The Peril and the Prince

by Barbara Cartland

  “Are you tellin’ me, Miss Vida,” Margit asked, “that we’re not goin’ to stay at your mother’s castle?”

  “No, we are not,” Vida said. “I am the Comtesse Vida Kărólski and I am on my way to Sarospatak.”

  As she spoke, she realised that Margit and the Courier were listening intently.

  They had travelled with her and her father before, and they were both well aware that Sir Harvey was not always exactly what he appeared to be to the general public.

  It was, however, something new for Vida to be undertaking a venture on her own and she was aware that Margit automatically disapproved even though she did not say anything.

  “We will, of course, travel by train as far as it is possible” she said, “but once we reach Sarospatak I expect we will have to take a carriage and horses and I will tell you then exactly where I wish to go”

  She looked at the Courier as she spoke and he said in a resigned voice,

  “I hope, Miss Vida, you’ll not do anything dangerous. I feel responsible for you to your father.”

  “My father, unfortunately, is dead.” Vida said. “He was a Russian who spent his life, ever since I was born in Europe, travelling from one great City to another, preferring Paris, since being a widower he found the gaieties there very enjoyable.”

  She paused before she continued slowly.

  “I have, of course, always longed to see my homeland, which is in the South of Russia, but this has been the first opportunity I have had of doing so.”

  She smiled at the rather tense faces of the two people listening to her before she went on.

  “I am aged twenty-three and I am the widow of a very distinguished Frenchman who was killed in a duel. I have, however, reverted to my maiden name and I am trying to forget my unhappiness by travelling.”

  There was silence as she stopped speaking before she added,

  “Those are the bare bones of my life and, of course, we can add flesh to them as we go along. I don’t need to add that we must all stick to the same story.”

  “Of course, my Lady,” the Courier agreed.

  He spoke in Russian and Vida laughed.

  “You are quite right, Henri,” she said. “As a Kărólski I must polish up my Russian. From now on we will talk no other language and that goes for you too, Margit.”

  “I dislike Russian and I’m not good at it,” Margit said sulkily.

  “Well, you will just have to learn to be better,” Vida said unfeelingly. “Now, Henri, go and change the labels on my luggage. If the guard is aware of it, tip him generously so that he will not talk. And you, Margit, must square the attendant.”

  Her eyes were troubled at the expression on Margit’s face as she said,

  “You had best tell him, as he knows me as Miss Anstruther, that I married the Count Kărólski secretly and am now going to join him in his own country.”

  “Lies, lies. All we have in this life is lies!” Margit grumbled. “I can’t think what Her Grace would say if she knew what you were doin’ now.”

  “As she is not likely to know,” Vida replied logically, “there is no point in our worrying about her feelings in the matter. I don’t need to tell either of you what this whole journey is about. The fact is I am afraid that something has happened to Papa.”

  The expression in her eyes, as much as the way she spoke, made both of the elderly servants look at her sympathetically.

  They were aware that Sir Harvey was overdue on a trip from which he should have returned weeks ago.

  “Now, don’t you go upsettin’ yourself,” Margit said. “It’ll do no good and, when you do find your father merely enjoyin’ himself, you’ll have lines under your eyes for nothin’.”

  The way she spoke made Vida laugh even though there was a touch of tears in the sound and she said softly,

  “Thank you both. You know I could not do this without you and all that matters is that we should be successful.”

  Chapter Two

  Budapest was the terminus for the Express train on which they had come from France and there they would have to change.

  It had been a long journey, but for Vida quite a comfortable one. Shortly before reaching Budapest, in order to match her new name, Vida altered her appearance.

  Margit packed away the simple travelling gowns she had worn since leaving London and instead, Vida put on a far more elaborate creation which they had bought deliberately together with a great many other more sophisticated clothes before calling on the Prime Minister.

  She also, in foreign fashion, used cosmetics on her face, which she thought swept away the last trace of an English appearance.

  It certainly made her look older and in a way much more attractive, but she was concerned only with entering into her new personality.

  She remembered her father had said that the most important part of a disguise was to ‘think’ yourself into the part and then you would be convincing enough for people to believe that you were what you were pretending to be.

  They had some time to wait at Budapest before catching a much slower train that would carry them farther Eastwards through Hungary.

  There was a restaurant at the station, which was divided into an expensive section for First Class travellers and a much cheaper one for those who could not afford to pay much for their food.

  The more exclusive part was shielded by ferns and pots of flowers from the other and had white cloths on the tables and padded chairs to sit on.

  Vida was shown to what she thought was the best table and ordered herself quite a large meal with half a bottle of the best local wine.

  The waiters were extremely attentive.

  There were only two or three other people eating in the same room with plenty of available tables, so she was surprised when a well-dressed man came up to her and said,

  “I hope, madame, you will permit me to sit at your table.”

  She looked at him and realised that he appeared to be a gentleman, although there was something about him that she could not place.

