Polly and the Prince

by Carola Dunn

“May I see?”

  “No, there is nothing to see as yet.”

  “Then I go remove Master Nicholas from under feet of matyushka.”

  It was not only herself whom he had won over, thought Polly, consoled, as he went off. Nick was halfway to hero worship; Mama had no qualms about giving Kolya the run of the house; and after eating with him in the kitchen last night, Ella had reported that he was a “right neighbourly sort,” her highest accolade.

  As she washed her brushes and palette and took off the cotton smock with its multicoloured spots and smears, Polly wondered what Ned would think of the stranger his family had taken in. Kolya’s charm would not easily overcome her conscientious older brother’s sense of propriety.

  Above all, Ned was wholly reliable. Polly was not in the least surprised when he arrived half an hour later, to be greeted by a tearful welcome from his relieved mother.

  “But of course I am here,” he said, puzzled, as he kissed her cheek. “We fixed the date a good fortnight since.”

  “I feared you might not remember.”

  “I told you that you might rely on him,” said Polly, coming down the stairs. “Let me take your coat, Ned. You see, Mama wrote to remind you and I forgot to post the letter.”

  His eyes met hers in a glance of comprehension, and he chuckled. “Polly, my dear, if the house burned down you would stand there studying the shape and colour of the flames and forget to notify the fire brigade.”

  Though he was five years her elder, the brother and sister understood each other well. Mr. Edward Howard was a kindly man who had learned long ago to make allowances for Polly’s overmastering passion—when he discovered that his remonstrances had no effect whatsoever. In looks he took after their father, sturdily built, like Nick, but with dark brown hair and grey eyes. His dark blue coat, buckskin breeches, and plain necktie were neat and respectable, making no effort to ape the fashions of his betters.

  He hugged Polly. “You are looking very well.”

  “Polly, you still have paint on your chin,” Mrs. Howard said, adding anxiously, “Come and sit down, Ned, dear. You must be fatigued after your journey.”

  “Not at all,” he assured her, following her into the parlour. The room looked bare without the African masks on the walls. “Lord John lent me one of his Grace’s travelling carriages and a groom to drive it, so you shall go to your new home in fine style tomorrow.” He sat down with a sigh of satisfaction. “How pleasant it will be to have my family about me after all these years.”

  The slam of the back door and an eager, earthshaking tread in the hall announced the return of the shoppers.

  “Rather more of the family than you expected,” said Polly dryly as Nick burst into the room.

  “Ned! The ostler at the Sussex told me you’d driven up in a fancy rig, so I went to take a look. Is it the duke’s? It’s bang up to the nines!”

  “Yes, it’s the duke’s. What the deuce are you doing here, Nicholas?”

  “I’ve been shopping for Mother,” said Nick nonchalantly, but there was a wary look in his eye.

  “Did you buy everything on the list?” Mrs. Howard asked.

  “Yes, Kolya is putting it in the kitchen. Ned, you must meet Kolya. He’s from Russia and he’s had the most famous adventures.” He turned and yelled down the hall, “Kolya, come and meet my brother.”

  Polly leaned close to Ned’s ear and whispered, “Nick deserves a thundering scold, but I beg you will not rake him over the coals in Mama’s presence. She is upset enough already. And I shall explain later about…”

  “Ned, this is Kolya. Polly is painting him.”

  The Russian stood in the doorway, tall and straight. Despite his shabbiness, there was nothing subservient about him. His elegant bow seemed more appropriate to a greeting from gentleman to gentleman.

  Ned nodded in return and murmured to Polly, “If you are painting him, I daresay there is no need to ask for further explanation!”

  “Kolya is going to London to find his friends,” Polly said aloud. “I offered him money for the stage fare, but he refused it.”

  “Very proper,” Ned approved. “In which part of London do your friends reside, Kolya?”

  Kolya moved forward with easy grace. Polly thought he was about to take a seat, but at the last moment he recollected his position.

  “I shall go first to Stafford House, sir. I made acquaintance of duke’s son, Lord John Danville, in 1814 and met him again in St Petersburg last year.”

