the only entrance.

  She was already wondering despairingly how she could get in touch with her father, but it was too late that night to do anything but finding somewhere to rest.

  She had not only to think of herself but of Margit, who was looking very weary and, as she admitted, ‘feeling her age’.

  To their surprise there was a hotel, which, while certainly not luxurious, was clean and adequate.

  It had been built only in the last three years and was used, Vida learned, mainly by commercial travellers who went from City to City selling their wares.

  It was also a stopping place for those en route to the South.

  At any rate there it was and the food it offered was plain but nourishing, while the beds although hard were nothing like the verminous horrors they had endured the night before.

  “Now, go to bed, Miss Vida, and sleep!” Margit said firmly. “You’ll do no good worrying about the Master until it’s daylight. Then Henri can find out how we can contact him. Until then, remember – ‘a tired brain’s a useless one’.”

  Vida laughed as if she could not help it.

  “You are marvellous, Margit!” she exclaimed. “I cannot tell you what it means to me to have you with me!”

  “If I don’t get some sleep,” Margit retorted, “I tell you one thing, Miss Vida. I’ll leave my bones in Russia, which is a place I never could abide!”

  Vida laughed again.

  Then, as Margit left her, she climbed into bed.

  Once she had blown out the candles, she prayed first to her mother to help her and then she tried to send waves of thought to her father to let him know that she was near and had come to save him.

  *

  Vida must have fallen into an exhausted, dreamless sleep, for she awoke with a little start as the curtains were pulled back and she thought that Margit had come in to wake her.

  Then, as she opened her eyes, she realised that standing against the pale light from the window was not Margit, but a man.

  She caught her breath and, as he turned round, she saw that it was the Prince!

  For a moment she was both speechless and motionless, just staring at him. She felt it could not be true that he was there, but if he was, then her journey was in vain and her father was doomed.

  He saw that she was awake and walked towards the bed to sit down on it, facing her.

  “You look very lovely in the morning,” he said in the same tone he might have used when they had been together at The Castle.

  “W-why – are you – here?”

  She knew the answer and yet she had to hear him say it.

  She felt that if he told her what he intended there would be nothing for her to do but die with her father.

  He looked for a long moment at the terror in her eyes and the way her lips trembled with fear before he asked,

  “Why did you not trust me?”

  “Trust – you?” Vida asked. “How – could I do that – when you – ”

  She paused, wondering how she could possibly put into words what she felt sure he was about to do.

  “If you had told me what you were thinking,” the Prince said, “you could have saved yourself a very uncomfortable journey and what I feel must have been an agony of apprehension.”

  “I-I don’t know – what you mean.”

  She was wondering if he had found out who she was, and if in fact, he now knew that she was her father’s daughter.

  He might be trying to trick her and she was therefore desperately afraid of saying the wrong thing.

  “Now that you are here,” the Prince said, “perhaps you will tell me how you intend to save your father.”

  “How did you – know that is – what I want to do?” she whispered.

  “When I learnt that you are Vida Anstruther,” the Prince said, “everything that had been puzzling me about yo
u fell into place.”

  “H-how did you – find out?” Vida asked weakly.

  Before he could answer her she said,

  “Of course! It was – Vladimir Demidovsky who told you!”

  “Naturally!” the Prince agreed. “I presume that you must have seen him or become aware that he was in The Castle. He told me that he had spoken to you and, I thought, somewhat indiscreetly given you his name in Budapest.”

  “I-I was frightened of him. I thought he was a Russian – Agent!”

  “He is my agent,” the Prince explained, “and a very effective one.”

  He smiled before he went on.

  “He not only discovered for me where your father had hidden himself from the Czar’s men, who are pursuing him, but he also described, which I feel was very astute of him, a very lovely lady, now calling herself the Countess Vida Kărólski, who boarded the Express train from Paris as Miss Vida Anstruther.”

  “So you now know I am Papa’s daughter.”

  “Yes, I know!”

  He put out his other hand and ran his fingers along the line of her chin.

  It made Vida feel as though a little flame touched her and she quivered as the Prince continued,

  “How could you have been so ridiculous as to pretend to be a widow?”

  “You – believed me,” she said defensively.

  “Not once I had kissed you.”

  She felt the colour rise in her cheeks.

  “What – did you know – then?”

  “That you had never been kissed before and that, my precious, was why I left you.”

  Vida looked at him wide-eyed.

  Then, as if he forced himself to do so, he released her hand and said in a different tone of voice,

  “Now perhaps you will tell me how you intend to get your father away from here?”

  “I-I don’t – know,” Vida replied. “I only know that I had to – come to him – and that he is in danger.”

  There was a little sob in her voice as she added,

  “Please, please help me!”

  “That is what I intend to do,” the Prince answered. “I already have a plan that I think and hope will work.”

  Vida felt a surge of excitement sweep through her at his words.

  She sat up in bed and held out both her hands to him.

  “Why was I so – foolish as not to know instinctively that – you would want to – help Papa rather than have him imprisoned or even killed, as I was – afraid you – might?”

  “One day,” the Prince said in a deep voice, “I will make you apologise for even suspecting that I could be a supporter of evil. But first we have to concentrate and time is vitally important in taking your father out of the country.”

  Vida drew in her breath but did not speak and simply looked at the Prince, her eyes very wide, her dark red hair hanging over her shoulders.

  “The first thing is to get him away from the Monastery,” the Prince said, “and I have thought of a plan for doing that.”

  “How can we?” Vida asked.

  “You arrived here exhausted after your long journey and during the night you had a bad heart attack,” the Prince said. “You are therefore very eager to contact your Confessor, whom you understand is at the moment in the Monastery of St. Onutri.”

