As it passed the Empress, she cried out, ‘My little Florian, you have escaped. Nopsca, we must put him back in his prison or the English housekeeper will hand in her notice.’ Behind him, Bay heard Nopsca sigh. Catching the monkey was not going to be easy.
Bay found a sugar lump in his pocket that he kept there to reward his horses, and he bent down and offered it to the monkey. The little animal skittered around him for a moment, coming towards the outstretched treat and then retreating. Bay kept up a a stream of soothing chatter, the sort of small talk he made to his horses.
‘Don’t be scared, Florian, I’m not going to hurt you, look at this lovely lump of sugar, you know you’re hungry.’ The monkey’s movements began to slow down and at last he came very close to Bay’s outstretched hand and one paw darted out to take the treat. Bay let him take the sugar lump and then started to stroke the animal’s head and back. Then slowly and carefully he scooped up the little creature with his good arm and held it close to his body.
The monkey, who was blissfully eating the sugar, did not protest, and Bay was about to hand him over to Nopsca’s outstretched arms when Liechtenstein said in a stage whisper to the Count, ‘Why, even little Florian finds the Captain irresistible.’
Esterhazy gave a sharp bark of laughter which echoed through the vast marble hall and frightened the monkey, which leapt out of Bay’s arms and began to dance around him. Cursing under his breath, he dug around in his pocket for another sugar lump, and in doing so he dislodged the letter which fell to the ground. The monkey, who had seen exactly where the supply of treats was coming from, saw the envelope as manna from heaven. He picked it up with both paws and began to scamper up the stairs. Bay went after him, but with only one arm, it was too easy for Florian to jump out of his grasp. He made a grab for the monkey, which had jumped on the handrail, and losing his balance, fell painfully onto the marble steps, narrowly avoiding a headlong tumble down the staircase.
‘Florian, you are a wicked creature,’ said the Empress, who had been laughing so much there were tears on her cheeks. ‘Come here at once and receive your punishment.’ The monkey looked at her for a moment, nibbled the envelope he was holding, and then jumped into the Empress’s arms.
‘Good boy! And now you must apologise to the Captain.’ Bay had to pull himself up by the marble banister. At that moment he would have happily throttled Florian. He could see that Nopsca was having similar thoughts. Standing up shakily, he shook the tiny paw that was being held out to him by the Empress.
‘Look how sorry he is. But I suppose he is like any caged creature, desperate to enjoy his freedom.’ Bay did not trust himself to reply.
‘And here is your letter, only slightly damaged. I hope it isn’t too important?’ Her tone was pointed.
Bay took the envelope. In a moment of sudden clarity he realised that the letter must be from Charlotte and that the Empress had sensed that it was from a woman.
‘I doubt it, Ma’am,’ he said, as nonchalantly as he could. He turned the letter over in his hand. ‘It’s probably from Lady Crewe, wanting to know when I am coming back.’
As Bay had hoped, this distracted the Empress. ‘There is no question of you going back. You must write and tell her that I insist that you remain here.’
‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ said Bay with a mock flourish. Sisi either ignored this gesture or accepted it as her due, Bay could not be quite sure.
Then the Empress swept past him to give Florian to his gaoler, and Bay took his chance to escape.
* * *
As he read the letter, he could hear Charlotte’s small, clear voice and see the wry tilt of her head. With a pang, he realised that there had been no caprice about her departure from Melton. Hartopp had seen an opportunity to queer things between Bay and Charlotte and had taken it.
He heard the appeal in Charlotte’s letter, understanding that she had hedged it around with banter, as if unsure of how he would receive it: he must, he decided, go to the exhibition. It would make Charlotte happy. Whatever happened here at Easton Neston, he liked the idea of making Charlotte happy.
With some relish he thought that he would tell Charlotte exactly how Hartopp had come to be called Chicken – in normal circumstances he would never dream of betraying a fellow officer, but given Hartopp’s treachery he felt no compunction. But as he sat down at the walnut writing bureau and tried to pick up a pen he realised that his injured arm was not capable of doing even that, let alone writing a letter. Bay rocked back on his chair. He tried to write something with his left hand, but as he was right-handed his efforts were hardly legible.
