Royal Blood (8 page)

“You’ll be fine, Queenie,” I said. “You have Chantal, who has traveled on these trains many times and speaks the language too. Ask her if you need anything.”

“What, ’er with the hatchet face?” Queenie demanded. “She gives me a look that would curdle milk. And she speaks foreign too. I had no idea it was going to be so—well, foreign.”

Lady Middlesex faced the terrified girl. “Pull yourself together, girl. You are embarrassing your mistress by making a scene. There is no question of your remaining in first class with your betters. You will be perfectly safe with Chantal. She travels with me all over the world. Now go back to your own compartment and stay there until Chantal tells you to disembark. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

Queenie let out a whimper but she nodded and scurried back down the corridor.

“Have to be firm with these girls,” Lady Middlesex said. “No backbone, that’s the problem. Disgrace to the English race. Now let’s go and see if any of these French people can make a decent cup of tea.”

And she strode out ahead of me down the corridor.

Chapter 10

On a train, crossing Europe
Tuesday and Wednesday, November 15 and 16
Thank God Lady Middlesex is traveling on to Baghdad. I
don’t think I could stand her company for more than one
night. Reminds me of a brief and unhappy episode when I
tried to join the Girl Guides and failed my tenderfoot test.

Soon we were sitting in a lounge car drinking what passed for tea—the light brown color of ditch water with a slice of lemon floating in it.

“No idea at all,” Lady Middlesex said. “I don’t know how the French exist without proper tea. No wonder they always look so pasty faced. I’ve tried showing them the correct way to make it, but they simply won’t learn. Ah, well, one must suffer if one has to travel abroad. Never mind, Deer-Harte, you’ll have decent tea once we reach the embassy in Baghdad.”

“And what exactly is your destination, Lady Georgiana?” Miss Deer-Harte asked, taking what must have been her fifth biscuit.

“Lady Georgiana is to represent Her Majesty at a royal wedding in Romania.”

“In Romania? Good heavens—such an outlandish place. So dangerous.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Middlesex said. “I thought I mentioned it to you in my last letter.”

“You might have done, but unfortunately my mother’s naughty little doggie, Towser, found the post and chewed off one corner of your letter. He’s such a scamp.”

“No matter. We’re all here now and we are going to accompany Lady Georgiana to her destination in the mountains of Transylvania.”

“I’m sure there is no need for you to interrupt your journey,” I said hastily. “I trust a car will be waiting for me at the station.”

“Nonsense. The queen specifically asked me to deliver you safely to the castle and I am not one to shirk my duty.”

“But Lady M, a castle in the mountains of Transylvania, at this time of year too,” Miss Deer-Harte said, her voice quivering. “We shall be set upon by wolves, at the very least. And what about vampires?”

“What tosh you do talk, Deer-Harte,” Lady Middlesex said. “Vampires. Whatever next.”

“But Transylvania is an absolute hotbed of vampires. It’s common knowledge.”

“Only in children’s fairy stories. There is no such thing as vampires in real life, Deer-Harte, unless you mean the bats in South America. And as for wolves, I hardly think they can bite their way through a solid motorcar on a well-traveled road.”

Lady Middlesex drained her teacup and I stared out of the window at the twilight wintry scene. Rows of bare-branched poplar trees between bleak fields flashed past us. The lights were already shining from farmhouses. I felt a thrill of excitement that I was abroad again.

“What are you staring at, Deer-Harte?” Lady Middlesex asked in her booming voice.

“That couple across the aisle,” she said in a stage whisper. “I am sure that young woman is not his wife. Look at the brazen way he’s holding her hand across the table. Such goings-on the moment one is on the Continent. And that man in the corner with a beard. He is obviously an international assassin. I do hope our cabin doors can be locked from the inside or we’ll be murdered in our beds.”

“Do you have to see danger everywhere we go?” Lady Middlesex demanded irritably.

“There usually is danger everywhere we go.”

“Fiddlesticks. Never been in real danger in my life,” Lady Middlesex said.

“What about that time in East Africa?”

“Just a few Masai waving spears at us. Really, you do fuss about nothing. You’re just a bundle of nerves, woman. Snap out of it.”

I tried not to smile. It was such an improbable relationship—I wondered why on earth the overbearing and hearty Lady Middlesex had chosen such a simpering busybody as a companion, and why Miss Deer-Harte had accepted a position that took her from one uncomfortable place of danger to the next.

