A Dangerous Disguise

by Barbara Cartland

  Slowly she rose and began to move about the room, trying to accustom herself to the weight of the jewellery. When she felt a little more confident she turned.

  The Duke was regarding her with a look in his eyes that she did not understand. He seemed thunderstruck.

  "Not every woman can wear magnificent jewels," he said. "But you do them justice."

  "You think they will help me play my part convincingly?" Ola asked.

  He seemed to come out of a dream.

  "Your part – yes, indeed. You will play your part perfectly, I know. Now ladies, shall we be on our way?"

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  On the journey the Duke told them they were going to the Savoy Theatre, to see a performance of Princess Ida by Gilbert & Sullivan.

  "It's an operetta," he explained, "about a Princess who decides she doesn't want to marry, so she founds a university of like-minded ladies, and withdraws from the world."

  "What's the point of that?" demanded Greta, scandalised.

  The Duke grinned.

  "It makes the Prince chase after her, and fight to win her hand."

  "That's all right, then," said Greta, sounding satisfied. "It doesn't do to give the gentlemen too easy a time."

  The Duke gave Ola a wry look.

  "I know somebody who agrees with you," he said.

  The 'Princess' loftily disdained to answer this, looking out of the carriage at the street, where she was attracting much attention. People gaped at her glittering jewels and her regal manner.

  She was getting into the way of it now, and could adopt a majestic air. So she sat there, looking royal, wondering if the Duke thought her beautiful, and castigating herself for caring.

  It was only a short journey to the Savoy Theatre and soon she was being handed down the carriage steps to sweep into the theatre, her hand lightly on the Duke's arm, with 'Lady Krasler' bringing up the rear in stately fashion.

  It occurred to her that Greta was enjoying all this. She would have enjoyed it herself if her heart had not been aching.

  The manager of the theatre bowed before 'Princess Ola' who inclined her head graciously.

  "The Royal box is ready for Your Highness."

  The box was large and elegant, with chairs of gilt and plush. In deference to the rule that royalty arrives last, the rest of the audience were already present, and as the box protruded into the auditorium they all had a clear view of Her Royal Highness advancing to the front.

  What they did not see was the Duke of Camborne gently taking hold of her elbow to prevent her from sitting too soon, or hear his murmur of,

  "Keep standing while they play your national anthem."

  She remained still, her head high on her long neck, while the orchestra played 'her' national anthem. The Savoy Theatre was famed as the first public building in London to use electric light, and now that light winked and sparkled off the Camborne diamonds and emeralds.

  Down below the crowd 'oohed' and 'aahed' at the beauty of a Princess who looked exactly how a Princess ought to look. And when the music finished they applauded her.

  She smiled and acknowledged the tribute. Then the Duke drew out a chair for her to sit, took his place beside her, and the lights went down.

  Afterwards she could never remember any details of the performance. All she was aware of was the Duke, sitting close. She could hear his voice when he laughed, and sometimes she thought he was looking at her, not the operetta.

  The force of his look made her tremble, and she longed to speak to him, to find the words that would end their quarrel.

  But there were no such words.

  She could never blot out the memory of his kiss, and her own passionate response to it, and all the while he had been reporting back to British Intelligence.

  One part of her she knew she was being unreasonable. After all, it was she who had started everything and as Greta had said, what else could he have done?

  But this had nothing to do with reason. This was a matter for the heart. And her heart felt betrayed and disillusioned.

  After the performance he took them both to dine in a fashionable restaurant, where once again Ola received stares and admiration.

  "You would think they had never seen royalty before," she observed.

  "Yes, but you look like royalty, and many of the real ones don't," said the Duke with a grin.

  She noticed that he spoke with perfect composure, and seemed not in the least troubled by the coolness between them.

  Perhaps he did not care.

  Perhaps it even suited him.

  When their food had been served he spoke in a businesslike fashion.

