An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition

by Cartland, Barbara

  ‘Yes, I am well enough to come here, although the Doctor tried to prevent me. I had to come, for it was of the utmost importance, you understand.’

  ‘Is it? I mean – I do not understand,’ Mistral answered, her eyes wide. ‘Please explain. But before you do, sit down. I have not yet been able to thank you for coming to – my rescue last night.’

  ‘There is no need to thank me,’ the Prince said quietly.

  ‘But of course I must thank you,’ Mistral expostulated. ‘I would not have you think that I would have gone away and left you – had I not been – unconscious.’

  ‘I understood,’ the Prince said. ‘I saw what happened, and Sir Robert’s assumption was under the circumstances, quite justifiable. It was about that that I came to see you this morning.’

  ‘Oh!’

  Mistral could think of nothing she could say. The mere mention of Robert was enough to bring all her misery back to her again.

  ‘I have been thinking about last night,’ the Prince said, ‘and I realise that it was both unconventional and indiscreet to take you to my Villa. At the time I was so perturbed about your finger that I forgot the construction other people might put upon the fact that you were alone and unchaperoned in my house.’

  ‘But nobody saw us,’ Mistral said quickly.

  ‘Sir Robert did for one,’ the Prince replied.

  ‘But Sir Robert would not – ’ Mistral began, and then let her voice die away in silence.

  She had been about to say that Sir Robert would not speak of it, but she wondered if she could give such an assurance. What did she know about what Sir Robert would do or not do? She had thought that she had understood many things about him, only to find herself completely and utterly mistaken.

  He was the one person in the world whose actions or reactions she could not possibly anticipate at this moment.

  ‘Sir Robert is a gentleman,’ the Prince said as if he had not heard Mistral’s interruption. ‘But there are also the servants, and one cannot rely upon them. In Monte Carlo the very air carries secrets, the walls have ears. No, Mademoiselle, we did a very foolish thing last night and I cannot allow you to suffer for something which was entirely due to my stupidity. I have therefore come here this morning to ask if you will honour me by becoming my wife.’

  Not for one moment had Mistral expected him to say anything of the sort.

  At his words she stared at him incredulously, far too astonished to reply. As he waited, his eyes on her face, the door which led into Emilie’s bedroom opened and she came into the room. The way in which she entered and the expression on her face told Mistral that she had been listening. The door had been ajar and she must have been standing there waiting for some time.

  She swept into the centre of the room dramatically. The Prince rose to his feet and so did Mistral.

  ‘Your Serene Highness,’ Emilie said, making him a small curtsey. ‘You must forgive me for not being here to receive you the moment you arrived, but doubtless you have not regretted my absence. Will you forgive me if I tell you that I overheard your last words as I entered the room?’

  The Prince gave Emilie a speculative look which told Mistral even as if he had said the words that he knew she had been listening. But his voice was courteous as he replied,

  ‘In that case there is no need for me to repeat myself, Madame.’

  ‘None at all,’ Emilie said, ‘and now we will all of us go at once to the Chateau d’Horizon.’

  To my father?’ The Prince asked in surprise.

  To the Grand Duke,’ Emilie said firmly, and Mistral could hear the rising excitement in her voice.

  She clutched at her scattered senses and took a step forward.

  ‘One minute, Aunt Emilie,’ she said. ‘I have not yet answered the Prince.’

  Her aunt turned on her with an expression of such ferocity that Mistral quailed before her.

  ‘You will say nothing, Mistral,’ she said. ‘There is no need. We will, as I have already said, leave at once and seek audience with the Grand Duke.’

  ‘But I do not understand, Madame,’ the Prince said. ‘If you wish to see my father, there is, of course, nothing to prevent your doing so, but he is in ignorance of my intention in coming here, and I would wish to break the news to him myself and in my own way.’

  ‘You will tell him now,’ Emilie said, ‘and you will repeat in front of him the proposal that you have just made to my niece.’

