An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition

by Cartland, Barbara

  Perhaps it would be wiser to tackle the old lady next. She might be more amenable. But the girl had been pretty, very pretty. He had always admired fair-haired women. Unlike Stella’s colour her hair was natural, he was sure of that. Her beauty was delicate and exquisite where Stella’s was flamboyant. But that was how he liked his women, the Rajah decided almost defiantly. There was little fun to be got out of them when they looked at you with cool disdain. That was how the girl with the pearls had looked at him last night, and there was something about her which made him feel small and insignificant.

  It was ridiculous, of course, besides being insulting. Was he not rich and powerful? Was he not absolute ruler over a State fifty thousand times as big as this tiny Principality? Yet he, the Rajah of Jehangar, could be rebuffed by a girl and made to feel inferior by the look in her eyes, by the way some magic, which he had not expected her to possess, had defeated his own dark powers.

  Why did he keep thinking about her, he asked himself angrily, and why compare her with Stella? Stella was pretty enough in all conscience, and she should have the ring. He would give it to her tonight when they went out to dinner. She would thank him with a little cry of pleasure and he would slip it on her finger. When he came to thank of it, he had not given her nearly so much jewellery as he had given some of his other favourites. She was not greedy and not always asking for things like other women he had known.

  Lola, the Spanish dancer, for instance, had cost him half a million francs in furs and clothes alone, and even now it annoyed him to think of the diamonds he had given her. He had been young in those days, but he had grown more cautious as he grew older. If it came to that, he had very nearly saved the price of it over the polo ponies.

  The Rajah had been smiling as he entered the Villa Shalimar. The servants in the hall bowed low as they always did at his appearance, but something in the expression on their faces, in the grovelling obeisance made him suspicious that something was wrong. Invariably his oriental instinct made him scent trouble almost before it was upon him. Sharply he glanced at one of his Aides-de-Camp who had come hurrying from a sitting room at the sound of his arrival.

  ‘Anything wrong?’ he asked.

  The Aide-de-Camp looked surprised. He was new to the job and had not yet gained the confidence of the Rajah’s servants who had been with him for many years.

  ‘No, Your Highness, nothing. Why do you ask?’

  The Rajah made no reply. It was then that another servant approached with a note on a silver tray. The Rajah glanced down at it, but did not recognise the writing.

  ‘From Miss Style, Your Highness.’

  The Rajah took the note in his hand. Impatiently he tore open the envelope. Stella’s large, untidy, almost illiterate writing covered two sheets of paper. The Rajah read it through with some difficulty for the spelling was erratic, then without saying a word he walked into the sitting room, followed by his Aide-de-Camp.

  As the door closed behind them, the servants exchanged glances. They were well aware that Stella’s and Francois’ action in leaving the villa would mean trouble for them. When the Rajah was angry, he could be very unpleasant.

  The Rajah walked across to the writing desk and laid Stella’s letter down. He turned to his Aide-de-Camp.

  ‘When did she leave?’ he asked.

  ‘Who, Your Highness?’ he asked.

  ‘Miss Style!’

  ‘Leave? But I did not know that she had left,’ the Aide-de-Camp replied uncomfortably.

  ‘You are a fool!’ the Rajah said rudely.

  ‘If Your Highness says so.’

  ‘I do say so, and you are dismissed. It is part of your job to know what is going on in this household, and if it does not meet with my approval, to prevent it.’

  ‘But, Your Highness – ’ the young man began.

  ‘Go, I tell you, and at once!’

  Humiliated and crestfallen, his dark eyes filling with tears, the Aide-de-Camp walked towards the door. As he reached it, the Rajah said,

  ‘Send Khusru to me!’

  Khusru, who had been expecting this very summons, was waiting in the hall. He was a big, bearded Sikh who, since the Rajah’s birth, had been his personal attendant. In a few minutes the Rajah was in possession of all the facts. Khusru knew the workings of the Rajah’s mind better than anybody else, and he was well aware that a scapegoat must be found. Humiliation and ‘loss of face’ could not be endured by a despot, and the Rajah was that among his own people.

