Unable to fight her drowsiness any longer, she put her book onto the bedside table, and got up to turn off several of the gas lights, leaving the one furthest away from her bed, but nearest to Mrs Oakengate’s door, lit but turned down a little.
The realisation that the light had dimmed even further came to her slowly; as she lay dozing in her bed, like something on the edge of her consciousness and through half open eyes. At first she thought nothing of it, until a few minutes later when she saw the shadow passing in front of her bed, yielding a small, but bright, light. She tried to open her mouth to scream, but nothing would come. Was she dreaming? She was not sure. All she knew was that she had been filled with a great terror. Something was trying to get to Mrs Oakengate, and she had to help her. The room was almost completely dark, with just a tiny flicker from the gaslight that barely shed any light at all.
It was only when the figure stood over her bed – a woman with red hair and dressed in green, with her whole body bathed in a white light – that she really woke up. “Shh,” said the woman, putting her fingers to her lips. “Danger.”
That was when Caroline screamed.
Caroline’s bedroom door flew open and Blake stood there, fully dressed. “What is it? What happened?”
“I saw something. Someone,” said Caroline, her body trembling from head to toe. “They were in here. Oh! Mrs Oakengate. What if they’re still in there with her?”
Caroline dashed into the next room, closely followed by Blake. It was still dark, so Caroline lit several of the gaslights, whilst Blake checked each corner. Out in the hallway, a few of the other guests started to assemble, but none entered the vestibule, perhaps for fear of finding something awful. Mrs Oakengate slept soundly in her bed. Too soundly. It frightened Caroline to see her lolling on the pillow with her mouth open. “Mrs Oakengate? Mrs Oakengate!” Caroline shook her.
“Really, Caroline,” said Mrs Oakengate. She sat up in bed, covering herself with the blanket when she realised a man was present. “What on earth is going on?”
“Someone was in our room.”
“Honestly. I took you on because you’re not prone to such hysterical nonsense. One night in a supposedly haunted house and you turn into a wreck.”
“I am not a wreck,” Caroline said, more sharply than she intended. She took a deep breath and mentally altered her tone. “I saw someone. They turned down the gaslight.”
“It feels very stuffy in here, Caroline. Open the window. I can barely breathe,” said Mrs Oakengate. “I’m afraid I may be coming down with something. My head feels all stuffy.”
Blake looked around the room. “There’s no door in this room.”
“No, the only entrance is through mine.”
He went to the window and checked it. “This is locked from the inside.”
“What about under the bed?” said Caroline, lifting one of the blankets. There was nothing there except Mrs Oakengate’s suitcases, and whilst they were bulky, none were big enough to hold a fully-grown adult.
“No one passed me in the hallway,” said Blake, “so they wouldn’t have got out that way. Who, or what exactly did you see?”
“I saw … I saw the gaslight grow dim. A little while later I felt the presence of a shadow in the room. But they had a torch. I think. And then…” She hesitated. The next part was going to be more difficult to explain. “I saw Lady Cassandra standing over me.”
Blake burst out laughing. “Lady Cassandra.”
“Well it looked like her. She said there was danger.”
“Really,” said Mrs Oakengate. Caroline did not like the glance her employer exchanged with Blake. “Caroline I am so disappointed in you.”
“So am I,” said Blake, grinning. “I thought you were above such wild imaginings.”
Caroline folded her arms. “Well, thank you for coming to my rescue, Mr Laurenson. Perhaps Mrs Oakengate and I should get some sleep now.”
It was only when Caroline got into her bed, having settled Mrs Oakengate down again, that she began to wonder how Blake Laurenson had reached her door so quickly.