  “Lord John! That is flying high. I fear you will be disappointed, for Lord John is presently residing at Five Oaks.”

  “Five Oaks? I think I have heard him mention. Is country estate of duke, nyet? Is far from London?”

  “Five Oaks is near Loxwood, is it not?” Polly eagerly asked her brother.

  “The estates adjoin,” he admitted with obvious reluctance. “His Grace bought Loxwood Manor from a neighbour. It is to be Lord John’s as soon as the house is refurbished.”

  “The Duke of Stafford is Ned’s employer,” Polly explained to Kolya. “We can take you there tomorrow. If Lord John cannot help you, you will be no farther from London, will he, Ned?”

  “It is roughly the same distance, to be sure, but I cannot like to be responsible…”

  “Lord John will help me.” Kolya’s voice rang with absolute certainty.

  Ned was still dubious. Thoughts of blackmail flitted through his mind. He knew that Lord John had met with difficulties, even danger, in Russia and had been desperately ill on his return to England. After several months of convalescence he had married, and he and his young bride were spending their honeymoon at Five Oaks. Even if this stranger were perfectly honest, the young couple would hardly welcome an intruder at this time.

  “But is not my wish to cause trouble,” the Russian continued. “I can walk to Five Oaks as well as to London.”

  “It will not be any trouble!” Nick declared. The lad had been amazingly—or perhaps prudently—silent for some time. “Kolya can stand up behind like a footman and I shall ride on the box with the coachman.”

  “Oh no, Nicky, that is by far too dangerous,” Mrs. Howard said at once, but to Ned’s surprise she went on, “Indeed, I can see no harm in taking Kolya with us.”

  Now how had the fellow managed to ingratiate himself with their ever-cautious mother?

  “He really deserves some reward,” Polly added persuasively. “He saved me, you know, when I fell down the steps from the Pantiles. I was thinking about painting and did not watch my step. Mr. Irving had just given me the money for the pictures he sold for me this past quarter.”

  “Ned, I wish you will stop your sister selling her pictures,” begged his mother. “It is not at all genteel.”

  “I think it’s famous,” said Nick loyally. “I hope you make pots of money, Poll.”

  Ned was torn. It distressed him that Polly felt the need of earning money, but the supplement to his own salary and Mrs. Howard’s meager jointure was most welcome. She had also managed to set aside a small nest egg for herself, he knew, which was a relief as he was in no position to provide for her.

  Besides, she would not stop simply because he told her to. “Congratulations, Polly,” he said. “Did Mr. Irving sell many for you?”

  “He sells all the views of this area that I paint: the Pantiles, the Common, even the ruins of Tonbridge Castle. Many of the visitors to the Chalybeate Spring want a memento of their stay.”

  “Is good people are willing to pay for your work, Miss Howard,” the Russian said quietly. “Thus, you know is of value to others, nyet?”

  “Yes! Yes, that is just how I feel.” Polly favoured the stranger with a delighted smile, and Ned realised that he had failed to understand his sister’s pride in her art. It was not money she cared about, but recognition. She turned back to him. “Do you think there is a shop near Loxwood that will take my pictures?”

  Ned hated to disappoint her. “You might find one in Horsham. It’s a pretty town and the
assizes are held there, so there are plenty of visitors at times.”

  “I doubt lawyers and prisoners will want keepsakes of the place,” she said with a sigh.

  “They will if they win their cases,” Nick encouraged her. “You should paint pictures of the gaol to remind them of what they have escaped.”

  Polly laughed. “It is worth trying. Is Horsham on the way to Loxwood, Ned? Shall we pass through it?”

  “Yes, you will see it tomorrow. If we make good time, we might stop there for luncheon, though I left the duke’s horses in Crawley.”

  “Lord John lent you his cattle, too?” Nick was thrilled. “I wager they are famous bits of blood and bone. Lord John must be a regular Trojan.”

  “Is good fellow,” Kolya confirmed.

  Ned found himself the target of four pairs of eyes.

  “Well?” demanded Nick. “Are we taking Kolya?”

