69 Love Leaves at Midnight

by Barbara Cartland

  It was perhaps fortunate that Madame Gyula was in a worse state than she was herself. A woman of over forty, she had been not only shocked but also considerably frightened by the collision.

  Over and over again she bemoaned the fact that she had ever been persuaded to escort the Princess to Luthenia.

  “The King should have sent someone younger,” she wailed, “but, of course, His Majesty trusts me and what will he say when he hears what has happened to Your Royal Highness.”

  “He can hardly blame you for the railway crash,” Xenia felt obliged to say comfortingly.

  “King István is very organised as you know, Your Royal Highness. He expects everyone to obey his orders implicitly.”

  She had referred several times to the King’s love of order, which made Xenia feel that he might be as pompous and authoritative as Johanna’s father.

  Her mother had told her that the Archduke Frederich was an autocrat and something of a tyrant.

  “I should have been so unhappy with him,” she had said. “I like people who are warm and loving like your Papa, although sometimes I wish he was a little more practical where money matters are concerned.”

  It had been a shock to Xenia to discover when her father and mother died not only that they were in debt but just how very little money they had actually had to live on all the years they had been at Little Coombe.

  Her father had come from an Army family and her grandfather, Major General Sir Alexander Sandon, had written her a stiff letter on her father’s death, which told her that he had never really forgiven his son for having left his Regiment.

  The General’s letter was sharply to the point and Xenia read,

  “It is impossible for me to come South to attend your father’s funeral and his two brothers are with the Regiment in India. You are, of course, aware that your father has received an allowance from me for the last nineteen years. As I imagine you have not been left well off, I will continue to send you half the amount I gave my son, which will be paid quarterly through my Solicitors.”

  There had been no intimation in the letter that he wished to see Xenia and, although she was not particularly surprised, it was hurtful to think that he still resented the fact that her mother had spoilt his son’s Army career.

  The allowance Xenia was to receive was, she found, a little under one hundred pounds a year, which meant that her father and mother had received two hundred pounds.

  It was enough to keep them from starvation, but Xenia understood now why so many economies had to be made even to live as quietly as they had done in Little Coombe.

  She thought that there might have been some money left for her after the sale of the cottage, which she knew had been bought with the jewellery her mother had brought with her when she ran away from Slovia.

  But the cottage was mortgaged and by the time that had been paid off and Xenia had reluctantly sold the furniture, she had so little in the bank that she was afraid for the future.

  ‘I shall have to find some sort of employment,’ she told herself and knew when Mrs. Berkeley suggested that she should come to her as a companion that she had no alternative.

  ‘Whatever happens in the future,’ she thought now, ‘I shall have two hundred pounds from Johanna and memories that I would never have had otherwise.’

  At the same time she was frightened.

  It was one thing to convince herself she was so like Johanna that nobody could possibly suspect she was anyone else, but that depended largely on the fact that she was surrounded by people who did not know her cousin well.

  Mr. Somerset Donington, like Madame Gyula, had only met Johanna the day before they left London, but Xenia had learnt that, when they reached Vienna, she was to be handed over to the care of a Luthenian Statesman and they would then travel in the King’s private train.

  It had been exciting to find that there was a whole coach engaged for her on the train from Calais to Paris.

  Xenia had longed to ask if it was possible for her to see the City she had heard so much abot and it was disappointing to find that there was only just time to catch the night train, which would travel right across Europe and from which she would disembark at Vienna.

  Mr. Donington kept apologising for the fact that she had no lady’s maid.

  “I am sure Madame Gyula will help you, ma’am, where she can,” he said. “There was no time for me to engage a woman, but I have sent a telegram to His Majesty to explain what has happened and ask if one could be in attendance on the Royal Train.”

  “I am sure that His Majesty will not wish to be bothered with such a small detail,” Xenia said.

  “I know that everything that concerns Your Royal Highness’s comfort is to him of the greatest importance,” Mr. Donington replied diplomatically.

  Xenia hoped that when she was alone with Madame Gyula she would be able to find out some intimate details about the King, which would be a guide and help when she actually met him.

  But Madame Gyula could only moan about herself and the accident, saying that she was quite certain that the King would hold her personally responsible for what had happened.

  ‘If he frightens old women like Madame Gyula,’ Xenia thought to herself, ‘he will certainly terrify me!’

  When she was lying in bed that night in the coach that had been reserved for her, which she knew was guarded all the time by plain-clothes Policemen, she continually told herself that this was an exciting adventure which she would always remember.

  She felt in a way that her mother would help and protect her from making any serious mistakes and what was more important than anything else was that she should not let Johanna down.

  Whatever her cousin had said about the King having love affairs of his own, she was quite certain that he would not expect his future wife and Queen to have a lover.

  Xenia blushed at the very word.

  How could any well-bred girl, and her mother’s niece in particular, go away with a man as if she was married to him?

  Xenia was very innocent and had no idea exactly what happened when a man and a woman made love to each other.

