Royal Blood Part 3

At school? My brain was racing again. I once knew a Princess Maria Theresa at school? I was friendly with her? I went through a quick list of my friends. No princesses appeared on it.

But I could hardly call a foreign princess, apparently related to us, a liar. I smiled wanly. Then suddenly an image swam into focus-a large, chubby girl with a round moon face trailing after Belinda and me and Belinda saying, "Matty, stop following us around, do. Georgie and I want to be alone for once." Matty-it had to be she. I had never realized that it was short for Maria Theresa. Nor that she was a princess. She had been a rather pathetic, annoying little thing (well, not so little, but a year behind us).

"Ah, yes," I said, smiling now. "Dear Matty. How kind of her to invite me. This is indeed an honor, ma'am."

I was now feeling decidedly pleased with myself. I had been asked to attend a royal wedding-to be in a royal bridal party. Certainly a lot better than freezing and starving at Rannoch House. Then the ramifications. .h.i.t me. The cost of the ticket. The clothing I would need . . . the queen never seemed to take money into consideration.

"I suppose I'll have to have a frock made for the wedding before I leave?" I asked.

"I believe not," the queen said. "The suggestion was that you travel to Romania ahead of time so that the dresses can all be fitted by the princess's personal dressmaker. I gather she has excellent taste and is bringing in a couturiere from Paris."

Had I got it wrong? Matty, who always looked like a sack of potatoes in her uniform, was bringing in a couturiere from Paris?

"I will have my secretary make all the travel arrangements for you and your maid," the queen continued. "You'll be traveling on official royal pa.s.sports so there will be no unnecessary formalities. And I will also arrange for a chaperon. It would not do to have you making such a long journey alone."

Now I was digesting one word from that sentence. Maid. You and your maid, she had said. Ah, now that was going to be a slight problem. The queen had no idea that anyone of my status survived without a maid. I opened my mouth to say this, then found myself saying instead, "I'm afraid there might be a problem about finding a maid willing to travel with me. My Scottish maid won't even come to London."

The queen nodded. "Yes, I appreciate that could be a problem. English and Scottish girls are so insular, aren't they? Don't give her a choice, Georgiana. Never give servants a choice. It goes to their heads. If your current maid wishes to retain her position with you, she should be willing to follow you to the ends of the earth. I know that my maid would." She dug into the cauliflower. "Be firm. You'll need to learn how to deal with servants before you run a great household, you know. Give them an inch and they'll walk all over you. Now, come along. Eat up before it gets cold."

Chapter 6.

Mainly at Belinda Warburton-Stoke's mews cottage Thursday, November 10

The car was waiting in the courtyard to take me back me to Rannoch House. It would have been a triumphant return but for one small fact. In one week I had to come up with a maid who wouldn't mind a trip to Romania without being paid. I didn't think there would be many young women in London who would be lining up for that job.

Fig appeared in the front hall as I let myself in.

"You've been gone a long while," she said. "I hope Her Majesty gave you a good meal?"

"Yes, thank you." I chose not to mention the near disaster with the grapefruit and the steak. And the fact that blancmange had been served for pudding and another of my strange phobias is about swallowing blancmange, and jelly-in fact, anything squishy.

"A formal occasion, was it? Lots of people there?" she asked, trying to sound casual while dying of curiosity.

"No, just the queen and I in her private dining room." Oh, I did enjoy saying that. I knew that Fig had never been invited to the private dining room and never had a tete-a-tete with the queen.

"Good gracious," she said. "What did she want?"

"Does a relative need something to invite one to a meal?" I asked. Then I added, "If you really must know, she wants me to represent the royal family at the wedding of Princess Maria Theresa in Romania."

Fig turned an interesting shade of puce. "You? She wants you you to represent the royal family? At a royal wedding? What is she thinking of?" to represent the royal family? At a royal wedding? What is she thinking of?"

"Why, don't you think I'll know how to behave? Do you think I'll drop my aitches or slurp my soup?"

"But you're not even part of the direct line," she blurted out.

"Actually I am. Albeit thirty-fourth," I said.

"And Binky is thirty-second and at least he's a duke."

"Ah, but Binky wouldn't look quite right in a bridesmaid's dress, holding a bouquet," I said. "You see, the princess particularly asked for me to be one of her bridal attendants."

Fig's eyes opened even wider. "You? Why on earth did she ask for you?"

"Because we were great friends at school," I said, not bat-ting an eyelid as I said it. "You see, that horribly expensive education that you gripe about did have its advantages after all."

