The Princess of Denmark (23 page)

‘Did you save none for me?’ asked Nicholas as he approached.

Anne straightened up. ‘What are
you
doing here?’

‘Scavenging for food.’

‘I thought you’d have dinner with the others.’

‘I will, Anne,’ he said, ‘but I felt that I had to have a word with you first. Your instinct was sound. She simply cannot be in two places at once.’

‘Who?’

‘Sigbrit Olsen. Our patron is dining with her at this very moment yet I’ve just seen the lady in the chapel.’

‘The chapel? What were you doing there, Nick?’

Easing her back into the room, he shut the door behind them then told her about his visit to the chapel. All her suspicions were confirmed. The sister of Sigbrit Olsen was being used as an occasional substitute. Lord Westfield was unwittingly revelling in the company of a woman who would not stand at the altar with him.

‘He must be warned,’ she said.

‘He will be.’

‘It would be cruel to keep this from him.’

‘Leave everything to me, Anne,’ he said, kissing her on the lips. ‘I’m hungry. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll join the others now.’

‘But you haven’t heard
my
news yet.’

‘Oh – and what would that be?’

‘When I first moved in here, one of the servants showed me around the castle. We managed to understand each other in German.’

‘I remember. Go on.’

‘Well,’ continued Anne, ‘on the way back from the ballroom today, I bumped into her again. She was disturbed about the murder that took place here. She said that it made the castle very unpleasant to work in. We’ve all noticed how the atmosphere here has changed.’

‘It was bound to, Anne.’

‘I tried to cheer her up by telling her that the killers were not inside Kronborg. I explained that the two men had worked as cooks in the kitchens.’

‘And?’

‘She gave me that look again, Nick, the one that made me feel as if I’d said something very stupid. It seems that her husband works in the kitchens. According to him,’ she went on, ‘nobody at all has fled from there. Whoever committed that murder was not certainly employed as a cook. Someone is lying.’

Nicholas Bracewell was in a quandary. Aware that the performance of
The Princess of Denmark
might not even take place, he had to watch the actors working hard on the play that afternoon. If he stopped the rehearsal, his explanation would be met with dismay and disbelief. Yet, if he let them carry on, he would be allowing them to think that all the scenes that were being expertly honed in the ballroom would soon be set before a very special audience. Having uncovered deceit elsewhere, Nicholas felt that he was now guilty of it himself. He was, in effect, letting his friends waste their time and effort.

Preoccupied with his dilemma, Nicholas began to make some uncharacteristic mistakes. Most of them went unnoticed by the others but Lawrence Firethorn had sharper instincts. When the rehearsal was over, and everything had been dismantled, he took his book holder aside for a quiet word.

‘What ails you, Nick?’ he asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘Is dropping the book nothing? Is letting your attention wander nothing? Is forgetting that you are Nicholas Bracewell and therefore a man who never errs – do you call that nothing?’

‘I was a little distracted.’

‘By what?’

Nicholas hesitated. ‘I will tell you another time.’

‘Now,’ demanded Firethorn. ‘I want the truth
now
.’

‘You will not like what you hear.’

‘I did not like what I saw this afternoon.’

It was an honest assessment of Nicholas’s work and he was ready to acknowledge it. When the last of the scenery and properties had been carried away to be stored, he agreed to accompany Firethorn to his apartment. Once inside, the actor closed the door then put his back to it.

‘Now, then, Nick – what is going on?’

‘Lord Westfield is being hoodwinked.’

‘By whom?’

‘Judge for yourself.’

Composing his thoughts, Nicholas gave him as clear an account as he could of what he believed was a deliberate deception. At first, Firethorn could only bluster in protest but he listened with growing concern as the evidence mounted up. The conclusion was inescapable. Between them, Nicholas and Anne Hendrik had unearthed a cunning ruse that could have appalling consequences if allowed to continue unchecked. Firethorn was infuriated.

‘This is a heinous crime!’ he exclaimed.

‘Yes, Lawrence, but what lies behind it?’

‘A cruel sense of humour. Our patron has been enticed by a beautiful woman so that he can be married off to a plain one.’

‘Sigbrit Olsen is not plain,’ said Nicholas. ‘That’s what made the trick possible. She has similar features to her sister but lacks her complexion and her brilliance.’

‘Brilliance is the word. She glitters like a star.’

‘There is something else. Anne did not notice this because she only saw one side of the lady’s face and that was by candlelight. I had a much clearer view in the chapel.’

‘What did you see, Nick?’

‘A livid scar that runs down the side of her chin,’ replied the other. ‘It could be largely hidden by powder when viewed by the flames of a candle. In the light of day, it’s more difficult to disguise,’

Firethorn was fuming. ‘Hell’s teeth!’ he cried, pacing the room like a caged animal. ‘Is this what we came all this way for – to see our patron married off to some scar-faced harpy?’