  The Prince looked for a moment as if he would defy her, then with a shrug of his shoulders which expressed most eloquently his opinion of her, he gave in.

  ‘If that is what you wish, Madame, I have no objection.’

  ‘But, Aunt Emilie – ’ Mistral began.

  ‘You will be silent,’ Emilie snapped at her, and Mistral felt it was quite hopeless to try to intervene.

  She only wanted to say that she had no desire to marry the Prince. She understood only too clearly that he was asking her out of gallantry and that it would be impossible for her, even if she loved him, to take advantage of such an action. Besides, she did not love him. Whatever Robert might feel about her, even if she were never to see him again in the whole of her life, she would love him always.

  She knew that as clearly and as decisively as if she could foresee into the future. There would never be another man in her life, there would never be anyone else whom she could love so completely and so whole heartedly. In fact her heart was no longer hers.

  She had given it to Robert that moment in the Church when his lips met hers, and she had surrendered herself utterly into his keeping. He might not want her, but she was his and nothing that anyone else could say or do would alter that indisputable fact. Yet it was impossible to fight with Aunt Emilie or even to argue with her.

  Mistral felt as if she moved in a dream as in silence all three of them went downstairs. Outside the Hotel the Prince’s carriage was waiting. Still without speaking they got into it, Emilie and Mistral sitting side by side on the back seat, the Prince facing them.

  This could not be happening, Mistral thought, as the carriage drove off. And yet there was the Prince sitting opposite her, his pallor making him perhaps more handsome than usual, although his brows were drawn together as if in pain. And there beside her was Aunt Emilie. There was something terrifying in her very bearing, in the strange, hard glitter of her eyes and in the triumph of her expression.

  ‘This is what she has been working for,’ Mistral thought suddenly. ‘It is for this that she has been scheming and plotting! Yet what happens now? What does it all mean? Why are we going to the Grand Duke?’

  They drove on in utter silence. Mistral longed to speak, but she knew that directly she uttered a word she would again be commanded to be silent. The Prince stared out of the window. She wished she could tell him not to worry, that whatever Aunt Emilie said or did she could not force her to marry against her will. She might bully or subdue her, but marriage was a Sacrament of the Church and in that at least she must be allowed the expression of her own free will.

  But it was no use trying to tell the Prince that in Aunt Emilie’s presence and Mistral could only suffer in silence, at times feeling so weak that she felt she must faint. It was lack of food, she knew, remembering that she had had no breakfast. It was with relief that she realised that they were nearing the Chateau d’Horizon.

  It was a huge mansion surrounded by spacious gardens. As the horses turned in at the great wrought iron gates, fountains were playing and there was a riot of colour everywhere, from the deepest shade of crimson to the palest blush rose, from azure blue to purple, from pale yellow to bronze. And besides the flowers the almond blossom was in bloom on hundreds of trees, its shell-pink blossoms silhouetted against the blue sky.

  Mistral thought it unbelievably beautiful. But at the same time she could hardly take in anything but the ominous excitement in Aunt Emilie’s bearing as she stepped from the carriage and climbed the marble stairway to the great glass and gilt doors of the Villa.r />
  ‘Where is His Imperial Highness?’ the Prince asked, and a grey haired butler led them through several big lofty-ceilinged rooms.

  The Chateau had a space and a magnificence beyond anything Mistral had ever known in the whole of her life.

  Worried and perturbed though she was, she could not help noticing as she passed them the splendour of the tapestries, the exquisite pieces of furniture, the magnificent collection of portraits hanging on the walls. In most of them she detected a resemblance to the Prince, then chid herself for taking an interest in anything save the Prince himself as he followed behind Aunt Emilie.

  They were ushered finally into an even more beautiful room than the ones through which they had passed. It had three windows overlooking the sea, and the sun was shining through them, but despite the warmth a huge log fire was burning in an open fireplace. Beside it in a high backed armchair which gave the appearance of a throne was sitting an elderly man.