We approached Paris just as darkness fell. I peered out of the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower or some familiar monument but all one saw through the darkness were little side streets with shutters already closed and the occasional
café-tabac
on a corner. If only I had money, I thought, I’d go and live in Paris for a while and pictured myself as a risqué bohemian.

The French failings at tea making were more than made up for with a superb dinner of coquilles St. Jacques and boeuf Bourguignon just after we left Paris. Lady M continued her monologue, interrupted only by Miss Deer-Harte spotting another international criminal and reiterating the fear that we should all be murdered in our beds. Toward the end of the meal, when we were savoring a spectacular bombe glacé, Miss Deer-Harte leaned toward us. “Someone is spying on us,” she whispered. “I thought it earlier and now I am sure. Someone was watching us through the door to the dining car and when I tried to have a good look at him, he moved hastily away.”

Lady Middlesex sighed. “For heaven’s sake, Deer-Harte, don’t be so silly. No doubt it was some poor fellow coming to see if anyone interesting was in the dining car, deciding he didn’t want to dine with boring types like us and taking himself off to the bar for a while. Must you read drama into everything?”

“But our doors don’t lock properly, Lady M. How do we prevent ourselves from being murdered in our beds? You hear what happens on these international trains, don’t you? People vanishing in the night or found dead in the morning all the time. I think we should take turns in guarding Lady Georgiana. It may be an anarchist, you know.”

“No anarchist would want to kill Lady Georgiana.” Lady Middlesex gave a disparaging sniff. “She’s not next in line to the throne, you know. I could understand your concern if it were one of the king’s sons, but if someone is spying on us, he is probably a Frenchman with an eye for a pretty girl and wants a chance to meet our Lady Georgiana without two old fogies dogging her every step. I fear he will be unlucky because I have sworn to watch over her like a hawk.”

I was grateful that Lady Middlesex suggested we retire to our sleeping berths early. As I came out of the bathroom at the end of the car I had the oddest sensation that I was being watched. I spun around, but the corridor was empty. It’s that awful Deer-Harte woman, I thought. She is making me jumpy now. And I have to confess that I found myself wondering if there was any truth in what Lady Middlesex had said about a Frenchman wanting a chance to meet me away from the chaperons. That was an interesting thought. Belinda had always maintained that Frenchmen made the best lovers. Not that I intended to invite him in, but a harmless flirtation might be fun.

I lingered in my doorway but no Frenchman materialized, so I went to bed. Deer-Harte had been right, however. There was no way of locking the compartment. Then it occurred to me that maybe a Frenchman would be more interested in my jewel case than in me. Perhaps Queenie had confided to Chantal that I was carrying my tiara. Perhaps she had announced this loudly enough that everyone around them heard. This was a disturbing possibility. I put my jewel case at the back of my bunk, behind my head, and propped my pillow against it. Although the bed was comfortable enough, I couldn’t sleep. As I lay there, being gently tossed by the rhythm of the train, I thought about Darcy and wondered where he was and why had hadn’t contacted me since his encounter with Fig. Surely he wouldn’t have been intimidated by her. Then I must have drifted off to sleep because I was standing in the fog with Darcy and he went to kiss me and then I found that he was biting my neck. “Didn’t you know I was really a vampire?” he asked me.

I woke with a start as the train went over a set of points with great jolting and shrieking, and I lay there, thinking about vampires. Of course I didn’t really believe in them, any more than I believed in the fairies and ghosts that the peasants in Scotland were convinced were real. Poor old Miss Deer-Harte was convinced they existed. Apart from reading
Dracula
long ago, which I’d found horribly creepy, I really knew very little about them. It might be rather exciting to meet one, although I wasn’t sure I wanted my neck bitten and I certainly didn’t want to become undead. I chuckled to myself, remembering that conversation with Belinda. Of course now I really wished that I had taken the risk and brought her along as my maid. We’d have had such a lark, and now I was stuck with a maid who was a walking disaster area and nobody to laugh with.

I was just drifting off again when I thought I heard someone at my door. We had been assured that the border agents would not disturb us during the night when we crossed from France into Switzerland and then into Austria. It could, of course, be Lady Middlesex, checking on me.

“Hello,” I said. “Who’s there?”

The door started to slide slowly open, and I was conscious of a tall, dark shape outside. Then I heard a stringent voice echoing down the corridor. “You there, what are you doing?”

