105. an Angel In Hell Read online

  “I hate that woman. I hate her!” the Princess cried suddenly with a new venom in her voice. “She has only sent for André because she knows that he might be seeing me. She is jealous of me. She always has been. That parvenue, that American upstart who had nothing to offer a man except her dollars!”

  Her head fell forward onto her chest and she muttered,

  “I should have killed her long ago. Then he would have been free!”

  Ancella felt that she could not have heard correctly!

  Then, as if talking to herself, Her Highness continued,

  “I was too young and too inexperienced to kill those women who tempted Serge. But I got rid of that girl that Vladimer was to marry and that dancer! She died!”

  “What are you – saying?” Ancella asked, her voice smitten with a sudden horror, so that it was only a whisper.

  “I killed them!” the Princess said. “Do you hear me? I saved Vladimer, as I should have saved André long ago. That woman must die! Boris will find a way!”

  Chapter Six

  When she was in bed, Ancella found it impossible to sleep.

  She had gone with the Princess to her bedroom where Maria was waiting and in a low voice that could not be overheard she said to the maid,

  “Her Highness is not well.”

  Maria glanced sharply at her employer and replied,

  “I was expecting it. She always looks like this when she’s been with him.”

  Ancella said goodnight and curtseying, left the Princess’s bedroom, but she had an idea that it would not have mattered whether she stayed or went, for the Princess was deep in her own thoughts.

  When she was in bed in the darkness Ancella found herself going over and over again what the Princess had said, feeling the shock of it, so that it was hard to think clearly.

  She must have been mistaken, she told herself, she must have misunderstood what the Princess had said. It was impossible for it to be the truth.

  Her Highness could not have meant that she had deliberately killed her son’s fiancée or the dancer he was interested in.

  Ancella told herself it might have been merely a figure of speech or perhaps her mind being a trifle deranged and after they died she had imagined that she had something to do with their deaths.

  And yet, now Ancella thought of it, there had been – or was she imagining it? – an insinuation in Captain Sudley’s voice when she had overheard him speaking of the women, when she was concealed beneath the balustrade.

  ‘There must be a perfectly reasonable explanation for how they lost their lives,’ she told herself.

  But almost as if to refute her reasoning, she could hear again Dr. Groves telling her how fanatically possessive the Princess was and how jealous she had been, first of her husband, then of her son.

  ‘It cannot be true – it cannot!’ Ancella whispered in the darkness, but found herself thinking of Boris and shivering.

  It was Boris who would have carried out his Mistress’s orders, Boris who would have been responsible for the death of the Russian girl who had died by drowning and Boris who would have pushed the ballet dancer out of a high window.

  Ancella thought of the Prince and, like the sea that becomes calm after a storm, she felt the tumult within her recede and a very different emotion possess her.

  Of one thing she was sure, if there had been treachery, if there had been a crime committed, the Prince would have had no part in it.

  She knew that with so much certainty that, even if the Princess had told her he was a murderer, she would have proclaimed his innocence, whatever the evidence against him.

  She knew irrefutably, without need of further assurance, that Prince Vladimer was himself very different from the outside world’s impression of him.

  To the chattering social gossips he might be a heart-breaker, a rich Russian aristocrat seeking amusement, but to her he was very different.

  He was a man she would have trusted not only with her life but also with her soul.

  She had known when he kissed her that the fire that sprang within them both was in its very ecstasy Divine.

  She felt the glory of it sweep over her again, so that she quivered, not now in fear or disgust, but with a wonder and a gratitude that came from the very depths of her heart.

  ‘I love him!’ she told herself and felt as if the words vibrated in the darkness of her small bedroom.

  ‘I love him! I love him!’

  She felt that once again they were standing beneath the stars and he was carrying her up into the sky and that the fragrance of the flowers and the music were all a part of their love.

  She had known him such a very short time and yet she thought now that he had always been there in her thoughts and was so indivisibly a part of her that they had in fact recognised each other from the moment they met.

  She had been aware of it when he had spoken of love at Eza and yet she had been afraid to believe the promptings of her own heart.

  She had felt then that he was sweeping her away like a floodtide and she must struggle to retain her own identity – but now, since he had kissed her, she knew that it was impossible not to accept the inevitable.

  She was his.

  And he was hers.

  She closed her eyes feeling again his mouth possessing her and knew that nothing else was of any consequence save that she belonged to him and that he loved her.

  It had seemed utterly unbelievable when he had told her so as they sat overlooking the sea. Until that moment they had hardly spoken more than a few sentences to each other.

  But now she knew that the Prince had been right – when their eyes met in the Casino and a strange magnetism passed between them, they had found each other across Eternity.

  Nothing else was of any importance and gradually the Princess’s mutterings faded from Ancella’s mind and she slept with a smile on her lips.

  She dreamt that the Prince was holding her in his arms and her head was on his shoulder –

  *

  But with the morning the horror of what she had heard came back to her and, as Ancella dressed, she wondered whether she would be wise to send for Dr. Groves.

