69 Love Leaves at Midnight Read online

  He looked at the fear in her eyes in surprise and then he answered,

  “They are only trying to make a nuisance of themselves. I should have warned you that this might happen.’’

  Too late Xenia remembered that her mother had always told her that Royal personages never showed fear. She had often told stories of how brave Kings and Queens were, even when bombs hit their carriages and killed their horses.

  ‘I am behaving like the commoner I am,’ Xenia told herself.

  At the same time she still held onto the King’s hand because it was comforting.

  A few seconds later the students were left behind and once again there were crowds of cheering waving people, mostly women and children.

  Then just ahead of them, built on the hill and approached by a wide street bordered with flowering trees, Xenia saw the Palace.

  It looked exactly as she thought a Palace should look, impressive and romantic with turrets on either side of it and gold-tipped wrought iron gates in front.

  She had taken her hand from the King’s when she had started to wave once again to the crowd. Now with her fears forgotten, she turned to him with shining eyes.

  “It is just the sort of Palace a King ought to live in,” she said. “It is exactly right and it is as beautiful and impressive as your beautiful country.”

  As she spoke, she raised her head to where towering directly above the Palace there was a mountain and beyond it along the whole valley a large range of them, some far away in the distance still snow-capped from the previous winter.

  “It is lovely!” Xenia cried. “Lovely, lovely, lovely! How could anyone fail to be happy here?”

  “And do you think that is what you will be?” the King asked in a tone of doubt that was unmistakable.

  His words were like a splash of cold water against her face.

  Too late Xenia realised that she had been speaking not as Johanna but as herself and saying what she, Xenia – a counterfeit fake Princess – really thought.

  Chapter 3

  There was a big crowd outside the Palace, but as Xenia waved to them she realised that perhaps only one in three was responding.

  The rest, who were mostly men, stood with their arms crossed and a surly expression on their faces.

  She wanted to ask the King what was wrong with them, but she knew that she would not make her voice heard and the next moment they had entered the gold-tipped gates guarded by soldiers.

  There seemed to be an unnecessary amount of them at the gates and in the courtyard, besides being stationed up the long flight of steps leading to the front door.

  They looked very smart in their red tunics and dark blue trousers and the Officers with gold epaulettes on their shoulders and wearing their medals were most impressive.

  Xenia and the King walked up the red-carpeted steps and then entered one of the loveliest entrance halls she had ever seen.

  It was of white with Corinthian columns touched with gold and an exquisitely painted ceiling. There were a number of statues that Xenia saw at once were exceptionally well sculpted.

  But there was no time to see anything before they were led by a number of officials down a wide corridor and into a huge reception room.

  This again was quite entrancing and at first Xenia could only see the huge crystal chandeliers reflected and re-reflected on either side of the long room.

  As she and the King moved through a throng of people towards a dais at the far end of which there were two gold thrones, it flashed through her mind that the room had in fact been copied in general plan from the Hall of Mirrors at the Palace of Versailles.

  ‘It’s all so beautiful!’ she told herself appreciatively.

  Then it was impossible to think of anything except the people who were being presented to her.

  First there were several aged relatives of the King who, she gathered, were staying in the Palace to chaperone her and then there were the members of the Government.

  The Prime Minister was an elderly man with grey hair, but there was something in his bearing and the expression on his face that told Xenia he was a force to be reckoned with.

  He murmured a few words of welcome, before he presented his Cabinet one by one.

  Xenia felt that they looked at her appraisingly as if they were summing up in their minds whether she would be useful or otherwise.

  Then she told herself that she was being imaginative.

  In Luthenia, as in other small countries, the Monarch was in control and only in exceptional instances did the Government not accept his decision as binding.

  There were so many people to meet that after a few moments she felt bemused and it was impossible to distinguish one face from another. She could merely reply to the greeting that was offered to her in what she hoped were gracious sentences of gratitude.

  When they first entered the room, she had felt so shy as to be unable to say anything and wanted more than anything else to hide.

  Then she remembered not only that she was supposed to be Johanna, but also that her mother had always said,

  “Shyness is selfish. It means that you are thinking of yourself. Think of other people and their troubles, not your own.”

  That was what Xenia now tried to do and, when the reception was over and the guests applauded, although it was a dignified and restrained gesture, she felt that she had been successful.

  She and the King left and they walked up the stairs to what she guessed would be their private apartments.

  She had to keep remembering that she was supposed to have visited Luthenia before, but she gathered from some of the comments that were made that it was some time before the King and Johanna were betrothed.

  “These rooms have been re-decorated,” the King said, “and I hope the result will please you.”

  He spoke as if he would be surprised if they did.

  But, when they entered the sitting room decorated in the French style and furnished with Louis XIV console tables and mirrors, Xenia could only stare round in delight.

  The Palace at Slovia had contained some fine antique furniture which her mother had not only described to Xenia but had also explained to her the different periods in history they had come from.