In another house, Bay might have asked someone to take dictation for him, but that was not possible at Easton Neston. There was no one in the household whose discretion he could trust. There was the telegraph, of course, but even that would involve getting one of the servants on side.
He was wondering how to solve this problem when the footman who had been assigned to valet him appeared, holding a bowl of hot water.
Bay had cut himself shaving that morning, and it was difficult to hold the razor steady with the wrong hand, so he asked the footman to do the job for him. The footman, who was a tall teenager with a freckled countenance that suggested he had red hair under his wig, was unexpectedly deft.
‘Thank you. What’s your name?’
‘Albert, sir.’
‘You could be a barber, Albert.’
‘Thank you, sir. Grew up on a farm, so I’ve been shearing sheep since I was a lad. Got to have a steady hand for shearing.’
‘How did you come into service? Doesn’t your father need you on the farm?’
‘I am the youngest of eight brothers, sir. Would have been ten but two of them died of fever.’
‘I see. Do you like it here?’
Albert hesitated.
Bay, sensing this, said, ‘Don’t worry, I never betray a confidence.’
‘Well, sir, I was happy enough here working for Lord Hesketh, but I can’t say as I enjoy the current situation. I haven’t worked for foreigners before. They’ve got some funny notions. The housekeeper and the cook are beside themselves. Last week in the middle of the night, the bell rings – Her Majesty’s bell. I was still up, so I had to go up there. The Countess, the older lady, tells me to go and fetch some raw veal, quick as I can. So I have to wake up Cook and get the key to the meat safe and fetch the meat up there on a silver salver. Next morning the maid that was doing the room brought it down again. They hadn’t touched it.’
Bay thought he had found his man.
‘Albert, would you like to earn a sovereign?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Can you write?’
Albert looked puzzled. ‘Not copperplate, sir, but I know my letters.’
‘If I give you a message, could you write it down and take it to the telegraph office for me?’
‘I think so, sir.’
‘The important thing is that no one in the household should know anything about it. Not the message, nor the fact that I want to send a telegram.’
Albert looked worried.
‘But suppose someone sees me go into the telegraph office, sir. What will I say?’
‘If it is one of the English servants you can tell them I sent you, something about a horse. If it is one of the Austrians, just pretend that you don’t understand what they are saying.’
The footman smiled. ‘That’ll be easy enough, sir.’
‘Excellent. When you’ve done it, there will be another sovereign for you.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
After Albert had left, Bay picked up Charlotte’s letter and tucked it into the inside pocket of his riding coat. Then after a moment he took it out, read it through again and threw into the fire, where it blazed for a moment before crumbling into the ash.
* * *
Bay did not go down to dinner that evening. His shoulder was aching and he did not relish the prospect of another encounter with Liechtenstein and Esterhazy. He knew t
hat Sisi would not be pleased by this dereliction of duty, and he wondered whether she would come to his room that night.
By eleven o’clock he decided that she wasn’t coming. He rang the bell and asked the footman to bring him some brandy. He had subsided into a pleasant, alcohol-tinged haze, so when he heard the tap on the door just before midnight, he felt a moment of irritation at being disturbed.
Her hair was down, hanging over one shoulder, and she was holding the length of it up with her arm like a train. She was wearing a floor-length velvet gown with a high neck and frogged fastenings all the way down. Bay, as always, found himself moved by the sight of her hair unbound.
She smiled at him. ‘I would have come sooner, but I had to write some letters.’
He walked over to her and took the rope of hair and shook it out. The weight of it pulled her head back a little and he kissed her as her mouth tilted up to his.
He slipped his hand under her gown and felt bare skin. He stroked her ribs and the underside of her breast, tiny feathery touches until he could hear her breathing change. He tugged at the fastening of the robe with his good hand but the little knots of silk wouldn’t budge.
