‘He didn’t tell me that he was going to the exhibition.’
‘Maybe he was embarrassed to admit that he was going to look at pictures of himself.’
‘Perhaps.’ Sisi shook herself. ‘I am so cross with Rudolph.’
‘But Majesty, he is young and jealous. You know how much he loves you.’
Sisi shrugged. ‘If he loves me he should want me to be happy.’
The Countess knew it was useless to say any more.
Baron Nopsca’s Mission
Bay woke up with a sore head. After the opera he had taken a bottle of brandy to bed with him and now he was feeling the results. He wondered what time it was. He stumbled out of bed and looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was past noon. He rang the bell and asked the valet to bring him some shaving things and a pot of coffee.
When he was dressed and shaved he felt a little better. But then he saw the brown paper parcel containing the photograph lying on the writing desk.
Last night, halfway through the bottle of brandy, he had decided that he must go to Holland Park and talk to Charlotte. But sober, he knew that this would be impossible. She didn’t want to see him; the message she had left with the photograph had been quite clear. He could write to her, but he did not know where to begin. He could not explain his behaviour to her. Away from Easton Neston, away from the Empress, Bay could hardly explain it to himself.
There was a knock at the door. Thinking it was the valet come to collect the shaving things, Bay said, ‘Come in.’ But to his surprise Baron Nopsca walked into the room.
‘Baron, what are you doing here? I am sorry, that sounded rude, but how on earth did you find me?’
The Baron waved his hands.
‘Oh, there are ways, but that is not important.’ He coughed. ‘The Empress asked me to come. The Crown Prince came down to Easton Neston last night.’
Bay gestured to the Baron to sit down in the hotel room’s only armchair. He sat on the ottoman at the foot of the bed.
‘So the Empress knows what happened yesterday?’ Bay asked.
Nopsca nodded unhappily. ‘Her Majesty is aware of the incident. She regrets the Prince’s behaviour towards you very much. She would like you to return to Easton Neston, but unfortunately that will not be possible while the Prince remains at the house.’
Bay was wondering how he could explain to the Baron the impossibility of his returning to Easton Neston at all, when the waiter returned with a tray bearing a coffee pot. He set it up on the table and poured out two cups. Bay fumbled for a coin in his dress trousers to tip the man.
The Baron added three teaspoons of sugar to his coffee. He stirred it vigorously, took a sip and grimaced.
‘We would not call this coffee in Wien.’
Bay took a sip. ‘I am afraid I can’t defend it either. So the Empress wants me to cool my heels here until the Prince leaves?’
The Baron plucked at his lapel. ‘I would not put it quite like that; she is not happy about the situation but she thinks that under the circumstances it would be better if you were not under the same roof as His Highness.’
‘But when he leaves, she would like me to come back and be her pilot just as before?’
The Baron nodded.
Bay stood up. ‘Surely the Empress must see that it is impossible.’
The Baron leant forward. ‘But nothing has changed, my dear Captain. The Empress is very happy with your services. She has come to depend on you. You have made this visit very,’ he smiled, ‘agreeable for her.’
Bay found the Baron’s smile infuriating. ‘But her son insulted me. He made it quite clear that he did not think that I was a suitable companion for his mother.’
The Baron heard the anger in Bay’s voice. He stood up and put his hand on Middleton’s shoulder. ‘You must understand that the Crown Prince can be … volatile. He has not yet learnt to think before he speaks. I feel sure that he will realise his mistake.’
‘But I am not to come to Easton Neston while he is there.’
The Baron shrugged. ‘The Crown Prince will probably leave tomorrow.’
‘I am sorry, Baron, but I want no part of this. You can tell the Empress that I shall stay in town.’
The Baron looked dismayed. ‘I cannot possibly deliver such a message.’
Bay felt almost sorry for him. ‘Tell her that you did your best to persuade me, but I am a stubborn Englishman. She can’t blame you for that.’
‘You misunderstand me. It is not for myself that I am concerned but for the Empress. I have been in her service for many years, and I know her moods. She has formed a very strong attachment to you, Captain Middleton. I can see that you have made her happy. She has not had so much happiness in her life.’