  He glanced up as the butler announced them, then rose to his feet, and Mistral’s first thought was that he was the best looking man she had ever seen in her life, her second that she could trust him absolutely. He was very tall, his hair was turning grey, and it was easy to see from whom the Prince got his good looks. But if anything the Grand Duke was more handsome than his son. His features were classic, clear cut and the very zenith of refinement and good breeding.

  He looked what he was, an aristocrat and a man who had both lived his life fully and suffered in the experience. There was something very charming in his smile, something, too, of the philosopher and thinker in the gravity of his eyes as they rested first on his son and then on Emilie.

  ‘Good morning, Nikolai,’ the Grand Duke said. ‘This is a surprise visit.’

  ‘I must apologise, Father, for not warning you that it was my intention to call on you this morning,’ Prince Nikolai replied, ‘but I did not know it myself until a few moments ago. May I present Madame Secret?’

  He indicated Emilie with a little gesture of his hand, but she made no movement to curtsey.

  ‘And Mademoiselle Fântóme, this lady’s niece.’

  Mistral curtsied, then, as she raised her eyes to the Duke’s face, he put out his hand and took hers.

  Mademoiselle Fântóme?’ he said. ‘I think I have heard of you.’

  ‘I have spoken of her, Father,’ the Prince said.

  ‘Perhaps now you will repeat to your father the proposal that you made to my niece a short time ago in the Hôtel de Paris,’ Emilie snapped, and her voice was harsh and somehow discordant.

  The Prince gave her a glance of dislike, but his voice was calm as he replied,

  ‘Certainly, Madame, I was just about to do so. Father, I have asked Mademoiselle Fantóme to honour me by becoming my wife.’

  ‘Indeed!’ the Grand Duke said. He was still holding Mistral’s hand and now, as he released it, he said quietly, ‘Will you tell me your name, Mademoiselle?’

  ‘It is Mistral, Sir.’

  ‘And your other name?’ the Duke asked.

  Mistral hesitated, then Emilie’s voice interposed,

  ‘Yes, tell him, tell him the truth, the real truth. I want him to hear it.’

  There was something so horrible in the way she spoke that Mistral felt herself tremble, then she looked up into the Grand Duke’s face and felt curiously reassured. He was looking down with calm, friendly eyes. He had not turned his head nor taken any notice of Emilie’s outburst.

  ‘My name is Mistral Wytham,’ she answered in a low tone.

  ‘What is your age?’ the Grand Duke asked.

  ‘I am eighteen,’ Mistral replied.

  ‘Tell him when you were born,’ Emilie said harshly.

  The Duke seemed to straighten his shoulders. He looked across at Emilie.

  ‘Why was I not told of this before?’ he asked.

  Emilie laughed. It was an ugly, discordant sound.

  ‘You may well ask that question. It was because Alice did not want you to know. It was because she made me promise on her deathbed that I would never tell you. I have not told you now, you have discovered it for yourself, discovered it because your son – yes, your only son, of whom you are so fond wants to marry the daughter of the woman you treated so vilely that she fled back to me for protection. A pretty tangle, isn’t it? And how are you going to solve it, I wonder? Your son is in love, and who is he in love with? With Mistral, the daughter of Alice Wytham, whom you brought here nineteen years ago and whom you despoiled and betrayed for your own vile pleasure.’

  There was so much bitterness and spite in Emilie’s passionate declamation that instinctively Mistral turned towards the Prince as if for protection and found him beside her.

  He took her hand in his and held it tightly. She clung to him, thankful for his strength. She knew that he was as astonished as she was at what was occurring. Yet neither of them could say anything. They could only cling together, two children lost in a wood of terror and bewilderment.

  Only the Grand Duke seemed calm and utterly unperturbed. He looked at Emilie and his voice was stern as he said very quietly,

  ‘I made enquiries as to what had happened to your sister and I was told that she was dead.’

