A Dangerous Disguise (10 page)

"Ola," he murmured, "Ola – "

For a moment she succumbed to the magic that was still there in his kiss, even now. In his arms she could forget everything.

But only briefly.

The next moment he said the words that broke the spell.

"Tell me the truth," he begged. "Tell me,

Ola – "

She began to struggle against him.

"No," she said fiercely. "Let me go. It's over. Don't you know that?"

As he was forced to release her he saw that she was right. Suddenly everything was darkness in his mind.

"Sir Bernard thinks of everything," she said. "He couldn't get me to say what he wanted to hear yesterday, so he sends you to do his dirty work. I said you'd laid traps for me. I didn't think you'd try to lay another."

"No!" His cry was anguished. "That's not true, I swear it."

"Leave me!" she ordered him. "Don't come back. I've told you the truth. That's all I can do."

"Ola – "

"Leave me, I say!"

Despairing, he turned away to the door, but with a swift movement she reached out and touched him.

"Wait," she said. "I have one thing to ask, not for myself, but for Greta. I may have been stupid and brought this on myself, but her only crime is to be loyal to me. I am no spy, and neither is she, but she's been locked up too.

"For pity's sake, get her out. Never mind me, but save her. Promise me that you will."

"I'll try," he said. "But I don't know what lies in my power."

"Save her. Don't let her suffer for my sake."

He was frowning. "I don't know what – perhaps I can seek help from my godmother."

"Anything," she said. "Just set her free. It doesn't matter about me."

He gave her a look and left without another word.

Time dragged past. At every step outside her door she stiffened, but only once did somebody enter, and that was the wardress to escort her to a small bathroom nearby where she was able to wash for the first time since yesterday. When she returned to her cell there was a glass of water and a bowl of soup.

She replayed the scene with the Duke endlessly, wondering why she had been so rash as to lose her temper with the one man who might have helped her.

But she could not have helped it. Bitterness and misery had risen up to overwhelm her, and the stinging words had poured out. She regretted it now more for Greta's sake than her own. If only she could help Greta, or even see her.

She discounted the Duke's words about his godmother. They were a device to silence her while he escaped. How could his godmother help?

As the hours wore on, and she thought of the worst that could happen, she dropped her head in her hands and wept.

At last there were more footsteps that stopped outside the door. The key turned. Had the time come for her interrogation?

"They're ready for you now," said the grim faced wardress who had come in. "Hurry up! They've got better things to do than be kept waiting by the likes of you."

The wardress walked her down a long corridor and into a small room at the end. Two men in black clothes rose at the sight of her and indicated for her to follow them out of a far door. She looked this way and that, but there was no means of escape.

Then they were out in a small, ugly yard, where a closed carriage stood. One of them indicated for her to get in, and when she did so they sat one each side of her.

"For pity's sake, where are you taking me?" she begged.

"We're just doing as we're told, miss," one of them said woodenly. "Keep away from the window."

With the thick blinds down she had no way of knowing where she was. They seemed to travel for a long time, and she tried to remember the journey yesterday, when she had been brought here. That had seemed like an eternity.

At last they stopped. As she got out she realised that she was in another courtyard, but this one was elegant and well built. She had no time to look around before she was directed through a door and into a corridor. It was plain but clean and pleasant – not a prison, she thought.

They walked for a long time, through corridors that grew lighter and better furnished, then through rooms with thick carpets and luxurious furniture.

Still Ola did not know where she was, but she knew it was not the place in Whitehall where she had been before. It was too much like a palace.

A palace!

"Is this - ?"

"Just keep going, miss."

They had reached a little ante-room, furnished with chairs upholstered in crimson damask. On the wall was a small mirror with a gilt frame. The sight of herself horrified Ola. Despite her attempts to tidy up in the bathroom, her hair was dishevelled. She had slept in her clothes, and looked it.

But it was more than untidy clothes. She had been through hell and her face showed it. There was no beauty there that she could see. Just a pale, tortured woman drowning in misfortune and anguish.

One of the men pointed ahead.

"You go through that door," he said.

There was nothing to tell her what she would find on the other side.

She pushed open the door slowly and went into a poorly lit room. It seemed to be very large, and furnished with dark oak furniture. Red crimson curtains hung at the window, and a deep red patterned carpet covered the floor.

At the far end was a desk at which sat a little old lady, absorbed in writing something. She was tiny, and dressed in black except for a snowy white cap on her head, from which long streamers floated down her back.

At first the little woman seemed unaware that anyone had entered the room. Then she raised her head, revealing a plump face and little eyes.

Ola gasped.

It was the face in the official photograph that she had seen in the Imperial Hotel.

"Your Majesty!" she said, dropping into a deep curtsey.

She stayed there for what seemed like ages, until at last she heard the Queen say,

"Hmm! All right, get up."

She did so. Queen Victoria looked her up and down with a disconcerting shrewdness in her eyes. When she spoke, the words were shocking.

"So you're the spy who's trying to assassinate me?"

"No," Ola said frantically. "That's not true – " she drew in a sharp breath as something dawned on her. "And Your Majesty knows it's not true."

"Indeed? How do I?"

"Because you see me alone, and kept your eyes down while I walked across the floor. If you thought I was dangerous you would never have taken your eyes off me."

"Hm! And you think that proves you innocent?"

"No, Your Majesty. It merely proves that you believe me innocent."

"Not necessarily. If you'd tried to attack me I think my godson would have protected me." The Queen raised her voice. "You'd better show yourself, John."

The Duke stepped out from behind the hangings.

Ola stared at him.

His godmother! Of course! Why had she not realised?

The next moment she fainted.

She awoke to find herself lying on a sofa, with the Queen of England sitting beside her, tenderly dabbing her forehead with a scented, lace handkerchief.