The Baron was wringing his hands in real distress. Bay could see that this was more than a courtier’s reluctance to be the bearer of bad news.
‘Do you really think that I make her happy?’
The Baron nodded. ‘You did not see her before. Since she has met you she is eating and laughing. The Countess and I, we both know that you are responsible. And Captain Middleton, I think that she makes you happy too.’
Bay walked over to the window. In the street below a hurdy-gurdy grinder was playing. A small crowd had gathered who were dropping coins into a bag carried around by a monkey.
‘Yes, she does,’ he said slowly, ‘but the situation is impossible. It is not just the Prince, what about Liechtenstein and Esterhazy? They loathe me.’
‘Perhaps, but they do not signify. Please, Captain Middleton, do not let your pride make the Empress unhappy.’
The monkey was standing on the peddler’s shoulder now, waving his miniature fez in the air.
Bay thought of the Empress that night in the stables with the stars in her hair. He had wanted her so much. The moment when he felt her respond had been so triumphant.
‘But I can’t lurk about here waiting for the Crown Prince to leave.’
The Baron was silent.
A policeman came along the street and told the hurdy-gurdy man to move along. The monkey tried to pick off one of the shiny buttons on his tunic and put it into his bag.
Bay made a decision.
He turned to the Baron. ‘Have you heard of the Grand National?’
The other man shrugged. ‘It is a horse race, I believe.’
‘It is the best steeplechase in the country, the world, probably. Every hunt jockey dreams of winning the National. I was going to run in it five years ago, but I lost the horse. Since I bought Tipsy I have been thinking of running her, and now I have made up my mind. The race is on the twenty-fourth. The hunting season is almost over and I don’t want her to break a leg before the race. If you tell the Empress that I am going to Aintree to train for the National, she will understand.’
The Baron looked dubious. ‘Perhaps the Captain would like to write her a letter to explain. I know that Her Majesty will ask me many questions.’
Bay sat down at the desk and began to write, conscious that the Baron was reading over his shoulder.
Your Majesty,
I have decided to enter Tipsy in the Grand National. It is the most magnificent race in the world and to win it has long been my dearest wish. Nopsca has asked me to come back to Easton Neston, but I know you will forgive me if I don’t return as I must spend the next days preparing for the race. I can be sure you will forgive me because I know that if you were in my position you would not only enter the Grand National but you would undoubtedly win, as you are the greatest rider I have ever known.
I remain, dear Madam, your most obedient servant,
Bay Middleton
He blotted the letter and gave it to Nopsca, unsealed. He wanted Sisi to know that he had written the letter for public consumption.
‘Don’t look so worried, Nopsca, the Empress will understand.’
‘I hope so, Captain.’
* * *
When the Baron had gone, Bay went for a walk in the park. The trees were
still bare but the weather was beginning to turn, and every now and then the sun appeared from behind the clouds. The afternoon carriage drives had begun and Bay watched as the ladies went past in their barouches and phaetons. It was not a huge turnout, it was too early in the season for that, but there were a few faces that Bay recognised. It felt strange to be walking in the park instead of riding but on foot there was no danger of running into anyone he knew. The only other pedestrians were nursemaids pushing perambulators.
His mood lifted in the fresh air. The thought of the National made him feel buoyant, and as he walked along the Serpentine he felt as if he was floating above the tangle of his life. Riding in the steeplechase, for all its dangers, felt ridiculously simple. He had the right horse; if only his shoulder would hold out, then surely he stood a chance of winning.
A woman cantered past on a chestnut mare and for a moment Bay fancied it was the Empress, but then he saw the rider bounce a little in the saddle, looking for a moment as if she would lose her balance. Bay realised that in the weeks he had been riding out with the Empress, he had never once seen her falter.
Mayfair
‘Look up, Lady Augusta. Such a long neck should be given every opportunity to be swan-like. And turn your head a little towards me, that’s the ticket. Now think of drifting down the Grand Canal on a gondola.’
‘But I have never been to Venice,’ objected Augusta.