  "We need to settle the details for tomorrow. It's the great day of the celebrations, the day when Her Majesty rides in state to Westminster Abbey for the service of Thanksgiving. I shall be on duty and unable to be with you, so I wish you both to remain at the hotel."

  "Certainly," said Greta obediently.

  "There is no certainly about it," Ola said at once. "Perhaps I should like to go out and watch the procession to the Abbey."

  "No," said the Duke at once.

  "In other words, I'm still under suspicion," Ola flashed.

  "My dear," Greta protested. "The Duke knows best. He's only thinking of your welfare."

  "No, he's thinking I might assassinate the Queen on her journey. Don't be fooled by all this, Greta. He still doesn't trust me."

  The Duke stared at her and for the first time that evening the mask fell from his face, leaving behind pure, raging anger.

  "Don't be ridiculous!" he said with soft vehemence.

  She stared at him, shocked by the blazing fury in his eyes. For the first time she realised that this was a man at the end of his tether. Some violent, suppressed emotion was driving him on, even while he played the smooth courtier.

  He calmed down. The courtier's mask was in place again.

  "You misunderstand me," he said. "As Lady Krasler says, I am concerned for your welfare. You have attracted a lot of attention, and if you go out without me tomorrow, I'm concerned that some situation may arise that you would be unable to deal with.

  "Suppose, for instance, that somebody confronted you, speaking Oltenitzan? It would be no use saying that you only spoke German."

  "I suppose I got that wrong too?" she said crossly.

  "No, you got that right. German is the aristocratic language of Oltenitza. I congratulate you. But if someone is intent on discovering the truth about you, he would certainly test your knowledge of the local language. Without me there to intervene, you could be easily be in difficulties.

  "So please oblige me by taking no risks, and agreeing to remain in your hotel suite."

  "We shall do so," Greta said at once.

  Ola glared indignantly, but she could not defy the Duke now, after the astounding look she had seen in his eyes.

  "You can spend the day studying some books that I shall leave with you tonight," the Duke continued. "They will tell you about 'your' country, so that you can appear knowledgeable at the banquet tomorrow night.

  "I appreciate that you would rather be out enjoying yourself with the crowd, but you are now working for British Intelligence, and we all have to obey our orders."

  "Indeed we do," she said, giving him a level gaze. "Orders must be obeyed, whatever the cost."

  Their eyes met. His own were suddenly full of sadness.

  "Whatever the cost," he agreed quietly.

  After that the evening died. Conversation was spasmodic, and they were all relieved when it was time to return to the hotel.

  The Duke handed the books to Greta and saw them to the door.

  "Until tomorrow evening," he said. "I shall call for you at six o'clock. Goodnight, Your Royal Highness."

  Although there was nobody to see them here, he bowed formally. Then he took his leave without a backward glance.

  *

  "I don't know how we're going to get through all these," Greta said next morning, spreading out the book
s on the table. "But if we work hard we should become familiar with the map and the principle cities."

  "I hope you do," said Ola, pinning a hat onto her head. "You can tell me all about it when I return."

  "My dear, whatever are you doing?"

  "I'm going out. Did he really think I was going to be cooped up in here all day with everyone else watching the procession?"

  "But you said – he said – "

  "He said I had to obey orders. His orders! Oh no!"

  She headed for the door but Greta got there first and stood before it with her arms folded.

  "Greta, I'm warning you – "

  "Oho, madam! You're warning me are you? Suddenly you're a Princess! Not with me."

  "Greta, please, you simply can't stop me."

  "Who said anything about stopping you? I'm coming with you."

  Ola gave a crow of laughter.

  "There! Now he can't say I'm taking risks."

  "You're going to tell him about this?" asked Greta.

  "Of course I am. Now hurry up. I don't want to miss the procession."

  Feeling like schoolgirls playing truant they slipped out into the street, nearly colliding with a couple of middle-aged women. They were dressed rather mannishly in shirts, ties and straw boaters, and seemed to be giving more attention to the travel guides in their hands than to the street around them.

