An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition (82 page)

‘I am not particularly concerned as to what it costs.’

‘I understand, Your Highness.’

The
Aide-de-Camp
bowed himself from the room.

The Rajah took a last glance in the mirror. Tonight he was wearing an enormous ruby in the front of his turban. It was surrounded by diamonds and the jewels shone and glittered and were in strange contrast to the immaculate severity of his evening clothes cut by an English tailor.

The big leather jewel case in which all his jewels were contained lay open on the dressing table, and standing in the corner of the room, were the two ‘Keepers of the Jewels’, men who guarded them day and night and who were ready to die in defence of what they guarded.

The Rajah glanced down at the velvet lined cases. He took out a ruby ring and slipped it on to the little finger of his left hand. Beside it was a sapphire of great beauty, not particularly dark in colour, but as it caught the light of the candelabra on the dressing table, it reminded the Rajah for the moment of Stella’s eyes.

He took it out of its velvet case, turned it over in his fingers, stared at it and seemed about to put it in his pocket, then changed his mind. He set it back in its case. It should be the pearls or nothing, he decided.

It was a challenge he could not resist.

They would be expensive, but that did not concern him one way or another. It was a question of pride, of being able to obtain what might prove almost unobtainable. After another glance in the mirror he was ready and, ignoring the low obeisance of his servants, he went from his bedroom and down the broad staircase which led to the hall.

Outside the carriage was waiting.

Servants in red and white uniform flung open the door and assisted the Rajah into the cushioned comfort within the vehicle. Then the footman sprang up on to the box and with the brake hard on the wheels the horses started off down the steep drive and along the few hundred yards of road which led to the entrance of the Villa Mimosa.

Stella was waiting for him. She was looking particularly attractive tonight in another Paris gown of green crépe trimmed with lace and draperies of pale rose satin. Her hair fell from the back of her head in a dozen long curls and was garlanded with a wreath of roses sprinkled with tiny gems.

The perfume the Rajah had bought for her late that afternoon was pungent and intoxicating as she entered the coach beside him, and as the door closed, he lifted her hand to his mouth, his lips seeking out each finger.

‘Where are we going for dinner?’ Stella asked. I’m very hungry.’

The Rajah’s teeth were for a moment hard against the ball of her thumb.

‘I, too, am hungry for you!’ he replied, then added in answer to her question, ‘I ordered a table at the
Hôtel de Paris.’

‘I’m glad about that,’ Stella answered. We had the most wonderful dinner there the night before last.’

‘Yes, we can eat well, and I thought at the same time that we might see the lady with the pearls.’

‘“The Ghost!”’ Stella exclaimed. ‘Everyone calls her “the Ghost.”’

‘Who has told you that everyone does?’ the Rajah asked.

‘François,’ Stella answered simply.

‘François?’ the Rajah repeated and it was a question.

‘Your Chef!’

The Rajah laughed.

‘So my Chef is a gossip and he gossips with you!’

‘He comes to see me in the morning,’ Stella explained, ‘to enquire what I should like to eat during the day. He says he is a great artiste and artistes always desire to please their patrons. When he is not talking about food, he talks about people.’

‘So it was François who made you desire the pearls belonging to “the Ghost?”’ the Rajah asked.

‘No, it was – ’ Stella began, then stopped.

She realised suddenly that it would be unwise to tell the Rajah who had put the idea into her head. He did not like Chrissie, she knew that. He thought that her deformity was ugly and that a hunchback in the house brought bad luck upon it.

No, it would be unwise to mention Chrissie, especially when the Rajah was in such good humour and had promised that he would buy her the pearls belonging to ‘the Ghost.’

To cover up the slip she had nearly made Stella put her hand on the Rajah’s knee and bent her head down towards his shoulder.

‘Why are you so kind to me?’ she asked in a soft voice.

‘Do you really want me to answer that question?’ the Rajah enquired, and she saw the gleam in his eyes as they passed a gas lamp.