‘Are you trying to keep me out?’ he said.
‘Aren’t I worth a little perseverance?’ said Sisi.
She liked to hedge their encounters with these small tests of his patience. After the days spent behaving as Empress and Pilot, it took them both a moment to assume their night-time roles. She always came to him, but she did not instantly surrender. As Bay struggled with the slippery silk fastenings, he knew that in her eyes he was proving himself worthy of the prize.
At last, his fingers aching, he unfastened the last knot at the hem. Kneeling before her, he tugged the robe from her shoulders so that it pooled on the floor.
She looked down at him. ‘I don’t think that even John Brown would work so hard to possess his queen.’
‘But my reward is so much greater,’ said Bay.
* * *
Later, as they lay side by side on his bed, Bay said, ‘I so long to put both my arms around you, Sisi.’
‘I think you manage quite well.’ She laughed.
‘I need to see the doctor in London who attended to my shoulder before. I don’t think the man here has strapped it up properly.’
‘Oh, but you don’t have to go all the way to London. What’s his name? I will ask Nopsca to send for him,’ said Sisi, stroking his injured arm.
‘You are very kind, but I think it might be easier if I went to see him myself. I will only be gone for a day and a night.’
‘But I will miss you,’ said Sisi, pouting.
Bay kissed her. ‘You have Liechtenstein and Esterhazy to entertain you. I am sure they won’t miss me.’
‘No. They are horribly jealous of you. Not because of me, you understand, not in that way – they are more interested in each other. But they are scared that now I have you, I will send them home.’
‘And will you?’
‘Oh no, they would run back and gossip about me. No, they are better here. They will get used to you.’
‘I wish I could agree with you.’
She laughed. ‘I thought Max was going to call you out this afternoon.’
‘May I remind Your Majesty that duelling is illegal in this country.’
‘Oh, it is in Austria too, but it doesn’t stop them.’
‘Well, I value my life too highly to lose it because someone calls me a groom. And besides, I would rather be called a groom than a courtier.’
‘So what do you want to be called, Bay?’
‘Your pilot and your friend.’ He stroked the length of her side.
‘Special friend,’ said Sisi, putting her head on his chest.
Bay tried not to flinch as her weight fell on his bad arm. Sisi quite often forgot his dislocated shoulder. He hoped that she would not fall asleep.
The stable clock struck two-thirty and Sisi roused herself. As she stood fastening the blue velvet gown she said, ‘Who was your letter from? The one that poor Florian nearly ate.’
Bay was glad he had burnt the letter.
‘Oh, it was from Lady Crewe. She wanted to know if I could persuade you to call on her at Melton.’
‘But why would I want to do that?’
‘The house is an architectural curiosity. It is one of the most famous examples of the Gothic style.’
‘Does it have tartan carpets?’
‘Oh no. Lord Crewe is a very cultured man.‘
‘And what is she like?’
‘Ambitious.’
‘Then I see no reason to call on her. Unless, of course, you have a reason for going there?’
‘None at all,’ Bay said truthfully.
Sisi seemed satisfied. Fastening the collar, she said, ‘I had a letter today too. From my son.’
Bay looked up, surprised. Sisi hardly ever mentioned her children. He had assumed it was from some delicacy about their situation.
‘I don’t know if he will come here. Rudolph doesn’t care for hunting.’ She frowned. ‘I think perhaps that he is afraid. But I cannot ask him.’
‘No,’ Bay agreed.
‘He has come to look at factories and shipyards. Or so he says.’ Sisi paused. ‘I think there may be other reasons, but he would not tell his mother those.’ She shrugged. ‘They took him away from me when he was very young. I had been ill, and my husband’s mother did not trust me to bring up the heir to the throne. But I would have managed him better. He is more Wittelsbach than Hapsburg, but they do not listen to me.’ She pulled her hair across her shoulder and flicked the ends against her other hand like a switch.
‘But if he does come here, we must be discreet.’
‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ said Bay.