  ‘Yes, she died,’ Emilie replied, ‘and you were instrumental in her death. You made enquiries, you say? Yes, you made them eight months after she left you! I took good care that you should not learn then of the child that Alice had left behind, for she left her to me and not to you. The thought of a child might have pleased you, but it was too late then to regret that you had shamefully betrayed an innocent and decent girl.’

  ‘You are very fond of that word “betrayed”,’ the Duke said quietly. ‘I think we must be talking at cross purposes. I did not betray your sister. Of her own free will she consented to marry me.’

  ‘She married you?’

  Emilie’s question was almost a scream.

  ‘Yes, she married me,’ the Duke replied. ‘Did you not know that? We were married here in my Private Chapel both by a Priest of my religion and one of Alice’s. The records are there should you wish to inspect them.’

  ‘Married! I didn’t know! I didn’t guess!’

  Emilie’s hand went up to her throat as if she felt something was choking her. The Grand Duke looked at her and his eyes were stern.

  ‘You should have known your sister better than that,’ he said, ‘but from what I heard of you and from what I have learned now I am afraid that you know no one save yourself. It was you who ruined our marriage, Emilie Riguad. I believe Alice loved me as I loved her, but her love was not greater than her fear of you. You frightened her, and she was too frightened after she married me to write and tell you that we were man and wife. When I suggested it, she grew quite hysterical, telling me that you would be angry, that no one must know, not even your cousins down at the quay. And so we kept it a secret but gradually I found that the poison you had instilled into my wife had gone too deep for me to save her from her own fear and her own misery. You had poisoned her by instilling in her a hatred of men such as you yourself had for every man with whom you came in contact, and she had grown to believe what you had taught her, that all men are evil and bestial.

  ‘Nothing I could say, nothing I could do, would change her. She shrank from me. Her love for me turned to hatred – a hatred that you had taught her from her very childhood. That was what you had done and that was why she left me, turning away from love and happiness, flying back to you and your hate, which was stronger than anything I could offer. It was you who smashed our marriage, Emilie Riguad, and it was you who killed your sister, not I.’

  Emilie gave a strange cry.

  ‘It isn’t true,’ she shouted. ‘You lie! You are saying this to justify yourself, to escape the revenge I planned for you. I have planned it all these years and I have succeeded in what I have set out to do. I wanted to ruin your life and the life of your son, and that is what I have managed to do now. You won’t forget this moment, you won’t b
e able to escape from it. You ruined Alice, you killed her, and her daughter – your child and hers – has been brought up and educated by the money obtained from a – ’

  ‘Be silent!’

  The Duke’s voice, clear and authoritative, broke across the ugly word. Even as he spoke something strange happened to Emilie. She seemed to choke, a terrible expression crossed her features, torturing and twisting her face. She put out her hands as if she would grasp something for support, and then, before anyone could reach her, she pitched forward on the floor.

  15

  Emilie lived for three days, but she never regained consciousness. Jeanne nursed her devotedly and Mistral was at her bedside practically the whole time, but there was nothing either of them could do. She had been put to bed in the Chateau d’Horizon and the Grand Duke sent for his own Doctor, but from the very moment he set eyes on Emilie his verdict was decisive and without hope.

  ‘This lady has had a severe stroke,’ he said, ‘and it is practically impossible for her to live for more than a few days. If by some miracle she does survive, she will be partially paralysed for the rest of her life.’

  Mistral, watching Emilie sink deeper and deeper into unconsciousness, felt that this was the most merciful and kindest thing that could happen.

  Her face was horribly distorted and it was even difficult to recognise Emilie’s undoubted good looks when one looked at the poor twisted features of the woman who lay oblivious in the bed.

  For long hours at a time Mistral sat beside her aunt, and, sitting there, it seemed to her that she herself thought little and felt nothing. It was as if time stood still and she was in a No man’s Land between the past and the future, a kind of vacuum in which she moved and had her being, but in a dazed, bewildered manner which left everything indecisive.

  She did not understand that she was suffering from shock and that, because she had been through so much, nothing had the power to hurt her further, that her nerves were sealed off, as it were, from the outer world.