An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition (99 page)

Very gently, while Potoc held the basin, the Prince unwound his blood soaked handkerchief from Mistral’s hand. It was the first time he or Mistral had been able to see the wound in a proper light and now they both gave a sigh of relief.

It was a long jagged cut, ingrained with the soil of the flowerbed into which Mistral had fallen, but it was not deep or dangerous. In fact it was only a flesh wound and would heal without stitches. Mistral winced when the Prince put her hand into the basin of water, but after a moment the water was soothing anal she was glad to see the dirt come away.

The Prince took a little time to get the finger absolutely clean, but the bleeding stopped and when at last he had bandaged it expertly with a clean linen bandage, Mistral was able to say,

‘You have done it so well, Your Serene Highness, that there will be no need for me to visit a Doctor.’

‘Not tonight, perhaps,’ the Prince answered, ‘but you should see one tomorrow. There is no use in taking risks. Besides, you should get him to examine you properly. You may have hurt yourself in other ways although you are not aware of it at this moment.’

He glanced at the scratches on her arms as he spoke and for the first time since she had escaped from the Rajah’s Villa she had been so concerned at knowing that she was free and so numb with the shock she had experienced, combined with her fall, that she had not had time to think of anything else. Now, looking down at her torn dress, she gave a rueful laugh.

‘It will need more than a Doctor to mend my gown,’ she said. But otherwise I am sure there is nothing wrong with me.’

The firelight shone on her hair as she spoke and, shy at being so dishevelled, she had not the least idea how lovely she looked.

Her hair had become loosened in her descent down the wall of the Villa and now it fell in great golden coils over her white shoulders. Its waves made her face seem very small and delicate and gave her, too, the appearance of being little more than a child. Indeed, with her eyes downcast and her lips a little tremulous, she looked like a child who had got into trouble through no fault of her own.

But it would have been impossible for any man to have looked at her and not remembered that she was a woman. The colour had come back into her cheeks and she looked inexpressively desirable as she sat there, framed against the dark velvet of the Prince’s chair.

Potoc had withdrawn and they were alone. The Prince suddenly moved restlessly from Mistral’s side across the room and back again.

‘I want you to tell me something – ’ he said quietly as if he suddenly made up his mind to question her.

But before he could say more, the door of the sitting room was flung open abruptly.

Both Mistral and the Prince turned their heads, then Mistral gave an explanation of astonishment. Sir Robert stood there, looking peculiarly tall, stern and avenging, his eye ablaze with anger.

‘So this is where you have been brought!’ he said.

He slammed the door behind him and advanced into the room. As he did so, Mistral stood up. With one glance Sir Robert seemed to take in her torn dress and loosened hair.

His lips tightened ominously and he advanced quickly and purposefully towards the Prince. As he reached him, he put up his hand and slashed him across the face with the pair of gloves he carried.

‘You are a cad!’ he said harshly.

Mistral gave a little cry.

‘But, Sir Robert,’ she said. ‘Please – ’

‘One minute,’ Sir Robert replied. ‘I have not yet finished telling this so-called gentleman what I think of him.’

‘Do you think I would hear any more from you?’ the Prince asked furiously. ‘I will have satisfaction, sir, here and now. No man can insult me with impunity.’

‘Nor can I allow you to insult an English lady and my countrywoman,’ Sir Robert answered. ‘The choice of weapons is yours.’

If Sir Robert was angry, his emotion was equalled and surpassed by the Prince’s rage. He could hardly keep his temper within control and his face was white save where the mark of Sir Robert’s gloves burned crimson. He gave a quick glance round. Over the mantelpiece were two duelling swords, the
épeés de combat
much favoured by the French.

In a matter of seconds the Prince had taken them down and handed one to Sir Robert.

‘I can kill you with this as well as with anything else,’ the Prince said through his teeth.

‘On the contrary,’ Sir Robert replied. ‘It is you who will receive a lesson at my hands, young man, and one which will be richly deserved.’

