The Peril and the Prince Page 2

  The Marquis’s eyebrows went up.

  “Russian?”

  “It might be useful and at the same time it’s a name that might easily be Hungarian if you put the accents in the right places.”

  The Marquis laughed because he could not help it.

  “Before you ask me,” Vida went on, “I am keeping my own Christian name because not only does it sound foreign, which it is, but Papa’s advice has always been ‘never tell a lie if you can possibly help it’.”

  The Marquis had to laugh again.

  “I can only say that you are incorrigible, Miss Anstruther, and, although you are persuading me to do something of which I very much disapprove, I cannot really think how I can stop you.”

  “That is not surprising,” Vida said, “since I have every intention of going to find Papa. It would also be useful if in an emergency I could know if there are any of your own men in reach of where I shall be who could help me.”

  Again the Marquis hesitated before he wrote down a name on a piece of paper in front of him and handed it across the desk.

  “As your father’s daughter,” he said, “you are well aware that the life of this man is in your hands. Commit his name to memory and then destroy this paper and promise me that only in an emergency that affects the life of you or your father will you call upon him.”

  “I promise you that I will be as careful as my father would be in the same circumstances.”

  “That is all I ask,” the Marquis replied. “And now we will do what we can about your passport.”

  He rang a bell attached to his desk as he spoke and, when the door opened, he said,

  “Ask Mr. Tritton to come to me.”

  Mr. Tritton was, as Vida was not surprised to see, a middle-aged man with a worried look on his face, which came, she was sure, from being burdened with secrets that must never be disclosed outside the Foreign Office.

  The Marquis handed him the piece of paper on which he had written the name that Vida had chosen for her passport and then, as the door closed behind him, he said,

  “I expect you would wish to take it with you, as it would be wise not to make too many visits here. We never know who is watching our doors.”

  “That is what I thought, my Lord,” Vida replied, “and I can only say that I am very grateful for your help.”

  “Given very reluctantly!”

  She smiled at him and he thought that she was not only lovely but also very unlike any English girl of her age.

  “I know your mother was Hungarian,” he said. “Did you ever visit her family when your father was in Vienna?”

  Vida shook her head.

  “There never seemed to be time,” she answered, “but some of my relatives, only the younger ones, came to see us in Vienna. Those who were older had no wish to travel.”

  “And you say that you are as proficient at languages as your father?”

  “He has taught me everything he knows,” Vida replied. “At the same time it has been useful having a Russian grandmother.”

  The Marquis sat upright.

  “I had no idea of that.”

  “She was dead before I was born so I never met her, but as Russian is the most difficult language in the world to learn, with the exception perhaps of Chinese, it has been of inestimable benefit to be able to speak it almost naturally and in fact not find it at all difficult.”

  “That indeed is an almost incredible asset,” the Marquis said. “But let me beg you, Miss Anstruther, not to do anything foolhardy, such as going to Russia unless it is to make the same sort of friendly visit you would make in any other country.”

  He paused while choosing his words and then added,

  “As you are, of course, aware, there is a great deal of animosity between us and the Czar at the present moment. I am not disclosing any secrets when I say that we have nearly come to war over Afghanistan and I am quite certain that the Czar harbours little or no goodwill towards the English.”

  “Papa was sure that he is in fact furious, because his forces have not been successful in infiltrating into India, not even into the North-West Provinces.”

  The Marquis did not reply and Vida was certain that he felt it would be indiscreet to discuss it with her.

  Tactfully she said,

  “Is there anyone that would be useful for me to get in touch with either in Hungary or just over the frontier?”

  As she spoke, she knew that she was reading the Marquis’s mind and that he was thinking of someone although he had not intended to reveal it to her.

  But now he looked penetratingly at her across the desk and she was aware that he was wondering whether or not he could trust her.

  “Please,” she said, “I swear to you on all I hold holy, I know that Papa is in danger.”

  The sincerity with which she spoke helped the Marquis to make up his mind.