  But she had only to think of her mother and father to know that it was something very intimate and that God had blessed them.

  To make love with a man for ten days, intending never to see him again, struck her as wrong, if not wicked.

  ‘How can she behave like that?’ she asked herself. ‘To do so she must love him, but not enough to give up the chance of being a Queen.’

  She thought that if she fell in love she would behave in exactly the same way as her mother had done and nothing and nobody should stand in her way.

  And if she was half as happy as her father and mother had been, then everything however controversial would be worthwhile.

  Nevertheless at the moment it was impossible not to enjoy being made a fuss of and deferred to with respect, which was certainly a change from Mrs. Berkeley’s incessant fault-finding.

  Mr. Somerset Donington was a diplomat of the old school, who said all the charming things a Royal person wished to hear and who smoothed over every difficulty with an expertise that came from long years of practice.

  It was just before they neared Vienna that Xenia finally asked him,

  “Do tell me, Mr. Donington, why have I been summoned from England so hurriedly to Luthenia?”

  She saw that Mr. Donington looked embarrassed.

  He did not answer at once and she said,

  “It would be kind of you to tell me the truth. I don’t wish to make any mistakes when I arrive in Molnár.”

  This was the Capital of Luthenia where they were to meet the King.

  “No, of course not,” Mr. Donington agreed, “but I am sure Your Royal Highness will have a very warm welcome from the Luthenians and they will be greatly looking forward to your marriage.”

  Xenia did not answer and he went on,

  “I understand, ma’am, you have not visited your future country since your engagement was announced?
”

  “No,” Xenia said.

  “Then you may expect many demonstrations of enthusiasm,” Mr. Donington said. “I am sure you are aware, ma’am, that the Luthenians are a warm extrovert people, who at times get carried away.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Xenia asked.

  She thought that Mr. Donington wished he had phrased his words differently, but he replied,

  “The Luthenians are noted as being somewhat temperamental, which, of course, owes more to their Hungarian blood than their Austrian.”

  “I have always heard,” Xenia said, “that the Austrian court under the Hapsburgs is very stiff and the protocol extremely rigid compared to anywhere else.”

  This was something she had heard from her mother and Mr. Donington agreed, saying,

  “That is true, but as you know King István is very different from the Emperor Franz Josef.”

  “Tell me how you see him, Mr. Donington.”

  “I would hardly presume, ma’am – ” Mr. Donington began, but Xenia said earnestly,

  “I would like to know the truth. I want to help my future country and it will be easier for me to do so if I know how the King is thought of by diplomats like yourself in England and in other parts of Europe.”

  She thought Mr. Donington looked surprised. At the same time he was impressed by her sincerity.

  “Luthenia,” he said after a moment’s thought, “is a very important country at the moment in the balance of power. Your father will doubtless have told you that there is always the fear of the Ottoman Empire expanding further Northwards and the Austrian Empire with ambitions of expanding Southwards.”

  Xenia realised that she was expected to reply and said,

  “Yes, I understood that.”

  “I am sure Her Majesty Queen Victoria told you the same thing,” Mr. Donington said with a smile. “I suspect it was one of the reasons why Your Royal Highness was invited to Windsor Castle.”

  Rather than lie Xenia gave him a little smile and he continued,

  “King István is therefore in an ideal position to become extremely important with the support and blessing of Great Britain, France and Germany.”

  Mr. Donington paused and then he added,

  “I have met His Majesty only once, but he struck me as being an exceptionally gifted young man, if he was to dedicate himself to the cause of Luthenia.”

  “Do you think he does not do that already?” Xenia asked.

  Now Mr. Donington looked extremely embarrassed.

  “I assure Your Royal Highness that I was not criticising His Majesty in any way.”

  “No, of course not,” Xenia said, “but I am anxious to know exactly what the King could do.”

  Mr. Donington leaned forward.

  “I believe, ma’am,” he said in a low voice, “that you could help His Majesty.”

  “Help him?”

  “First to bring about peace in Luthenia.”

  “There is trouble there?”

  Now Mr. Donington looked surprised.

  “I felt sure Her Majesty the Queen would have told you.”

  “I am not very – clear about exactly what is – happening,” Xenia replied.

  “There are a great number of riots amongst the students and the workers and over all a kind of national dissatisfaction.”

  He hesitated, then said frankly,

  “It could, if such feelings get out of hand, prove a danger to the Monarchy itself.”

  “You mean the King might have to abdicate?”

  “That is something I don’t visualise for a moment,” Mr. Donington said hastily, “and I know that if such a catastrophe should happen, Great Britain would be both distressed and alarmed.”

  He looked at Xenia and then he said,

  “That is why, Your Royal Highness, anything even approaching such a national disaster must be avoided.”

  “I understand,” Xenia said in a low voice, “and thank you, Mr. Donington, for being so frank with me.”

  “If I have said anything to perturb Your Royal Highness, you must forgive me.”

  “I asked you for the truth and I am glad that you have been so outspoken.”

