A Dangerous Disguise (13 page)

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 books 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.

At last it was time for them to move out of the Bow Room into the Great Dining Room, where they gathered around a table shaped like a horse shoe, with lamps and flowers down the centre.

The Queen entered, wearing a splendid gown embroidered with silver roses, thistles and shamrocks, and escorted by the King of Denmark. She took her place at the head of the table, and the banquet began.

They dined off gold plate, which Ola had heard about in fairy tales, but had not believed existed until now. She felt as though she was moving in a dream. Princess Ola was not real but neither was Ola McNewton. And the man sitting beside her was less real than anything, because soon they would say goodbye. He would vanish, and he would be glad to see her go. He had said so.

She would be left with an empty life.

There were speeches and toasts. She tried to listen but her mind was occupied with the consciousness that the Duke was sitting close to her, his eyes fixed on her, just as in the theatre.

Slowly she turned her head. He was gazing at her with his heart in his eyes, asking her a question.

Was there really no way back?

And then the banquet was over and everyone was rising to move into the Ballroom, where the orchestra was already waiting to play.

A heavily built man with a beard approached them and greeted the Duke as an old friend. This was the Prince of Wales, and he invited Ola to dance.