  If the man was going to walk to Five Oaks anyway he might as well go with them. After all, there were plenty of servants there to deal with an encroaching foreigner if necessary. Ned sighed and gave in. “Very well, we shall take you up, Kolya.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “And you,” Ned said severely to his young brother, “come up to my room with me while I wash. I’ve a bone to pick with you.”

  It was unfortunate, as he confessed to Polly later, that Nick’s bear story made him laugh. After that it was impossible to instill a proper sense of wrongdoing in the boy, let alone to discipline him thoroughly.

  “I could not help remembering,” he told her as they climbed the stairs to bed, “that you warned me an academic career would not suit him. However, he has picked up some little learning at least, and now I shall just have to see what I can do to help him join the Navy.”

  “I hope he realizes how lucky he is to have such an amiable brother,” said Polly, kissing him good-night.

  He hugged her. Despite her vagaries, she was a dear girl, and he was glad that at last he was able to have her and his mother to live with him. He had worked very hard for this moment. Even Nick’s misdeeds could not spoil it. He just hoped Lord John would not be too infuriated by his delivery of that wretched foreigner his impulsive sister had taken under her wing.

  Chapter 4

  In the morning, Ned had to admit that both Nick and Kolya were a great help when it came to packing up the last of the household goods and loading the coach. It did not take long—fortunately Mrs. Howard had let her house furnished, and owing to her efficiency almost all the moveables had gone with the carter.

  Everything was ready. Mrs. Howard locked the door and was about to give Ella the key to take to the neighbour’s when suddenly she stopped and looked round.

  “Polly! Where has the girl got to now? Nicholas, have you seen her?”

  “Not since breakfast. Ned, do say I may ride on the box.”

  “Polly went up to the attic half an hour ago,” Ned said, “to make sure she had not left anything in her studio. Perhaps she is still up there, lost in one of her dreams.”

  Kolya laughed. “I wager Miss Howard is sketching in garden.” He held out his hand. “Give key, please. I fetch.”

  Mrs. Howard gave him the key and he went back into the house. Ned looked at his mother with a frown. “How does the fellow know so much about my sister?”

  “He’s not stupid,” Nick answered with unexpected indignation. “It only takes an hour or two to discover Polly’s crazy about art. Mother, you don’t mind if I ride on the box, do you?”

  “Oh dear, do you think it safe, Ned?”

  Once Ned had reassured his mother as to the safety of riding with the groom, he found it difficult to punish Nick for his misbehaviour at school by forbidding it. While he was humming and hawing, Kolya returned with Polly, sketch book in hand.

  “I did not realize you were waiting,” she apologized. “The clouds are so extraordinary I wanted to draw them before they blow away. They look like a ploughed field.”

  Everyone immediately stared at the sky. The clouds did indeed look as if they had been raked into neat rows. Lit from below by the rising sun, they shone pearly gold. A momentary feeling of awe filled Ned, and he turned to thank Polly for drawing his attention to the sight.

  Kolya was before him. “Prekrasno,” he murmured. “Beautiful. Is special gift of artist to see what others fail to notice. Thank you, Miss Howard.”

  Polly smiled at him. Dash it, thought Ned, annoyed, the Russian said it better than he could have himself. He busied himself handing his mother and sister into the carriage while Kolya took his place on the narrow perch behind intended for footmen.

  Taking advantage of his distraction, Nick climbed up onto the box. As Ned followed Ella inside, to sit beside the maid with his back to the horses, he consoled himself with the thought that there was more room, and definitely more peace, without his brother.

  No sooner did they leave the town behind them to roll along the open road than Nick’s voice floated back in an urgent plea to “spring ‘em.” Mrs. Howard looked alarmed, but as the duke’s groom paid her importunate son no heed, she soon settled down on the luxuriously padded seat. The carriage was so well sprung that she dozed for much of the way. Polly, meanwhile, gazed out of the open window, far too entranced by the new sights to care about the layer of road dust deposited upon her person.

  When they stopped for luncheon in Horsham, Polly once again disappeared. This time she returned before anyone went to look for her.

  “I found a bookseller,” she reported happily. “He has promised to display two pictures of the town or the surrounding countryside, and if they sell quickly he will take more.”

