Princes and Princesses

by Cartland, Barbara

  It was not a perfunctory gesture and she could feel his lips hard and sensuous on her skin.

  Then, suddenly afraid of the feelings it evoked within her, she took her hand from his and ran up the staircase without looking back.

  Margit was waiting for her in her bedroom.

  “You should not have stayed up!” Vida exclaimed. “You must be very tired.”

  “I’m seein’ you properly into bed, Miss Vida,” Margit said in English, “and makin’ sure you lock your door.”

  “Be careful!” Vida said in a low voice. “And do remember to call me ‘my Lady’.”

  “There be nobody here who speaks English,” Margit said. “You may be sure of that!”

  “We cannot be sure of anything!”

  Vida knew as she spoke that she was not in the least sure about the Prince. In fact she was afraid of him.

  *

  It was something she felt again the next day when, having awoken late because Margit said no one was being called early, she found him waiting for her.

  Outside the front door there was an array of carriages of every sort and description, all drawn by the most superbly outstanding horses Vida had ever seen.

  She could not help admiring first one, then another, perceiving that the majority of them had been bred in Hungary and were therefore, as she had always known, superior to any other horses in Europe.

  The Prince accompanied her, a faint smile on his lips, as if he was amused by her enthusiasm.

  “Now that you have admired these,” he said, “you must see the many horses in my stables that are too good to be driven, but which I know you would appreciate if you were in the saddle.”

  “I may not be here tomorrow.”

  “That is something we will argue about later,” the Prince said.

  The rest of the party appeared and they all seemed to be paired off, so that inevitably Vida found herself in a chaise with the Prince.

  There was no sign of Princess Eudoxia and Vida wondered if she was staying behind because she was sulking or whether she had left The Castle.

  She was, however, too tactful to ask questions and they drove off, the women looking, she thought, in the sunshine like a collection of exotic birds in their feathered or flowered bonnets and wearing Parisian gowns.

  They all held small sunshades to protect their skin from the bright sun.

  They drove for nearly an hour on a driveway that had been cut through the thick fir woods, then came unexpectedly on a small lake surrounded entirely by trees, except where at one end of it there was a silver cascade pouring down from the mountains that towered above them.

  It was, Vida saw, so lovely that it seemed like a mystical painting that could not actually be real.

  The contrast between the dark green trees, the mountaintops above, on which there were still traces of snow, and the cascade pouring down into the bottomless lake was spectacular.

  The banks round the lake had been planted with a profusion of irises – gold, purple, and white – that were all in bloom and they were as exquisite as the orchids she had seen last night in the Prince’s conservatory.

  There was a large wooden hut to be seen amongst the trees built of logs.

  They stopped at the very edge of the lake, where a table had been laid for their picnic.

  The luncheon was, in fact, the height of luxury with servants in livery to wait on them and the dishes that were as delicious as at dinner the night before.

  They drank French champagne from golden goblets and, after the main courses, the table was piled with the local fruits, strawberries, peaches, raspberries, nectarines, melons and in strange contrast passion fruit and pomegranates.

  “The whole trouble is,” Vida smiled, “it is impossible to eat any more.”

  “I see you enjoy your food,” the Prince commented, “and that pleases me.”

  “Why?”

  “It tells me that you are still very young and not worrying, as so many women do, about your figure,” he answered.

  She felt guiltily that she had perhaps betrayed herself and revealed the fact that she was younger than she was pretending to be.

  Then she hoped that he was just paying her a compliment and it would be a mistake to be worried about it.

  “I find the Russian air makes me hungry,” she remarked.

  “I think too it has done you good,” the Prince answered. “You don’t look as worried as you did last night when you arrived.”

  “Worried?” Vida questioned. “As I told you, I was tired.”

  “And worried,” he persisted, “or perhaps nervous.”

  She turned away from him a little petulantly.

  “I cannot think why you should imagine such things,” she said. “If I was worried, it was only because I was afraid that you might be inhospitable enough to say that your castle was full and I should have to sleep the night in one of your barns!”

  The Prince laughed.

  But she told herself that she must be more careful and that he was far too perceptive.

  The luncheon had been very enjoyable with everybody laughing and talking in an animated way across the table, which Vida thought made the meal much more fun than if it was formal.

  As they finished, the Prince said to her,

  “Would you like to see behind the cascade, Countess?”

  “Could I do that?”

  “Come with me,” he replied.

  They walked slowly round the small lake until they came to the cascade, where it was difficult to hear oneself speak because of the roar of the water.

  Then the Prince took Vida’s hand and drew her through what appeared to be a gap in the rock.

  For a minute or so they were in darkness and she could only let him guide her, conscious as he did so of the strength of his fingers.

  She had the feeling that, as he touched her, there was something magnetic about it that she had never known with anybody else.

  The dark passage came to an end and she found herself standing in a huge cave, the blinding silver curtain of water in front of her as it crashed down from the mountain heights into the lake below.

