I looked up at her. "Fig? Pa.s.sionate?" I burst out laughing. Mummy laughed too.

"You must come and stay with us in Germany, darling," my mother said. "Max can introduce you to a nice German count. Come to think of it, why don't we set you up with one of Nicky's groomsmen? Young Heinrich of Schleswig-Holstein has oodles of money."

"I don't think I'd like to live in Germany, thank you," I said. "I'm amazed how you can do it and not think of the Great War."

"Darling, the people we mix with had nothing to do with it. It was those nasty militaristic Prussians. Your father's wretched cousin Kaiser Willie. No, you'd live well in Germany. Good food, if a little stodgy, and great wine, and Berlin is such a lively city. Or we could find you an Austrian and live in Vienna. Now there's a delightful city for you. And the Austrians-all so fun loving and absolutely no interest in war or conquest."

"Isn't this new chap Hitler an Austrian?"

"Darling, we met him recently. Such a funny little man. I'm sure n.o.body will take him seriously. And there's also Nicky's brother, Anton. Now he would be quite a catch. I rather fancy him myself, but with Max as his brother's G.o.dfather-well, one has to draw the line somewhere."

"I'm surprised you're still with Max," I said. "He doesn't seem your type at all. He doesn't seem very lively. You're much more at home with people like Noel Coward-theater people."

"Of course I am, but so many of them are like dear sweet Noel-pansies, darling. And let me warn you that a certain prince in this house is one of them too. Because I have heard rumors that you're being considered for the post of princess."

"Siegfried, you mean?" I laughed. "Yes, he's already proposed and let me know that I could take lovers after I produced the heir."

"Aren't men funny?" Mother laughed again. "But I rather think your interests lie in another direction. A certain Mr. O'Mara?" She laughed at my red face. "Darling, you have bitten off more than you can chew there. He does have a reputation, you know. Wild Irish boy. I can't see him settling down and changing nappies, can you? And of course he has no money and money is rather important to happiness."

"Are you happy with Max?"

Those large china doll eyes opened wide. "What an interesting question. I get bored and think I'll leave and then the poor dear adores me so much that I simply can't do it. He wants to marry me, you know."

"Are you thinking of marrying him?"

"It has crossed my mind, but I don't think I'd like to be a Frau. I know he's n.o.bility and a von and all that, but I'd still be Frau Von Strohheim and it simply isn't moi moi. Besides, I believe I'm still officially married to that frightfully boring Texan chappy, Homer Clegg. He doesn't believe in divorce. If I really felt strongly I could go to Reno or wherever it is that people go and pay for a quickie divorce there, but I simply can't be bothered. No, my advice to you, my darling, is that you marry well and keep someone like Mr. O'Mara on the side. Choose someone with dark hair and then the baby will match whoever the father is."

"Mummy, you say the most outlandish things. I can't believe how I came to be your daughter."

She stroked my cheek. "I abandoned you too young, I realize now. But I couldn't take another minute of that dreary castle. I never realized your father would want to spend half the year there and go tramping about the heather in a kilt. Simply not me, my sweet, although I have to confess that I enjoyed being a d.u.c.h.ess. One got such good service at Harrods."

As she twittered on I sat there uneasily, aware of all the things I should be doing. My gaze drifted from the cracking fire to the portrait above the mantelpiece. Then I blinked and gave it another look. The man in the picture looked like Count Dragomir.

I got up and stood in front of the fire, staring up at it. The man in the portrait was younger than Dragomir but he had the same haughty face, the same high cheekbones and strangely cat-like eyes. But one hardly puts a portrait of a castle servant on the wall. Then I looked at the writing at the bottom. The painter had signed his picture and it looked as if the date was 1789.

"What are you looking at, darling?" my mother asked.

"This portrait on the wall. Doesn't it remind you of Count Dragomir?"

"They all look similar in this part of the world, don't they?" Mummy said in a bored voice. "It was those Huns. They were so good at raping and pillaging that everyone now looks like them."

I was still staring at the portrait. It reminded me of someone else I knew, but I couldn't quite put a finger on it. Something about the eyes . . .

"Darling, as I told you at dinner the other night, your hair is a disaster," Mummy said. "Who is your hairdresser in London these days? You should get a Marcel wave. Come up to my room and I'll have Adele do it for you. She is a whiz with problem hair."

"Later, Mummy," I said. "I really have things I should be doing now."

"More important things than keeping your poor lonely mother company?"

"Mummy, there are plenty of other women who would love to sit and gossip with you, I'm sure."