  But even as she thought of it, she shrank from relating to anyone what the Princess had said, least of all to an outsider, even if he was her physician.

  She knew that she could not tell the Prince, could not bring herself to repeat what his mother had said and watch, because she would be unable to help herself, the expression in his eyes.

  Had he suspected? Had he any idea what had happened to the women he had been fond of?

  Ancella drew herself up sharply.

  She was assuming that what the Princess had said was true, yet another part of her mind was convinced that it was just an hallucination and that when two accidents had happened, both of which were very welcome to Her Highness, she was prepared to believe that she herself was responsible for them.

  ‘That is the truth!’ Ancella persuaded herself firmly. ‘If the Princess is better today, she may not remember what she said to me and I need never think about it again.’

  They were brave words, but she knew that it would be difficult not to remember what had been said, not to feel it haunting her, hovering at the back of her mind.

  When she had dressed and had her breakfast, Ancella went along to the Princess’s room and Maria was in the passage outside.

  “How is Her Highness this morning?”

  “She had a bad night,” Maria replied. “At dawn she rang for me and I gave her a sleeping draught. She is not yet awake.”

  “I am sorry,” Ancella said. “I am afraid it upset Her Highness when her friend the Comte had to leave.”

  “It always upsets her,” Maria answered. “He is the only person who really remembers her as she was! So beautiful, m’mselle! There was not a lady in the whole Court who could hold a candle to her!”

  “I can believe that and it must be hard, when you have been so beautiful, to grow old.”

  �
�Beauty does not save one from suffering,” Maria said sharply.

  Then, as if she thought that she had said too much, she suggested,

  “Go for a walk in the sunshine, m’mselle. The Princess should be awake in half an hour or so and then she will want to see you.”

  Ancella was glad to escape. She was feeling nervous of seeing the Princess again in case she should remember what she had said in the carriage.

  Ancella went down the long white steps into the garden.

  The sunshine glittered on the fountains and the leaves of the trees moved gently in a soft breeze from the sea.

  It was very lovely and, as Ancella walked towards the balustrade at the end of the promontory, she saw that there was someone already there.

  For a moment she hesitated, then her heart seemed to turn over in her breast and she went forward eagerly.

  Only as she reached him did the Prince turn from his contemplation of the sea.

  “Ancella!”

  The way he spoke her name was an embrace in itself.

  She looked up at him, her eyes shining, her lips parting a little at the excitement of seeing him.

  “I was thinking of you,” he said. “I keep wondering, my darling, what you have done to me.”

  It was difficult to speak, but somehow Ancella found her voice.

  “I was – thinking about you – last night.”

  “I thought you must be. Oh, my sweet, I did not know anything could be so wonderful or as magical as that moment when I touched your lips.”

  His eyes met Ancella’s and she felt, although he did not move, as if he kissed her again.

  He looked at her for a long moment before he said,

  “I must not stay here talking to you, as I am sure you understand. I will find out what everyone is doing and perhaps we can meet this afternoon.”

  He saw her eyes light up and there was no need for words. She knew by the expression in his face what he was feeling.

  He turned with what was an obvious effort and walked back towards the villa.

  Ancella held on to the grey stone of the balustrade.

  She was trembling with an ecstasy that made her body feel as weak as when he had held her close to him and she felt as if she melted not only into his arms but also into his body, mind and soul.

  “I love him!” she whispered beneath her breath.

  The waves lapping gently beneath her seemed to repeat the words over and over again.

  “I love him! I love him!”

  When Ancella went back to the villa and up to the Princess’s room, she saw Boris coming through the door and felt, as she always did, a revulsion at the sight of him.

  This morning there was a faint smile on his thick lips and his hooded eyes seemed more sinister than ever. She thought that he was pleased about something and felt instinctively that he was the purveyor of bad news.

  As he passed her, he seemed to exude evil and she felt herself shrink away from him as if he might contaminate her.

  There was no sign of Maria and Ancella knocked at the Princess’s door.

  As she entered, it was to find the Princess sitting up in bed. The moment she looked at her Ancella knew that she was in the same agitated state that she had been in the night before.

  “Oh, it’s you, is it?” she said almost rudely. “Well, perhaps you can confirm what Boris has just told me.”

  “Confirm what, ma’am?” Ancella asked, moving towards the bed.

  “That the Marchioness has snared my son, as she always intended to do.”

  “What do you – mean?” Ancella asked.

  She felt as she spoke as if a cold hand clutched at her heart.

  “Boris tells me,” the Princess said, “that, after everyone had returned from the Casino last night, she went to his bedroom.”

  “I don’t – believe it!”

  Before she could prevent herself Ancella heard her voice ring out.

  “It is true!” the Princess answered. “Boris is never mistaken. She has been stalking him, that blue-eyed English harlot! I have watched her doing it. Smarming over him, touching him with her hands, looking into his eyes, inviting him to possess her and now she has succeeded!”

  Ancella stood as if she was turned to stone, the blood drained away from her face and she was very pale.