  Her grandfather had been a collector of pictures and Xenia was quite knowledgeable on the Italian Masters and primitives.

  It was one thing to learn about such treasures, but very different to actually see them.

  “That is a Fragonard I am sure!” she exclaimed.

  She was looking at a picture on one wall, which had an ethereal beauty about it so compelling that it seemed almost to affect the atmosphere of the room itself.

  “It is one of my favourites,” the King said. “It seemed right for this room – although I remember that you were not particularly interested in paintings.”

  “How could anyone not appreciate this?” Xenia asked, looking at the gentle lines of the picture and the exquisite blending of the colours.

  There was also a Boucher which she went into ecstasies over and it was hard to look away from the pictures to the lovely china, which had been arranged on inlaid tables.

  “I am glad you appreciate this room, for it will be yours,” the King said. “At the same time I am afraid you cannot spend much time here at the moment. The Prime Minister wishes to speak with you as soon as you have had a short rest.”

  “The Prime Minister?” Xenia enquired.

  “He wishes to tell you why you have been asked to come here with such precipitate haste.”

  “Surely you can tell me that?” Xenia replied.

  She looked at the King as she spoke and she thought as she did so that he seemed more cynical and more bored than ever.

  ‘What has made him like that?’ she wondered.

  Then, as she met his eyes, she felt that he was looking at her as searchingly as she was gazing at him.

  It was just an impression.

  Then abruptly he said,

  “I hope you enjoyed yourself
in England.”

  “It – it was very – pleasant,” Xenia replied quickly.

  “Pleasant?”

  He made the word sound like a sneer.

  “Surely your English lover should have made it more delightful than that?”

  Xenia was very still.

  Then, because of the tone in the King’s voice and also because the word ‘lover’ disturbed her, the colour flared in her cheeks.

  She could think of nothing to say to answer him, but she turned aside to walk to the window and, because she felt agitated, she took off her little hat as she did so.

  She stood looking out, but not seeing the formal garden below or the fountains playing in the centre of it.

  She was trying wildly to think what Johanna would say in the circumstances and feeling instead that her brain could not work clearly and felt as if it was stuffed with cotton wool.

  The sunshine turned her hair into a fiery red and her skin was very white.

  “No reply?” the King asked mockingly from behind her. “Was it too ecstatic to describe in words? Or was it perhaps disappointing, as love affairs so often can be?”

  Still Xenia did not answer and after a moment he said,

  “If your experiences are too private to be related, surely you are interested in mine? You have not yet enquired after Elga. I felt sure you would be interested in my association with her.”

  Now he was jeering and quite suddenly without really thinking what she was saying Xenia said,

  “Please – don’t – talk like – that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it – spoils everything. It is so beautiful – here in a – Palace out of a Fairy tale – and I want to – enjoy it for – ”

  She nearly added, ‘ – the next few days,’ then prevented herself so that her voice died away on the last word like an unfinished piece of music.

  For a moment there was complete silence.

  Then the King said in a different tone,

  “After what you said to me the last time we met, I find your attitude difficult to understand.”

  Xenia drew in her breath.

  She must not let Johanna down, she thought. At the same time she could not bear the short time she would be in the Palace to be spoilt.

  Just for once in her life she would be of importance, part of the life that her mother had described to her.

  Every second must be treasured in her mind so that when she was back in England, looking for employment with only Johanna’s fee and what her father had left between her and starvation, she could remember it.

  As the King did not speak, she turned round to look at him, her eyes were large and a little frightened.

  Suppose she had said too much? Suppose he suspected that she was not who she pretended to be?

  He was certainly staring at her with a penetration that made her feel shy. Then, as she waited, unexpectedly he smiled.

  It transformed his face. He looked younger and even more handsome and certainly more human.

  “For the first time, Xenia,” he said, “you seem to be your age instead of the sophisticated blasé woman of the world that you have appeared to be in the past.”

  Xenia felt a quick surge of relief. He was not suspicious and she managed to say lightly,

  “No one could be blasé in such beautiful surroundings.”

  She moved from the window as she spoke and was aware that the King was watching her.

  “Do you want me to change before I meet the Prime Minister?” she enquired.

  “No, of course not,” he said. “Perhaps you would like to tidy yourself. Your bedroom is next door and your maids will be waiting for you there.”

  “Thank you,” Xenia answered. “Then shall I come back here?”

  “I will collect you in twenty minutes time.”

  “Thank you,” she said again.

  She was not certain if she ought to curtsey before leaving the King, but decided it would be better to be formal than otherwise.

  She therefore curtseyed, feeling it was impossible to be anything but graceful in her exquisite green gown.

  Then, without looking at the King again, she opened the door, which she was certain would lead into her bedroom and was aware as she did so that he was standing in the centre of the sitting room watching her go.

  There were two maids in the room, which Xenia saw at a glance was as attractive as the one she had just left.

