The Paper Princess (8 page)

He forced a laugh. “I was a trifle overset,” he said with a ghastly grin. “Get to your room, Felicity. I shall talk about this later.”

Felicity flew up the stairs, straight to the nursery, where she threw herself against Miss Chubb's well-upholstered bosom, and cried her eyes out. At long last, she calmed down and gave Miss Chubb the whole story.

“I have no hope,” said Felicity with a pathetic little sob. “No hope at all.”

“I have been talking to John Tremayne in your absence,” said Miss Chubb. “We have a plan. We are going to run away tonight—you, me and John.”

“This is mad. Quite mad,” said Felicity Channing with a shiver. “How on earth did I agree to such a mad scheme?”

She stood on top of the cliffs, a little way away from the castle, while the wind howled and the thunder crashed and tumbled about the heavens. A blinding sheet of lightning showed a rope tied firmly to a rock.

At the end of that rope hung John Tremayne, staging the “accident.”

Miss Chubb's plan was being put into operation. The governess had been planning it for some time, never really thinking they would do it, until Felicity's distress forced her to turn the dream into reality. The terrible weather conditions were perfect, and they might never again have such a good chance.

Felicity had left a note to say she could not bear to marry the baron and was running away with Miss Chubb and John Tremayne. They had packed one trunk with their clothes and another trunk that John had hurled over the cliff after opening the lid and removing some of the clothes.

They had gone to a part of the cliff that had fallen into the sea, the land broken away by the force of the deluge. John had noticed this section of cliff before and knew it was only a matter of time before it gave way. Before he had let himself down over the cliff, he had dug deep gouges in the earth with his hands to make it look like someone had desperately tried to save themselves. Now he was leaving torn scraps of clothing caught in rocks and bushes on the way down, as well as some of the contents of the trunk.

As abruptly as it had started, the storm stopped, the huge black mass of clouds sailing away overhead on a high wind. The moon shone down.

“Oh, hurry,” breathed Felicity.

But John's head was already appearing back over the cliff's edge. He clambered onto safe ground, untied the rope, and picking up the heavy jewel box, slung it up onto his shoulder. Felicity and Miss Chubb followed behind, carrying the trunk with their clothes between them.

Felicity and Miss Chubb were dressed in their men's disguises. The going over the soggy, uneven ground was rough, and Felicity was beginning to wish they had thrown this trunk over the cliff as well when they came to a carriage and horses, hidden behind a thick stand of trees.

“Where did you get this carriage, John?” whispered Felicity, trying to stop her teeth from chattering.

“I went over to Baxeter and bought the lot. I gave a false name, of course.”

“But where did you get the money?”

“Miss Chubb's savings,” said John.

“So, you had all this planned for some time,” said Felicity.

“Don't talk,” said John urgently. “Get in the carriage.”

Felicity and Miss Chubb climbed in. The carriage dipped and swayed as John climbed up on the box.

“Where are we going?” asked Felicity as the carriage moved off.

“Falmouth,” said Miss Chubb. “It is at Falmouth that you take up your new identity.”

“New ... ? Miss Chubb, you had better start at the beginning and tell me what you and John have planned.”

“Well, it's like this,” said Miss Chubb, her voice sounding oddly youthful and excited. “Although I hoped the baron might not prove to be too terrible, I heard no good of him at all. I remembered how you said we could escape with the jewels, but we would always be hunted and not be able to live openly, even though Mr. Palfrey did not know we had them. So John and I decided that if we could get you to London, and give you a new identity—one that would be grand enough, and would allow you to sell the jewels openly to the best jewelers—you could have a Season and find a gentleman to suit you.”

“And who am I going to be?”

“Princess of Brasnia.”

“That is ridiculous. There is no such place.”

“There is now,” said Miss Chubb cheerfully, “for I have just invented it. I used to attend the London Season in the old days with my charges, before I came here to work for the Channings. It always struck me as odd that English society was almost ignorant of geography. So, you are now Princess Felicity of Miadaslav, which everyone knows is the capital of Brasnia, and I am your companion, Madame Chubiski.”

“We'll never get away with it,” said Felicity, wondering whether to laugh or cry.