  The Princess was not looking at her and after a moment, in a voice that she hardly recognised as her own, Ancella managed to say,

  “There must be some – mistake! I am absolutely – convinced that His Highness is not – interested in the Marchioness in that – way.”

  “But she is interested in him!” the Princess snarled. “And what man ever resists temptation?”

  She paused for a moment and then went on,

  “They are all the same! Serge, André, Vladimer. When a pretty woman beckons they follow. Not that Vladimer had to go anywhere. She went to him!”

  Ancella thought that she was going to faint.

  With an effort she forced herself to walk to the window, trying to breathe deeply and fighting the darkness that seemed to be creeping into her mind so that it was hard to think.

  “I will get rid of her!” the Princess said from behind her. “She shall not stay in this villa. I will not have it! As I have told Vladimer before, I will not play hostess to his lights of love!”

  Ancella held onto the lintel of the window.

  ‘I must not – faint – I must not let the – Princess know,’ she thought frantically.

  “Shall I order Your Highness’s luncheon in bed?” Maria’s voice asked from the door.

  “In bed? I am not staying in bed!” the Princess retorted. “I am going downstairs. I want to see what’s happening!”

  “You’d do much better taking a rest,” Maria said. “You’re tired out, Your Highness. Stay here.”

  “I will do nothing of the sort!” the Princess replied. “Besides, His Imperial Highness is coming to luncheon. He has asked himself and I must be downstairs to receive him.”

  “The Grand Duke would understand if he knew Your Highness was ill,” Maria expostulated.

  “I am not ill!” the Princess insisted. “Besides, Royalty is Royalty, as you well know, Maria, although why the Grand Duke wishes to have luncheon with us I cannot imagine!”

  Ancella heard the Princess talking as if she was very far away, but her faintness was passing and after a few moments she was able to turn round.

  “Is there – anything I can do for – Your Highness?” she asked.

  “Nothing!” the Princess replied and then changed her mind. “You can read to me while I am getting dressed. I had better keep up with world affairs and you will find in the local newspaper a list of the latest arrivals in Monte Carlo. We don’t want to miss anybody of interest!”

  The Princess was speaking now in quite a normal voice, but there was a strange look in her eyes, which was one almost of excitement.

  Ancella had the uneasy feeling that she was plotting something and yet, she asked herself, why should she care?

  After all the Prince had said, after all she had thought that kiss had meant, the Marchioness had gone to his room and he must have allowed her to stay there.

  Had he compelled her to leave immediately, Ancella was sure that Boris would have reported it and she wondered with a feeling that was one of despair how long they had been together.

  Had he kissed those beautiful wild-rose lips? Had he said to the Marchioness the same things he had said to her?

  Everything in her body cried out at the thought of it. Her whole being seemed to revolt at his duplicity.

  And yet, she told herself, she must face facts. The Marchioness had been determined to become his Mistress. She had heard her say so the first day she had arrived and now apparently without much difficulty she had succeeded.

  To Ancella the Princess’s revelations had been like a dagger plunged into her heart. For the moment she was numb with the shock of it. She could not even feel the pain that she expected.
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br />   She only felt as if she was moving in a dark fog and that she was no longer herself, no more than a puppet who walked and talked but had become completely unhuman.

  She picked up the newspaper and read it to the Princess, but she had not the slightest idea what she read.

  Her lips said one thing, but her mind was far away, desolate and alone in a barren wilderness, crying for a lost ideal.

  When the Princess was dressed, it was time to go downstairs for luncheon and Ancella wondered if she should say that she had a headache and ask if she could go to her bedroom.

  Then she thought that might draw attention to herself, which was the last thing she wanted.

  She wished only to be anonymous, to hide if it was possible under a stone or in the darkest cave and know that no one would seek for her or be aware of her very existence.

  As she dressed, the Princess’s mood had changed.

  Now she was like a soldier, Ancella thought, going into battle and the glitter of excitement that she had seen in her eyes was a hard, almost brutal determination to destroy what had offended her.

  She noticed that Maria looked at her employer as if in perplexity.

  And Ancella thought too, as the Princess put on her usual fantastic amount of jewellery, that she did it as if her gems were an armour she protected herself with against a dangerous foe.

  Finally, with two long ropes of pearls around her neck and diamonds glittering in her ears and on her fingers, the Princess was ready.

  “Come, Miss Winton,” she said.

  It was somehow a battle call.

  “I don’t know what Your Highness is up to,” Maria muttered, “but don’t you go upsettin’ yourself. Boris has no right to come here disturbin’ you with his tales and his sneaky goings-on, as I’ve told him often enough.”

  “Boris does what he is told to do,” the Princess replied.

  There was something in the way she spoke that made Ancella shudder.

  Could the Princess have really told Boris to drown one woman and throw another from a high window?

  All the shock of what she felt while they drove back from the Casino swept over Ancella again.

  Then, because she felt too weak to protest or do anything other than was expected of her, she followed the Princess down to the salon.