"Binky!" Fig shouted in a way no lady should. "Binky, Georgiana has been asked to represent the family at a royal wedding, in Romania."

Binky appeared from the library, still wearing his overcoat and m.u.f.fler. "What's this?"

"She's been asked to represent the royal family, at a wedding," Fig repeated. "Did you ever hear of such a thing?"

"I expect they didn't want to send any of the direct heirs for fear of a.s.sa.s.sination," Binky said easily. "They're always a.s.sa.s.sinating each other in that part of the world."

It was clear that Fig liked this answer. I was being sent because I was expendable, not because I was worthy. It did put a different complexion on things. "And when is this wedding?" she asked.

"I'm to leave next week."

"Next week. That doesn't give you much time, does it? What about clothes? Are you expected to have some kind of dress made to be part of this bridal procession?"

"No. Luckily the princess is having us all dressed by her couturiere, from Paris. That's why I have to go early."

"What about your tiara? It's still in the vault in Scotland. Will we have to have it sent down to you?"

"I'm not sure whether tiaras will be worn. I'll have to ask the queen's secretary."

"And what about travel? Who is paying for all this?"

"The queen's secretary is taking care of everything. All I have to come up with is a maid."

Fig looked from me to Binky and back again. "How are you going to do that?"

"At this moment I have no idea. I don't suppose any of the servants at Castle Rannoch would like a jaunt to Romania?"

Fig laughed. "My dear girl, it's hard enough to persuade the servants at Castle Rannoch to come down to London, which they perceive as a dangerous and sinful place. If you remember, your maid Maggie wouldn't do so. Her mother wouldn't allow it."

I shrugged. "Then I'll just have to see if I can borrow a lady's maid from someone in London. Failing that, I'll have to hire one from an agency."

"How can you hire one? You have no money," she said.

"Precisely. But I have to come up with a maid somehow, don't I? I may have to sell some of the family jewels. Perhaps you can send down a diamond or two with the tiara." I was just joking but Fig shot me a daggers look.

"Don't be ridiculous. The family jewels have to stay in the family. You know that."

"Then what do you suggest?" I demanded. "I can't refuse to go. It would be an ultimate insult to Princess Maria Theresa and Her Majesty."

Fig looked at Binky again. "I can't think of anyone we know who might be willing to lend her a maid for such an exotic adventure, can you, Binky?"

"Don't know much about maids, old bean. Sorry," he said. "You women better sort it out. Georgie has to go, that's clear, so if necessary we'll have to come up with the money."

"You want us to come up with the money?" Fig demanded, her voice rising. "How are we going to do that? Sell the family jewels, as Georgiana suggests? Deny little Podge a tutor? It's too much, Binky. She's over twenty-one, isn't she? She's not our responsibility anymore."

Binky went over and put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't upset yourself, my dear. You know the doctor said you should try to remain calm and think peaceful thoughts."

"How can I think peaceful thoughts when we won't even have the money to pay doctors' bills or for the clinic?" Her voice was rising dangerously.

And without warning she did something I had never seen Fig, nor anyone in my immediate circle, do before. She burst into tears and rushed upstairs. Ladies are brought up never to show emotion, even in the direst of circ.u.mstances.

I stared after her openmouthed. I realized that a doctor's visit for Fig had been mentioned, but it hadn't occurred to me until now that it might be a psychiatrist. Was her permanent bad temper due to something darker, like insanity in the family? How delicious. Too good to miss.

"She's a little upset today," Binky said in embarra.s.sment. "Not at her best."

"Fig went to a doctor for her nerves?" I asked.

"Not exactly," he said.

He looked up the stairs after her, weighed up if the wrath of G.o.d might fall, then leaned confidentially close. "If you want to know, Georgie, Fig is expecting again. A second little Rannoch. Isn't that good news?"

It was amazing news. That they had done it successfully once, to produce an heir, was mind-boggling enough. That they had done it a second time took some getting used to. I tried to picture anybody actually making love to Fig from choice. But then I suppose it is cold in bed in Scotland. That had to be the explanation.

"Congratulations," I said. "You'll have the heir and the spare."

"That was one of the reasons for deciding to spend the winter in London this year," Binky said. "Fig hasn't been having an easy time of it and the doctor recommends feet up and nothing to upset her. And she's got a bit of a thing about our lack of money, I'm afraid. I feel like an awful failure, if you want to know the truth."

I felt sorry for Binky. "It's not your fault that Father shot himself and saddled you with crippling death duties on the estate."

"I know, but I should be able to do more. I'm not the brightest sort of chap and unfortunately I'm not equipped for any kind of work, apart from mooching around the estate and that sort of thing."