"They love to gossip in German and I never could get the hang of that language. And I'm not too hot at French either and I do so love to be the center of things, not a hanger-on."

"You could always find Belinda. She likes all the things you do."

"Your friend Belinda?" A frown crossed that flawless face. "Darling, one hears she is nothing more than a little tramp. Did you see how she was virtually throwing herself at Anton the other night? And I gather her bed wasn't slept in after that." She gave me a knowing wink.

I was amused at the pot calling the kettle black. Little tramp, indeed. So I suspected it was sour grapes, since Mummy had confessed to being attracted to Anton. "Well, you'll have to find someone else to amuse you, because I'm supposed to be at the fitting for my bridal attendant's dress," I said. "You heard that I was one of Matty's attendants, didn't you?" I knew that a dress fitting would count as a good reason for my mother.

"Oh, well, then you should hurry off, darling," Mummy said. "I hear that the princess has brought in Madame Yvonne, of all people. She's a trifle pa.s.se, but she still makes some divine gowns. What's yours like?"

"Divine," I said. "You'll be pleased with me. I actually look elegant."

"Then we have hope of snaring a prince or a count for you yet," Mummy said. "Toddle along then. Don't keep Madame Yvonne waiting."

I took the opportunity and fled, leaving her sitting with her legs stretched out in front of the fire. When I came out to the vast entrance hall I paused. What should I be doing? Seeking out Nicholas; speaking with Count Dragomir? It all seemed so pointless. Would Nicholas want to know that someone had tried to kill him? And what about Dragomir? Obviously my mother was right and the resemblance to that portrait was purely a coincidence. He hadn't been alive since 1789-not unless he was one of the undead. That ridiculous thought flashed through my mind and I tried to stifle it. He had all the qualities one would expect of a vampire count-that pale skin, elegant demeanor, strangely staring light eyes, hollow cheeks. Rubbish, I said out loud, having picked up the word from Lady Middles.e.x. And as I had decided earlier, no undead person would need to administer poison. Poison at a dinner table bore the mark of a desperate, daring human being.

I wandered along hallways until I heard voices and came upon a group a.s.sembled in the anteroom next to the banqueting hall. I spotted Prince Nicholas among them and was making my way through the crowd toward him when a voice said, in French, "Now, who is this charming young person?" and of course I realized that I was among the royals who had arrived earlier. Then, of course, I felt highly embarra.s.sed, because I was dressed for warmth rather than elegance. The embarra.s.sment was doubled when Siegfried stepped forward, took me by the elbow and said, also in French, "Mama, may I present Georgiana, the cousin of King George."

The elegant, perfectly coiffed, exquisitely dressed woman beamed at me and extended an elegant hand. "So you are the one," she said. "How delightful. You don't know how we have longed to meet you."

I curtsied warily. "Your Majesty," I murmured.

"And you speak such fluent French too."

I hardly thought the word "majesty" comprised good French and was seriously worried at the effuse greeting. I had just been introduced to Siegfried's father, the king, when the gong sounded and I was swept into luncheon without having an opportunity to speak to Prince Nicholas. I was seated between a countess and an elderly baron, both of whom spoke to me in stilted French, and then, when they realized I knew n.o.body that they did, they spoke across me: "So do tell me, what is Jean-Claude doing this winter? Monte Carlo again? Too overrun with riffraff these days for me. And what about Josephine? How are her rheumatics? I heard she was in Budapest for the baths. I find them so unhygienic, don't you?"

I managed to eat and answer when spoken to, while at the same time watching what happened behind the table. Servants came and went with such rapidity that I could see there was a chance that an opportune a.s.sa.s.sin could have darted out from an archway, administered a dose of poison and vanished again without being noticed. Especially if someone were speaking at the time. I looked down the room. If someone at the far end of the table had been making a toast, all eyes would have been on him. The whole thing seemed impossible. I would have been happy to call it a heart attack and leave well enough alone, but for the fact that someone had tried to kill Prince Nicholas and that person was still among us.

I managed to eat my way through a rich and creamy soup, a sauerbraten with red cabbage and some delicious dumplings stuffed with prunes and dusted in sugar. Then, the moment luncheon was over, I tried to intercept Prince Nicholas as he left the room.

"Can we go somewhere to talk?" I said in a low voice. "There's something I need to tell you privately, about Field Marshal Pirin."

"Oh, right." He looked startled, then glanced around. "I'll get Anton."

"No!" The word came out louder than I meant it to, and several people around us looked up. "No," I repeated. "This is only for your ears. It's up to you whom you decide to share it with when I've told you."

"All right." He looked amused if anything. "Where shall we go for this secret meeting?"