Then a deep voice muttered, “Sorry. I must have mistaken my compartment.”

Lady Middlesex’s head appeared around my half-open door. “Some blighter was trying to enter your sleeping berth. The nerve of it. I shall have a word with the conductor and tell him that he should keep better watch on who comes into this car. Maybe I should keep you company, just in case he tries it again.”

“Oh, no, I’m sure I’ll be all right,” I said, deciding that a night with Lady Middlesex would be worse than any international jewel thief or assassin.

“I won’t sleep,” she said with determination. “I shall sit up all night and keep watch.”

In this knowledge I finally drifted off to sleep. In spite of Miss Deer-Harte’s predictions that we’d be murdered in our beds, I awoke to a perfect Christmas card scene that was familiar to me from my days at finishing school. Adorable little chalets perched on snow-covered hillsides, their roofs hidden under a thick blanket of snow. As I watched, the sun peeked between mountains, making the snow sparkle like diamonds. I opened my window and stood on my bed, breathing in crisp cold mountain air. Then the train plunged into a tunnel and I hastily shut the window again.

We breakfasted somewhere just after Innsbruck and came back to find our beds stowed and normal seats in our compartments. Luckily the scenery was so breathtaking as we climbed through spectacular mountain passes that conversation was not necessary until we moved into the flat country before Vienna. Here there were only patches of snow and the countryside was bare and gray. We had luncheon between Vienna and Budapest and when we came back to our compartments after a long and heavy meal, we found Chantal and Queenie already packing up our things, ready to disembark.

“I ain’t half glad to see you, miss,” Queenie said, apparently forgetting already how to address me. “I’ve been that scared. I didn’t sleep a wink among all them foreign types, and you should see what muck they eat—sausages so full of garlic that you could smell them a mile away. There was no decent food to be had.”

“Well, I expect we’ll have decent food at the castle,” I said, “so cheer up. The journey’s almost over and you’ve done very well.”

“I wouldn’t have come if I’d known,” she muttered. “Give me a nice café in Barking any day.”

“All ready?” Lady Middlesex’s face appeared around my door. “Apparently the train is making a special stop for us. So they don’t want to wait around too long. We must be ready to disembark the moment it comes to a halt.”

I looked out of the window at the gray countryside. It had become mountainous again and flakes of snow were falling. There was no sign of a city.

“Aren’t we going to the capital?” I asked.

“Not at all. The princess is being married at the royal ancestral castle in the mountains. That is why it is most important that I see you safely to your destination. I gather it is quite a long drive from the station.”

As she spoke, the train began to slow. We could hear the squealing of brakes and then it jerked to a halt. A door was opened for us and we were escorted down onto the platform of a small station. Peasants wrapped up against the cold stared at us with interest, while our trunks were unloaded from the baggage car. Then a whistle blew and the express disappeared into the gloom.

“Where the devil is the person they’ve sent to meet us?” Lady Middlesex demanded. “You stay there with the bags and I’ll go and find a porter.”

A local train came in, people got off and on and the platform emptied out. Suddenly I felt the back of my neck prickle with the absolute certainty that I was being watched. I spun around to see a deserted platform with swirling snow. Of course someone is watching us, I told myself. We must be frightfully interesting to peasants who have never gone farther than the next town. But I still couldn’t shake off the uneasiness.

“They can’t know we’re coming,” Miss Deer-Harte said. “They’ve probably mixed up dates. We’ll have to spend the night at a local inn and I can’t even imagine how awful and dangerous that will be. Bedbugs and brigands, you mark my words.”

At that moment Lady Middlesex reappeared with several porters. “The stupid man was waiting with his car, outside the station,” she said. “I asked him how we were supposed to know he was there if he didn’t present himself. Did he expect us to walk around looking for him? But he doesn’t appear to speak English. You’d have thought the princess might have taken the trouble to send an English-speaking person to welcome us. A proper welcoming party would have been nice—with little peasant girls in costume and a choir maybe. That’s how we would have done it in England, isn’t it? Really these foreigners are hopeless.” Suddenly she yelled, “Careful with that box, you idiot!” She leaped up and slapped the porter’s hand. He said something in the local language to the others and they gave a sinister laugh and took off with our bags. Miss Deer-Harte’s suspicions were beginning to rub off on me. I half expected the porters to have run off with our things, leaving us stranded, but we met up with them in a cobbled street outside the station.