Mistral looked from one to the other in utter bewilderment. She was not certain what all this was about, but from Sir Robert’s remark, about his countrywoman she felt that it concerned herself, though why and for what reason she could not guess.

‘Your Serene Highness! Sir Robert!’ she began. ‘Please – ’

But they paid no attention to her. The Prince thrust a chair to one side, kicked a footstool out of the way. The centre of the room was empty and the two men took up their positions.

Almost before Mistral could realise what was happening their swords had met, there was the clink of steel against steel, and they were fighting in desperate, grim-faced silence which was far more frightening than if they had shouted abuse at one another.

Feeling utterly powerless, Mistral could only stand and watch them – watch them feint, parry and riposte – think for a moment that Sir Robert had the Prince at his mercy, only to realise that the Prince had extricated himself with a display of brilliant swordsmanship. Now Sir Robert was on the defensive. However much Mistral wanted to stop the fight it was too late. There was nothing she could do. From sheer weakness and astonished she could only watch with horrified yet fascinated eyes.

An expert would have told her that the two combatants were well matched. Sir Robert was slightly the more experienced of the two, but he was also heavier on his feet, while the Prince had an agility and quickness which not only saved him when he was in a tight corner but was also a definite danger to his opponent.

After some minutes the ferocity of the fight began to tell on both men. Their breath came quickly and, though neither seemed in the least tired, an expression of strain could be observed in the tightness of their mouths and the wariness in their eyes. Still they fought on. There came a moment when it seemed as if the Prince would be the winner. He had driven Sir Robert up against a bookcase and the flickering blade like the evil tongue of a serpent was within an inch of his throat.

At that moment Mistral knew who she wanted to win.

She felt a sudden terror possess her that Sir Robert might be killed. The thought was almost a physical agony in the intensity of her fear. She wanted to rush to Sir Robert’s side, to receive the blow in her own breast rather than that he should be wounded. But she could not move, her very feet seemed rooted to the ground. She could not utter a sound although her lips moved.

Sir Robert was bending backwards and his face was livid. There was no hope, Mistral thought wildly, and she would see him killed before her very eyes. She knew then that if he were dead she would want to die beside him.

She loved him! She had loved him from that very first moment when they met before the dawn. She loved him with an overwhelming emotion which seemed so utterly a part of her that she had not recognised it until this moment. She could not think how she had ever lived or ever imagined she could find happiness without him.

She loved him and she could do nothing to save him. She could only stand there, tense and terrified, every nerve in her body strained to breaking point.

Then, as it seemed to her that her very brain must give way under such emotional stress, Sir Robert extricated himself from his position and with a sudden lunge took the Prince unawares. The sword passed through the Prince’s shoulder. He gave a cry which was little more than a groan and his sword clattered from his right hand on to the floor.

He clapped his left hand to the wound and as he did so, Mistral fell. She felt as if the floor came up to hit her. She was conscious only of an overwhelming darkness which carried her down, down into a merciful oblivion from which she felt there could never be an awakening…

*

When she opened her eyes, it seemed to her that centuries must have passed. For a moment she could not remember what had happened, feeling only that she had been a long way away and that she was still travelling. Then she became aware that there were wheels moving beneath her, that something strange lay beneath her cheek.

She moved and was instantly aware that there was an arm which held her close and that her head rested against someone’s shoulder. In that moment of wakening she knew whose it was. An ecstasy of joy and wonder seemed to run through her brain like fire as she realised whose arm held her.

‘Are you all right now?’

Sir Robert’s voice was low and tender and his face was very close to hers. She could see him very clearly in the light from the lantern. They were in a carriage together and for a moment she could think of nothing save his closeness and that his arm encircled her. Then something moved and she realised that it was her own hand. She caught sight of the bandage and instantly everything came flooding back to her memory.

‘The Prince?’ she asked wildly. The Prince?’

‘He is not dead,’ Sir Robert said grimly. ‘Which is a pity, for I meant to kill him.’

Mistral gave a little sob.

But what has he – done?’ she asked. ‘He rescued me from – the Rajah! It was the Rajah who – took me – away.’