  There were mutual apologies, and then Ola and Greta slipped into the crowds all streaming to the route of the procession. It would travel from Buckingham Palace down the Mall, under Admiralty Arch and then along Whitehall to Westminster Abbey.

  In a sudden surge of eagerness, Ola seized Greta's hand and they ran all the way from Piccadilly to the Mall. Terraced benches had been set up along the route, filled with cheering, flag waving people.

  It seemed impossible that they could squeeze into one of these packed stands, but someone in the friendly crowd saw them hesitating and yelled, stretching out a hand to them. Somehow they managed to scramble up three tiers.

  Now they had an excellent view of the procession, which had already started. To one side it stretched away as far as the eye could see in the direction of the Palace. To the other side it stretched ahead, also as far as the eye could see.

  Soldiers everywhere, their different uniforms forming blocks of colour as they rode past. Then came the Indian cavalry, bearing lances as they escorted the Queen's carriage, at her special request. Protected by them, Her Majesty sat in the gilded state landau drawn by six cream horses.

  Instead of state robes and crown she wore, as she had insisted, her widow's bonnet. It was as if she wanted the world to see her as a grieving widow, a mother, a grandmother – except that she was grandmother to an Empire.

  Ola felt tears prick her eyes as she saw the woman who had trusted her and been so kind to her.

  Then the landau had rolled past, to be followed by other carriages bearing the aristocracy, the Dukes, Marquises, Earls, Viscounts, all in their robes of state.

  And there was the Duke of Camborne, splendid in a scarlet velvet cloak, with ermine. As his carriage rolled by it seemed to Ola that he looked right in her direction.

  Had he seen her in the crowd? Was that a look of amazement and anger on his face? It was impossible to be certain. But as he moved away she saw him turn his head backwards, as though seeking something he was not certain that he had seen.

  And then it was all over, for the moment. The procession passed on to the Abbey, and the crowds were left to enjoy themselves with the numberless entertainments London provided.

  There were stalls everywhere. Some sold Jubilee souvenirs, and Greta bought a china mug, while Ola purchased an octagonal plate, both with the Queen's portrait. From another stall they bought two fried sausages and a bottle of lemonade, and then strolled into St. James's park.

  There they sat, enjoying the sun and the feeling of having nothing to do but enjoy themselves.

  "I'm beginning to understand why royalty likes to get away from being stared at," Ola said with a sigh. "I've only experienced it for a day or two, and already I shall be glad when it ends."

  "My goodness, yes!" Greta exclaimed. "You can't even get away from them here. Look at those men staring at you."

  Ola followed her finger and saw two men standing near a flower bed. They were watching in a blatant manner, sometimes looking at her, sometimes at each other as though seeking confirmation.

  "They've been sent to check my identity," Ola confided in a conspiratorial whisper. "At any moment, one of them will come and speak to me in Oltenitzan."

  They chuckled, recalling the Duke's warning.

  "What will you do?" Greta asked.

  "Nothing. I shall leave that to you. As my lady-in waiting it's your job to deal with people on my behalf."

  "But I don't know Oltenitzan either."

  "Then perhaps we'd better leave."

  As they walked away Greta said,

  "I think I saw them last night as we were leaving the theatre. So they must have seen you there, and they couldn't believe it when they recognised you today."

  "Mmm! That must be it."

  "Where are we going now?"

  "Let's go and stand outside Buckingham Palace. The Queen will be arriving soon."

  They managed to get close to the gates just before the crowd began to converge from all directions. After waiting nearly an hour they were rewarded by the sight of the Queen's arrival. A few minutes later she appeared on the balcony and they joined in the cheers.

  "And now," said Ola, "I think we should hurry back to the hotel and try to arrive before the Duke descends on me in a fury. Greta?"

  Greta did not seem to be listening. She was staring deep into the crowd.

  "Greta, what is it?"