  It was such a clever idea that Vida slipped her hand into the Prince’s and held on to it almost as if she was afraid that before he finished explaining his plan he would disappear.

  Then, despite her anxiety and her genuine weakness, she felt as if a shaft of sunlight ran through her as his fingers closed over hers so tightly that they hurt.

  “I am going to send your Courier, whose name, I understand, is Henri, to see the Abbot at the Monastery,” the Prince said. “He will say that you have come from my castle, which will impress him, but not that I too am here.”

  “I am – sure that is – wise,” Vida murmured.

  “The fact that we do not know what name your father is using at the moment makes it more difficult,” the Prince went on. “Henri can explain that you are not well enough to answer any questions. But your maid, who has been with you for many years, knows that the one person who can help in this emergency is your Confessor, who has known the family ever since you were a child.”

  “Papa does not – know the – name on – my passport,” Vida said quickly.

  “I guessed that,” the Prince said, “but Henri can say that you are the Countess Vida Kărólski and I cannot believe your father, who is very quick-witted, will not comprehend.”

  “You know Papa?”

  “Of course I know him,” the Prince replied, “and I admire him more than I can possibly say! At the same time to enter Russia when he knew the Secret Police were waiting for him was a foolhardy action.”

  “I warned Papa that he was a – marked man.”

  “But he would not listen to you,” the Prince said, “and now I am afraid that for the rest of his life Russia is forbidden territory.”

  “But first we – have to get him – out.”

  “That is the operative word and we will get him out, you and I, Vida!”

  His eyes met hers and it was hard for him to look away.

  Then, as if he forced himself once again to concentrate on what was immediately important, he said,

  “I am going to find Henri now and instruct him to go to the Monastery as soon as possible. The monks rise early and, as soon as their first Service is over, he will have an opportunity to see the Abbot.”

  “If only we knew what name Papa is using,” Vida murmured.

  “He will give Henri the answer to that question.”

  He rose from the bed as he spoke, smiled at her and walked towards the door.

  As he reached it, he looked back and said softly,

  “As I have said before, you look very lovely in the morning, Vida.”

  She felt herself blush. At the same time she felt as if her whole body had come alive and she was singing like a lark in the sky.

  The Prince was here, he had taken over the problem from her and he was now in command.

  All she wanted to do was to rest on his strength and feel the wonder of him seep through her like the sunshine.

  Five minutes later Margit came hurrying to her.

  “That’ll teach us to make hasty opinions about anybody in the future!” she said sharply. “His Highness has just walked into my bedroom, where, of course, I was lyin’ in bed and he almost gave me a heart attack! He’s told me what’s been planned and even your father couldn’t think of a cleverer idea!”

  “He is wonderful!” Vida exclaimed. “I could hardly believe it when he pulled back the curtains. I thought it was you!”

  “While he’s givin’ Henri orders, I’ve to make you look ill in case anyone from the hotel sees you. If you lie there with your eyes shinin’ like a rainbow, they’re not goin’ to believe you’re anythin’ but pulsatin’ with good health!”

  Vida began to laugh and then she put her fingers over her mouth in case anybody else should hear the sound.

  Margit brushed back her hair and tied it at the back of her neck. Then she covered her forehead with a piece of linen, as if she was applying eau de cologne or some other cooling lotion.

  She then powdered her face to make her skin look very pale.

  “I’m goin’ to send for some tea,” she said, “which is all His Highness thinks you should appear to have for breakfast. But I’ll order something’ substantial for myself in my own room, so you’ll not go hungry.”

  “I am far too happy to be hungry!”

  “I’ll be happy when we’re out of this pestilential country,” Margit moaned, “and not before!”

  She spoke sharply, then walked out of the room, leaving Vida to think.

  Even if the Prince’s clever plan brought her father out of the Monastery in the guise of a Confessor, they still had to escape out of Russia.

  Even the Prince could not prevent the Secret Police from catc
hing up with them and apprehending her father, if he had not yet crossed the Hungarian border into safety.

  Suddenly her happiness had gone and once again she was feeling desperately anxious.

  Perhaps it would be a mistake to bring her father out from the safety of the Monastery where he had found sanctuary in the town.

  Her only hope now was that, while Vladimir Demidovsky had found out where her father was hiding, the Secret Police might be looking for him elsewhere.

  She wished that she had asked the Prince more details of what he knew, but she was aware this was not the time for talking to him. That would come later.

  Now they had to act and act quickly.

  There was a knock on her door and she guessed that it was a maidservant with her tea.

  She therefore shut her eyes and lay back looking, she hoped, very ill with her white face and the linen cloth over her forehead.

  The knock came again and now Margit came to the door and she heard her say in Russian,

  “Go straight in. Her Ladyship’s too ill to speak. Just put it down by the bed and I’ll give it to her in spoonfuls.”

  Vida heard the maid come in and set down the tea in its samovar.

  “Poor lady, so young to be stricken in such a manner,” she heard her say.

  “It’s God’s will,” Margit said solemnly.

  “He always knows best,” the maid agreed.

  She went from the room and Margit bolted the door behind her.

  “Now, sit up and drink,” she said. “Later I’ll bring you some toast and honey, which will at least sustain you until we gets out of this place.”

  “How are we going to do that?” Vida asked.

  “His Highness told me he has a plan for that too. I’m sure we can trust him to think of somethin’ clever.”

  “Yes, we can trust him!” Vida said, a little lilt in her voice.

  She drank the tea, then Margit put the samovar outside the door and they waited.

  It seemed to Vida as if a century of time passed, although it was actually no more than an hour before there were footsteps on the stairs.

  For a minute she was terrified that it might be the Secret Police.

  Then the door opened and she first saw Henri, who took a quick glance round the room before he stood back and let a monk enter who had been standing behind him.