‘The Rajah!’

There was no mistaking the astonishment in Sir Robert’s voice.

‘Yes, the Prince – saved me,’ Mistral repeated. ‘I tried to tell you – I tried – but you would not let – me.’

Sir Robert stared down at her as if he sought the truth in her eyes raised to his and from her lips which were only a few inches away.

‘Tell me what happened,’ he said at length.

‘I was leaving the
Restaurant des Fleurs
with my aunt,’ Mistral said, speaking at first weakly then gathering strength as her story proceeded. ‘Just as we were stepping into the carriage, one of the men who had dined with the Rajah earlier in the evening came forward and spoke to my aunt.

She told me to get into the carriage, but as soon as I did so, the door was slammed and the carriage started off apparently without the driver having received any instructions. At first I thought it was a stupid mistake, that I had got into the wrong carriage and that the coachman had mistaken my identity. But after I had tried the windows and the doors and found them all securely fastened, I began to feel alarmed. The carriage drew up at a Villa and I got out, trying to explain that there had been an unfortunate mistake and asking that I should be sent back to the
Hôtel de Paris.

The servants, however, spoke only a foreign language, so I entered the Villa, hoping I would find someone to whom I could make myself understood. I suppose I should have been immediately suspicious because the servants were natives, but it did not strike me as peculiar because many people here have dark-skinned attendants, and it was only when the Rajah appeared that I realised that I was trapped.

‘He told me that he had abducted me deliberately. He said some very strange things and behaved in a very strange manner. I cannot tell you what he said – I could never repeat it to anyone. But he left me alone for ten minutes – ’

Mistral drew a deep breath as if the very memory of those moments were unsupportable. Then she continued bravely,

‘I managed to escape through a window and climb down the lattice which was nailed to the side of the house. Before I reached the ground, the Rajah discovered that I had gone and he would have caught me again. I heard him calling for his servants and sending them in search of me. But even as they came from the house, the Prince arrived. He had heard my Aunt say that I had been abducted and had rushed from the Restaurant to try and find me. He took me away in his carriage. My finger was bleeding so badly that we stopped at his Villa to bind it up. He had just finished bandaging it when – you – arrived.’

Mistral’s voice, low and hesitant, died away. She felt Sir Robert’s arm tighten about her, then with his free hand he took her bandaged fingers in his and raised them to his lips.

‘I will deal with the Rajah later,’ he said grimly. ‘I suppose I owe the Prince an abject apology.’

‘You thought that he had kidnapped me?’ Mistral asked.

Sir Robert nodded.

‘My mistake was perhaps understandable,’ he said. ‘I was leaving the Restaurant with Lady Violet just after I had noticed you depart. I came out on to the doorstep. I saw your aunt swooning and one of the Rajah’s aides trying to revive her. He was supporting her with one arm and shouting to a waiter to bring a glass of wine. There was another woman standing on the steps. I have an idea that I had seen her in the Prince’s party. I turned to her and said, “Is anything the matter?”

‘“An elderly lady over there seems to think that her niece has been abducted,” she said, “and my escort has also rushed off in a great hurry. It all seems to me very peculiar.”

‘She spoke disdainfully, but looking up the road I saw the Prince’s carriage vanishing into the distance. I recognised the brilliant uniform of his servants and I sprang to the conclusion, and not an unnatural one, that he had carried you off. I had seen you dancing together and the way he looked at you and the possessive attitude he adopted had annoyed me considerably. Without stopping to make enquiries or to question my own impulse I got into the nearest carriage and told them to follow the Prince. I was too late, of course, for the Prince’s horses, which must have been his own, were much faster than the hired beasts which seemed to take a lifetime to climb the hill.’

‘And – and Lady Violet?’ Mistral asked.

Sir Robert gave an exclamation.

‘It is a terrible thing to confess,’ he said after a moment’s pause, but I had forgotten all about her until this minute. I must have left her standing on the steps.’

‘She will think you very rude,’ Mistral said.