  "I just thought I saw those two men again, but they vanished."

  "How dare he?" Ola said explosively.

  "Who?"

  "The Duke. I've suddenly understood everything. Those two men work for him. He told them to follow us."

  "How could he? He was in the procession."

  "He could have sent a servant with a message as soon as he reached the Abbey. We didn't notice them until an hour later, remember? Or he could have arranged for them to wait outside the hotel, to see if we left, and we just didn't notice them. I wouldn't put anything past him. Come on, let's give them the slip."

  They hurried away until they had left the crowd behind. Within a few minutes they had secured a cab, and were heading for the hotel, where they enjoyed a good lunch and spent the rest of the afternoon virtuously reading books about Oltenitza, until it was time to dress for the evening.

  *

  The Duke arrived promptly on the dot of six. And he was in a towering rage.

  "Have you taken leave of your senses?" he demanded of Ola.

  "Are you talking to me?" she enquired with regal loftiness.

  "Don't play your games with me. I saw you in the stands. After I told you – "

  "You told me all sorts of absurd things because you didn't want me to see the Queen's procession. Well, I did see it, and you may have noticed that Her Majesty is unharmed."

  "Of course she is," he snapped. "It was your safety I was thinking of."

  "I, too, am unharmed. The only mysterious followers I saw were yours. And I gave them the slip very easily."

  "So it would seem. I must have a word with them." He took a deep breath, as though forcing himself to calm down. "Now let's forget that for the moment. Have you studied your books at all?"

  "Ja, Herr Lehrer!" she told him brightly.

  "What?"

  "It means, 'Yes, Mr. Schoolmaster.' I think it suits you."

  Greta made the mistake of choking back a giggle. The Duke cast her a fulminating look.

  "You know I don't speak German," he snapped.

  "But Princess Ola does speak it. Also, Princess Ola does not like being given orders."

  "Then Princess Ola is a feather-brained ninny who doesn't know when to listen to
wiser heads than her own."

  "Princess Ola will be very glad when this is over and she can return to Scotland."

  "And some people will be glad to see her go, since she is nothing but trouble," he raged. "Now, are you ready to leave?"

  "Quite ready, thank you."

  This time Greta was not to travel with them, which Greta, herself, thought was a pity, since this quarrel was shaping up very promisingly. But she would make Ola tell her all about it, when she came home that night. And if the silly girl hadn't been reconciled with the man she clearly loved, then Greta would personally take a hand to make certain that she did.

  Tonight Ola's gown was of satin in a colour half way between grey and silver, trimmed with lace. Pink satin ribbons gave it a touch of colour. Tonight she wore her mother's three stranded pearl necklace. In contrast to her gorgeous glitter of the night before, she looked softer.

  The Duke took a velvet cloak from Greta and draped it over Ola's shoulders. His anger had died.

  "You look very beautiful," he said abruptly.

  He sounded awkward, not like the smooth courtier who could cope with very situation, as though something had taken him by surprise.

  "Thank you," she said. "You probably think I should be wearing your jewels, but – "

  "No, I like you better like this. You are more like yourself. Last night I hardly knew you."

  "Last night I was what you made me," she said softly. She too had recovered her temper, and was thinking how handsome he looked.

  "And tonight?" he asked.

  "I don't know."

  He gave her his arm and they went downstairs. As his carriage rumbled to Buckingham Palace, she looked up at the evening sky and wondered how much longer this would go on. Where did the road lead, and what lay at the end of it?

  At the Palace they were conducted to the Bow Room where the guests were assembling. There had never been such a glittering gathering. Fifty foreign Kings and Princes, all in uniform, were there, along with the Governors of Britain's overseas dominions.

  "Who's that huge man with the beard, glaring at me"? Ola asked.

  "He's the Russian ambassador. Don't worry. We'll outface him."

  And together they did outface him. Try as he might, the ambassador was unable to get close enough to Ola to speak to her.