‘You misjudge the lady. It may well be that she is quite unaware of the deception that is being practised in her name.’

‘She
must
know. She’s in this up to her waist.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘I’m not sure that she is. I only saw her for a fleeting moment but it was when she was completely off guard. Bear in mind that she had been praying there for almost half an hour. That gives you some indication of her character.’

‘She was seeking forgiveness for her sins,’ snarled Firethorn.

‘That’s not what I saw in her face, Lawrence. I saw honesty and decency and a kind of innocence. I begin to think that Sigbrit Olsen is as much a victim of this plot as our patron.’

‘Do not forget us – we are victims as well.’

‘Lord Westfield is the person who stands to lose most.’

‘He must be told directly, Nick. We can’t let him marry this counterfeit princess. It’s unthinkable.’

‘He will want to know who is behind this subterfuge.’

‘What will you tell him?’

‘The truth,’ said Nicholas. ‘It has to be Bror Langberg.’

‘You were quite wonderful,’ congratulated Bror Langberg, enfolding his niece in his arms. ‘You played the part as well as any actor.’

‘I hardly spoke,’ said Hansi Askgaard.

‘You did not need to – did she, Johanna?’

‘No,’ replied his wife fondly. ‘All that you had to do, Hansi, was to sit there and he was spellbound. Lord Westfield never took his eyes off you.’

‘I could wish a more handsome husband for my sister.’

Langberg smiled. ‘His title and his fortune are very handsome.’

‘Sigbrit will not have to sleep with either of those.’

‘She’ll be happy enough with the marriage.’

‘I hope so, Uncle Bror.’

‘Had it been otherwise, I’d not have commended it to her. Lord Westfield is a restless man. He yearns for the city pleasures. While he is in London, Sigbrit will have a fine country house to herself.’

‘I hate to think that she will be lonely.’

‘There’s no danger of that,’ he assured her.

They had returned to Hansi’s room after dinner to discuss what had happened. Each of them felt that it had been a success. Lord Westfield had been placed at one end of a long table with Hansi at the other. Langberg and his wife sat opposite each other on the vacant sides. They provided most of the conversation because their guest had been too engrossed with the woman he thought would be his future wife. Saying little and smiling often, Hansi let her natural radiance hold his attention. She had one grievance.

‘The irony is that I will not be there at the wedding,’ she said.

Johanna pulled a face. ‘It might cause a few problems if you were, Hansi. With regard to princesses, there is a golden rule.’

‘Is there?’

‘No husband needs two.’

‘Talking of husbands,’ said Langberg, ‘that’s another person who has earned our undying thanks – your own husband, Wilhelm. I will make a point of writing to tell him what a clever wife he has.’

‘Willhelm knows the importance of this match,’ said Hansi.

‘We will all benefit as a result.’

‘Sigbrit will wed and I will go home to my husband. I do not envy my sister. She can have Lord Westfield with my blessing.’ She looked at Langberg. ‘Will she ever learn the truth, Uncle?’

‘No,’ he said, firmly. ‘She must never know about this little trap we set for her husband. Ignorance is a kindness to her. If she were not so trusting, we could never have embarked on this deception.’

‘What of the wedding itself?’

‘What of it?’

‘Will he not realise then that I am not Sigbrit?’

‘There’s no risk of that, Hansi,’ said her uncle. ‘I’ll make sure that he has had so much to drink beforehand that he will not know whom he is marrying. Lord Westfield is the only one of our visitors who has seen you properly. The others will have no suspicions.’

‘You have thought of everything, Uncle Bror.’

‘It’s not all my doing.’

‘I’ll do my share as well,’ Johanna pointed out. ‘By the time I’ve finished powdering Sigbrit’s face, I will have covered up the little scar that worries her so much. In her wedding dress, with her face half-hidden, she’ll be the image of her elder sister.’

‘Everything is in our favour,’ said Langberg with complacence. ‘On Saturday, all our ambitions will be fulfilled. And the most satisfying part of it is that Lord Westfield will not have the slightest notion of what is really going on.’

Lord Westfield was so thunderstruck by what he had heard that he collapsed into a chair and put his head in his hands. Though Nicholas Bracewell had broken the news as gently as he could, the impact had still been shattering. Having spent the last couple of hours in a state of euphoria, Lord
Westfield had now been plunged into utter dejection. When their patron’s chest began to heave ungovernably, Lawrence Firethorn feared that he might be having some kind of seizure. He leant solicitously over him.

‘Are you ill, my lord?’

‘Not in body,’ said the other, ‘only in the mind.’

‘We felt that you had to know at once.’

‘I still refuse to accept it.’

‘The evidence is clear,’ said Nicholas quietly. ‘There can be no equivocation here. Anne and I have seen both sisters.’

‘A pox on it!’ cried Lord Westfield, removing his hands from his face. ‘So have I, so have I! Today, I dined with one sister and, the other evening, I met her exact likeness in the hall. Which is which, please tell me! Am I to marry twins and spend my wedding night playing three-in-a-bed? What sorcery is this?’