"Anywhere that obnoxious man Patrascue isn't likely to overhear."

"Who knows where his men are lurking?" Nicholas said. "It's so easy to spy on people in a place like this. Oh, d.a.m.n, speak of the devil-" Patrascue had come into the room and appeared to be making a beeline for us.

"You, lady from England," he said. "You will come with me, please. I have something that I want you to explain to me immediately."

"Do you want me along too?" Nicholas asked.

"Just the young lady," Patrascue said.

I had no choice but to go with Patrascue, especially as he appeared to have two of his men in tow and I didn't want to cause a fuss.

"I'll see you later then," I called after Nicholas, then I turned to Patrascue, who was standing close beside me. "What's this about?" I asked.

"You will soon see," Patrascue said. He marched ahead of me with great purpose, up the stairs until we came out onto my hallway. Then he flung open my bedroom door. A frightened-looking Queenie was standing by the bed.

"You will please explain this," Patrascue said. He opened the chest and pointed at a small gla.s.s bottle lying there.

"I have no idea what it is or how it got there," I said.

"I, on the other hand, have a very good idea," he said. "I would like to deduce it was the receptacle that contained the poison." He stepped closer until he was leering down at me. "I have had my suspicions about you from the beginning," he said. "You were sitting opposite this field marshal. And why should the English king send you to the wedding? Why not send his own daughter, a princess, as would be more fitting?"

"Because Princess Maria Theresa personally asked for me to be part of her bridal procession, since we were old school friends. So the queen thought that it would kill two birds with one stone, so to speak."

"Do not worry, as soon as the telephone lines are restored I shall be calling the garden of Scotland to verify this."

The garden of Scotland? I grinned. He meant Scotland Yard.

"Please do. Are you suggesting that I came all the way from England to kill a field marshal I had never even heard of until this week?" I tried to give a carefree laugh that didn't quite come off. One heard rumors of the way justice was conducted in foreign countries, and I would certainly be an easy scapegoat for him. "What possible motive could I have? It is my first time in this part of the world. I never met any of these people before."

"As for motive, I could think of several. The young Bulgarian princes, they did not like this fellow, I have heard. You are their cousin, are you not? Perhaps you are in a conspiracy together to kill him for them."

"In that case," I said, "we could easily have labeled his death a heart attack and n.o.body would have challenged it. But why should I wish to get involved in Bulgarian politics, even if these are my cousins?"

"Money," he said with a horrible grin. "As I told you earlier, money can make anyone do evil acts. And you have none, so your mother's companion confided to me."

"I may not have been brought up with money, but certainly with plenty of integrity," I said haughtily. "If I were so desperate for money, I could have made a good marriage by now. Your heir to the throne here has already asked me."

"I know this," he said, waving a hand airily. "I make it my business to know everything."

"So if I married him, I'd hardly want to start off my marriage with a war between Balkan countries, would I?"

"But I heard you rejected him," Patrascue said. He turned to one of his men and said something under his breath in another language. The man took out a handkerchief, then leaned forward and removed the little bottle. He handed it, still in the handkerchief, to Patrascue.

"I a.s.sure you, you won't find my fingerprints on it," I said. "And you'll probably discover that it is an ordinary medicine bottle containing someone's headache mixture."

Using the handkerchief, Patrascue removed the stopper, sniffed, then backed away hastily. "This did not contain a headache mixture," he said. "And I do not expect to find fingerprints on it. A clever killer will have wiped them away."

"Even a stupid killer would have hurled the bottle out of the window, where it would have sunk into snow that's not going to melt for ages," I said. "By which time the killer would be back in his or her own country."

Patrascue stared at the window, digesting this, the wheels in his brain working slowly.

"Isn't it obvious, even to you, that someone is trying to frame me?" I said. Actually I said "attach the blame to me" because the only French word I knew for "frame" was the one that held pictures on walls and I didn't think that would be right. "Why would the real killer not have disposed of the evidence? How easy that would be in a castle of this size, with so many nooks and crannies and gratings in walls and floors. Or why not keep it on his person?"

Patrascue said nothing for a while. "Because only a clever criminal would absolve herself from blame by making me think that she had been framed," he said at last. "I will tell you what I think, English lady. I think that this is a clever plot between you and your fellow Englishman, who conveniently drove away with the body before I could examine it or question him."

I grinned. "He's not English, actually. He's Irish."

He waved a hand in a bored manner. "English, Irish, what is the difference. I have heard of this Mr. O'Mara before. He was involved in a scandal at a casino, I believe. And he is interested in making money. But don't worry, I will send my men after him and he will be brought back here, and the truth will come out."