  Khusru let the Rajah rage uncontrollably and with the petulant fury of a spoilt child against Stella until the worst of his anger gave place to an ugly and dangerous self pity. This was Khusru’s moment.

  ‘If I may presume to express an opinion, Your Highness, I do not think it was entirely the lady’s fault,’ he said softly. ‘Francois is a very persuasive man. The French are like that, eloquent, full of soft words and sweet sayings, but François would never have succeeded in his seduction had the lady been happy – ’

  ‘What do you mean?’ the Rajah asked sharply.

  ‘Your Highness knows full well that I do not mean she was unhappy when she was with Your Highness. Then she was in a paradise of delight, as are all those on whom Your Highness is gracious enough to smile. But when she was not in the sunlight of Your Highness’s company, it was a very different matter.’

  ‘Explain yourself,’ the Rajah commanded.

  ‘It was the sister of the lady, the ugly cripple, who caused her much unhappiness. Often I heard her voice raised in anger, often I heard her say cruel, hurtful things to the lady that Your Highness honoured. It was not right, I thought, but who am I, a humble servant, to carry tales?’

  ‘You should have told me,’ the Rajah said.

  ‘Yes, yes, Your Highness – I am guilty of great stupidity. Your unfortunate servant sees that now, but at the time I thought it of no consequence. Now it is obvious that the lady has been forced to escape the cruelty of the hunchback, from which even Your Highness’s kindness and generosity could not save her.’

  The suggestion salved the Rajah’s pride, his eyes were less sullen.

  ‘I see what you mean, Khusru,’ he said. ‘The hunchback has not gone with her?’

  ‘No, no, Your Highness. She is alone in the Villa Mimosa.’

  ‘Turn her out at once,’ the Rajah said sharply. ‘I will not have her there.’

  ‘Tonight, Your Highness?’

  ‘You heard me! I said at once! I always disliked her! She has brought bad luck on the place.’

  ‘Your Highness has great wisdom! Your Highness’s instinct could never be at fault.’

  ‘Turn her out then.’

  ‘And if she has no money with which to return to her own country – to England?’

  ‘Is that my concern?’ the Rajah asked. ‘Let her starve! Why should I care!’

  ‘Let it be as Your Highness commands.’

  Khusru bowed himself to the door. As he reached it, another servant entered the room. He carried a card on a silver salver which he handed to the Rajah. The Rajah looked at the card. Monsieur Gutier, Chef de la Sûreté! What does he want?’

  ‘To see Your Highness. Monsieur regrets if it is an inopportune moment, but he will not keep Your Highness more than a few minutes.’

  ‘Very well, show him in,’ the Rajah said.

  As he waited, he frowned. What could the Police want with him? He could think of nothing in which he might have contravened the laws of the Principality.

  The door opened again and Monsieur Gutier came into the room. He was a dapper little man, who looked his best in the spectacular blue and white uniform of the Monte Carlo Police.

  ‘You wish to see me?’ the Rajah asked.

  ‘I must apologise if I am disturbing Your Highness,’ he answered. But there is a small matter on which I should be grateful for your help.’

  He drew from his breast pocket a leather wallet.

  ‘I have here,’ he said, his voice solemn and slightly pompous, �
�the personal effects of a man who, most unfortunately was found dead in the Casino Gardens the night before last’

  ‘Murder or suicide?’ the Rajah asked with a faint sneer.

  He was well aware how much the authorities disliked either occurring in the precincts of Monte Carlo.

  ‘We assume it to have been suicide,’ Monsieur Gutier replied.

  ‘I suppose, as usual, he had lost all his money at the tables?’ the Rajah asked.

  ‘I should hardly imagine the gentleman in question had much money to lose.’

  There was a reproach in the Detective’s voice, as if he resented the Rajah’s instantaneous assumption that the Casino was to blame. ‘At the same time, Your Highness may be able to tell us more about the deceased.’

  ‘I?’ the Rajah ejaculated. ‘Who was he?’