I put my hand on his arm. "Look, don't worry about the maid," I said. "I'll find one somehow. I'll go and see Belinda. She knows everybody. She travels to the Continent all the time. And you better go up to Fig."

He sighed and plodded up the stairs. I didn't like to go out again, in case Darcy telephoned or turned up in person only to be met by the hostility of my sister-in-law. But as I had no way of contacting him and I had learned from experience that Darcy was, to say the least, unpredictable, I decided I needed to get to work on the maid situation immediately. Perhaps Belinda had returned to London now that the fog had lifted. I decided it would probably not be wise to upset Fig even further by using her telephone so I walked through the rain to Belinda's mews cottage.

To my delight the door was opened immediately by Belinda's maid. "Oh, your ladyship," she said, "I'm awful sorry, but she's taking a rest. She's going out tonight and she said she wasn't to be disturbed."

I had trudged all this way in a bitter rain and wasn't about to go back empty-handed.

"Oh, what a pity," I said in ringing tones, projecting as we were taught to in elocution cla.s.s. "She will be sorry that she missed me, especially when I came to tell her about the royal wedding I'm to attend."

I waited and sure enough there was the sound of shuffling upstairs and a bleary-eyed Belinda appeared, satin sleep mask pushed up on her forehead and wearing a feather-trimmed robe. She made her way gingerly down the stairs toward me.

"Georgie, how lovely to see you. I didn't realize you were back in London. Don't keep Lady Georgiana standing on the doorstep, Florrie," she said. "Ask her in and make us some tea."

She staggered down the last of the stairs and embraced me. "I'm so glad you're here," I said. "I came by a couple of days ago and the place was all shut up."

"That's because Florrie couldn't get here through the fog," she said, glaring after the departing servant. "Left me in the lurch. No sense of duty, these people, and no backbone. You and I would have made it, wouldn't we? Even if we had to walk from Hackney? I tried to survive without her, but in the end I had no choice, darling, but to check into the Dorchester until the fog lifted."

She led me into her delightfully warm sitting room and I peeled off outer garments. "I'm actually surprised to find you here. I should have thought Italy was so much nicer at this time of year."

A spasm of annoyance crossed her face. "Let's just say that the climate in Italy turned decidedly frosty all at once."

"Meaning what?"

"Paolo's horrid fiancee learned about me and put her foot down. She announced that she wants to get married right away. So Paolo's father told him to shape up and do his duty, or else. And since Pappa controls the purse strings it was arrivederci arrivederci to poor little to poor little moi moi."

"You know, you're beginning to sound like my mother," I said. "I hope you're not turning into her."

"I think she's had a divine life," Belinda said, "all those playboys and racing car drivers and Texan oil millionaires."

"Yes, but in the end what does she have?"

"Some lovely jewels at the very least, and that little villa in the south of France."

"Yes, but in terms of family? Only Granddad and me and she ignores us both."

"Darling, your mother is a survivor like me," Belinda said. "I was upset for a day or so when Paolo showed me the door, but then I decided there are plenty more fish in the sea. But enough about me, what's this I hear about a royal wedding?" She sank into the art nouveau armchair. I perched on the most uncomfortable modern sofa. "Don't tell me you've been forced to say yes to Fishface."

"Not if he was the last man on the planet," I said. "No, much more exciting than that. I've been asked to attend a royal wedding in Romania, as official representative of the family. And I'm to be in the bridal party."

"I say." Belinda looked suitably impressed. "What a coup! That's a step up in the world for you, isn't it? One day you're living on dry toast, the next you're representing our country at a royal wedding. How did this come about?"

"The bride specifically asked for me," I said. "Since we are old school friends."

"Old school friends? From Les Oiseaux?"

"It's the only school I ever went to. Until then it was all governesses."

Belinda frowned, trying to think. "An old school friend, in Romania? Who was that?"

"Princess Maria Theresa," I said.

"Maria Theresa-oh, G.o.d. Not Fatty Matty."

"I'd forgotten you used to call her that, Belinda. That wasn't very nice, was it?"

"Darling, one was only being honest. Besides, she wasn't a very nice person, was she?"

"Wasn't she? I know she was annoying, following us around and wanting to be included in everything. I used to call her Moony Matty, I remember, for the moon face and the way that she drifted around one step behind us all the time."

"And she was always pestering me to tell her about s.e.x. Utterly clueless. Didn't even know where babies came from. But don't you remember, when we did include her, she betrayed our trust and ratted on me to Mademoiselle Amelie. Nearly got me expelled."

"She did?"