Princes and Princesses: Favourite Royal Romances

by Barbara Cartland

  Vida, however, as she stepped into the comfortable closed brougham that was waiting for her outside, was thinking excitedly that she had got her own way and would be able to leave tomorrow on her journey to find her father.

  She had been half afraid that the Marquis would refuse point-blank to give her the passport she required.

  This would have necessitated her going to a certain rather unsavoury basement in the Strand where there was a man who had once served five years in prison for forgery.

  He could, she knew, produce a faked passport that even the most astute official would find it hard to detect.

  Such things, however, always took time besides costing a great deal of money.

  She was glad that she had been sensible enough to start at the top with the Marquis.

  She patted her handbag with a gesture of satisfaction to think that he had with her what she hoped was a passport both to a journey of discovery and to the salvation of her beloved father.

  She had, of course, not gone to the Foreign Office alone, for seated opposite her inside the brougham was a very conventional elderly housemaid, who had been ordered by the Duchess of Dorset to look after her while she was staying in the house.

  The Duchess, who was a distant relative of her father, had consented to present Vida at Court and to introduce her to the Social world. Although ostensibly it was all in the name of friendship, Vida was aware that her father had paid a very large bill for the Duchess’s gowns as well as for her own and had met the expenses of a ball that had been held the previous week at the Duchess’s house.

  He had also provided the horses that were pulling the brougham and they were very superior animals to anything in the Duke’s stables.

  It was extremely fortunate that Sir Harvey had not only inherited a considerable fortune from his father but had also been clever enough to invest it on the best advice.

  This had resulted in his doubling his wealth over the last four years.

  He was in fact rich enough to retire at any moment he wished to do so and live the life of a country gentleman, enjoying nothing more thrilling than seeing his racing colours pass the winning post first in every Classic race.

  Yet apart from the fact that he had always wished to crown his career by being appointed to British Ambassador in Paris, Sir Harvey had all through his life almost deliberately sought danger.

  He had found it impossible to remain inactive and allow the enemies of Great Britain to flourish because the British themselves were not astute enough to discover them.

  “It’s not soldiers and sailors we have to be afraid of, my dear,” he had often said to Vida. “They openly proclaim their allegiance.”

  “Those who are dangerous,” Sir Harvey continued slowly, “are the snakes who twist themselves into the confidence of the nation’s rulers, the chameleons who change their colour with world opinion and the wolves wearing sheep’s clothing who enjoy shedding blood without incurring any danger to themselves.”

  He had spoken so violently that Vida had been surprised.

  But as she grew older and learnt of the political intrigues that went on in every country in Europe and Asia, she knew that her father was right in saying it was those who worked in disguise or underground who were a menace and ordinary decent men were totally unaware of them.

  She knew that it thrilled Sir Harvey as nothing else was able to do when he succeeded in exposing and bringing their just deserts to men who were undermining the power of Britain.

  They all too often were involved in blackmailing or collaborating with British people themselves.

  “I will expose them if it’s the last thing I do,” she had heard her father say.

  The amazing thing was that he himself had managed to remain unsuspected by the enemy and so was successful.

  But she knew in the back of her mind there was always fear that one day he would be discovered and she could not believe that he was not already, although he laughed at the idea, a marked man.

  Then she told herself to be afraid was to make oneself vulnerable before going into battle.

  ‘I have to believe, as Papa always does, that I shall win,’ she determined.

  She braced herself, as the carriage drew near to the Duchess’s house, for the scene there would inevitably be when she informed her hostess she was leaving the next morning for France.

  The Duchess was not only furious but also affronted.

  “How can you be so ridiculous?” she asked. “You have been a success overnight. There are no less than thirty-four invitations, my secretary tells me, waiting to be answered!”

  “I am sorry, Cousin Alice,” Vida said, “but I promised Mama’s relatives that I would go to stay with them in the summer and I had no idea that you would be so kind or that you would not have grown tired of me by this time.”

  “You can go later,” the Duchess said firmly.

  Vida shook her head.

  “I think that would be very rude when they have been expecting me for so long and have made a great many preparations to entertain me.”

  She paused and then added as if she were playing the trump card,

  “And, of course, Papa is waiting to come back with me so that I shall not travel alone. He will be very angry if I keep him waiting when he has so much to do here in England.”

  “It is very inconsiderate of your father!” the Duchess retorted crossly. “He should have thought of all this before he went gallivanting off to Hungary.”

  She paused and added indignantly,

  “Personally I think he should have been here with you and come with us to Buckingham Palace. I know that the Prince of Wales has a very soft spot for him. In fact, His Royal Highness asked me how he was and when he was likely to see him again.”

  “I am sure that will be very soon,” Vida replied and prayed that it would be.

  Only when she had finally got her own way and was driving from Dorset House towards Victoria Station did she think with a leap of her heart that everything had gone far better than she had expected.

  The Duchess had made a fuss about her travelling alone until Vida explained that she was doing nothing of the sort.

  She was taking with her not only a Courier of whom her father had always approved, but also an elderly lady’s maid who had been with her at the Embassy in Vienna and who was so experienced a traveller that as Vida said lightly,

  “Margit could easily find her way to the moon!”

  Margit was in fact not English, but half-Austrian and half-French with a Greek grandmother, which made her proficient in a great number of languages.

  She was over fifty, but had found London dull, although she had enjoyed the prestige of staying with the Duchess.

  “The servants are all like morons!” she had said in Hungarian to Vida so that they would not be understood. “They think only of drinkin’ tea and fightin’ for their rightful place at the table.”

  Vida had laughed.

  “That is England for you! Protocol here is far stricter than in any Embassy we have lived in.”

  “So I have found,” Margit had said gloomily. “And because I am a foreigner they kept talkin’ to me as if I was an imbecile.”

  “The English are very insular,” Vida remarked and Margit snorted.

  Vida thought that one blessing about the old maid was that she did not mind setting off even on a long journey, which most women of her age would have found too arduous.

  In fact, as soon as they crossed the Channel, Margit seemed to grow younger and started her invariable fight to obtain the best carriage and the best sleeper on the Express while demanding every attention that a seasoned traveller expects from the attendant.

  With Margit being as fierce as a tigress in caring for her cub and with plenty of money to tip, Vida knew that she would certainly suffer no hardships on the journey.

  Actually she was just as excited as Margit was.

  It was only after they had passed through France and Germany and were already hal
fway across into Hungary that she called both Margit and the Courier into her compartment.

  “I have something to say to you both,” she said in a quiet voice, “and it is very important that from now on we do not make any mistakes.”

  “Now what’re you up to, miss?” Margit asked in the familiar tone of an old servant who found it hard to remember that Vida was not a child.

  “What I am up to,” Vida replied, “is that from this moment I am no longer Miss Anstruther. In fact we have never heard of Sir Harvey Anstruther nor of Mama’s relations.”

  “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.”