“Rich people can get away with anything,” said Miss Chubb cynically. “I have enough of my life's savings left to make a good show of it in Falmouth. You see, in our disguises, we arrive at the best inn, The Pelican. We say we are the menservants of the princess. She has just arrived in the country, and we demand the best rooms and a private parlor. Once in our rooms, we take off our disguises and put on our best clothes, and you, my dear, drape yourself in some of the showiest of the jewels. We stay two nights and then begin our journey to London—a slow, triumphal progress. By the time we arrive, everyone will know of our coming. Also, everyone will know that the princess did not come with money but with a great quantity of jewels, which she will trade from time to time.”

“I feel sick,” said Felicity dismally. “What if I am exposed as a fraud? I shall leave my head on a chopping block at the Tower.”

“Now, that is only for impersonating an English peer or pretending to be any member of the English aristocracy,” said Miss Chubb comfortably. “The only way you could face prosecution is by using a fake title to get money out of people, which of course you will not do.”

“I don't like it,” murmured Felicity. “Good heavens! Lord Arthur Bessamy and his friend, Mr.

Godolphin. What if I should meet them? They will recognize me.”

“You just stare at them haughtily and ask them why they are insulting you by suggesting you might be some country girl. Besides, the whole county will know of our deaths tomorrow. By the time the Season has begun, everyone will have forgotten about us—even Lord Arthur.”

“But Lord Arthur struck me as being clever. I am sure he will know there is no such place as Brasnia.”

“Nonsense! I assure you the English aristocracy cannot even point out on the globe the places they visited during the Grand Tour.”

“But what ... ?”

“Miss Felicity,” interrupted Miss Chubb sternly. “Do you want to marry the baron?”

“Oh, no,” said Felicity. She sat nervously biting her fingernails, a most unladylike habit, as she worried about her future. But even if the masquerade should only last a short time, what fun she might have. What independence!

In the darkness of the carriage, Felicity began to smile. “Madame Chubiski,” she said, “you are a wonder!”

“I have a very vivid imagination,” said Miss Chubb ruefully. “Anyway, let us try to get some sleep before we arrive at Falmouth.”

Dawn was gilding cobbles of the town of Falmouth when John Tremayne brought the carriage to a halt outside The Pelican.

“Here we go,” muttered Miss Chubb.

Felicity could only stand by and listen in amazement as Miss Chubb, a hat pulled down to conceal most of her face, began to show a previously hidden talent as an actress. In heavily accented English, she grandly set about turning The Pelican on its ears.

The landlord, dazed at this unexpected visit of foreign royalty, set his servants running hither and thither.

After all the fuss had died down and the best rooms had been prepared, he positioned himself in the yard to await the arrival of the princess. He was taken aback when Miss Chubb appeared, still in her male disguise, to tell him that the princess had slipped quietly into the inn during all the fuss, but would be prepared to give the landlord an audience, and thank him personally for all his efforts.

The landlord, Mr. Jem Peters, was told to attend the princess in half an hour.

Upstairs, as Miss Chubb darted in and hurriedly began to change into clothes suitable for a royal companion, Felicity threw open the lid of the iron box and blinked as diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and gold flashed up at her.

“Oh, my goodness” said Miss Chubb. “What jewels! But we can admire them later. Put on the most showy, Miss Felicity, and quickly. The landlord will be here very soon.”

Mr. Peters eventually scratched timidly at the door. John Tremayne answered it, hoping the landlord would not notice that the princess's attendant was wearing outdoor livery.

But the dazed landlord had eyes only for the little figure who sat on a chair by the window.

She was wearing a white silk gown. A diamond tiara blazed in her red hair, and a collar of huge diamonds was clasped about her neck. A rope of real pearls hung down to her waist and a yellow silk sash across her bosom was decorated with a large diamond and ruby brooch in the shape of a cross, which looked very much like an order.

“We are pleassed to thank you,” said Felicity in what she hoped was a foreign accent. “It ees varry comfortable here.”

“Your Royal Highness,” stammered Mr. Peters. “My humble inn is entirely at your service.”

