The Trouble at Wakeley Court (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 8) (22 page)

‘Stay back!’ she said.

Angela Marchmont had taken the news of Edwards’ murder in a very different light from Miss Bell, for it seemed to her that it had only complicated matters further. For the whole of Monday evening she reflected carefully on the events of the past few days, for she still had the strangest feeling that in all the confusion of Irina’s return she had missed an important fact. But what was it? She was certain that if only she could see things from the right angle then all would become clear, but ten o’clock came and she was still none the wiser, so in the end she decided to go to bed. Perhaps the answer would come to her in the night.

On Tuesday morning she awoke before the dressing-bell, with the mystery still running through her mind and seemingly no closer to a solution. There was no possibility of getting back to sleep, so she got up and went downstairs. There were few people about at that hour, and she wandered out into the Quad and sat on a stone bench, intending to take advantage of the temporary peace and quiet before breakfast to try and put her thoughts in order. The early morning air was cold, but she did not notice it as she gazed about her in the grey light and listened to the soothing sound of the trickling water from the fountain. Someone had left an exercise-book out on another bench across the Quad. It was the same bench favoured by Barbara and her friends, and Angela idly thought back to her first encounter with the girls. They seemed a kind and friendly set, which presumably explained why they had invited Irina to join them, for otherwise they appeared to have little in common with the Princess, whose reserved manner and apparent maturity in some respects sat oddly in this school of happy, jolly, innocent children.

Angela set herself to think about what had happened on Saturday. It had begun, of course, with their trip to Percham and their meeting with Irina and Mr. Everich, of whom Angela still harboured some suspicion, for she had been unable to think of any reason why he should have lied about the time of his journey from Vorgorod. Very well, then, assuming Everich was one of the criminals, what could explain his behaviour? Why had he bothered with the whole rigmarole of sending Irina a note and instructing her to come out to meet him in the middle of the night, when he might easily have spirited her away on Saturday afternoon? It made no sense at all. And once he had her in his clutches, why had he then returned to the school and insisted on questioning all her friends, when he ought to have disappeared himself? Again, it was inexplicable. After turning the question over in her mind for several minutes, Angela was forced to admit that perhaps her suspicions of Everich were unjustified, for leaving aside his initial lie, there was nothing to suggest that he was anything other than what he purported to be—an Intelligence man sent to protect the Princess from her enemies. In fact, he had behaved exactly as one would have expected after the girl went missing, exhibiting any amount of dismay and nervousness and attempting to find out what had happened to her.

With some reluctance, therefore, Angela abandoned her theory that Everich was the criminal. But if not he, then who? There was no doubt of Edwards the gardener’s involvement, but he had not acted alone, for he had certainly not slit his own throat, and Irina was quite sure that she had heard the voice of another man in the house in which she had been held prisoner. Angela frowned. That was another thing: the mystery of the abduction itself. According to Henry Jameson, Princess Irina was in danger of being assassinated—and Henry Jameson was not in the habit of exaggerating for effect. If Henry said there was a threat, then he truly believed it himself. Why, then, had the kidnappers let Irina go once they had her? Surely the whole point of the abduction was to kill the girl and start a war in Morania. And yet they had left the door unlocked and allowed her to escape.

Yes, Irina’s story had been a strange one, right enough. Angela tried to remember exactly what the Princess had said. There were one or two points in particular that had struck Angela at the time. One she might have been mistaken on, but another seemed most odd. Perhaps there was a perfectly good explanation for it all, but still, the whole story did not sit well with her.

A seagull swooped down and landed on the back of another bench, driven in by the cold wind. It was a magnificent bird, and it eyed Angela with disdain. Angela regarded it thoughtfully as another point came into her mind. Just then, the dressing-bell rang to signal the start of another school day and Angela made an effort to rouse herself from her reverie. Soon the girls would come down to breakfast, and then lessons would begin just as they did every other day. Irina had returned safely, and all was now well—except, of course, for the small fact that there was another missing girl—one who had been almost overlooked in all the excitement over the Princess. Angela frowned again. Florrie had not yet been found, as far as she knew. Where had she gone? And did her disappearance have anything to do with Irina’s?