Chapter Four
Caroline sat alone in the breakfast room, having had a bad night’s sleep, despite her drowsiness. She felt how she sometimes felt if she had taken a sleeping pill but had failed to properly sleep off its effects. All the other guests, including Mrs Oakengate, had slept in, and for that she was grateful. She needed time alone to think about what happened the night before. Not generally given to wild imaginings, as Blake had said, she was slowly able to convince herself it was all a dream. Clearly Lady Cassandra was a strong presence in the house, but only in an abstract way. She existed as an entity only because the guests had heard so much about her. Caroline reasoned that she too had heard so much about Lady Cassandra that she must have had the abbey’s previous owner on her mind when she dozed off to sleep.
“Boo,” said a voice softly from the door.
“I heard your footsteps, Mr Laurenson.”
“And you knew they were mine?” He walked into the room, reminding Caroline of a sleek racehorse, with his long, lean legs, and helped himself to some food off the side table.
“Of course I didn’t know they were yours. I assumed it was one of the servants.”
“Not Lady Cassandra’s.”
“No. That, I’m sure, was just a nightmare. I’m sorry to have disturbed you. If indeed I did.”
To Caroline’s consternation, instead of taking one of the seats opposite, he came and sat down right next to her. “Now what can you mean by that, Caroline?”
“Only that you got there very quickly.”
“You think perhaps I had time to change out of my Lady Cassandra costume before I opened your door?”
Caroline laughed at that. “Probably not. Why are you here? You’re not a friend of Jack Henderson’s. I worked that much out.”
“Did you? How?”
“Body language. You’re obviously not a close acquaintance, and neither do I think you’re a runner for Hitchcock.”
“And you think I have some sinister motive for being here?”
“I don’t know. If that were the case, then Mr Henderson would be in on it too, unless you had deceived him in some way.”
“I’m a journalist.”
“Ah… and you wanted a look at how the rich and shameless live.”
“No, I’m a political journalist, interested in recent events in Cariastan. I wanted a look at our young prince.”
“Oh, I see. And Mr Henderson agreed?”
“In return for a good review for his next film in my newspaper.”
“Which is?”
“The Daily Diary. You can check the by-lines in this morning’s paper if you like. This week’s column is about Hitler and his plans for the future of Germany.”
The newspapers lay on the sideboard, next to the food dishes. Caroline stood up and went to look, finding the Daily Diary underneath the times. Sure enough, on the political pages, there was an article by Blake Laurenson, alongside a picture of the man who sat eating bacon and eggs across the room from her.
“Why the subterfuge?” she asked, turning to him and leaning on the sideboard. “Surely anyone reading this paper would see who you are, including the prince.”
“Hardly anyone here reads the political pages.” Caroline would probably have agreed with that. The majority of guests were from the world of show business, apart from old Count Chlomsky and Prince Henri.
“I’m sure the prince would, given the political turmoil in his own country.”
“I see you read them.”
“Sometimes. My aunt and uncle are very interested in politics. I must admit I find them a bit boring. Someone told me about Cariastan yesterday. I must admit I’d never heard of it before then.”
“Few people have. The name means Land of the Beloved.”
“That’s pretty.”
“The country is too. It’s one of those tiny states in Europe surrounded by much bigger states. So small on
e can walk across it in one day.”
“Then why do the Russians want it?”
“Because it’s on the way from Germany, and it would cut off one of Hitler’s accesses should he decide to try to advance on Russia.”
“Is he going to do that?”
“He recently implemented a four year plan, to make Germany ready for war. Cariastan is in a difficult situation. If the Russians don’t take them, the Germans will. Unless a strong leader can be found.”
“And Prince Henri is that man?”
“What do you think?”
“Of Prince Henri?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know. He isn’t what I expected.”
“All princes should be tall and handsome, I suppose.”
Caroline thought about it for a moment. “No, perhaps not. But they should inspire confidence. Or have some presence. Prince Henri looks like … well he looks like a bank clerk.”
“But they’re just people, like you and me, Caroline. They eat, they sleep, and they have days when they feel down.”
“I don’t know what I mean then. Only that he wasn’t what I expected, and since you ask, no, I’m not sure he’s the right person to lead Cariastan. Having said that, I did only meet the man last night.” She walked back to the table and sat down. “It seems to me you’re the best person to find out, Mr Laurenson.”
