Princes and Princesses: Favourite Royal Romances

by Barbara Cartland

  She was a dear little girl, but very quiet and she was quite content to play by herself or with anybody else who could spare the time.

  Odela built her a brick castle, which she enjoyed knocking down with a few giggles.

  She then helped her to tidy away her dolls and the small pieces of furniture that belonged in the doll’s house. Betty was then put to bed.

  Odela was sitting in front of the fire opposite Nanny when an elderly housemaid came into the room.

  “Have you got a bit of cotton you could let me have, Nanny?” she asked. “The lady I’m lookin’ after has pulled a button off her gown and I forgot to get some from the carrier when he called.”

  “Yes, of course,” Nanny said, rising to go to her sewing basket.

  “His Lordship certainly picks ’em!” the housemaid remarked as she waited. “The last lady were pretty enough, but this one takes the cake, she does really.”

  Nanny who was searching in her sewing basket looked at Odela.

  “I’ve put some handkerchiefs in your room for you to wash, dearie,” she said, “and you’d better go and do so now before supper.”

  Odela smiled and she knew that Nanny disliked her hearing any gossip and that was why she was being sent away.

  “Yes, of course, Auntie,” she said aloud. “I will go them at once.”

  She thought when she reached her own bedroom that she would like to see the Marquis’s choice.

  She had certainly excited the admiration of the housemaid and then Odela told herself contemptuously that she was doubtless a married woman!

  And like her stepmother she was being unfaithful to her husband.

  The idea made her feel again the horror and shock it had been when she realised that her stepmother had a lover.

  And also that she was determined that he should take over her fortune.

  ‘There must be someone in the world who is decent, moral and respectable,’ she thought frantically.

  Then she told herself it was just the people who lived in London. They were part of the fashionable Society that her stepmother enjoyed so much.

  Her mother had been perfectly content to live in the country and so Odela had never suspected anything like the depravity and immorality that went on in London.

  ‘If that is what the Marquis enjoys,’ she told herself, ‘he does not deserve to have a beautiful house like this!’

  When she returned to the nursery, the housemaid had left and, because she could not help being curious, she asked Nanny,

  “Did you find out who was staying here?”

  “There’s the Earl and Countess of Avondale, who are quite elderly,” Nanny replied, “and a Lady Beaton.”

  From the way Nanny spoke Odela guessed who it was who was embroiled with the Marquis.

  “Now you forget them,” Nanny went on, “and stay quiet here with me. If you want somethin’ to occupy yourself, I’ll give you some sewin’ to do.”

  She gave a little snort before she went on,

  “But I expect you’d rather stuff yourself with those books as you’ve brought upstairs.”

  Odela laughed.

  “Of course I would! But I have promised you, Nanny, I will be no trouble, so don’t worry about me.”

  “Of course I worry about you,” Nanny replied. “You know that by this time your father and her Ladyship will be wonderin’ when you’ll be returnin’ home.”

  “Then they will just have to wonder,” Odela said quickly. “I am going to stay here with you and be safe.”

  Nanny duly went to bed early and, when Odela went to her own room, she felt once again that her stepmother was threatening her.

  ‘I must forget her,’ she told herself and climbing into bed, picked up her books.

  It was then she realised that it was a book that she had already finished and she had also finished the other one that was lying beside the bed.

  She had intended when she came in for tea to go to the library and change them, as she had done on other days.

  If she had had any idea that the Marquis would be coming home, she would have picked out half-a-dozen or more books and brought them upstairs.

  ‘I cannot go for days without reading,’ she thought desperately.

  She wished now that she had asked the housemaid how long the Marquis would be staying, but she thought that perhaps she did not know.

  Thinking it over she knew that it was Friday and she suspected therefore that the Marquis and his party would stay until Monday.

  That meant tonight, Saturday and Sunday, she would be confined to the nursery with nothing to read.

  ‘I cannot bear it,’ she thought.

  She lay back against her pillows and told herself that the house party, if they had come from London, were not likely to stay up late.

  Especially the Earl and Countess who were, as Nanny had told her, elderly.

  ‘I will wait until everything is quiet,’ Odela decided, ‘then I will go down the backstairs to the library and collect as many books as I can carry.’

  She felt that she would be perfectly safe and she knew from what she had seen of Coombe Court that the party would be likely to sit in the Blue Salon.

  It was not as large as the Silver Salon and it was also near to the dining room, while the library was at the other end of the ground floor.

  The Marquis would hardly be looking for books to read in the middle of the night, she ruminated.

  No one was therefore likely to notice if she slipped down to choose some more for herself.

  She picked up one of the books that she had already read, but found it impossible to concentrate on it.

  Finally she jumped out of bed and walked over to the window to pull back the curtains.

  The stars already filled the sky and there was a half-moon rising above the trees and it turned everything to silver.

