She thanked them, but said it was imperative for her to reach her destination as quickly as possible.
She had been clever enough the night before to gain a little information about Prince Ivan Pavolivski.
“I find him a charming young man,” the Countess had said, “but my husband disapproves of all Russians and will not make an exception for the Prince.”
“He is too rich and too powerful for my liking!” the Count said.
“In what way is he powerful?” Vida asked.
“He owns an enormous amount of land, is considered to be fabulously rich, and – ”
The Count paused.
“Do go on!”
“I was just going to say that it often seems to me strange that he is of such account in Russia itself.”
“What do you mean by that?” Vida enquired.
“It’s difficult to put it into words,” the Count replied. “Pavolivski is from an old family, but there is nothing particularly unusual about their history. Yet the Prince seems to have an influence out of proportion to his breeding and his title, both in St. Petersburg and here.”
The Countess laughed.
“I am afraid that my husband is suspicious of everything Russian. The Prince keeps up his estates well and is, I am told, kind to his serfs, which is more than most Russians are.”
“I thought that the serfs were set free by Alexander II,” Vida remarked.
“Yes, ostensibly they were,” the Countess replied, “but they have to work to live, earn money to eat and sadly some landowners still treat their people disgracefully.”
“Many things are disgraceful in Russia!” the Count said heavily. “First and foremost the Czar himself!”
The Countess looked nervously over her shoulder.
“Be careful, my dear.” she said. “These days even the walls have ears and you know as well as I do that the Secret Police are everywhere.”
“We should be safe in our own country!” the Count growled.
“So we should,” his wife agreed. “At the same time strange things happen to many of our people and we do live right on the border.”
As she was obviously frightened at the way her husband was speaking, Vida did not press him to say any more.
But, as she drove away early the next morning, she was thinking that it was very wrong that people should be afraid of their neighbours in their own houses and in their own country.
Russia was undoubtedly a menace to Hungary, as it was to India.
She had instructed Henri as soon as they had arrived at The Castle to purchase for her the very best horses available and a carriage, which would carry her over the border to the Prince’s castle, which was actually only twenty-five miles away.
Henri had been sensible enough to consult the Count’s Head Groom and with his help managed to purchase a superb pair of horses that were exactly what Vida had wanted to own.
The carriage was slightly old-fashioned, but at the same time well sprung and the hood could be opened or closed according to the weather.
It had cost her a considerable sum of money, but Vida could afford it and she had no intention of skimping and saving on anything that concerned her father.
It was, however, not easy to move swiftly once they had set out towards the mountains.
The roadway of the pass through them was rough and rocky and it was only when they were actually in Russia and had reached comparatively level ground that they were able to make better progress.
It was therefore, rather to Vida’s consternation, getting late in the afternoon when finally she saw in front of them, surrounded by a forest and with a great lake in front of it, the Pavolivski Castle.
It was very much more ornate and appeared to be much more recently built or renovated than the one she had just left.
There were towers and domes glinting in the afternoon sun and what seemed to her a thousand windows gleaming like diamonds across a wide expanse of green.
It actually had a Fairy tale appearance and seemed almost unreal.
However, it was so beautiful that she felt her spirits rise and her apprehension about her father, which had become more and more acute in the last twenty-four hours, seemed to lift a little.
‘I am sure the Prince will help me,’ she told herself reassuringly, although she could not really be certain of anything.
The horses had been obviously tiring, although they had driven them slowly and had had several rests during the journey when they had stopped for food.
But now as they drew nearer to The Castle they quickened their pace, as if they knew good stabling was waiting for them.
They swept under high arches and through a huge gateway, which led into a courtyard.
Then there was a magnificent flight of stone steps leading up to an impressive front door with pillars, urns and beautifully carved statues which as well as being very attractive were rather awe-inspiring.
Henri climbed out to ask if His Highness the Prince would receive the Countess Vida Kărólski and there was a long pause before the servant, resplendent in claret livery ornamented with a great deal of gold braid, returned to say,
“His Highness will receive the Countess.”
At the last stop Vida had spent a great deal of time over her appearance.
She had further darkened her already dark long eyelashes, used a lip salve on her lips and powdered her small straight nose.
Wearing a hat trimmed with feathers she looked, she knew, slightly theatrical. At the same time she would have been mock-modest if she did not realise that she looked exceedingly attractive.
Her hair was not the flaming red that was so often associated with Hungarian women, but the dark auburn that the Viennese claimed as their own, but was really of Hungarian origin.
With it her skin was not only very white but also translucent, like a pearl, and had a quality that was seldom seen in women of any nationality.
“We must be very careful what we do,” she had said to Margit and Henri just before they arrived.
She knew that it was something she also must remember as she walked slowly and with dignity up the steps to the front door.