  ‘A man named Henry Dulton.’

  ‘I have never heard of him!’

  ‘Indeed!’

  Monsieur Gutier’s tone was slightly sceptical.

  ‘Why should you think that I had?’ the Rajah enquired.

  ‘There was a letter in this wallet addressed to Your Highness. Perhaps you would like to read it.’

  He held out a sheet of paper and the Rajah took it. The spidery, tiny writing was easier to read than Stella’s had been and he read quickly,

  To His Highness, The Rajah of Jehangar.

  Your Highness,

  I understand you are interested in the identity of the lady staying at the Hôtel de Paris and registered as Mademoiselle Fântóme. I can give you the information you require. Should you be sufficiently interested to persuade me to divulge it, I will call at your convenience.

  I beg to remain,

  Your Highness’s most obedient servant,

  Henry Dulton.

  The Rajah handed the note back to the Chief.

  ‘I personally have no knowledge of the man,’ he said, ‘but I think one of my Aides-de-Camp may have got in touch with him. He spoke to me of someone who could obtain information regarding the lady in question. You would wish to see him?’

  ‘I would be grateful if Your Highness would allow me to do so.’

  ‘I will have you shown to his sitting room,’ the Rajah said, then paused before ringing the bell. ‘It is a pity the man died before he could give me the information I required.’

  ‘A great pity, Your Highness. I regret that we cannot help you in this matter. Mademoiselle Fântóme and the lady with her, Madame Secret, are not known to us. Several people have already made discreet enquiries, for the two ladies have aroused much curiosity in Monte Carlo.’

  ‘It is unfortunate that Mr. Dulton – or whoever he might be – died quite so quickly,’ the Rajah said. ‘You are sure that it was suicide?’

  ‘Quite sure, Your Highness. The pistol with which he killed himself lay beside him, and the bullet in his head had obviously been fired by that very weapon.’

  ‘Convincing evidence, of course. There was nothing else of interest in his possession?’

  Monsieur Gutier shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Very few things, Your Highness. Only this wallet and I am afraid there is nothing here which might help us. Just some of his own visiting cards and a few others advertising places of amusement in Paris.’

  Monsieur Gutier opened the wallet as he spoke and, pulling out come of its contents, laid them on the writing table.

  ‘I gather that Mr. Dulton was what one might call a tout,’ he said primly. For instance, there are a number of cards here from 5 Rue de Roi. Your Highness has doubtless heard of the establishment, its reputation is well known. Henry Dulton would have received a commission on the introduction of clients. We shall make enquiries in Paris, but I doubt if they can he of any assistance with regard to his death.’

  The Rajah picked up one of the cards which the Chief indicated. It was a plain piece of pasteboard with the words ‘5 Rue de Roi’ written across it and at the top left hand corner a single sentence, ‘La Maison plus chic de tout Paris’. In the bottom right hand corner in very small type were the words ‘Madame Bleuet’.

  The Rajah gave an exclamation,

  ‘Madame Bleuet!’ he said excitedly. ‘Madame Bleuet! I never forget a face, never!’

  11

  The Restaurant des Fleurs was having a Gala evening and all the most distinguished visitors to Monte Carlo were seated in its big dining room, the windows of which overlooked the sea. There were flowers everywhere, flowers artistically arranged on every table, flowers decorating the walls and hanging in twisted garlands from the ceiling.

  Every woman had been given a bouquet on arrival, a small, beautifully arranged posy of scented flowers set in a holder of white perforated paper, and each male guest had received a buttonhole. These, combined with the variegated colours of the ladies’ dresses and jewels, their sequin-sprinkled fans and shimmering head dresses, produced a scintillating effect of colour and of gaiety.

  On one side of the Restaurant there was a garden where the guests could wander and cool themselves after dancing.

  This, too, had been turned into a fairyland of enchantment. Coloured Chinese lanterns hung from every tree, flickering candle lights in coloured glass containers decorated the edges of the paths. It was all very seductive, and at the end of a melodious waltz many couples disappeared from the crowded Restaurant out into the soft shadows of the garden.