6

Mistral knelt in the little Chapel of
St. Dévote
. It was overshadowed by the deep ravine at the foot of which it was built, so that little light penetrated through the stained glass windows, and inside the Church it was dim and dark save for the candles flickering in front of the Lady Chapel and the Sanctuary light hanging before the Altar.

There were but half a dozen people present for Benediction although it was the Feast of St. Joseph, and Mistral, saying the prayers that the Nuns had taught her, suddenly remembered Sir Robert’s words, ‘There are few Saints in Monte Carlo’.

She could hear quite clearly the humorous note in his voice, see the hint of laughter in his grey eyes as he looked down at her. How handsome he was! It was funny, Mistral thought, but ever since that morning when they had met in the gardens she found him indissolubly linked in her mind with
St. Dévote
.

She had only to think of
St. Dévote
being carried across the sea from Corsica and instantly Sir Robert came to her mind too. She had only to ask her aunt if she could attend Early Mass, or walk down the steps which led to the great gorge which separated the sober town of Monaco from the frivolous town of Monte Carlo, for Sir Robert to be insistently in her thoughts.

She saw him practically every night in the distance, but as they had arranged at their first meeting, when they were in public they behaved as if they were complete strangers to one another.

Always he seemed to be with the same lady, the one whom people spoke of as Lady Violet and who had very beautiful chestnut hair.

She was attractive, Mistral thought, though she must be nearly middle aged. But she could not be sure of this, for many people seemed old to Mistral at eighteen and she often chid herself for thinking people were older than they were.

But somehow she felt she was not mistaken about Lady Violet, for although the Englishwoman was smartly dressed and had undoubted attractions which made the men around her laugh at everything she said, there was something in the way she held herself, in the lines of her neck, in the sharpness of her jaw, or perhaps an occasional tiredness in her eyes which proclaimed the truth.

Mistral found herself watching for Sir Robert and Lady Violet. When she entered the dining room at the
Hôtel de
Paris, she would glance quickly at the table they nearly always occupied whenever they dined there. When she went on to the Casino with her aunt, she knew that, while she stood watching the gamblers, there was only one person she really wanted to see.

She felt that, if she had been blindfolded, she would have known instantly when Sir Robert entered the rooms. He had so much personality that he was outstanding even amongst the big cosmopolitan crowd thronging, moving about the tables.

There were men of every nationality – handsome, distinguished, aristocratic, and yet Mistral thought their faces seemed to have so little in them, to be so devoid of character.

Sir Robert was different. There was something noble in his face, something resolute and strong which appeared to her to be lacking in other men.

When he laughed, which was often when he was with Lady Violet, he looked young, yet at other times, when his face was in repose, he looked older and grave.

Mistral wondered if he were happy. She had the idea that something troubled him, but when she had those thoughts she rebuked herself for being imaginative. Besides, Aunt Emilie would be annoyed if she knew how often she thought about Sir Robert.

Her prayers finished, Mistral rose and walked down the aisle. Jeanne was sitting waiting for her in a back pew. She found it hard to kneel for her rheumatism had been troubling her these past few days, and so, when they went to the Chapel together, she waited for Mistral at the back where she could sit unobserved.

Jeanne rose and joined Mistral and after crossing themselves with Holy Water they went through the porch into the bright sunshine. For a moment Mistral’s eyes were dazzled and she could only blink in the hot afternoon sunshine, then she was aware that someone was coming up the steps towards her and that waiting in the roadway was an open carriage. Before she had time to be sure to whom it belonged, Prince Nikolai stood beside her and had raised her hand to his lips.

‘Your aunt told me I should find you here,
Mademoiselle
,’ he said. ‘Will you permit me to take you for a drive before you return to the Hotel?’

‘It is very kind of Your Serene Highness,’ Mistral said quietly.

There was a troubled note in her voice. She looked up at the Prince, at the smile on his lips, the excitement in his dark eyes which seemed to be scrutinising her face – feature by feature, then she looked away. The horses drawing the opera carriage were magnificent. Jet black, they were prancing a little with impatience and tossing their long manes.

‘Please come with me,
Mademoiselle
.’