The Crown Prince
The Ambassador looked at his pocket watch. It was twenty-three minutes past eleven. He had told the Crown Prince that he would come for him at eleven and he had now been waiting in the lobby of Claridge’s for twenty-three minutes. He decided that he must chivvy the Prince along. It would not do to arrive at the exhibition after the Queen, who, being an English queen, was always punctual.
The door to the suite was opened by the Prince’s valet.
‘Where is His Highness? I think perhaps he has forgotten that I was to call for him at eleven.’
‘The Crown Prince is still dressing, Your Excellency,’ said the valet wearily.
‘Perhaps I can be of assistance,’ said Karolyi, and followed the valet into the bedroom.
Rudolph was standing in front of a cheval glass, trying to fasten the gold buttons of his uniform. One look at the young man’s ashen face told the Ambassador why he had been kept waiting. The Prince had been kept to a strict schedule of improving activities approved by the Emperor – the evening before he had been to a lecture at the Mechanics Institute, but afterwards he had made his own amusement. He was a slight young man, only a little taller than his mother, and this morning he looked weighed down by the gold braid on his uniform. The whites of his black eyes were bloodshot and the Ambassador could see what looked like a bite mark on his throat.
‘Good morning, Your Highness.’
‘Karolyi.’ Rudolph gave him the barest acknowledgement.
The Ambassador sighed inwardly. Although he did not wish to delay their departure any more, he would have to tell the Prince that wearing the uniform of a colonel of the Imperial Guard, while perfectly normal in Vienna, was not appropriate at the opening of a photographic exhibition in London. The Prince, he knew, would not welcome his advice. Like all the Hapsburgs, he loved to dress up, but the Ambassador dreaded the inevitable sniggering about tinpot princes that would follow in the English press if Rudolph was allowed to appear in all his military finery.
‘If I might suggest a morning coat, sir…’
Rudoph looked at him with distaste, but the Ambassador pressed on.
‘The English do not wear uniforms to this kind of event. As you are here on an uno
fficial visit, I think morning dress is more appropriate.’ Rudolph was scowling now and the Ambassador looked around him with desperation. He saw the morocco boxes containing the Prince’s impressive assortment of medals and other honours. ‘But you could certainly wear one of your Orders. The Golden Fleece, perhaps?’
Like a small child who has been distracted from the edge of a precipice by a glittering bauble, Rudolph picked up the order which signified that he was a chevalier of the Golden Fleece and twirled it around so that the gold- and diamond-encrusted surface of the fleece caught the light.
‘Very well,’ he said, the scowl subsiding. ‘When in Rome.’
Karolyi gestured to the valet, who had been listening to this exchange, and went outside to wait. At eleven forty-five, the Prince emerged wearing morning dress, with the Order of the Golden Fleece prominent on his lapel. He still looked pale and Karolyi could smell last night’s alcohol beneath the imperial cologne, but he was presentable.
To the Ambassador’s surprise Rudolph smiled at him.
‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting.’
Karolyi bowed. ‘My time is of no account, but as Queen Victoria is opening the exhibition…’
‘We must not be late.’ The Prince finished the sentence.
‘Exactly, sir.’ Karolyi said, relieved at the Prince’s sudden change of mood.
* * *
As the carriage made its way down Regent Street to the Royal Society of Arts just off the Strand, Rudolph stared out of the window at the passers-by.
‘The girls are better in Vienna, don’t you think?’
Karolyi murmured something non-committal, and tried not to look at the bruise on Rudolph’s neck that was only just concealed by his high collar. Then, to change the subject, he said, ‘Are you intending to visit your mother while you are here, sir? Easton Neston is very beautiful. One of the finest houses in the country.’
‘If my mother asks me I suppose I must go, but I have come here to learn, not to fraternise with my mother’s friends.’
Karolyi, who had not anticipated this reaction, decided to probe a little further. ‘The hunting there is very fine, though. The Empress is very pleased with the sport.’
The Fortune Hunter Page 27