"Good," she said briskly when she saw Ola's eyes open. "John, has that tea arrived?"

"The footman is just bringing it now, ma'am."

Ola knew she was dreaming when she felt herself being supported by the Duke, while the Queen held a cup of tea to her lips.

"Now," said the Queen seating herself and regarding Ola sternly, "John has told me the most incredible story I have ever heard, and he has sworn to me that, unlikely as it looks, you are innocent. For my own part, I do not regard impersonating royalty as innocent."

"It was only meant as a joke, Your Majesty."

"Nor do I regard it as a joke."

"It was just that I've lived such a dull life, and my father always talked about you so much."

The Queen frowned.

"Who was your father?"

"Colonel Owen McNewton. Of course, he was only a Captain when you met him."

"I met him? When?"

"Years ago. At Balmoral. Your Majesty was there one summer with Prince Albert, and you gave a ball. He was invited, along with several other officers, and you danced with him. He said you had to keep asking him to repeat himself because you couldn't understand his Scottish accent."

The Queen was staring at her.

"That handsome young man was your father?"

"Yes, ma'am. He was very honoured that, despite his accent, you danced with him three times."

Suddenly the Queen let out a shriek of laughter. It was so unexpected that they both stared at her.

"Oh yes, I did. Three times. You see, he was so very good looking, quite the handsomest man in the room, and I was rather cross with dear Albert that evening. I thought it wouldn't do any harm to make him a little bit jealous."

"Ma'am!" said the Duke. "I'm shocked."

"Did it make him jealous, Your Majesty?" asked Ola.

"Oh yes, very. But he didn't react like any other man. Not a word of anger. He simply engaged Captain McNewton in conversation, and kept him talking all the rest of the evening. He never would tell me what they had talked about."

"Coburg, ma'am," said Ola. "His Royal Highness told Papa all about his home, and made it sound so delightful that the following year my father took a trip there, and met my mother."

The laughter died from the Queen's face.

"Is that really true?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Your mother came from Coburg?"

"Yes, ma'am."

The Queen was silent for a moment. When she next spoke, it was in German.

"Did your mother ever speak to you about her homeland?"

"A great deal," said Ola in the same language. She understood that this was a test. "She never saw it again and she missed it so much. She said it was the loveliest place in the world."

Queen Victoria nodded, and spoke in English.

"Yes," she said sadly. "You have the true Coburg accent. Ah, how long ago it was! And how happy we were! John tells me that your father is dead now."

"Yes ma'am. He never really got over my mother's death. They were everything to each other."

"Yes," said the Queen sadly. "Oh yes."

There was no mistaking the look on her face. She was thinking of her beloved Albert, and how all the festivity and the adulation meant nothing without him.

For a moment the other two had a glimpse of a love that had survived death and separation, and long, lonely years. And they knew that nothing really mattered to Victoria except the time to come, when she and her Albert would be together again.

It was a love such as they themselves might have known, if things had been different. But now everything had changed.

"So you're Owen McNewton's daughter," said the Queen at last. "And you had this absurd idea that you could be a Princess."

"I didn't mean to pick a real country ma'am. I didn't know there was such a place."

"Yes, John has told me. But Oltenitza exists and is in trouble. The royal family has been trapped in their castle by a group of Russian soldiers. So, naturally your arrival here has puzzled the Russians, as well as the English. And we need to keep them puzzled."

"But how, ma'am? Everyone knows about me now."

"No, only we know about you, and that is how it must stay. From now on, everything you do must be under expert guidance."

It took a moment for the implications of this to dawn on Ola.

"Do you mean that I am to continue being – I mean, pretending to be – ?"

"Certainly, but this time you will be supported by my recognition. You will be presented to me, and I will greet you as an Oltenitzan Princess. Let anyone dare to doubt you, then!"

As Ola was too dumbstruck to speak the Duke asked,

"Have you decided which Princess she shall be ma'am?"

"Either Flaviola or Helola, but she will be known simply as Princess Ola. The Russians can simply wonder which one she is, and if there has to be an explanation eventually, we'll invent a distant cousin."

The Queen smiled kindly at Ola.

"Now you must go back to your hotel, and one of my own ladies will attend you and instruct you in the details. In public, the Duke here will escort you. Go and get some sleep now, and tomorrow he will bring you here to be officially presented to me."

"And Greta?" Ola asked quietly.

"Who?"

"Greta Lanso, my maid who was arrested with me, and who is still in that terrible place. If I am innocent, so is she. When will she be released, please?"

"All in good time," said the Queen.

Ola raised her head and looked Her Majesty firmly in the eye.

"No, ma'am, that isn't good enough. I won't leave her there."

A chill settled over the Queen's face. She was not used to people telling her that her decisions were not good enough.

"Young woman," she said at last, "let us be plain about this. Your innocence is very far from being proved, and so is hers.

"You've been given a chance to redeem yourself, and if you do well we may reconsider the question of your innocence, and what is to happen to you. But the same does not apply to her."

"But I need her," Ola cried. "I can't do this without her."

"I've told you, you will have one of my ladies."

"Greta is my maid, and my friend. She can help me in ways that nobody else can. The whole plan will have a better chance of success if Greta is with me."

"My answer is no," replied the Queen firmly.

"Your Majesty, I beg you to release her. She's only in trouble because of me and I won't live in comfort while she's in that place."

"You have no choice."

"Oh, but I do. I won't do this without her."

The Queen gave Ola a long, hard look.

"Do you realise what you are saying? Are you prepared to be sent back to the cells? Is that what you want?"

"No, ma'am, it's not what I want. It terrifies me to think of being sent back there. But I'll go, rather than abandon a faithful friend who is suffering because of me."

The words were defiant but her voice was small and shaking. When she had finished, she closed her eyes in dread at what she might have brought down upon herself.