‘It’s not sorcery, my lord. It’s a deep-laid plot.’

‘Am I to be gulled?’

‘Not any more,’ said Firethorn. ‘You are rescued. Nick and Anne have saved you from making an irretrievable mistake.’

Lord Westfield glowered. ‘Well, expect no thanks from me.’

He lapsed into a bruised silence. All that the others could do was to stand there quietly while he wallowed in his desolation. During the meal, he had experienced an intense joy that he had never known before, an ecstasy that came from simply gazing upon his beautiful Danish princess. If she could excite such feelings in him when she was at the other end of the table, she would lift him
to an even higher plane of exhilaration when she lay in his arms. It was a vision of paradise and Nicholas had abruptly snatched it away from him. He glared at the book holder.

‘What’s afoot here?’ he asked.

‘I’ve yet to find out, my lord,’ said Nicholas.

‘But you must have your suspicions, man.’

‘I do.’

‘Then, for God’s sake, let’s hear them. If you are to deprive me of the greatest love I have ever felt, then give me something in return. I want reasons, Nicholas. I want explanations.’ He banged the table beside him and made the ivory chessmen jump in the air. ‘And most of all, I want solace.’

‘That’s the one thing I cannot offer you, alas.’

‘Then what can you give?’ howled the other.

‘Calm down, my lord,’ soothed Firethorn.

‘I’ve no wish to calm down.’

‘There’s no point in upsetting yourself like this.’

‘Then what else would you have me do?’ challenged the other. ‘Dance a jig around the room? By Jesu! Can you not see how much I’ve lost by this expedition? I invest time and money and every sinew of my being to prove my love and for what? I am made to feel like a country yokel at Bartholomew Fair, robbed of everything he owns and jeered at by his tormentors.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’ll have this out with Bror Langberg immediately.’ He marched to the door. ‘I’ll not be his dupe a moment longer.’

Nicholas blocked his way. ‘I suggest that you stay here.’

‘Out of my way, man!’

‘For you own sake, my lord, I must stop you.’

‘And I must do the same,’ said Firethorn, standing beside him.

Their patron spluttered. ‘What kind of conspiracy is this?’ he yelled. ‘Do you dare to keep me against my will?’

‘We have to, my lord.’

‘In the name of all that’s holy – why?’

‘Because we cannot let you put yourself in such jeopardy,’ said Nicholas. ‘If you challenge Master Langberg while you are choleric, there will be only one outcome.’

‘And what, pray, is that?’

‘You’ll not leave this castle alive.’ Lord Westfield recoiled with horror. ‘And you would not be his first victim, my lord. Bror Langberg already has blood on his hands.’

Firethorn started. ‘What do you mean, Nick?’

‘He contrived the murder of Rolfe Harling.’

‘There is not long to go now, Sigbrit,’ said Hansi Askgaard. ‘In two days’ time, you will be the new Lady Westfield.’

‘Yes,’ said her sister dully.

‘Try to sound happier about it.’

‘I wish that I could, Hansi, but I feel so unworthy.’

‘Unworthy?’ echoed the other. ‘That is ridiculous. No bride was ever more worthy of her husband. You will be the perfect wife for him.’

‘Will I?’

Sigbrit was seated at a little table in her apartment. On it was a gilt framed mirror and she studied her face in it for a moment, running a finger along the scar on her chin. Hansi stood behind her.

‘It will fade in time,’ she said.

‘I see it more clearly than ever,’ sighed her sister. ‘When I met Lord Westfield in the hall that evening, Uncle Bror taught me to keep my head to one side so that it did not show. What will my husband say when he learns the truth?’

‘He will be too much in love with you to notice.’

‘He is bound to notice. Yesterday, he sent me this letter,’ she said, picking it up from the table. ‘My English is not good enough for me to understand every word but I can see that it is in praise of my beauty. He will be so disappointed.’

‘Let me see,’ said Hansi, taking the letter and reading through it. ‘There you are,’ she added, putting it down again, ‘he is ensnared by your charms, Sigbrit. Lord Westfield sees only what he wishes to see and that is his gorgeous Danish princess. Love is blind.’

Sigbrit rallied slightly. She got up from the table and walked to the window, looking down at the place that had been her home for so long and realising that she would at last have to leave it. She was overcome by a sudden onset of nostalgia.

‘I wish that I did not have to leave Denmark,’ she said.

‘You will return. Lord Westfield has promised that. We will visit you next spring then you and your husband can come back here in the summer. You will love England, Sigbrit. I’ve been there.’

‘What is it like?’

‘London is the most exciting city in the world. It is so big and full of life. It makes Elsinore look like a village. I envy you so much,’ she said, embracing her sister. ‘And I have the comfort of knowing that this marriage will not
only make my sister happy, it will be good for our country as well. Denmark will gain from it.’