  “Very well,” he said. “I will tell you about one man who is I believe of vital importance, although the information I have about him is very varied.”

  “Who is he?”

  “His name is Prince Ivan Pavolivski.”

  Vida was listening intently as the Marquis went on.

  “He is a strange enigmatic man who may be all that he pretends.”

  “What is that?”

  “Like many of the Russian Nobility, he comes to Western Europe for amusement and spends some time every year in Monte Carlo where he has a villa, as have the Grand Duke Boris and the Grand Duke Michael. He is also well known in Paris and made a visit last year to London.”

  Vida knew that this was nothing unusual and the Russian aristocrats with their enormous wealth and generous hospitality were welcome everywhere.

  “What is different about Prince Ivan,” the Marquis went on, “is that no one is quite certain where his allegiance lies.”

  Vida looked puzzled and he explained.

  “He has many friends in Hungary who find him a great sportsman and enthusiastically welcome his social visits. But from reports I have received, although I admit they are scanty, he is also persona grata with the Czar which, from our point of view, makes him an object of suspicion.”

  “So you think that he is not entirely a playboy?” Vida asked.

  “I am quite certain that he is far too intelligent not to understand everything that takes place around him and he may be deeply involved in politics.”

  The Marquis made a sudden gesture of concession with his hands.

  “I admit that when I met him I found him an enigma. He may be just what on the surface he appears to be or he may be at the very centre of the plots we are trying to anticipate and the puzzles we are trying to unravel. I just do not know.”

  Vida drew in her breath.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Perhaps the Prince will be able to tell me about Papa.”

  The Marquis held up his hands.

  “For God’s sake, don’t trust him unless you feel absolutely certain you can do so.”

  Then he added in a worried tone,

  “Perhaps I should not have told you about the Prince. He has the reputation since he is so handsome of being irresistible to women. If you are carried away by his charm, as undoubtedly many women have been, you might inadvertently be writing your father’s death warrant.”

  “I am not a fool, my Lord,” Vida said coldly, “and I can assure you after your warning that if I do approach the Prince I shall be on my guard and I will do nothing that could in any way endanger Papa’s life or that of anyone else in your service.”

  She spoke with a seriousness that made the Marquis simply say,

  “Thank you.”

  As he spoke, the door opened and Mr. Tritton returned with the passport.

  Vida put it quickly into her bag and then, as soon as she was alone with the Marquis again, she rose to her feet saying,

  “I can only say thank you from the bottom of my heart! The moment Papa and I are safe we will communicate with you.”

  “Your father knows how to
do that without anyone being able to understand what he is saying.”

  “Yes, I know,” Vida agreed.

  “I am not certain whether I should approve or disapprove of Sir Harvey confiding in you.”

  “I can assure you that Papa and I have always worked together as a team,” Vida answered, “and I know now that I should have gone with him on this journey. I had not realised that anything could be so time-wasting and irrelevant as attending the drawing room at Buckingham Palace.”

  She spoke in an almost scathing manner, which made the Marquis look at her curiously.

  He knew that for most young women it was the golden moment in their lives, a privilege that they would never forget. But Vida Anstruther was holding out her hand to him and, as he took it in both his hands hand, he said,

  “I can only beg you, my dear, to take care of yourself. You are too young and much too pretty to get involved in what I often think is a very unpleasant mess.”

  “At the same time, my Lord,” Vida answered, “you must admit it is far more exciting and rewarding than attending tea parties or dancing with inane young men whose only topic of conversation is which horse is going to win at Ascot.”

  She spoke with a sarcastic note in her voice and looked so lovely as she did so that the Marquis could only laugh.

  “You are undermining the whole foundations of English Social life, Miss Anstruther,” he said, as he walked with her to the door.

  “I should hate to do that,” she replied. “Equally I have the feeling, although I may be wrong, that it is only a question of time before it is as dead as the dodo.”

  The Marquis had no answer to this and he could only think as he returned to his desk that he had just conducted a very strange interview and hoped that he had not done the wrong thing.

  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 halfway 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.”