  It was so lovely, a shimmering wall of silver, and the noise of it seemed somehow to deaden the senses so that Vida felt that she could no longer think but only feel somehow disembodied and part of the beauty and sound of the water itself.

  Then she was aware that while she was looking at the cascade, the Prince was gazing at her.

  There was something in his eyes that made her feel nervous and without speaking she moved back towards the passage.

  Only as she reached the entrance in the rock did she look back and see that he had not moved but was still standing staring at her.

  As she waited for him to join her, she had a very strong feeling that he was calling her, almost hypnotising her to come to him.

  For one fleeting moment she felt that she had to obey.

  Then with what was both a mental and a physical effort she began to walk very slowly through the dark tunnel in front of her.

  She put out her hands on either side to guide her and reached the sunshine before the Prince caught up with her.

  They walked away from the cascade and with an effort Vida managed to say lightly,

  “Thank you, that was a unique experience!”

  “I thought you would enjoy it,” the Prince said simply.

  They joined the others and then drove back to The Castle.

  Waiting for them there was tea made in the Russian way for those who required it and caviar sandwiches and various sweetmeats to go with it.

  There was champagne for the gentlemen or any other drink they fancied.

  Vida found that the ladies were expected to rest before dinner and she therefore went with them up to her bedroom, where Margit was waiting for her.

  To her surprise, while Margit was undoing her gown, she spoke to her almost in a whisper and appeared to be nervous.

  “Say little, my Lady, not safe!”


  Vida nodded her head to show she understood.

  When she was resting in bed, she wondered what Margit knew and how she could be safely alone with her to find out.

  ‘Perhaps we could go into the garden together,’ she thought.

  She remembered how her father had always said that it was safer to talk out of doors than anywhere else.

  She slept a little and, when Margit came to call her, there was no time for anything but to put on another of her specially chosen gowns.

  Only when she was almost ready to go downstairs to the dining room did she draw Margit across the room to the open window.

  Speaking softly into her ear, she asked,

  “What have you found out, Margit?”

  “Not much,” Margit replied in English, “but enough to make me worried! Tonight I will try to talk with His Highness’s valet.”

  “A good idea!” Vida said. “But don’t wait up, as I may be late and I can undo this gown quite easily.”

  “You sure?”

  “Quite sure!”

  She was used to looking after herself and, because Margit was growing old, she never allowed her to stay up late waiting for her as was customary for a lady’s maid.

  “It is too much for you,” she had said when Margit had expostulated, “and there is so much to do in the daytime that I do not want you to feel that you cannot cope.”

  She said again now,

  “Go to bed and I will find some way to talk to you in the morning.”

  Margit nodded to show she understood.

  Then she said quickly,

  “You lock the door?”

  “Of course!” Vida agreed.

  She felt quite certain that the Prince would not approach her.

  At the same time it was always wise to take precautions and she remembered how her mother had often told her when she was young and staying in hotels or in private houses to lock her bedroom door in case of thieves.

  Once again the Prince took her into dinner and they had, Vida thought, one of the most interesting conversations that she had ever enjoyed about the treasures that had been collected in Russia by Catherine the Great.

  They also discussed the treasures he himself possessed in this and his other houses.

  She thought, although he had not spoken of it, that he was surprised at how much she knew about art.

  They talked about the gypsies and their dancing and she found that this was a particularly enjoyable subject.

  “I am glad you enjoy dancing,” the Prince said, “because tonight I have a treat for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “I have arranged for a ballet to be performed in my private theatre and, since the ballerinas come from Moscow, I think you will find that they are outstanding.”

  “That is the most exciting idea I have ever heard!” Vida exclaimed enthusiastically.

  The Prince’s private theatre was small but beautiful with very comfortable upholstered chairs to sit in.

  The curtains that draped the proscenium were of the richest and most exquisite brocade and everywhere there were gilded carvings that Vida could see had been executed by exceptional craftsmen.

  As soon as they were all seated, the orchestra struck up the overture and, when the curtains were drawn back, Vida knew that the Prince had been correct in saying that the ballerinas were exceptional.

  She found it difficult to remember when she had last seen such exquisite dancing, even though she had often attended ballet performances in Vienna as well as in Paris.

  She forgot the Prince, she forgot everything except the story being unfolded in mime and the beauty of the music the professionals danced to.

  Only as the curtain fell was she aware that the Prince’s eyes were on her face and not on the stage.

  She gave a deep sigh as if she came back to earth from another planet and exclaimed,

  “That was wonderful!”

  “I think you felt as if you were dancing with them yourself,” the Prince commented.

  “Of course I did! And I was part of the story they were telling.”

  “I knew that,” he replied. “Your eyes are very expressive and very revealing.”

  “I hope not,” Vida said quickly.

  “Why not?” he enquired.

