She was tall, even compared with the tall and statuesque beauties of the period like the Duchess of Sutherland and the Princess of Pless, whose photographs appeared in every magazine and were on sale as postcards.
Her hair was the vivid gold of ripening corn and her eyes so blue that they rivalled the Mediterranean.
She carried herself superbly and her gown revealed her full bosom above a small pinched-in waist and wide hips.
As the Princess entered the salon, the Marchioness swept towards her, curtseyed and said effusively,
“Your Highness! We have missed you so much today! It was so sad you could not watch the yacht racing. It was fascinating!”
“I am sure it was!” the Princess said dryly. “Especially if my son won!”
“But of course he won!” the Marchioness replied. “Is His Highness ever defeated at anything he sets his heart on?”
There was something so ingenuous in the way she spoke and she looked so fascinating as she did so, that Ancella found it hard to look round and decide which amongst a number of gentlemen, all extremely elegant with their white shirt-fronts and long tail coats, was Captain Fredrick Sudley.
It was not difficult to distinguish him.
She heard his rather hard voice and loud laugh and saw that he was in fact good-looking with dark brown hair, a moustache and a manner of holding himself that proclaimed his military training.
It was difficult for Ancella to distinguish at first between the house party and those who were guests for the evening.
She was introduced to Baron Mikhovovitch and found later, when he sat next to her at dinner, that he was a charming elderly man with a courtly manner who had once been in the Diplomatic Service.
In the salon Ancella kept herself unobtrusively beside but a little behind the Princess and, while the Marchioness pointedly ignored her, a number of the gentlemen either asked to be introduced or talked to her without waiting for an introduction.
‘I must be very careful not to push myself forward,’ Ancella told herself, ‘or to do anything to attract attention.’
She was quite sure that the Marchioness would be ready to snub her if she should do so, but she was not certain what the Princess’s reaction would be.
The Princess sat at the top of the long table. Ancella found that, while on one side she had the Baron Mikhovovitch who told her interesting things about Russia that she found fascinating, on the other she had a middle-aged man who was inclined to be flirtatious.
She had met his type before and, when she made it quite clear that she had no intention of responding to his rakish insinuations, he became tired of her and turned to talk to the woman on his other side.
The dinner was a surprise to Ancella, for living quietly in the country she had never realised the luxury to be found in houses where a superlative chef was employed.
Course succeeded course, each more delectable and more exotic than the last. She knew that this was French cooking, as her father had described it to her, at its best.
She found it absolutely impossible after the first two courses to eat anything but the very smallest mouthful of each dish she was offered, but the gentlemen in the party ploughed through everything.
It was not surprising, she thought, that many of them had grown so fat in middle age if that was the way they indulged themselves day after day.
There was champagne to drink and other superlative wines, which made Ancella wish that her father were there as she knew how much he would have enjoyed them.
She wondered if in her position she ought to refuse wine.
Then she told herself that it was unlikely in France that anyone would think it strange for her to drink what was offered, considering that even the poorest peasant had a bottle of vin ordinaire with his meal.
The conversation was gay and varied and Ancella noticed that the Marchioness held the attention not only of her partners at the dinner table but also of others in the immediate vicinity.
She was vivacious and, judging by the laughter, amusing. But when Ancella overheard some of the remarks she realised that they had a double entendre that she did not understand.
‘How stupid I must seem to these people!’ she thought and then told herself severely that she was talking as if they would judge her as an equal.
To them she was just a servant and, as long as she answered them politely when they condescended to speak to her, nothing else would be expected.
Baron Mikhovovitch told her that he had been enjoying the tennis tournaments.
“Do they have them in Monte Carlo?” Ancella asked in surprise.
“Indeed they do! There are five women champions here who play magnificently. You must watch them.”
“I would like to do that,” Ancella exclaimed.
“If I were younger,” the Baron said gallantly, “I would not only challenge you on the courts, I would ask you to be my passenger in the first Concours d’Elégance for motor cars!”
“What is that?” Ancella enquired.
She had once or twice driven in a motor car belonging to a friend of her father’s and found it a fascinating experience.
“The driver whose car is adjudged to look the most beautiful is awarded a prize and so does the lady who accompanies him.”
“There must be a lot of competition.”
The Baron laughed.
“Actually, no! Everyone is sure to get a first prize because there can never be anything second or third class in the Principality!”
Ancella laughed too.
“How reassuring!” she exclaimed.
As soon as dinner was finished, the Princess moved with the ladies from the dining room and immediately wished to go to the Casino.
“There is no hurry, Your Highness!” someone remarked.
“Indeed there is!” the Princess replied. “I feel that tonight I am going to win!”
“Then good luck!” the gentleman said who had spoken to her. “I shall follow your lead. I lost a packet last night!”
“You are not a good gambler, my Lord!” the Princess said severely.
“Unlucky at cards – lucky in love!” he retorted and turned a roguish eye on Ancella as he spoke.