The servant bowed to her and went ahead to lead her into what she saw at once was a superlatively furnished castle, containing treasures she had never expected to find, even in Russia.
A quick glance at the pictures told her that they were all old Masters, but what impressed her most were the sculptured marble fireplaces, painted ceilings, tapestries on the walls, and where there were no tapestries, brocade set into wood of every description.
They walked a long way over Persian carpets before the flunkey in front of her threw open a large door.
Walking through it, Vida saw that she was in a room with diamond-paned windows reaching almost to the lofty ceiling and at the far end of it, against a fireplace that she knew must be a unique work of art, was standing the Prince.
Everything she had heard about him had prepared her to find him very impressive, but, when she saw him, she realised that he was not only younger than she had imagined but also far more handsome.
His dark hair was swept back from a square forehead and his distinguished aristocratic features might have seemed normal in any Nobleman, but his expression was different from that of any man she had met before.
His dark eyes penetrated through her as she glanced towards him.
He was dressed in a fastidious style and he might have been a dandy from a previous era. Equally he was overwhelmingly masculine and Vida knew instinctively that his physique was powerful.
As she reached him, she realised that he was looking at her with a faint expression of surprise.
“I hope, Your Highness, you will forgive me for imposing upon you,” Vida said in French, “but I am invoking the old tradition of hospitality that exists in Hungary, and I hope in Russia, in asking if I may beg from you a roof over my head for tonight.”
“My castle is, of course, at your disposal,” the Prince
replied, “but I am intrigued to know why you are here and where you can be going.”
“That is more simple than it appears,” Vida replied. “I am on my way to Odessa. I stayed last night at the Castle Sarospatak.”
She gave him a little smile before she added,
“Unfortunately I was somewhat late in rising and, since the road through the mountains was far more difficult than I expected, I cannot now reach the town where I had intended to stay the night, for it will be too dark to see the way.”
“I understand perfectly,” the Prince said. “The road through the mountains is always unpredictable and falls of rock frequently make it impassable.”
“Then you will understand that my horses are tired and indeed so am I.”
“Then that is certainly something we must remedy, Countess,” he said.
He rang a small gold bell that stood on one of the tables and instantly the door opened and a servant stood there.
The Prince, speaking rapidly in his own language, gave instructions that the Countess’s horses were to be stabled and her luggage taken to a bedroom. He also ordered a bottle of champagne.
While he was speaking, Vida walked across the room to the window and looked out.
She was not surprised to see a garden exquisitely laid out in the formal fashion often to be seen in châteaux in France.
There was a huge stone fountain throwing its water iridescent towards the sky and a number of marble statues.
When the Prince had finished giving his orders, he went over to her.
“Your castle might have stepped straight out of a Fairy story,” she said.
“That is obviously where you belong,” he replied.
She gave a little smile, but did not look at him and after a moment he said,
“Come to sit down. I want to hear why you are travelling alone in Russia, which seems to me a remarkably foolhardy thing to do.”
“I can look after myself,” Vida said lightly, “and actually I have no one to travel with me since my husband – died.”
“You are a widow?”
“Yes, but I have reverted to my own name since I think that is one of the ways to prevent oneself from feeling unhappy.”
She spoke with what she hoped was a sad note in her voice and did not look at the Prince, although she was aware that his eyes were upon her face.
Then, as she sat down on a comfortable sofa, he sat in a chair almost opposite her and said,
“Tell me more. You cannot suddenly have materialised from Hungary as if you were Aphrodite rising from the foam.”
“Actually I have come from Paris.” Vida smiled.
“And you are Russian?”
Vida made a little gesture with her hands.
“Partly,” she said, “but I also have some Hungarian blood in my veins.”
“A very intriguing mixture,” the Prince said, “and, if you are what the English would call a ‘mongrel,’ so am I.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes, my mother was half-English and half-French.”
Vida stared at him in surprise. This was something no one had told her before and she had assumed that he was wholly Russian.
‘This could be the reason,’ she thought, ‘why apart from a love of gambling he goes to Monte Carlo every year and why he visits England.’
“Which country do you find most compatible?” she asked.
“That is a very difficult question,” the Prince replied, “and I suppose it is symbolic that while my name is Russian and my home is Russian, I am situated on the border.”
It was a clever evasion of what she wanted to know and Vida laughed.
“I cannot imagine you being anything but Russian.”
“Why?” he asked abruptly.
“Because of all I have heard about you.”
“Now you do intrigue me. What have you heard?”
Vida smiled.
“That you are very powerful, that you are feared by a great number of people and that you are held in adulation by the whole of my sex.”
This was daring, but the Prince laughed.
“I am flattered, Countess,” he said, “that you should be interested to learn so much about me. I only wonder how true your information is.”
“I hope it is,” Vida said, “since that makes it so much more – interesting to know you.”