Caspar smiled. ‘You don’t need to have been there to imagine it, dear Lady Augusta. You are a bride on the eve of her wedding thinking of the pleasures to come. Ah, you are blushing, that is just what I want. Now just keep thinking of the gondola while I take the picture.’ He disappeared beneath the velvet cloth and pressed the shutter button.
‘Perfect! Now I am going to play with your veil a little, like this. Your eyes have such depths to them, I want the lace to act as a frame. Yes, hold it up a little like that. That is enchanting. I believe you are a natural model, Lady Augusta. In America we would be putting your image on advertising hoardings.’
‘How perfectly dreadful,’ said Augusta, looking pleased.
She was standing on a small dais in one corner of the Crewe drawing room in Portman Square. Behind her was a painted backdrop of a classical temple, a pair of cherubs blowing their trumpets in the left corner. Charlotte thought that the backdrop was vulgar, but Caspar had overruled her – ‘Women like your sister-in-law-to-be, dear Carlotta, cannot be flattered enough. She will find it quite appropriate to be put in a goddess-like setting, believe me.’ He had been right. Augusta was delighted.
Charlotte could only admire the ease with which Caspar handled Augusta. Despite being an American with no fortune or connections, he had coaxed and flattered Augusta into regarding him not just as an equal but as quite indispensable.
It had started after the exhibition. Augusta had come to Lady Dunwoody’s house to see Charlotte, ostensibly to persuade her to return to Melton, but her real object had been to goad her about Bay’s relationship with the Empress. ‘The Crown Prince was terribly rude to Captain Middleton, of course. But he must have been provoked. What a difficult position for you, Charlotte. But if you had stayed in Melton, as I urged you, none of this would have happened.’
To Charlotte’s intense relief, Caspar had interrupted Augusta’s torrent of malice, and had effortlessly turned her into his creature, by remarking as she turned her head, ‘But what a profile! It is quite Grecian in its purity. I must photograph you, Lady Augusta. To leave such perfection unrecorded would be a crime.’
Charlotte had expected Augusta to bristle at the impudence, but instead she had succumbed to his charm and been swept off to the studio, where Caspar had photographed her looking into a hand mirror. He had sent the print to Melton the very next day and Augusta had been so delighted with the result that when Caspar had begged to be allowed to photograph her in her wedding dress, she had not only agreed but had asked him to take photographs of the wedding party, and had even sent him his own invitation.
Now Augusta was standing in her wedding dress and tiara, her Honiton lace veil arranged by Caspar to hide the jutting Crewe jaw, looking at the American with a great deal more affection than she ever showed to her fiancé.
‘Mr Hewes is so good at putting his subjects at ease,’ she had said to Charlotte. ‘I had no idea that sitting for a photograph could be such a pleasant experience.’ Charlotte had understood the implied rebuke.
‘One more, I think, and then I must leave you both to prepare for tomorrow.’ Caspar turned to Charlotte. ‘Why don’t you stand behind the bride and hold up her veil?’ Charlotte glared at him, but did as she was told.
‘Now that is charming. The bride and her attendant. What would make it perfect is if, Charlotte, you could look a little wistful. As if you were wondering when your turn will come.’
‘One day you will be the one in the veil and tiara, Charlotte. It takes time to make the right match. I always think it is a terrible mistake to marry the first person who comes along,’ said Augusta.
‘Evidently,’ said Charlotte, ‘Fred was lucky that you were prepared to wait.’
Augusta glanced at her, but Charlotte was busy arranging the veil.
‘Now that’s charming,’ said Caspar, ‘what a delightful composition. Now I want you both to think about tomorrow. Perfect, I could call this one, Almost Sisters.’
Charlotte dropped the veil as if it had been poisoned.
‘I think that’s enough, Caspar, you mustn’t tire Augusta out.’ Charlotte walked over to the table covered in Caspar’s photographic paraphernalia and started to put things away.
‘Very well,’ sighed Caspar. ‘You are right, of course, Charlotte, but it is hard to tear myself away when Augusta is looking so exquisite.’