  Mrs. Howard sighed heavily. Ned knew she had hoped that the removal from Tunbridge Wells would put an end to her daughter’s commercial ventures. He half sympathized, but Polly was so delighted it was impossible not to be pleased for her.

  They reached Loxwood in the middle of the afternoon. A quarter mile beyond the gates of Loxwood Manor, they turned from the narrow lane into one even narrower, on the outskirts of the village. The house the duke had provided for his bailiff stood on the corner. The carriage pulled up on the strip of gravel separating the whitewashed, tile-roofed building from the lane.

  Ned stepped out and handed down his mother and sister. “Welcome home,” he said.

  “This is it?” whooped Nick, scrambling down from the box.

  Polly squeezed Ned’s hand. “I know we are going to be very happy here. I cannot wait to unpack my paints.”

  The front door swung open and his elderly cook-housekeeper appeared, neat and respectable in her black dress and white apron. She was accompanied by a mouth-watering smell of baking.

  “Mother, this is Mrs. Coates. She will do all the cooking and marketing so you shall be a lady of leisure and drink tea with the vicar’s wife.”

  Hung with oddments of baggage, Ella emerged from the carriage and regarded her fellow servant with a glowering face. “Since you won’t be needing me no more, madam, I’ll just turn meself around and go right back to Tunbridge Wells.”

  “Oh dear,” said Mrs. Howard. “Indeed I cannot manage without you, Ella.”

  Ned hurried to excuse himself. “I’ll have to leave you to make the peace, Mother. I left my horse at Five Oaks yesterday, so I must go back with the carriage as soon as we have unloaded the luggage. Do you go in and settle yourselves, and I shall return in no time.”

  “You need not worry about Ella and Mrs. Coates,” Polly whispered, “for it is exactly the sort of problem Mama enjoys worrying about. If Lord John will not help Kolya, will you bring him back here?”

  He looked at her in surprise. “No, Polly, I will not. It would not be at all proper.”

  “Just for a few days, until I finish the portrait.”

  “I’m sure Kolya himself had rather go on to London to find his other friends,” he said gently, concerned at his usually cheerful sister’s despondency. “You will not wish to delay him further.”

 
She sighed. “I suppose not. But you must make him take this money. He is more like to take it from you than from a female, surely.” She pressed three sovereigns into his hand.

  Ned did not know what to say, so he was glad when at that moment Mrs. Howard called Polly into the house.

  Kolya had just helped Nick carry in one of the trunks. Polly met him coming out, and Ned saw them exchanging a few words. However, he was busy giving the groom a hand with the second trunk and did not hear what was said. Soon everything was unloaded. Kolya joined the groom on the box and they set off again.

  Cross-country Five Oaks was no distance, but by the winding lanes it was a good six miles. Ned had plenty of time to wonder how Lord John would feel about the appearance of an out-at-elbows foreigner claiming to be his friend. By the time the carriage rumbled into the stable yard of the duke’s vast mansion, he was decidedly apprehensive.

  While the carriage horses were unharnessed, the head groom sent one of his underlings to saddle Ned’s hack for him, another to the house to report the Russian’s arrival.

  The horse beat Lord John by a short head. Ned was just taking the reins from a stable boy when his lordship strode into the yard and looked around.

  “Kolya? Kolya, my dear fellow, it really is you!”

  The Russian flung his arms around Lord John and kissed him on both cheeks. His lordship fervently returned the embrace, to the fascination of Ned and the stable hands. This display was followed by some back slapping, both men talking at once in an incoherent babble.

  As surprised as he was relieved by Kolya’s welcome, Ned wanted to be on his way. However, he felt that as his lordship had come out, he ought to stay and thank him for the loan of the carriage. Unable to get a word in edgewise, he was about to give up when Lord John said, “But you must come into the house at once, Kolya. Beckie won’t thank me for keeping you from her.”

  “So you marry Rebecca Ivanovna? Congratulations, my dear John. Am very delighted. One moment, if you please.” He turned to Ned. “Must thank you, sir, for courtesy and assistance to unknown traveller.”

  He held out his hand and Ned, bemused, shook it. “It was nothing,” he said awkwardly.