The Princess’s carriage was the first to leave the villa and Ancella was surprised to find that it was drawn by four horses.
As if in answer to a question she had not asked, the Princess said,
“No reason to waste time in travelling to Monte Carlo. My horses will get me there quicker than anyone else!”
As the carriage moved off, Ancella was aware that the Princess was in a somewhat agitated state of mind and she knew that she carried with her in her black velvet bag almost all her lucky charms.
Looking at the Princess at dinner she had thought that never had she imagined any woman could wear so much jewellery or appear to be so rich.
The Princess literally blazed with diamonds. She wore a necklace that she had shown Ancella that morning, which consisted of three rows of diamonds each one as big in size as an English sixpence!
‘How can anyone already so wealthy want more money?’ Ancella asked herself.
She began to think that perhaps the newspapers, when they talked about gambling fever and an obsession that was detrimental to mind and health, were perhaps not exaggerating as much as she had thought at first.
She was, however, so fascinated by their destination that she could think of little else.
Very soon, because of the fast pace they were travelling at, she could see the lights of Monte Carlo. Then as they entered the town she saw the harbour filled with large and expensive yachts, their lights gleaming in the darkness and reflected on the water beneath them.
It was very lovely, but there was no time for more than a passing glimpse before they were climbing the hill, until everything seemed to be ablaze with lights as the carriage came to a standstill in front of a long flight of steps.
They had arrived!
There in front of them, Ancella saw, was t
he Casino with its two copper towers, looking exactly like the pictures she had seen of it – a large, fat, white-sugared wedding cake.
At the appearance of the Princess’s carriage two flunkeys who had been waiting at the top of the steps hurried down, carrying between them a wheelchair padded with velvet, which they set down on the pavement.
Ancella, who had seen the Princess walking quite adequately in the villa could not help looking at it enquiringly and the Princess, as if she read her thoughts, said with a smile,
“I assure you, my dear, when one is old, by far the most comfortable way to travel about the place is in a wheelchair. Everyone gets out of the way and one is always the centre of attention!”
Ancella was amused, but she saw that what the Princess said was true, for, as she was pushed through the huge, noisy gambling room, everyone did in fact make way for her.
Ancella had a quick glimpse of a high painted ceiling, a great deal of gold ormolu and a number of Roulette tables filled with people of all sorts and conditions crowded around them.
There were women with painted faces wearing huge hats covered in ostrich feathers or ospreys and there were poor clerks rubbing shoulders with well-to-do bourgeoisie, besides foreigners of every type, age and colour.
The Princess was swept past them, although Ancella longed to stop and look around to see what was happening.
“Faites vos jeux, messieurs et mesdames.”
“Les jeux sont faits.”
“Rien ne va plus.”
She could hear the drone of the croupiers’ voices and the sudden hush that came to a table as the wheel spun, but the Princess was being carried quickly ahead towards the Salle Touzet.
This room, she learnt later, had been added because the original gambling room now known as ‘The Kitchen’ had become so overcrowded.
It was carpeted with a floral design of dark and light blue and attractive paintings hung on the panelled walls. Here the most distinguished and wealthy visitors to the Casino were encouraged to gamble.
In contrast to The Kitchen the Salle Touzet seemed quiet, but Ancella felt that the atmosphere of excitement was even tenser and it was in fact a very colourful scene.
Never had she imagined she would see so many beautiful and gorgeously dressed women in one place.
They all wore evening gowns and, while many of them wore diamonds in their hair, others sported birds of paradise or a profusion of ospreys and their gowns were very décolletées.
They literally sparkled with jewels, some of their necklaces, brooches and bracelets being almost as magnificent as those worn by the Princess.
It also seemed to Ancella that everywhere she looked she saw tall, good-looking, well-groomed gentlemen, many of them smoking fat cigars, others holding a glass of champagne as they either talked to each other or watched the turn of the wheel.
The Princess was conveyed across the room to what Ancella had already learnt was her favourite table.
The croupiers greeted her respectfully and a place was made for her so that her wheelchair took the place of one of the twenty gold and red-seated chairs, which was taken away.
There were, however, far more people standing than sitting and the Princess brought out a number of pieces of paper before she put notes to the value of ten thousand francs down on the table and demanded change.
‘Four hundred pounds!’ Ancella exclaimed to herself.
A huge pile of gold chips was pushed towards the Princess and now she was concerned only with the pieces of paper that Ancella had learnt before dinner had been given to her by her astrologer.
“Tonight I shall follow the planets,” the Princess had said and, when Ancella looked mystified, she said sharply, “Surely you realise that there are numbers and symbols related to the laws of space?”
“No, ma’am, I do not know that,” Ancella answered. “Will you please tell me about it?”
The Princess had shown her charts and Ancella learnt that each planet had certain numbers that one should follow at the right time of the month.
“Today we are in Venus,” the Princess informed her. “That means that I must back numbers six, fifteen, twenty-four and thirty-three. Although the sun has a certain amount of influence, which means I cannot ignore numbers one and four!”