"Don't be so ridiculous," I said. "The queen of England would be horrified if she heard I had been treated this way when I have been sent to represent my country. Princess Maria Theresa, my dear school friend, will also be horrified, if I tell her."

He put his fingers under my chin and drew me closer to him. "I do not think you realize the spot you are in, young lady. I have the power to arrest you and lock you up, and I can a.s.sure you that our jails are not pleasant places-rats, disease, hardened criminals . . . and sometimes it takes months or years before a case comes to trial. But given that you are here for such a festive occasion, I will be gracious. I will merely inform you that you may not leave this castle without my permission."

His fingernails were digging into my chin, but I wasn't going to show him that I was scared. "Since I'm here for a wedding next week, I'm hardly likely to do that," I said. "Besides, I understand it may snow again, in which case n.o.body will be leaving for a while."

He leaned his face closer to mine. His breath was rank with garlic and worse. "Since you so emphatically insist on your innocence," he said, "you must have some thoughts on who committed this terrible crime. Who do you think it was? Dragomir, for example? You say you saw everything-did you perhaps observe Dragomir slipping something into a gla.s.s? Think hard, young lady, if you wish to go home after the wedding."

I saw then that he wasn't as stupid as I had thought. His plan had been to make me so fearful for my own safety that I would be willing to point the finger at Dragomir. He was about to discover that British girls are made of sterner stuff.

They do not collapse in sobs when a fierce policeman threatens them with prison. Even though I did have my suspicions about Dragomir, I certainly wasn't going to share them with this man.

"If you want my opinion," I said, "I think you should consider the possibility of vampires."

Chapter 25.

"Ooh miss, I wasn't half scared," Queenie said as soon as the men had left. "Those horrid brutes, they barged in here and started going through your things. I didn't half give 'em an earful. 'Whatcher think you're doing?' I said. 'Them things belongs to a royal person and she won't want you mucking about with them and getting your dirty hands on them.' But it wasn't much good because they didn't speak English. What was that man saying to you?"

"He thought I'd poisoned the man who was taken ill at dinner last night," I said. "They found what looked like a vial of poison in that chest."

"I bet they planted it there themselves," Queenie said. "You can't trust them foreigners, can you? That's what my old dad says and he should know because he was in the trenches in the Great War."

"Your old dad may be right on this occasion," I said. Planting the evidence there themselves was definitely a possibility-but why choose me? Was it because I came from a faraway place and therefore would cause a local political problem if I was arrested? Or did he think that I looked vulnerable and would easily break down and confess or be willing to pin the blame on Dragomir? It was all too much like a gothic drama. I just hoped that his men didn't catch up with Darcy. I didn't think that was likely. The sky outside my window looked heavy with the promise of more snow. I glanced longingly at my bed. A quick nap sounded like a good idea, but I really couldn't put off having my chat with Nicholas. He may still have been in grave danger. Why, oh, why did Darcy have to choose this moment to leave? He could have kept an eye on Nicholas and prevented another murder.

I made my way downstairs again. The hallways seemed colder than ever, with banners actually wafting in the wind. As I looked around me I realized that servants were everywhere. Usually one does not even notice the presence of servants, but at this moment I was particularly aware of them. Which made me think-if an intruder was in the castle, someone else must know about him. It wouldn't be possible to sneak around without encountering a servant or two, so someone had to be feeding the intruder and keeping him safely hidden. That indicated that the a.s.sa.s.sin had to be from here, and not one of the guests from Bulgaria.

Of course then my thoughts turned again to Count Dragomir. I found that I was pa.s.sing the door to the sitting room where I had spotted the portrait. I opened the door cautiously and found the room empty. I tiptoed over to the fireplace and stared up at the portrait. In the flickering light of the fire it looked almost alive.

"All alone, my lady?" said a deep voice behind me.

I gasped and spun around. Count Dragomir was standing there, in the flesh. "Is there something I can get you?" he asked. "Some tea, maybe? You English like your tea at this hour, I believe."

"Er-no, thank you," I stammered.

"Then perhaps you came in here to be alone or to take an afternoon snooze," he said. "I leave you to sweet dreams."

He bowed and was about to retreat when I plucked up courage.

"Count Dragomir," I said, "I couldn't help noticing that there is a bad feeling between you and the policeman Patrascue."

"I'm sure the feeling is mutual," Dragomir said. "We were at the university together as young men. We took an instant disliking to each other. He was a sneaky, underhand sort of fellow even then." I felt that there was more but he was not going to tell me.