The Prince’s words were humble, yet his voice was authoritative. Instinctively Mistral knew that he never for one moment anticipated that she would refuse him, and she wished she could do that very thing. She would have liked to walk back alone with Jeanne, to enjoy the sunshine with that sense of well-being and peace which was always hers after she had been to Church. But instead a very different programme awaited her and she was half afraid.

It was not that she did not like the Prince, she did, although his very impetuosity was at times rather frightening. But it was not really the Prince of whom she was scared, but of her aunt’s attitude towards him. He was a part of some plan of Aunt Emilie’s. Mistral was sure of that, and recently she had begun to be suspicious of and terrified by this plan, whatever it might be, which made her aunt give her strange orders and which prevented her from behaving normally and ordinarily as might any other girl of her age.

Why, for instance, had Aunt Emilie said that she was to speak to no other man in Monte Carlo except the Prince?

Why had she said that she must be particularly nice to His Serene Highness? Mistral shrank from the implications in that word ‘nice’. She had indeed questioned her aunt about it.

What do you mean by “nice,” Aunt Emilie?’ she had asked in all seriousness.

‘I mean you are to encourage him,’ Emilie snapped.

‘Encourage him to do what?’ Mistral enquired.

Emilie opened her mouth to reply, then she looked at Mistral and, seeing the enquiring innocence of her eyes, she was at a loss for words.

‘Be pleasant to the Prince,’ she said hastily. ‘Make him feel that he is welcome in our company and that you like him.’

‘I do like him,’ Mistral said. ‘But why may I not be nice to anyone else, Aunt Emilie? There are other men who might like us to welcome them too.’

As she spoke, she thought of Sir Robert, and she had not been prepared for the anger in her Aunt’s raised voice or the darkness of her expression.

‘There are no other men we want to welcome,’ Emilie said furiously. ‘Have I not made that clear already? It is Prince Nikolai with whom we are concerned. You will be nice to him and to no one else. If you disobey me, I shall punish you! But I think you would be wise not to disobey my orders.’

There was something so menacing in Emilie’s expression that instinctively Mistral shrank away from her.

‘I will do as you say, Aunt Emilie,’ she said and somehow managed to escape from the room and into the sanctuary of her own bedroom.

What did it all mean? And why was Prince Nikolai so especially favoured by Aunt Emilie?

It had begun on the very first night they had visited the Casino. Emilie had risen from the roulette table when Prince Nikolai walked away from it and had followed him. Mistral was sure of that now, although at the time she thought she was mistaken and her aunt was just promenading through the rooms aimlessly as other people did. And then, as the Prince had paused, obviously undecided as to which table he would visit next, Aunt Emilie had fallen against him.

She said that her foot had caught in the carpet, but Mistral could see no reason why it should have done so at just that particular spot. But Aunt Emilie had stumbled and in doing so had caught at the Prince’s arm as if for support, and the gold pieces that he held in his hand had been scattered over the floor. People sprang forward from all sides to pick them up while Aunt Emilie apologised.

‘You must forgive me, sir,’ she said. ‘I cannot apologise sufficiently for my clumsiness. My foot caught in the carpet and it was only by clinging on to you that I saved myself from falling. I am afraid I am too old to fall easily.’

‘Pray do not mention it again,
Madame
,’ the Prince said courteously. ‘I am glad to have been of service.’

A lackey held out a handful of louis.

‘These are all I have managed to save, Your Serene Highness,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid some have been taken for luck.’

The Prince laughed.

‘Keep the rest yourself and I hope they bring you luck too.’

The man was overcome.

‘That is more than gracious of Your Serene Highness – I thank Your Serene Highness a thousand times.’

Aunt Emilie’s eyebrows were raised.

‘Your Serene Highness!’ she repeated. ‘But, of course, I can see the likeness now. You must be Prince Nikolai! I knew your father many years ago. You are very like him.’

‘I thank you for the compliment,’ the Prince said. ‘I am one of my father’s most devoted admirers.’

He glanced at Mistral standing a little behind her aunt, a silent spectator of all that was happening. Emilie had not hesitated.