“I have already given you my answer,” Ancella replied.
She tried to move forward, but the Marchioness held on to her so that she was prevented from doing so.
“Please let me go!” Ancella said coldly. “Nothing you can say or do – nothing – will make me alter my mind!”
She saw an expression of anger in the Marchioness’s blue eyes that seemed to contort her face.
As if she could bear no more, Ancella struggled to release her wrist, but the Marchioness’s fingers tightened.
For a moment they defied each other and then suddenly there was a scream from the terrace.
They both looked up and there, to Ancella’s astonishment, at the top of the steps stood the Princess!
She was wearing the elaborate negligée of satin and lace that she wore in her bedroom and Ancella thought that she must have walked down the stairs, for there was no sign of her wheelchair or of a footman in attendance.
She was holding a letter in her hand.
She held it up and, looking at the Marchioness, she screamed,
“How dare you say you are going to marry my son! It’s not true, I tell you. He would never marry you – never! You are nothing but a strumpet, a woman without morals and I will kill you rather than allow you to possess him!”
The Princess’s voice, frantic, high and hysterical, rang out and now the Marchioness released her hold of Ancella’s wrist to retort,
“What are you doing with my letter? How dare you read it! You have no right – ”
“I have every right!” the Princess stormed. “What you have written is lies – lies, do you hear? You are a harlot and a liar and you will leave here at once!”
As she spoke, she stepped forward as if to descend the steps and confront the Marchioness with what she held in her hand, then as she did so she swayed.
Just for a moment she seemed to struggle against falling before she lost her balance and crashed down on the marble steps.
She rolled forward, her body gathering impetus until, as she screamed and screamed again, the Princess rolled from the bottom step to lie at the Marchioness’s feet!
Chapter Seven
Ancella was awoken by Maria coming into her bedroom.
She sat up with a start.
“The Princess – ?” she began.
“Her Highness died two hours ago,” Maria answered and, crossing the room, pulled back the curtains.
“I should have been – there,” Ancella said.
“His Highness did not wish it, m’mselle,” Maria answered. “The doctor was with her, but there was nothing we could do. She never regained consciousness.”
Maria’s voice broke and she wiped her eyes.
In the morning light Ancella could see that she had been crying desperately and her eyes were swollen.
“I am so sorry,” she said rather helplessly.
There was indeed nothing she could say.
The Princess had seemed dead when they picked her up from the foot of the marble steps and carried her up to her bedroom.
Then Ancella had found herself involved in a nightmare of activity.
A groom had been sent to find the Prince, who had left the villa with the Grand Duke. Another called the doctor and there seemed to be servants, guests and people asking innumerable questions that Ancella had no answers for.
Only the Marchioness disappeared and Ancella had not seen her again. Maria had taken charge of the letter that the Princess was holding in her hand when she fell down the steps.
Ancella had not been able to read the contents of the letter, but she had noticed with it another slip of paper and saw that it was a cheque.
Almost without conscious thought she read the cheque with her eyes while her mind was still occupied over the limp body of the Princess.
Only when she was alone, after Dr. Groves had sent her to bed saying that there was nothing more she could do, did she remember that the cheque had been signed by the Prince and was for one thousand pounds.
She had been too distressed and exhausted last night to find an explanation for his giving the Marchioness such a large sum.
All she knew, all she could think of, was the Princess’s voice crying out that he and the Marchioness were to be married and each word had been like a dagger in her heart.
‘So this is what the Prince had intended all the time,’ Ancella told herself, ‘and the secrecy as regards his love for me was only because he wished to conceal it from the Marchioness – not from his mother!’
The idea seemed to strip her of her pride as well as of her happiness.
How could she have been so foolish, so naïve, as to think that the Prince meant anything else but to make her his mistress? The rapture she had felt and which she had believed he too experienced had only been an illusion.
She had been warned. Dr. Groves had warned her very clearly, but she had not listened.
It seemed to Ancella at that moment that she went down into a very dark hell of her own where her ideals lay smashed around her and she was humiliated to the point when everything she had believed in, everything she had ever loved, seemed worthless and tawdry.
‘How could I have been so foolish?’ she asked herself over and over again, knowing that there was no answer except a despair that was past tears.
She must have lain for hours suffering to the point when her whole body and mind seemed wracked with pain. Then because she was exhausted she had fallen asleep.
Now sitting up in bed the events of yesterday came rushing back to her and yet for the moment she tried not to think of herself but of Maria. The old maid, she knew, would miss the Princess with an intensity that would not be experienced by anyone else.
“I am so sorry, Maria,” she said again.
“It was that wicked Boris,” Maria replied furiously. “Always makin’ trouble, always upsettin’ Her Highness with the things he told her.”
“It was – he who took her the – letter?” Ancella asked.
“It was a letter written by her Ladyship which she had left on the hall table to be posted. He steamed it open, as he has done so often before and, when he saw what it contained, he hurried upstairs to show it to Her Highness.”