  After a moment’s pause, she replied to his question,

  “I cannot, of course, monsieur, prevent you from sitting anywhere you wish, but I am in fact, enjoying my meal alone,”

  “I don’t believe that,” he said in a somewhat flirtatious tone and, pulling out a chair, sat down beside her.

  “You must forgive my curiosity,” he said after a moment, “but you don’t look entirely Hungarian and I am trying to place you.”

  “I cannot think why,” Vida replied.

  They were talking Hungarian and yet listening intently she had the idea, although she could not think why, that he was not Hungarian.

  He certainly spoke very fluently, but there was something about him that did not quite match up to the many Hungarians she had met when her father was in Vienna.

  “I saw you come off the Express train that has just arrived,” the man went on conversationally, “and because you were so chic I was certain that you must have come from Paris.”

  Vida merely inclined her head to the compliment but did not answer and he went on,

  “Perhaps I should introduce myself. I am Vladimir Demidovsky,”

  It was what she might have expected and she was quite certain from the way he was behaving that he was one of the many Russian agents who were always questioning anyone they thought suspect in any of the Balkan countries.

  She went on eating the food she had ordered and Vladimir Demidovsky said after a moment,

  “Now I have introduced myself, will you not do the same?”

  He spoke in a persuasive tone and Vida thought that he was deliberately trying to charm her in a manner that might have prevailed with most young women who were on their own.

  She had, however, been suspicious of him from the moment he had spoken and she knew once again that it was her instinct working and she would have to be very much on her guard.

  “I am afraid, monsieur,” she said, “and you must excuse my speaking French for
I have just come from Paris, that I am feeling exhausted after the long train journey and therefore not very good company.”

  It was an excuse he could not ignore and she knew that he was disconcerted by the way he sat back in his chair in an almost exasperated manner.

  Then he snapped his fingers and, when a waiter hurried to his side, he ordered himself a small bottle of wine.

  “Perhaps it would help you to feel better,” he said, “if I offered you one of the grape brandies that are a speciality of this neighbourhood and which I am sure you will find delicious.”

  “Thank you very much, it is very kind of you,” Vida replied, still speaking French, “but I have all the wine I need and any more would give me a headache.”

  Vladimir Demidovsky was obviously slightly annoyed by her attitude and she felt with a sense of amusement that perhaps it was the first time in his life that he had been put down by a pretty woman.

  They sat in silence for a little while and then he offered,

  “If you are a stranger to Hungary, I am sure I could help you by recommending what you should see and whom to meet in whichever part of the country you are going to.”

  “That is kind of you,” Vida replied, “but I shall be with friends, who will, of course, look after me most adequately.”

  She called the waiter as she spoke, paid for her luncheon, leaving a generous tip, and rose to leave the table.

  As she did so, Vladimir Demidovsky rose too.

  “Please, madame, don’t leave me desolate, without knowing where you are going and distressed at the thought of not seeing you again.”

  “You are very flattering, monsieur,” Vida replied, “but I am sure that there are many beautiful women in Budapest who would be only too willing to console you.”

  She smiled as if to take the sting out of her words and then walked away, aware as she did so that he was staring after her.

  She was certain that he felt frustrated and annoyed that he had learnt nothing from his attempted interrogation.

  Henri and Margit, having eaten in the other part of the restaurant, were waiting and they joined her as Vida walked out onto the platform.

  “Who was that man talkin’ to you?” Margit asked when they were out of earshot from anyone in the restaurant.

  “A Russian agent,” Vida replied and saw the shock in the maid’s eyes and in Henri’s.

  “How can you be sure of that?” he asked.

  “He was very inquisitive in a flirtatious sort of manner, but, of course, I told him nothing. At the same time I have the uncomfortable feeling that he is suspicious.”

  “Why should he be that?” Margit asked in a hostile tone.

  “Are Russian agents anything else? It has made me sure of one thing.”

  “What is that?”

  “It would be a mistake when we get to Sarospatak to stay, as I had intended, in a hotel.”

  “I warned you that no hotel in that part of the country would be comfortable,” Henri chipped in.

  “You are right and therefore we will take advantage of the hospitality of the Hungarians, which is, of course, traditional.”

  “You mean you will go to The Castle?”

  “Exactly. You must find out who is living there now. I am certain that they will know Mama’s family by name, even if they are not actually acquainted with my cousins.”

  “I thought that you were not going to say that your mother was a Kărólski,” Margit said.

  “I will be vaguely related to the family, which is a very large one,” Vida answered. “In fact, there are dozens if not hundreds of them scattered all over Hungary and they may as well come in useful.”

  She did not say any more, but merely walked up and down the platform until the train that was to carry them to the Eastern part of Hungary came into the station.

  It was certainly not as comfortable as the Express that had brought them from Paris, but the sleeping compartments were spotlessly clean.

  As always in Hungary, the attendant was cheerful, smiling and willing and after Margit had given him a large tip, he was most willing to provide anything required.