She paused before the word ‘interesting’ because she had been about to say ‘exciting’, but thought that this might seem too forward.
There was a twinkle in the Prince’s eyes, which told her he had read her thoughts and knew what she had been about to say.
Servants came in with champagne and after she had drunk a little and had eaten a few spoonfuls of the caviar that had accompanied it, Vida said,
“If I am fortunate enough to be invited to dine with Your Highness, I think that perhaps I should start to change from my dusty travelling clothes.”
“They don’t look in the least dusty to me,” the Prince replied, “but perhaps you would like a rest. There is no hurry, for I am afraid I keep late hours and would not wish you to retire too early.”
“It depends how long a journey I will have to undertake tomorrow.”
“One thing is quite impossible,” the Prince said, “and that is for you to leave tomorrow. First of all it would be cruel to your horses and secondly cruel to me.”
“That is certainly something I must consider,” Vida replied lightly.
As the Prince handed her over to a servant, who led her up a magnificently carved gold staircase to the next floor, she thought that she was certainly progressing easily on the route she had set herself.
She was in The Castle, she had met the Prince and he had already invited her to stay longer than was required by the customary hospitality that an ordinary stranger could expect.
Margit was waiting for her in her bedroom, which was as splendid as the rest of The Castle.
The bed stood in an alcove with silk curtains falling from an elaborate gold corolla that reached the ceiling. There were white bearskin rugs on either side of the bed and everywhere one was likely to put one’s feet.
The furniture was Louis XIV and the pictures on the wall by Fragonard.
It was so beautiful and at the same time so magnificent that as Vida gazed around her Margit said,
“This place isn’t real. If it disappeared and I woke up, I wouldn’t be the least surprised.”
Vida laughed.
“That is what I have been feeling too.”
Margit was taking the gowns out of Vida’s trunk and hanging them up in the wardrobe.
“Now what are you going to wear tonight?” she asked. “I am told that there is a large party.”
“A party!” Vida exclaimed.
She was surprised because, as she had found the Prince alone, she had somehow assumed that she would be dining with him alone and they would have a tête-à-tête.
“The Steward tells me that there are always twenty or thirty people staying in the house with His Highness,” Margit explained, “and they seldom get to bed before dawn.”
“In that case,” Vida said, “I must lie down and rest. I want to have my wits about me.”
“That’s what I thought,” Margit agreed.
She helped Vida undress and then pulled the curtains over the windows, shutting out the last rays of sunshine, and left her alone.
It was nine o’clock before Vida went downstairs for dinner, wearing one of the more elaborate, somewhat theatrical gowns she had bought especially for this visit.
She had thought, since the Prince’s Castle was so isolated, that there would not be any competition.
Yet now she felt that she had been foolish in not foreseeing that with his reputation he would expect to be amused and would make sure that there was not one hour in the day that he would be bored.
In Monte Carlo he would give parties like those the Grand Dukes gave in their villas with dancing, gambling and a profusion of beautiful women.
She had been naïve to think that his way of life would not be the same in Russia.
She had chosen a dress which was one of the most sophisticated she had bought. As it sparkled and shimmered with every movement she made, it certainly looked most alluring.
Yet she was slightly worried in case she had chosen the wrong role for herself.
It might have been wiser to pose as an unsophisticated young girl seeking the protection of a strong man!
It was, however, too late now. She was dressed for the part that she must play and there was no looking back.
Her gown, which was green with flounces around the hem, was a perfect foil for her dark red hair and her white skin.
Around her neck she wore a necklace of emeralds that had belonged to her mother and on her head a small tiara of the same stones.
“It certainly makes you look older than you are,” Margit said as she finished dressing Vida, “and I suppose you know what you are doing. If you ask me, you will find yourself in a lot of trouble if you’re not careful.”
The remark was so like Margit that Vida laughed.
“You are not very encouraging!”
“Well, I’m not interferin’,” Margit said, “but just you watch your step where that Prince is concerned. I’ve heard things about him before now and Henri tells me that they talk about his ‘harem’ as if it were somethin’ clever.”
Vida drew in her breath and then told herself that the fact that the Prince was susceptible to women made her task easier.
Nothing mattered except, if he knew where her father was and to get him to help her.
At the same time, as she walked behind the servant who was waiting to escort her to the salon where they were to meet before dinner, her heart was beating frantically and she was conscious that a hundred butterflies were fluttering inside her breast.
Then she raised her head a little higher.
‘Why should I be frightened of anyone?’ she asked herself. ‘If he cannot tell me what I want to know, the sooner I leave the better!’
The terrifying thing in that case was that she had no idea whatever where she should go next and, as the servant reached the salon door, she was sending out her thoughts towards her father.
‘Help me, Papa! Help me!’ she was saying to her father in her heart. ‘I cannot manage all this without you. You must help me!’
The Peril and the Prince Page 4