Blake smiled. “Isn’t it time you called me Blake? Especially as I’ve seen you in your nightdress. Very pretty it was too.”
The rest of Caroline’s day was taken up with running errands for Mrs Oakengate. Once or twice she saw Blake talking to other guests, but whenever he tried to talk to Prince Henri, the prince quickly moved away. Blake was not the only one who had trouble talking to the prince. Once in the afternoon, Count Chlomsky approached him.
“Your highness, if I may speak to you on a very important matter.”
“Please, Chlomsky, not now. I am enjoying myself.” The prince turned back to the dizzy actress. “Who wants to discuss affairs of state when affairs of the heart are much more important.” As the prince spoke, Mrs Oakengate entered the room, having returned from powdering her nose. The prince very quickly forgot the dizzy blonde and dashed to Mrs Oakengate’s side. “My dear lady. You are a vision of loveliness today.”
She wondered if the prince had guessed Blake was a reporter, and did not want to be questioned. But that did not explain his reluctance to talk to Count Chlomsky. The more she thought about it, the more she felt that Blake’s explanation about allowing Jack Henderson a good review in return for access to the prince was not much more plausible than the ‘old friends’ excuse. Prince Henri seemed terrified of Blake and Chlomsky, for reasons Caroline could not fathom. Perhaps, she thought, he feared assassination. If what Blake said were true, Prince Henri was Cariastan’s only hope of liberty from the Russians and the Germans. So it would make him a prime target for an assassin from either side. Where, she thought, did Blake’s loyalties lie? As for the Count, Caroline knew a little bit about him from her aunt and uncle. He had once been a spy for the Russians, before taking sides with the allies during the Great War and seeking asylum in another country. A man who could change sides so easily might have no compunction in going back to his old masters. If he had ever left them, that is.
Later that evening, there was more informal dancing in the ballroom. The prince spent most of the evening sitting next to Mrs Oakengate.
“You do me a great honour, your highness, by spending time with an old woman.”
“You are nothing of the sort, madam,” said the prince. “You are but a spring chicken. I can see why my father fell in love with you.”
“Oh it was a grand affair,” said Mrs Oakengate. “If not for his advisors telling him he could not marry an actress, I am sure he would have asked for my hand. Instead he married a chambermaid, which was rather perplexing under the circumstances,” she said, pursing her lips. Then she remembered herself. “Of course, I’m sure your mother was no ordinary chambermaid.”
“Did you know my mother?” asked the prince.
“Well, only in that she cleaned my room at the Cassandra.”
“The Cassandra?” Caroline was suddenly alert.
“Yes, that was the name of the hotel. Surely you’ve heard of the Cassandra chain of hotels, Caroline. Or perhaps not. Millie and Jim are more prone to taking their holidays off the beaten track, and among the lower classes, are they not?”
“Yes,” said Caroline. “We once went to Tenby camping.”
“Good lord, what is the world coming to? I’m sure you agree, your highness, being used to more luxurious surroundings.”
“Exactly,” said the prince, shaking his head sadly. “I do not understand all this hob-knobbing with the lower classes. One should stick to one’s own kind.”
“How can you say that?” asked Caroline. “When your mother was a chambermaid who married a prince?”
“Caroline!” Mrs Oakengate only just fell short of slapping Caroline’s hand, moving her own hand away at the last minute. “Please excuse her, your highness. The Haxbys are socialists and have this silly idea that we are all equal.”
“We are all equal,” said Caroline.
“Some of us are more equal than others,” said Mrs Oakengate, with no trace of irony in her voice. “Now, you will apologise to his highness for your insolence.”
“I apologise,” said Caroline, “but it only seemed to me that…” She looked up and saw Blake standing nearby, listening to the exchange with an amused expression on his face. “Never mind. I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn.”