  The world seemed so beautiful she felt that she was being carried away on wings.

  It was a Dreamland where she was loved by someone who would keep her safe and she would never be afraid again.

  ‘If I could only find him,’ she thought, ‘we could live in a house like this and never go to London and never be involved with people like my stepmother.’

  She felt as if her whole being was swept out into the moonlight.

  She prayed that she could be part of its sublime beauty and that she would find the love that it personified.

  ‘Please bring me love,’ she prayed fervently, ‘a love that is real and lasting. The love that men and women have sought since the very beginning of time.’

  Then because it hurt her to think that such perfection could never be hers, she drew the curtains and went back to bed.

  She must have fallen asleep and then she woke with a start to remember that she had wanted to go to the library.

  She looked at the clock and saw that the hand pointed to the figure three and there would be nobody about at this time of the night.

  Carefully she got out of bed and lit the candle in a candlestick that had a handle so that she could carry it.

  She put on the pretty dressing gown that she had bought in Florence and the slippers that went with it. They made no sound as she walked slowly on tiptoe out onto the landing and down the stairs.

  She found her way to the secondary staircase, which was at the far end of the next floor.

  At the bottom of the stairs it was only a short walk down a darkened passage to the library.

  Most of the candles in the passages had been extinguished, but there was just enough light for Odela to see her way.

  But she would need her candle in the library, which was in complete darkness.

  The great bookshelves seemed to tower above her to touch the painted ceiling.

  She moved to the end of the library where she knew that there was some books that she particularly wanted to read.

  As she went passed the mantelpiece, she lifted up her candle.

  She looked at the handsome face of the first Marquis and
thought that he smiled at her.

  He would understand that it was impossible for her to be without books, which had obviously meant a great deal to him. Otherwise he would never have built the library.

  Then she went on to the far end of the great room and she held her candle tightly so that she could see the titles clearly.

  She began taking one book after another out of the shelves.

  She had collected four that she particularly wanted and was looking for two more.

  Then she heard a strange noise.

  For a moment she could not think what it was.

  It came again and she knew that it was the sound of breaking glass.

  She stood still, wondering what was happening.

  Suddenly she realised that somewhere at the other end of the library a window had been opened.

  Although it seemed incredible, somebody was entering the room by one of the long diamond-paned casements that were ornamented on the top with the Coat of Arms of the Coombe family in stained glass.

  Odela’s first impulse was to go to see what was happening and then she remembered that she must not be found in the library and started to look for a hiding place.

  Just beside her was a window with curtains drawn over it

  Quickly she blew out the candle and slipped between the curtains, which were of heavy crimson velvet.

  She found herself in the moonlight and it was streaming in through exactly the same sort of casement as she had heard being opened at the other end of the library.

  Outside the stars were shining and the moonlight was illuminating the shrubs, the lawns and the endless flowerbeds.

  Step by step she moved on tiptoe to the edge of the curtains that covered part of the wall beside the window.

  Moving the curtain slightly so that it would not reveal the moonlight, she peeped through it.

  The library should have been in complete darkness, but instead she could see that there was a man coming from behind one of the bookcases that hid the window that he must have entered through.

  He was carrying a large lantern in his hand and holding it up so that he could see where he was going. It also illuminated his face.

  Odela felt her heart give a start as she was aware that he was wearing a dark scarf reaching over his nose.

  There was no doubt that he was a burglar.

  She wondered frantically what she should do about it.

  It seemed strange when there were so many treasures in the other part of the mansion that he should come to the library.

  It flashed through her mind that he might be a connoisseur of books. In which case he would be searching for a first folio of Shakespeare or perhaps The Canterbury Tales.

  This she had seen in one of the shelves and knew that it was very valuable.

  Then, as he advanced down the library, she realised with horror that he was staring up at the portrait above the mantelpiece.

  Could he really be intending to steal the Van Dyck portrait of the first Marquis?

  She could not believe it was true.

  He put the lantern down on the mantelpiece and she was aware that it was indeed what he intended.

  Of course it was worth a great deal! All Van Dyck’s portraits were.

  Her father had often told her how much he wished that he possessed one.

  ‘That man must not steal the portrait from Coombe Court,’ Odela said to herself.

  She could see that now both his hands were free and he was striving to lift the picture off the wall.

  It was obviously more securely held to the wall than he had expected and he was pushing it upwards and trying to pull it off its hook.

  Impatiently he removed the scarf from his face and flung it down on the floor. He also took off his hat and coat, dropping them beside it.

  Then, as he turned back to look with determination at the portrait, the light was on his face.

  With the greatest difficulty Odela stifled the cry that came to her lips.

  She recognised the man!

  In fact she knew him by sight and all about him.

  He was a youngish man, under thirty, by the name of Fred Cotter.