Angela suddenly realized that she was feeling cold, so she stood up, leaving her bench to the girls, and left the Quad through the arch. The first thing she saw was William’s young friends, the twins, laughing as they ran hand in hand across the lawn. She stopped dead and stared at them.

‘Oh, goodness me,’ she said, astounded, for the most extraordinary idea had just come into her head. ‘That can’t be right, can it? No, of course it can’t. Someone would have mentioned it by now, surely.’

But the idea had lodged itself firmly into her brain and would not go away, and so she forced herself to think through the thing slowly from the beginning. Yes—it would fit, of course it would! Some parts of the story were not clear to her, but the thing as a whole made perfect sense if looked at from this new angle. Of course, it meant that more than one person had been telling lies all along, but that was quite understandable in the circumstances. Could it really be true? The thing was quite extraordinary if it was, but certainly not so extraordinary as to be impossible. Poor Irina! It looked as though she had been betrayed by the very thing that was meant to protect her. How frightened she must have been! And still she was not safe.

Angela turned and ran back into the building. She must find Mr. Hesketh or Miss Bell immediately and ask them whether they knew anything, although she was almost certain they did not, for surely it would have come out by now. She went to Mr. Hesketh’s room and then to the staff common-room, but the Latin master was nowhere to be found and nobody could tell her where he was. Then she went to Miss Bell’s study. The headmistress was there, and greeted Mrs. Marchmont with a smile.

‘Ah, Mrs. Marchmont,’ she said. ‘I suppose you will be leaving us—’

‘Miss Bell, what exactly do you know about Princess Irina?’ said Angela abruptly, without waiting for her to finish.

‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Bell in some surprise.

Angela was about to go on when they were interrupted by Miss Bell’s secretary, who apologized profusely but said that His Excellency had arrived and wished to see the headmistress immediately. She was followed into the room by a young man of straight and stately bearing, who bowed his head to the two ladies and correctly identified the one in charge.

‘I am Count Paul of Vorgorod,’ he said to the headmistress. ‘And you are Miss Bell, yes?’

‘Oh, Your Excellency,’ said Miss Bell. ‘I am so glad you have arrived. You will, of course, have heard the good news that Her Highness has been found safe and well.’

‘I have indeed, just now,’ said Count Paul. ‘And I need not say that it is a profound relief to me to hear it. She was found last night, yes? I trust His Highness the Grand Duke has been informed?’

‘Naturally,’ said Miss Bell. ‘We sent a telegram at once.’

‘Good,’ said Count Paul. ‘Then the worry will be the less for him. He is still very sick, of course, and the recent concern over his daughter cannot have done him any good. I should like to speak to Her Highness as soon as possible, in private. She will no doubt be very anxious to hear news of her father.’

‘But of course,’ said Miss Bell. ‘She will be at breakfast now. Mr. Everich and Mr. Hesketh have been charged with keeping an eye on her at all times.’

‘Ah, yes, Everich,’ said Count Paul, in a manner which suggested that Mr. Everich was about to have a stiff time of it.

‘If you will come this way,’ said the headmistress.

The two of them swept out of the room before Angela could say a word, leaving her in a state of some perplexity. There was evidently no use in trying to speak to Miss Bell at present. Perhaps Mr. Hesketh would be more amenable to hearing what she had to say, if she could find him. Angela left the study, intending to follow the headmistress and her illustrious guest to the dining-room, but was immediately waylaid by Barbara, who had come to look for her.

‘Quick!’ hissed Barbara. ‘We’ve found Florrie, but she won’t come out!’

‘What?’ said Angela in astonishment.

‘Come on!’ said Barbara, tugging at Angela’s arm. ‘Before someone sees us.’

Angela needed no further prompting.

‘Where is she?’ she said, as they hurried along the passage.

‘We’ve put her in your room for now,’ said Barbara. ‘She’s been trapped in the attic since Saturday night and we had to get William to get her out. But she didn’t want to come out at first and waved a knife at us, so we had to spend ages persuading her. She won’t say anything and won’t come out of your room. She just keeps insisting she wants to speak to Mr. Hesketh. But he can’t leave Irina, can he? So she’ll just have to make do with you instead.’

‘Why was she in the attic?’

‘I don’t know, she won’t say. She’s being awfully odd,’ said Barbara.