Even, for Ancella, to think of the letter and what it had revealed to the Princess was to feel again that stabbing pain.
“He is wicked – evil.” Maria was saying. “I’ve always hated him, m’mselle. And he hates me!”
Because she could not help it, Ancella found herself whispering the question that was uppermost in her mind.
“Her Highness – told me,” she faltered, “that Boris – drowned the girl who was engaged to Prince – Vladimer. Is – that true?”
Maria shook her head.
“He caused the Princess to think so because he wished to please her, just as he told her, the liar, that he pushed the ballet dancer His Highness was interested in out of the window.”
“It was not – true?” Ancella asked.
“Indeed it was not!” Maria answered. “The Princess Natasha was swimmin’ with friends in the sea. They were makin’ a great deal of noise and did not realise that she had cramp. When they tried to rescue her, it was too late – she had drowned!”
“A-and – the dancer?”
It was wrong, Ancella recognised, to be so inquisitive and yet she had to know.
“It was an accident! The other actors told the Prince what had really happened and Boris was nowhere near the theatre at the time!”
Ancella drew in a deep breath.
“But because he must always boast and try to gain the Princess’s favour, he told her a lot of lies about what he had done.”
Maria’s voice was contemptuous.
“Sometimes she would not believe him and laughed at him behind his back,” she went on. “‘He talks big and does little, Maria,’ she would say. But, when she was upset and distressed, she would want to believe him and then she would talk wildly, saying that she had ordered Boris to do such things
and he had obeyed her.”
“I understand what you are telling me, Maria,” Ancella said gently.
“If I’d known what you heard Her Highness say, I’d have told you sooner. I’ve listened often enough.”
Maria’s voice broke again and it seemed as if she would burst into tears. But with an effort she said,
“I came to tell you, m’mselle, that Dr. Groves has learnt that your friend, Sir Felix Johnson, arrived in Cannes last night to be in attendance on His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales.”
“Sir Felix!” Ancella exclaimed.
“Before Her Highness died, Dr. Groves sent a groom to ask Sir Felix to attend her. He should be arrivin’ soon, but it’s too late!”
“I must get up,” Ancella said. “Thank you for telling me. Has everyone else left?”
She rose as she spoke, remembering that yesterday, after the Princess’s fall, the guests in the villa had begun to leave.
“They’ve all gone!” Maria answered. “Her Ladyship and Captain Sudley left last. They went to stay with His Imperial Highness the Grand Duke Mikhail.”
“That is where I thought they would go,” Ancella answered.
Late last night the Major Domo had brought her a note.
“What is it?” she asked.
She had only left the Princess’s room for a few minutes and he had been waiting for her on the landing outside.
“It is from His Imperial Highness, m’mselle,” the Major Domo replied. “It came at the same time as one addressed to His Highness. A groom is waiting for an answer.”
Ancella opened the envelope. Inside was a note written in a bold strong hand.
She read,
“Because of the tragic accident to the Princess I have invited all the guests from the Villa d’Azar to stay with me. This, of course, includes a certain lovely lady whose name means ‘angel’. I am hoping most fervently that she will accept my invitation.
Mikhail of Russia.”
Ancella read with some surprise what was written.
Then, realising that the Major Domo was waiting, she said,
“Will you ask the groom to inform His Imperial Highness that Miss Winton thanks him for his invitation, but she is returning to England immediately?”
And that, Ancella told herself now, was what she must do.
“Will you tell the footman to bring me my trunks?” she said to Maria. “If the maids are busy, I will pack them myself.”
“You are goin’ home, m’mselle?”
“Yes, Maria.”
“And I shall be goin’ home with Her Highness,” Maria said with a sob. “She will be buried in St. Petersburg beside Prince Serge. Then I shall have to look for somewhere to live.”
As if the idea was too much for her, Maria, with the tears running down her cheeks, went from Ancella’s room, closing the door behind her.
Ancella made a movement as if she would go after the old maid and try to comfort her, but knew that there was nothing she could do.
Maria had been so long with the Princess. They had been very close to each other, the two old women, enjoying their bickering and arguing, and yet, Ancella knew, having a deep affection for each other.
Now for Maria there was only the emptiness of old age without a companion. Perhaps loneliness was harder to endure than bereavement.
‘Just as – I shall be – alone,’ Ancella said to herself.
She dressed and, having nothing black to wear, put on the plainest of her white muslin gowns.
She felt, however, as she went downstairs that she should be more sombre.
Then, just as she reached the hall, a carriage drew up outside.
She saw Sir Felix step out and ran eagerly towards him.
“Oh, Sir Felix, I am so glad you have come!”
“I came as soon as I could,” he answered. “Is the Princess still alive?”
Ancella shook her head.
“She died several hours ago.”
“Then I am too late,” Sir Felix said simply.