  His mother, who was a widow, lived in a small house which was a few miles from Shalford Hall.

  Fred Cotter, Odela remembered, had been a problem for his family ever since she could remember.

  She had heard her mother talking about him and saying how sorry she was for his parents and his father had been a Solicitor who was continually paying out money he could hardly afford in fines incurred by his son.

  Fred Cotter had several times been wanted by the Police for theft of one kind or another, but they had never been able to find the goods on him.

  His face had been recognised at the place of his crimes, but the local Magistrates had inevitably dismissed the cases through lack of evidence.

  “He is a bad lot!” Odela could remember her father saying on several occasions.

  Her mother’s answer had always been the same,

  “It is poor Mrs. Cotter I am sorry for,” she would say. “He is her only child and he is breaking her heart, but however badly he behaves she still loves him.”

  Now peeping from behind the curtain Odela wondered if she should confront Fred Cotter.

  She was just about to do so when she remembered one instance and it must have been about five years ago.

  Fred had knocked down a man who had discovered him in his house and he had injured him so badly that the man had been taken to hospital.

  Afterwards he was unable to give coherent evidence against Fred.

  So once again he had ‘got away with it’.

  There was nothing therefore that Odela could do but watch Fred Cotter lift the portrait down from the mantelpiece.

  He propped it against a chair and then he put on his hat and coat again and wrapped the scarf around his neck.

  Picking up the lantern he held it in his left hand while with the other he carried the portrait.

  The frame was heavy, but he took it to the end of the room and disappeared behind a bookcase.

  Odela did not move, but she could still see the flickering light of the lantern.

  She could hear a faint sound as Fred Cotter pushed the picture through the window and she had the idea that there was someone outside who was helping him, but she was not that sure.

  She was only aware that the light of the lantern vanished and the window was pulled to.

  Then there was silence.

  She made no movement until she was certain that Fred Cotter had gone away and then it was safe for her to come from her hiding place.

  As she did so, she pulled back the curtain so that the moonlight seeped into the library and she was able to see her way.

  She could see the empty place over the mantelpiece where the portrait of the first Marquis of Trancombe had hung.

  She looked up at it and knew that of all the pictures in Coombe Court this was the one that should not have been stolen.

  It was the heart of the whole building. How then could it be lost to a horrible petty thief like Fred Cotter?

  She tried to remember what he had stolen in the past and recalled that they were all antiques of some sort.

  This meant, she thought, that he was in touch with a crooked dealer, who would pay without asking any questions for anything that was brought to him.

  It was with a feeling of horror that she realised that the first Marquis’s portrait might be sent abroad and never to be found again.

  ‘I must stop him!’ she told herself urgently.

  Then she knew that the only person who could do that was the Marquis.

  She stood still trying to think clearly.

  The moonlight shining through the long high window made the library in its silver light as beautiful as the garden.

  Yet there was that empty place over the mantelpiece.

  Unless she did something about it, Odela thought, the library would never be the same again.

  Fred w
ith his greedy fingers had stolen the heart of Coombe Court.

  “What shall I do? Oh, God, what shall I do?” she asked frantically.

  To go direct to the Marquis and tell him what had happened would be to betray herself.

  Perhaps if Fred was caught she would have to give evidence, first to the Police and then to the Magistrates.

  How could she say that she was Nanny’s niece?

  Certainly she could not lie if she had to take an oath on the Bible.

  ‘Help me – Mama – help me!’ she prayed desperately.

  Then, as if her mother answered her, she knew what she must do.

  At the end of the library near to the window that Fred Cotter had entered through there was a desk.

  It was where the Curator sat making notes of the new editions and checking those that were already in the shelves.

  Just as Odela had pulled back the curtains from one window, Fred had moved the curtains from the one that he had entered through.

  She pulled them back further and the light was as bright as any candelabrum.

  She seated herself at the desk.

  As she might have expected there was some writing paper engraved with the Marquis’s crest in a leather folder.

  She laid a piece of paper on the blotter and took up one of the white quill pens.

  The inkpot, which apparently had been of no interest to Fred Cotter, was of gold.

  Carefully thinking out every word, she wrote,

  “The portrait of the first Marquis of Trancombe by Sir Anthony Van Dyck has been stolen by Fred Cotter of the Gable Cottage, Wichingham.

  Having finished writing, she waited for the ink to dry.

  As she looked down, she saw that pieces of broken glass were strewn all over the floor.

  As soon as the housemaids came in first thing in the morning to clean the room, they would realise what had happened.

  Then she was afraid that as the Curator was away they might not see the letter that she had written on the desk.

  She knew, however, where it would be found.

  Picking up her candle and carrying the letter in her hand, she walked to the door.

  She opened it cautiously just in case anyone was about, but there were only long empty passages with candles burning in every other sconce.

  She lit her own candle from one of them and made her way to the study.