  “It is said that the eyes are the mirror of the soul,” she answered, “and I have no wish to have anybody looking into my soul or any other part of me that is strictly private!”

  “I think that is something you cannot altogether prevent,” he answered. “And may I say that I find your soul as entrancing as I find everything else about you?”

  There seemed to be a different note in his voice from the way he had spoken before, but Vida told herself quickly that he was just being politely complimentary, as any other young man might be.

  And yet she was not sure.

  She knew that the Russian character was very different from that of any other nationality.

  Unlike an Englishman, a Russian’s soul was so consciously a part of himself that he thought of it and spoke of it as something quite familiar and very precious.

  He was not at all embarrassed by it and, where an Englishman felt with his heart, a Russian felt with his soul and his emotions therefore came from the very depths of his being.

  When they left the theatre, there were refreshments in yet another room where they could dance.

  Tonight, as if the haunting beauty of the ballet still lingered with them, there was a string orchestra to play the Offenbach waltzes that had captured the hearts of all Paris.

  To Vida’s surprise, the orchestra stopped playing far earlier than she expected and the Prince made it obvious without actually saying so that he was waiting for his guests to retire to bed.

  “You must be planning something very interesting for us tomorrow, Your Highness,” one of the gentlemen said. “How early are we starting?”

  “Earlier than usual!” the Prince replied, “but you will be called in plenty of time to dress without hurry and enjoy your breakfast.”

  “You are making me curious,” his guest remarked.

  “That is what I want you to be,” the Prince smiled.

  He escorted Vida to the bottom of the stairs, but tonight as she was not going up alone, he bowed over her hand instead of kissing it.

  She went up the stairs talking to several of the ladies who seemed extremely friendly.

  They admired Vida’s gown, which tonight had been white and silver and made her look like a nymph rising from below the cascade they had seen at luncheon time.

  Instead of the jewels that had made her look so resplendent last night she wore a wreath of camellias in her hair and the same flowers decorated her gown.

  Round her neck she wore her mother’s five rows of pearls and there were pearls in her ears and on her wedding finger.

  The Prince had not remarked upon her appearance, but she had known by the expression in his eyes that he thought she looked beautiful.

  When she went into her bedroom and locked her door, as she had promised Margit she would do, she told herself that she had never had a more enjoyable time.

  She had, however, got no further in discovering what had happened to her father since she had entered Russia.

  ‘What am I to do?’ she asked herself.

  Then she decided that tomorrow she must play about no longer. She must make up her mind whether or not she could trust the Prince and ask his help.

  ‘He must be trustworthy,’ she tried to assure herself.

  And yet she was apprehensive.

  She knew that all through the day, even at the cascade, underlying her appreciation of everything that had been planned was an ache within her, almost a physical pain, that told her her father was in danger.

  ‘I cannot go on like this!’ she thought as she lifted the wreath from off her head and put away her gown in the wardrobe.

  When she was in bed, she found herself sending out her thoughts to her father, begging him to guide an
d help her.

  ‘Can I trust the Prince, Papa?’ she asked. ‘Dare I tell him the truth as to why I am here?’

  Because she felt so agitated, she lit two candles by her bed and picked up the small Bible she always travelled with.

  Her mother had given it to her on her tenth birthday and told her,

  “If you are ever worried, my darling, if you want the answer to any problem, however complex, look in your Bible.”

  “Do you mean open it at random, Mama?” Vida had asked.

  “What I do,” her mother replied, “is to pray, then open it with my eyes shut and put my finger on one verse and very seldom do I not receive an answer.”

  ‘That is what I will do now,’ Vida decided.

  She held the Bible in her hand, closed her eyes and, as she did so, she heard a sound.

  She looked up and saw to her astonishment that at the far end of the room a panel in the wall had opened and the Prince came in.

  For a moment she could only stare at him, wondering if she had shut the door and locked it.

  He came towards her, a smile on his lips, and she saw that he was wearing a long velvet robe that reached almost to the floor and made him seem larger and in a way more menacing than he did when he was dressed.

  Vida put the Bible down beside her.

  Then she asked,

  “What – do you – want?”

  “I should have thought that was obvious!” the Prince replied with a faint smile. “I want to be alone with you, Vida, and I think you are aware of how much I want you.”

  “You cannot mean – ?” Vida began.

  Then, as if she suddenly understood, she cried,

  “No, no! Of course not! You must go – away at once!”

  The Prince sat down on the bed facing her.

  “Why should I do that?” he asked. “You are so beautiful and I cannot believe that you intend to go on mourning your dead husband for very much longer.”

  Because of the depth of his voice when he spoke and because he looked so overwhelmingly handsome in the candlelight, Vida for a moment found it impossible to answer him.

  She could only look at him and her eyes seemed to fill her whole face.

  She had no idea that with her dark red hair falling over her shoulders, her skin very white in contrast and her nightgown so diaphanous that it was almost transparent, she looked like something out of a dream.