  Mistral, sitting alone with Aunt Emilie, wished she had someone to dance with, someone who would take her into the garden so that she could see closer the wonderland of lanterns and fairy lights and not have only to guess at their beauty from a table inside the Restaurant.

  Everyone she knew by sight in Monte Carlo was present tonight, and the habitués of the Casino as well as those staying at the Hotel seemed to have moved over in a body.

  Even the old Countess Kisselev whom Mistral had helped to her carriage that first night in the Casino and who had distressed her so unnecessarily by her tears was with a party of young people.

  Sir Robert was also in the Restaurant, but his table was a long way from Mistral’s and only occasionally could she catch a glimpse of his profile. He was with Lady Violet, of course, who was wearing a striking gown of mauve crepeline trimmed with sprays of ivy. Prince Nikolai was entertaining a dozen friends at the most important table in the room, and not far from him was the Rajah of Jehangar. The Rajah was with two of his own countrymen and Mistral wondered why he was not accompanied by the pretty lady to whom she had spoken in the Cloakroom of the Casino the night before.

  She had looked forward to seeing Stella again, and at the same time had been extremely apprehensive as to what Aunt Emilie would say when she bowed and smiled, as she had every intention of doing. She had been ready to defend her reasons for acknowledging an acquaintance she had made in so unconventional a manner, and was strangely disappointed that the necessity did not arise.

  Everyone seemed to be gay and happy tonight, and Mistral, watching them, thought wistfully that it would be amusing to be with someone of her own age.

  But having formed the thought, she instantly rebuked herself for being ungrateful. She was exceptionally fortunate to be in Monte Carlo at all, she told herself, and it was kind of Aunt Emilie, however irritable she might be at times, to have brought her here, to have given her so many expensive clothes, and to afford her the privilege of watching many of the most distinguished people in Europe.

  Impulsively she turned to her aunt.

  ‘I feel I have not thanked you sufficiently, Aunt Emilie, for all you have done for me,’ she said sweetly. ‘Why, I might at this moment be still at the Convent. I should be in bed by now in the darkness, for we were not allowed to read after nine o’clock. But instead, I am here – listening to this wonderful music, watching all these exciting people! I am grateful really I am. Thank you so very, very much.’

  Emilie glanced at her in what seemed to Mistral a curiously speculative manner, then she said sourly,

  ‘Unfortunately your gratitude do
es not succeed in enabling you to obey my instructions.’

  Mistral’s eyes widened.

  ‘What instructions, Aunt Emilie? I try always to do what you tell me. Have I forgotten something?’

  ‘No, you have not forgotten what I have told you,’ Emilie said. ‘You are merely inept – perhaps stupid is the right word at carrying out my commands.’

  Her tone was scornful and Mistral felt the blood rising in her cheeks.

  ‘I am sorry, Aunt Emilie, if I have failed to do something you required of me. Will you not explain what it is?’

  ‘You know the answer quite well,’ Emilie snapped. ‘You have two eyes and they are not blind. You can see the Prince over there. He is entertaining a party of friends. There are women in the party, but are you among them? No! Why has he not invited you?’

  There was a long pause while Emilie waited for an answer, her eyes dark, her lips pursed together.

  ‘I – I suppose because he did not want – me,’ Mistral faltered at last.

  ‘Why not?’ Emilie inquired. ‘I left you alone together this afternoon while we were watching the yacht racing. I thought that you could not fail to entice him into offering us hospitality either for tonight or tomorrow. What did you talk about?’

  Mistral looked down and crumbled a roll of bread between her fingers. She remembered how embarrassed she had been by her aunt’s deliberate and all too obvious manoeuvring to attract the attention of the Prince.

  There had been a great many people watching the yacht racing and the Prince, whose own yacht was one of the competitors, was obviously far too interested in the races to take even a perfunctory notice of the many beautifully dressed women crowding the terrace.

  Other men behaved very differently. They turned their backs on the sea and even went as far as to focus their binoculars on a pretty woman’s face or a well turned ankle.