“Yes, well I rather think it’s time for bed, don’t you,” said Mrs Oakengate, yawning. “I find myself utterly exhausted again. If you will give us your leave, your highness.”
“Are you going riding in the morning, Mrs Oakengate?” asked the prince. “I desire more of your delightful company. There is so much you can tell me about my father that I don’t know.”
“I’m afraid my riding days are over,” said Mrs Oakengate. “But perhaps I shall see you at breakfast afterwards.”
“I look forward to it.” The prince stood up and made a courtly bow to Mrs Oakengate. Caroline he ignored.
Caroline helped her employer to her feet, and led her towards the hallway. Mrs Oakengate stopped for a moment to exchange pleasantries with Count Chlomsky.
“It is always good to see you, Mrs Oakengate,” he said. His manner, though courtly, was more natural than the prince’s and Caroline really did believe that he meant what he said to Mrs Oakengate.
“I believe we haven’t seen each other since Fazeby Hall,” said Mrs Oakengate, holding out her hand. “Goodness, that must be sixteen years ago.”
“I believe that is so.”
“We all thought you were a crook, and it turned out to be Caroline’s father.”
“Ah…” The Count smiled. “The English always mistrust the foreigner first, dear lady.” He turned to Caroline. “I met your mother. I even visited her in jail. Would you forgive me if I said that I believed she was more sinned against than sinning?”
“Thank you, Count Chlomsky. My Aunt Millie always says the same.”
“It is true. And her novels still sell, do they not?”
“Yes, there’s money in notoriety,” said Caroline, through tight-lips. “It paid my school fees if nothing else.”
“Such is the world,” said the count, sadly. “One must be notorious in able to attract attention.” Caroline had the strange feeling he was talking about himself and Mrs Oakengate, who was at that moment watching the prince walk up the stairs.
“I just need to have a little word with his highness,” she said, before leaving Caroline and the Count alone.
“You like Mrs Oakengate, don’t you?” said Caroline, not unkindly.
“I find her directness and general way of looking at the world charming. She is selfish and demanding, of that I am sure – I see it in the way she treats you and the way she has tre
ated previous companions – but Victoria Oakengate is also able to weather storms that would… What is the word you English use? Scupper? Yes, she is able to weather storms that would scupper most of us, simply by not allowing herself to be aware of them. That takes a special talent.”
Caroline laughed. “It certainly does. I must admit I wish I had some of that tunnel vision myself.”
“It would make life much simpler, would it not? Me, I have seen too much upheaval, in my own country and in the country I have adopted.”
“And which country is that?”
“Cariastan. They gave me asylum after the last war.”
Caroline’s eyes widened. She had not known that. Or if her foster aunt and uncle mentioned it, she had forgotten. “So you know the prince’s father then?”
“Not very well. He did not live for long after my arrival. These are dark times in Cariastan. Political infighting, and the lack of a proper leader since the old king died, without leaving an heir apparent, has made it an unpleasant place to be. It is a pretty little country, Miss Conrad. And the people, they try to remain cheerful, through it all. Like Mrs Oakengate, they have an indomitable spirit.”
“I wonder why the prince hasn’t made a claim on the throne,” said Caroline. “It seems to me – if you’ll forgive me for saying so – that he should be there, not here, attending a masked ball for Halloween.”
“That is what I have wondered. But … you will forgive me for saying so and I hope that this will go no further,” The Count bowed his head a little and lowered his voice. “He is not the prince I would want for Cariastan.”
“Who knows?” said Caroline. “Perhaps he will be like Henry the Fifth, and really come into his own when he has taken the crown.”
“Ah, yes, he will go ‘once more into the breach’, and lead Cariastan into the light, yes?”
“Let’s hope so.”
Caroline bid the Count goodnight and went to find Mrs Oakengate, who was at the top of the stairs, talking in animated tones to the prince. Blake stood at the bottom, watching Caroline with his arms folded and his lips set in a grim line.
A Collector of Hearts Page 3