Felicity smiled and gave a stately little nod, and John Tremayne held the door open again to indicate that the brief audience was over.

Mr. Peters shot down the stairs, pausing only to grab his hat. The mayor must know of this, and the aldermen.

The beauty of this little princess spread like wildfire. All the long day, Felicity gave audiences, and feeling very guilty, received presents of flowers, fans, trinkets, bales of cloth, gloves, and even baskets of delicacies. She felt even more guilty when the mayor, in his full dress of office, bowed low before her and begged her to let the town of Falmouth have the honor of paying her stay at the inn.

But no one seemed to have the least interest in this mysterious country called Brasnia. No one even wanted to know on which ship the royal party had arrived. Felicity bowed and smiled, and accepted more presents, wondering what on earth was happening back at Tregarthan Castle, and if the infuriating Lord Arthur Bessamy ever even thought of her.

Lord Arthur Bessamy had slept badly. He had a nagging ache inside, which he put down to indigestion.

The food at dinner had been abominable. The noise of the storm had been horrible. He found himself hoping Miss Felicity's boldness and courage ran to coping with storms, and the next minute damned her under his breath.

The ancient chambermaid creaked in and placed a small tray with a cup of weak chocolate beside the bed, and then drew back the curtains at the windows. Sunlight flooded the room. A fine day, thought Lord Arthur, clasping his hands behind his head and staring up at the frayed canopy. A good day for a ride to Tregarthan Castle. It was only decent, he told himself, to make every effort to dissuade Mr.

Palfrey from forcing his young stepdaughter into marriage.

A flash of light on the canopy above his head caught his eye. He was just looking curiously at it and wondering what it could be, when the canopy gave way and a flood of water cascaded down all over his body.

He leapt from the bed with a yell. The roof had been leaking during the night, and the rainwater had formed a sort of lake on top of the canopy. Enough was enough. Dolph could stay if he liked, but he, Lord Arthur, was going to go straight to The Green Dolphin, after visiting Tregarthan Castle, and book a room.

Dolph, it transpired, had also suffered a similar disaster during the night, except that his flood had been in the closet where his clothes were hung. They had been dried in the kitchen at a scorching fire and most of them had shrunk.

He was a tubby pathetic figure at the breakfast table, with his waistcoat somewhere up about his chest, and his breeches strained to the point of indecency over his fat thighs.

He gloomily agreed to leave with Lord Arthur, although he tried to protest over the proposed visit to Tregarthan Castle. Miss Channing, pointed out Dolph, had seemed well able to look after herself, and it was folly to interfere in another family's affairs.

But the glory of the day when they finally set out on the road, after leaving a note for the still-sleeping baron, restored both men's spirits. The air was full of lark song, and clouds of little blue butterflies performed their erratic ballet over the strips of fields.

“I didn't really want his money all that much,” said Dolph.

“He may still leave it to you.”

“Not if you succeed in putting an end to this proposed marriage, he won't,” pointed out Dolph.

“I hadn't thought of that,” said Lord Arthur, nodding as a laborer at the side of the road saluted them.

“Better write and tell him it was nothing to do with you.”

“On a sunny day like this, it all seems rather grimy—waiting for someone to pop off to get their moneybags.”

Lord Arthur smiled but did not reply. He slowed as they approached a farmer driving a cart and asked the man if they were on the right road to Tregarthan Castle. It turned out they only had a mile to go.

Soon the fantastic turrets of the castle rose above the moorland.

“What a place!” exclaimed Dolph. “Like something out of one of those romances. I wonder if they have ghosts.”

“If they have, they must be very modern ones. The castle is a folly, I believe, and quite new.”

They bowled across the drawbridge under the portcullis, which glittered wickedly above their heads in the bright sunlight. “I wonder if it works,” said Dolph, staring up at it. “I wouldn't want that thing to come crashing down on my head.”

The inner courtyard was empty. No servant came running to hold the horses or to announce their arrival.

Lord Arthur and Dolph got down and tethered the horses to a post and then rang the huge bell that stood beside the brass-bound door.

After some time, the door creaked open. Anderson, the butler, stood looking at them sorrowfully.