  “You are very gracious, ma’am,” Mr. Donington bowed.

  When she thought over what she had heard, Xenia told herself that it would be a disaster for the King to lose his throne and for Luthenia to cease to be independent.

  Her mother had talked to her about the previous King, who had been a friend of her grandfather’s. She had said that of all the small countries in the Balkans in her opinion Luthenia was one of the most beautiful.

  “There are high snow-capped mountains, Xenia,” she said, “fertile valleys, silver rivers running through them and the people smile and look happy.”

  It was a contrast Xenia knew, to Serbia, which her mother had not liked and to Bosnia which she had thought uncomfortable with glum people and quite inedible food.

  She wished now that she had learnt more about Luthenia. But she decided that in the very short time she would be there she would do everything possible to find out what was wrong and warn Johanna.

  When they stopped at Vienna, Xenia longed for a chance to see the beautiful Empress whom everybody admired, but whom she was told led a miserable unhappy life in the austere Hapsburg Palace, tyrannised over by her formidable mother-in-law.

  As she thought of her, she realised that she had never asked about King István’s parents.

  At the first opportunity she cleverly brought the subject round to the Queen Mother.

  ‘Tell me,” she said to her Lady-in-Waiting, “about King István’s mother.”

  “Oh, I wish you had known her, Your Royal Highness,” Madame Gyula replied. “She was a very lovely and charming person.”

  This told Xenia that she was dead and in the same way she discovered that the King had no brothers or sisters but had been an only child.

  . “It was a great sadness,” Madame Gyula said, “and the whole country is hoping that the King will have a large family.”

  She had spoken without thinking and then she looked nervously at Xenia to see if she was annoyed.

  “I have also found it very lonely being an only child,” Xenia said to set the elderly woman’s mind at rest.

  “I am sure you have, Your Royal Highness, but you will be happy in Luthenia and everybody will be longing to entertain you and make you feel at home.”

  Xenia was careful not to speak about the situation in the country to Madame Gyula. When they reached Vienna, Mr. Donington said goodbye and Count Gáspar Horvath took his place in the Royal entourage.

  Because of the short notice of her summons to leave England, it had not been possible for King István to send the Foreign Minister to London to escort her as Xenia understood would have happened in the ordinary way.

  Instead of which Count Gáspar was waiting with the Royal Train and Mr. Donington handed her over, Xenia thought secretly, as if she was a diplomatic bag!

  She was at first more interested in the train than in the Count.

  Her mother had told her that Queen Victoria had a special train in which she travelled and with the increase of railways all over Europe many Monarchs had copied her example.

  King István’s train was, Xenia decided, exactly like a toy one.

  It was white with the Royal coat-of-arms emblazoned on it in colour and the attendants who travelled on it wore a special gold and white uniform.

  There was a drawing room filled with flowers and several carriages to carry those in attendance.

  As soon as she said goodbye to Mr. Donington and thanked him for looking after her, Count Gáspar explained how extremely upset the King and everybody else in the Palace at Molnár had been when they heard of the railway accident she had been involved in.

  “It was rather frightening at the time,” Xenia said, “but I was very fortunate not to be hurt except that occasionally I find myself forgetting things.”

  “That is to be expected, Your R
oyal Highness, but you will soon feel well again when you reach Luthenia.”

  “I hope so,” Xenia replied.

  She waited for an appropriate moment before saying to the Count,

  “I understand that there has been some trouble in the Capital.”

  She thought that the Count then glanced at her sharply as if he wondered how much she knew.

  He was a man of about forty-five with grey hair and she felt that while he appeared to spend a great deal of his time in attendance on the King he was also a sportsman and undoubtedly a good rider.

  “The Luthenians,” her mother had said, “are all magnificent horsemen, which is characteristic of those with Hungarian blood.”

  She gave a little sigh as she added,

  “Oh, dearest, I only wish Papa could buy you a really good horse to ride like the ones I had when I was at home.”

  “We are fortunate, Mama,” Xenia said, “that the farmers are so fond of Papa that they let him ride their horses.”

  “Your father is a very good rider,” her mother answered. “In fact he does everything well, but – ”

  She paused and Xenia had said teasingly,

  “I really believe, Mama, that you are going to admit that there are men in the Balkans who are better riders than Papa!”

  “It’s a different sort of riding,” her mother said quickly. “The Hungarians, Slovians and Luthenians spend almost their whole life in the saddle and I have ridden since I was three years old.”

  “Do you miss it very much, Mama?”

  “Sometimes I dream that I am galloping over the Steppes,” her mother admitted, “but I promise you that as long as your father has a horse to ride I am content to stay at home.”

  As she grew older. Xenia realised that however unselfish her mother might wish to be when she saw a fine horse or watched other people riding well-bred animals, there was a yearning look in her eyes.

  When they were alone, she often talked to her daughter and described the feats of riding she had seen when she was a girl, the way the Slovians broke in the wild horses and the magnificent collection of animals that had filled her grandfather’s stables.