  Vida was aware that the Russian who had talked to her in the restaurant watched her board the train and she was quite certain that he had been inquisitive enough to read the labels on her luggage.

  She, however, pretended that she had not seen him and was thankful that when the train finally steamed out of the station he was left behind.

  The train was too old-fashioned to have a restaurant car on it and instead it stopped every two or three hours at some town where there was a restaurant on the station.

  This naturally slowed down their process considerably and they did not arrive at Sarospatak until the afternoon of the second day after leaving Budapest. The town lay on the edge of the frontier and in front of the range of the Zemplen Mountains.

  While on the train, Vida had been remembering what her mother had told her about The Castle, which was a very old one, having been built in 1207.

  Because her mother had adored her own country and was often homesick, she had taught Vida the history of Hungary from a very early age.

  She had learnt how Prince Arpad, riding at the head of seven mounted Hungarian tribes, had descended on the Carpathian Basin in search of a land ‘rich in grass and water’.

  She told her how all the land South of the Danube had been conquered by the Romans and then how, after the fall of the Roman Empire, the Slavs, Lombards, Avars and the Huns had all encroached on the land and settled there.

  She also taught Vida the many superstitions and legends that all stemmed from the heathen Gods. They had honoured fire, air and water as holy and sang hymns of praise to the earth.

  They also worshipped a God called Isten and to him they sacrificed horses, oxen and sheep and occasionally human beings.

  It was a fascinating study which Vida had continued as she grew older, because she felt it was part of her blood.

  Since her father also had been deeply interested in the Balkan peoples as a whole, they had tried together to study and to understand all the separate nationalities, each with their own beliefs, their ambitions and, of course, their ever-encroaching enemies.

  Vida was aware that her own ancestor, Rákŏczi, was one of the great romantic figures of Hungarian history. His castle and estates at Sarospatak had been confiscated when he went into exile and were afterwards leased to various Nobles of the Imperial Court.

  It was not difficult to find out from the attendant on the train who owned The Castle now.

  It belonged to the ancient family of Bărtik and Vida felt sure that they would know the other great families of Hungary who clung together united in disliking both the Austrians and the Russians.

  It was a custom in Hungary, which had been passed down from the earliest times, that any traveller could ask for hospitality and it was considered unlucky to refuse his plea however inconvenient it might be.

  When they had left the train and were travelling in a hired carriage, they saw The Castle in front of them and Vida realised that it was large enough to house a regiment of soldiers.

  Very old, it looked very Hungarian and had a charm that was hard to define in words.

  The servants who came to the door were elderly but dressed in an impressive livery.

  When Vida asked if she could see Count Bărtik, she was led through long passages and she could see through the heavily-paned windows ornamental gardens stretching down to the narrow brown Bogrog River, which flowed so slowly she was told that it was almost like a lake.

  The Count and Countess Bărtik greeted her very pleasantly and, when she explained that she was begging them to take pity on her and offer her the hospitality of their roof for the night, they agreed without even seeming surprised at the request.

  “I have heard about you,” Vida said in her soft voice, “from my relatives, the Rákŏczis.”

  The Countess gave a cry of delight.

  “You are a relative of the Rákŏc
zis? That is delightful! They are very old friends of my husband’s and mine, but alas, as we live so far apart, we very seldom see them these days. I suspect also the younger members of the family find us rather old and dull!”

  “I am not a very near relation,” Vida said quickly in case they should expect her to know more about them than she did, “but I am very proud of my Hungarian blood.”

  “Of course you are, my dear,” the Countess said, as if it would be impossible for anyone to feel anything different.

  Vida was given a delightful bedroom overlooking the garden and Margit said when they were alone,

  “You’ll be very comfortable here and if you’re wise you’ll stay as long as you can!”

  Vida shook her head.

  “You know I have to go into Russia and we are not on a pleasure trip, Margit!”

  The old maid sighed although she did not argue. She simply dressed Vida in one of her pretty but not spectacular gowns to dine with the Count and Countess.

  When Vida went downstairs for dinner, she wished that she could follow Margit’s advice and stay for some time to see the Eastern part of Hungary that she had always longed to visit.

  But she recognised that she was being urged by an instinct she could not deny to go and find her father as soon as possible.

  She knew in a way that she could not explain that time was getting short, the sands were running out and she must find him quickly.

  ‘It is,’ she thought desperately, ‘like looking for a needle in a haystack, as Russia is such a huge country.’

  Yet the Marquis had helped her by telling her that Prince Ivan might be able to show the way, but at the same time he might in fact hinder or even prevent her from reaching her father.

  ‘I shall have to be very subtle about this,’ she told herself.

  When after a quiet friendly evening with the Count and Countess, she went to bed and prayed with a fervency that had something desperate about it that she would not fail in her quest.

  She had made herself so charming to her hosts that the next morning they begged her to stay longer and not travel into Russia immediately.