Ancella turned to the Major Domo.
“Will you inform Dr. Groves that Sir Felix Johnson has arrived?”
She drew Sir Felix into the salon.
“Dr. Groves explained to me in his letter that there had been a tragic accident,” Sir Felix said. “I am sorry, my dear. I certainly did not wish to involve you in anything so unpleasant.”
“It could not be helped,” Ancella replied.
She was determined not to tell Sir Felix what had actually occurred.
There was no point, she thought, now that the Princess was dead, in burdening anyone with the unsavoury details.
Sir Felix walked to the open window and looked out over the terrace.
“It’s very beautiful here.”
“It’s lovely!” Ancella agreed.
“I thought of you resting in the sun and hoped that it was doing you good,” Sir Felix said. “Perhaps I can find you another post. If not, I will take you back with me when I return to England.”
“I would like to do that.”
As Ancella spoke, the door opened and the Prince came in.
Although Ancella told herself in the night that they could never mean anything to each other again, she could not help her heart giving a sudden leap as if it turned a somersault in her breast.
He was looking a little strained, but otherwise so amazingly attractive that it was difficult to believe that wittingly or unwittingly such a terrible tragedy had revolved around him.
“It was extremely kind of you to come, Sir Felix,” the Prince said, holding out his hand.
“I am only sorry to learn that I am too late to be of any use, Your Highness,” Sir Felix replied.
“My mother died peacefully and without being conscious of what had occurred,” the Prince said.
“I can only offer my deepest sympathy,” Sir Felix answered.
“Thank you.”
The Prince gazed at Ancella, but she would not meet his eyes.
“I was just saying to Lady Ancella,” Sir Felix said, “that I can take her back to England with me as soon as His Royal Highness can dispense with my services!”
He saw the surprise in the Prince’s face and said hastily,
“I forgot! I sent Lady Ancella here because she was in need of rest and sun and we thought it wisest for her to be employed under another name. She is, in fact, the daughter of the late Earl of Medwin.”
“What I was going to suggest was something rather different,” the Prince said. “I have already been in touch with a cousin of my father’s, who lives at Grasse. I have asked her to come here and stay with Miss Winton or, as you now tell me, Lady Ancella, while I convey my mother’s coffin to Russia.”
Ancella was very still and she still could not look at the Prince as he went on,
“Immediately on my return we will be married quietly. I feel it would be a comfort for my future wife if you also could see your way, Sir Felix, to keep her company while she is waiting for me and, as an old friend, to be present at the Wedding Ceremony.”
As the Prince finished speaking, Ancella made a little sound that was actually a repressed cry.
Then she walked to the window to stand with her back to the room.
As if he sensed the tension that suddenly existed between them, Sir Felix said tactfully,
“I thank Your Highness for the invitation and I think that if I play truant towards my London patients by making His Royal Highness the excuse, it might be possible for me to accept it. Now I think I should see Dr. Groves who, I understand, is upstairs.”
“He is waiting for you,” the Prince answered, opening the door for Sir Felix to pass into the hall.
He closed the door and came back into the room.
He moved into the centre of it and said quietly,
“Ancella, my precious, come here!”
She did not move and after a moment he walked a little nearer to her.
“I want to talk to you.”
With an
effort Ancella found her voice.
“Why did you – tell Sir Felix we are to be – married?”
“Because we are,” the Prince answered simply.
She did not answer and after a moment he said,
“Can it be possible that you have really been upset by what you thought was meant in the letter that was instrumental in killing my mother? Surely you did not believe such a lie?”
“Was – it a – lie?” Ancella asked almost beneath her breath.
“I thought that you trusted me,” the Prince said.
“I – did!” Ancella replied. “But – ”
She turned as she spoke and the expression on the Prince’s face made her heart start beating wildly.
“I told you before, my darling,” he said. “There are no ‘buts’ between us.”
There was a silence.
Ancella knew that the Prince was waiting for her to speak, yet for a moment she could not find words to express the misery and bewilderment she felt.
Then the words seemed to burst from her lips.
“But – she – she went to your – room? You – gave her that – huge cheque?”
Ancella held her breath.
She felt as if the whole world was still waiting for the Prince’s answer before he said,
“When we first met, you told me that when you helped the man who was in deep distress in the Casino you had a conviction as to what number would turn up. Was that not true?”
“Y-yes,” Ancella murmured, wondering where the conversation was leading.
“I want you to use that sixth sense now,” the Prince said, “the clairvoyance that will give you a ‘conviction’ where I am concerned.”
He paused and then he said,
“Look at me, Ancella!”
She knew he was waiting with his eyes on hers and yet somehow she could not look into his face.
“Look at me!” he repeated masterfully.
Almost reluctantly she raised her worried grey eyes to his.
“Now answer me truthfully and from the very depths of your heart,” the Prince said softly. “Do you trust me?”
Princes and Princesses Page 134