It all sounded very strange to Ancella.
She tried hard to concentrate on what the Princess was saying to her, but she could not help wondering privately how it could be possible that Saturn, Jupiter, Mars and Mercury could really influence the thirty-six numbers of the Roulette table.
However, the Princess undoubtedly believed it, and after studying her charts for some time she told Ancella to cover the numbers of Venus.
Ancella, picking up four chips of twenty francs, did as she was instructed.
“I wonder if you will be lucky for me?” the Princess muttered. “Let me see – what is the number of your name? Ancella is seven, Winton is six. That makes thirteen. Put five hundred francs on thirteen. It might turn up! They say a woman always wins the first time she plays Roulette.”
Ancella hesitated.
Surely, she thought to herself, there could be nothing in that superstition? At the same time, if it was so, the number she really should be on was eleven and not thirteen!
It was impossible, of course, to explain this to the Princess, who had gone back to consult her charts and was ordering her to add one hundred francs here and one hundred francs there on the board, just as a protection.
“Rien ne va plus,” the croupier called out, his right hand on the wheel, the small white ball ready between his thumb and forefinger.
He spun the wheel evenly and, as the ball swung round the outside of the numbers, Ancella suddenly knew quite clearly that number eleven would turn up.
As she had told Sir Felix, she sometimes had a conviction about such things and she was convinced without reason that the Princess would lose everything she had staked.
She was right!
The ball clinked into a slot, the croupier brought the wheel to a standstill and then announced,
“Onze, noir impair et manque.”
“Well your name certainly has not been lucky for me,” the Princess commented tartly.
“I am sorry, ma’am.”
“Now let me see what I will do next,” the Princess said rustling her papers, apparently quite unperturbed as the croupier raked away every chip except those belonging to the few fortunate people who had backed number eleven.
The Princess gave her orders and Ancella carried them out.
It was uncanny and she tried not to listen to the inner voice that told her the number.
She looked round the table.
Everywhere she looked, the faces of the men and women gambling were hard and greedy.
There was something nauseating in the manner in which they watched, with every nerve of their bodies tense, the spinning of the Roulette wheel.
If they won, their hands went out almost like claws to clutch at their winnings, as if they were afraid that they would evaporate in front of their eyes like Fairy Gold.
Even some of the dinner guests at the villa, who had seemed charming ordinary people, now looked to Ancella like vultures as they watched their money disappear.
Then, sullenly, their lips set in a hard line, they would move away to another table in search of better luck.
Ancella must have been obeying the Princess’s instructions for nearly half an hour when a gentleman came to Her Highness’s side and, taking her hand from her lap, lifted it to his lips.
“André!” she exclaimed. “I was not expecting you in Monte Carlo for another week!”
“I was able to leave Paris earlier than I expected,” he said, “and how could I keep away when I knew that you were here?”
The Princess laughed at him quite coquettishly.
“You know I have been looking forward to seeing you.”
“And I you,” he replied. “Stop losing your money and come and talk to me.
There is so much I want to hear!”
Much to Ancella’s surprise the Princess agreed.
She signalled to a flunkey, who pushed her chair away from the table towards an adjacent room where there were comfortable sofas and armchairs where a few people were sitting drinking.
Ancella followed the Princess as she chatted away vivaciously to the new arrival. He was a middle-aged man with greying hair but still attractive with a trim figure.
As the flunkey stopped the wheelchair in front of a table and beside an armchair, the Princess suddenly seemed to remember that Ancella was there.
“This is my new companion-nurse,” she said to the gentleman. “Miss Winton – the Comte André de Valpré.”
Ancella curtseyed, the Comte bowed.
“Enchanté, mademoiselle!” he said mechanically.
“Vladimer will be looking for me,” the Princess said, “and he will be surprised to find that I am not in my usual place. Find the Prince, Miss Winton, and tell him where I am.”
As the Princess finished speaking, she turned towards the Comte, who had settled himself in the armchair beside her and started to talk rapidly in an intimate manner that made Ancella feel that it would be embarrassing to interrupt her.
At the same time, since the Prince had not been present at dinner, she had no idea what he looked like.
As she moved back into the gambling room, she thought perhaps that she could ask one of the many footmen in livery standing around and attending to the needs of the guests.
It was certain that they would know the Prince and could point him out to her.
Then she hesitated, wondering how she could frame the question so that it would not sound as if she was seeking the Prince on her own account.
Then she saw the Marchioness of Chiswick and knew that the man talking to her had every likelihood of being the Prince.
There was something in the way that the Marchioness was speaking and her caressing manner of putting out one white-gloved hand that made Ancella sure that it was the Prince who was with her.
He was taller than she was and, as Ancella walked towards them, she could only see the back of his head and his broad shoulders.
His body was very slim and athletic with narrow hips that could not have belonged to an Englishman.
105. an Angel In Hell Page 6