They arrived at Angela’s room and Barbara knocked at the door three times then twice. Violet answered it.

‘Where’s Mr. Hesketh?’ she said.

‘He’s with Irina,’ said Barbara. ‘I could only find Angela.’

They entered and Angela saw Florrie sitting on the edge of the bed, looking pale and wary. She did not seem especially pleased to see the new arrival.

‘Mr. Hesketh can’t leave Irina,’ said Barbara, ‘so I brought you Angela. She’s working for Intelligence too.’

‘Is she?’ said Florrie in some surprise.

‘Yes, so you can speak to her instead,’ said Barbara.

Florrie shook her head.

‘I need to speak to Mr. Hesketh,’ she said stubbornly. ‘He’s the only one I can trust.’

‘You’re being awfully strange,’ said Barbara. ‘Why won’t you say anything?’

‘I think I know,’ said Angela.

Florrie looked up suddenly.

‘What do you know?’ she said.

‘Why, that you’re not who you say you are,’ said Angela. ‘I am right, aren’t I, Your Highness?’

‘
What
?’ said Barbara and Violet together.

Angela had held her breath for a second after hazarding her wild supposition, but one look at Florrie told her she had hit the mark.

‘Don’t you think it’s about time you told your friends?’ she said.

‘What are you talking about?’ said Barbara.

‘You’re not a princess too, are you?’ said Violet to Florrie.

‘No,’ said Angela. ‘There’s just the one princess as far as I know, and this is she.’

‘You’ve got it all wrong, Angela,’ said Barbara. ‘This is Florrie Evans.’

But Florrie was looking at Angela.

‘How did you know?’ she said.

‘What? You don’t mean to say she’s right, do you?’ said Barbara. ‘You can’t be a princess. Why, look at you—you’re filthy!’

Florrie drew herself up.

‘I
am
a princess,’ she said proudly. ‘My name is Irina Florentyna Aleksandra Elena Ivanoveti of Morania.’

The girls stared.

‘But—’ said Barbara.

‘But—’ said Violet.

Despite herself, Florrie looked rather pleased with the effect she had created.

‘But you’re just a
girl
,’ said Barbara at last. ‘You drew a picture of Miss Devlin with a moustache in the back of my Geography book. You came up on the roof and threw eggs at Mr. Penkridge and I took the blame. Princesses don’t
do
that sort of thing.’

‘I know,’ said Florrie, a little sadly. ‘We don’t, as a rule. It was awfully sporting of you to say you threw the eggs. I shan’t forget it, I promise.’ She looked up at Mrs. Marchmont. ‘Has there been any news of my father?’ she said. ‘I’ve been worried sick about him. Is he—is he still alive?’

‘He is,’ said Angela. ‘As a matter of fact, I believe he is much better.’

Florrie clasped her hands together and looked as though she hardly dared believe it.

‘Are you quite sure?’ she said. ‘Mr. Hesketh said things looked very bad for him.’

‘I gather the situation is not as desperate as it first appeared,’ replied Angela. ‘He is very unwell at present, of course, but he is receiving the best of care and I understand he is expected to recover.’

Florrie burst into tears.

‘Oh! I’m so glad,’ was all she said, and had Angela had any lingering doubts about Florrie’s real identity, they were now dispelled. The girl they had thought was Irina had shown not the slightest interest in the Grand Duke’s fate when she returned, but Florrie’s first concern was her father.

‘But if you’re the Princess, then who is the other Irina?’ said Violet, while Florrie blew her nose on a dirty handkerchief and pulled herself together with an effort. ‘And why does everybody think she’s you?’

‘She was sent with me to protect me,’ said Florrie. ‘My father had the idea when he found out that someone was plotting against us. I was coming to school anyway, and British Intelligence knew about it, and about the threat, but Father wouldn’t let me go without additional protection, and so he sent her to pretend to be me, as a kind of decoy. Nobody knows who I am in Morania, you see, and if it happened to come out that I’d gone to school in England and anyone wanted to find me, then they’d think Natalia was me.’

‘Natalia? Is that her name?’ said Barbara. ‘But who is she?’

‘Natalia Everich,’ said Florrie. ‘She is Raul Everich’s wife.’