Charlotte looked over at Augusta, wondering if she could really believe Caspar’s flattery, but the bride-to-be looked as if she could have listened to the American for ever.
* * *
The carriage was waiting outside to take Charlotte back to the house in Charles Street. She had moved back there from Holland Park a week ago when Lady Lisle had come back from Melton. She would have preferred to stay on in Holland Park, but she felt a little sorry for her aunt. When Fred and Augusta returned from their honeymoon, Charlotte would live with them and poor Lady Lisle would soon have to go back to the little house in the cathedral close.
But it was a sacrifice for Charlotte. In Charles Street there was nothing to distract her. Lady Lisle had only two topics of conversation: the forthcoming wedding or the drama of the photographic exhibition. Charlotte could not muster much enthusiasm for the former, and wanted very much to forget the latter.
Fred, who saw no reason to let his impending nuptials ruin his hunting, had only arrived that morning.
Caspar, of course, did not have a carriage waiting. He sighed as he stood on the pavement with his photographic equipment, contemplating the long journey back to Chelsea. He would have to take a hackney cab or even an omnibus. Charlotte knew that Caspar did not enjoy taking public transport. He would happily walk for miles but found the packed buses, or worse, the underground railway, to be altogether claustrophobic. ‘In the West you can go for days without meeting another soul. To find someone’s nose pushing between your waistcoat buttons on an omnibus is very hard to get used to.’
Despite Caspar’s treachery in forcing her to pose with Augusta, Charlotte decided to ask him to Charles Street for dinner. Since the exhibition, when he had taken her back to Holland Park, Caspar had become an indispensable part of her life. While she had been staying at Lady Dunwoody’s he had been there every day – helping at the Thursday salons, printing up Lady Dunwoody’s plates, entertaining the ladies during afternoon calls. But Caspar’s charm was not confined to Holland Park; since the photographic exhibition he had become the toast of Mayfair too. Augusta had been his first conquest, then he had charmed Lady Crewe with his passionate advocacy of Sabbath Day Observance and had seduced Lord Crewe by taking a picture
of him dressed as Merlin. Caspar had been down to Melton for a Saturday to Monday, without Charlotte, and had laid siege to Fred – imploring him to sit as Lancelot to Augusta’s Guinevere. Charlotte had blinked in disbelief when she saw the picture being developed in Lady Dunwoody’s dark room: Fred had put on the knightly costume that had been hired from Maskelyne’s and had gone down on one knee in front of a be-kirtled Augusta with her hair loose. They looked delighted with themselves.
A light rain started to fall and Caspar began to do up the buttons on his plaid ulster. As he reached the penultimate button, Charlotte said, ‘Caspar, you can’t go home in this weather. Come back to Charles Street and stay to dinner. I am sure my aunt will be delighted to see you. You can leave the camera there and then it will so much easier to pick it up for the wedding.’
Caspar stopped buttoning and made a low bow.
‘Thoughtful as ever, my Carlotta. Now you have suggested it, it is clearly the best of all possible arrangements. But I am wary of imposing myself on your brother’s last night as a free man.’
‘Fred will be delighted, I know.’
* * *
As the carriage made its way from the Crewe house in Portland Square across Oxford Street and into Mayfair, Caspar sat opposite Charlotte with his back to the horses, keeping up a steady flow of chatter. But as they turned into Grosvesnor Square, he leant forward and said, ‘I will only stop talking if you tell me what the matter is. No, let me guess. You see, I can read your mind as easily as I can make the fearsome Augusta invite me to her wedding. You are fretting because you suspect that Captain Middleton will be there tomorrow and you do not wish to see him.’ Caspar put his finger to his temple.
‘No, that is not right.’ He gestured as if he were practising Mesmerism. ‘You do want to see him, but at the same time you don’t. He attracts and repels you equally. And now you are cross with me for reading your mind. But you make it so easy, Charlotte. I don’t think I have ever seen someone whose face expresses so exactly what they are thinking.’
Charlotte shifted on the leather buttoned seat. ‘Nobody else finds me easy to read.’
The Fortune Hunter Page 33