  The huge bed, carved and gilded, was draped with soft blue silk curtains that matched the inset panels on the walls.

  Once again there was a ceiling exquisitely painted and the furniture was painted too and carved with flowers, birds and fruit, which Xenia knew was traditionally Austrian.

  The whole room was so beautiful that she could only look about her until she realised that two maids were curtseying low and waiting for her to notice them.

  Without thinking that it might seem a strangely English custom, Xenia held out her hand to the elder woman.

  “It is nice to meet you,” she said, “and thank you for doing my unpacking.”

  “It is an honour and a privilege, Your Royal Highness,” the maid replied.

  “You must tell me your name.”

  “It is Margit, Your Royal Highness and this is Vilma.”

  Vilma was young and attractive and obviously extremely impressed with her new Mistress.

  She made a series of nervous little curtseys and Xenia smiled and walked to the dressing table to tidy her hair.

  “Do you wish to change your gown, Your Royal Highness?” Margit asked.

  “It is unnecessary – ” Xenia began to say.

  Then she glanced at the open wardrobe and saw that it was already half-filled with gowns that might have appeared in her dreams.

  She suddenly had an irresistible urge to try every one of them on and wear them before her Cinderella story came to an end when midnight sent her back in her rags to the kitchen.

  “Yes, I will change,” she said with a lilt in her voice. “Which do you think would be the most suitable for this time of the day?”

  “There is a banquet in the Palace tonight,” Margit answered, “and I thought that Your Royal Highness would wish to wear a white gown – perhaps this one?”

  She drew from the wardrobe a gown of white silk, the front draped almost Grecian fashion and caught up at the sides with bunches of yellow lilies before the back, with only the faintest suggestion of a bustle, fell to the floor in a small train.

  It was so lovely that there was a perceptible pause before Xenia said,

  “Yes, I am sure that would be the correct gown to wear tonight.”

  “Then I suggest Your Royal Highness changes now into this one,” Margit said.

  She took down a gown of the palest eau-de-nil silk trimmed with lace dyed to the same shade.

  When she put it on, Xenia thought that it became her even more than the gown she had worn previously and yet it was hard to decide which one was lovelier than the other.

  It was fortunate that she and Johanna were the same height and the only difference was that she was more slender and therefore slightly smaller in the waist.

  Many of the gowns she noticed had, however, a belt and the ones without one could easily be taken in and let out again later.

  ‘The servants will think it is the accident that has made me lose weight,’ she decided.

  Therefore, as she dressed, she told Margit what had happened and how frightening it had been.

  “A terrible experience, Your Royal Highness!” the elderly woman murmured, while Vilma listened with the look on her face of a child who has been taken to a pantomime.

  “Trains are dangerous things,” Margit went on, “but perhaps those in England are not as good as ours.”

  Because she spoke of England it brought vividly back to Xenia’s mind the way the King had spoken to her of her English ‘lover’.

  She had been right, she decided, in thinking that he was shocked and perhaps even d
isgusted by the idea of his wife and future Queen behaving as Johanna was doing.

  ‘How could she have been so stupid as to let him know?’ Xenia wondered.

  Then she thought perhaps it would have been even more reprehensible to deceive him.

  It was a problem such as she had never imagined would concern her and she found herself puzzling once again over her cousin’s behaviour.

  However, she told herself severely it was none of her business.

  All she had to do was to keep the King happy and unsuspicious and, perhaps more important, try to help him as Mr. Donington had said she could.

  The idea made her feel nervous. She was sure that nothing she could say or do could be of the least consequence to him.

  He was so magnificent, so important, Xenia thought. Then she told herself that, whatever else he was, he was obviously not happy.

  Her mother had once said when they were talking of her life as a girl,

  “Ordinary people always think that those who live in Palaces have a charmed life of ease and happiness. That is not true.”

  “You were not happy, Mama?”

  “Only when I was very young,” her mother replied. “When I grew older, I often felt frustrated at being shut away from reality.”

  Mrs. Sandon had laughed before she added,

  “I felt like a canary in a cage or a goldfish in a bowl, there to be stared at but not to participate in what was happening around me.”

  She paused before she went on,

  “If I had not run away with your father, I should just have lived an empty meaningless existence with a broken heart.”

  “You would have made a very beautiful Archduchess, Mama,” Xenia said.

  “I know one thing quite surely,” Mrs. Sandon replied.

  “I should have been a very unhappy wife of the Archduke and a very dull one.”

  As if she felt she must explain her last remark, she added,

  “When people are unhappy they are either dull or bored or bitter and disillusioned. It is then they are at their worst.”

  “I can understand that, Mama.”

  “I want you to understand it. Happiness is important not only to the development of one’s self but to everyone one comes into contact with.”

  It was happiness, Xenia thought now, that her mother had tried to give to the people of Little Coombe and it was not surprising that everybody in the village had adored her.