“Miss Felicity,” interrupted Miss Chubb sternly. “Do you want to marry the baron?”
“Oh, no,” said Felicity. She sat nervously biting her fingernails, a most unladylike habit, as she worried about her future. But even if the masquerade should only last a short time, what fun she might have. What independence!
In the darkness of the carriage, Felicity began to smile. “Madame Chubiski,” she said, “you are a wonder!”
“I have a very vivid imagination,” said Miss Chubb ruefully. “Anyway, let us try to get some sleep before we arrive at Falmouth.”
Dawn was gilding cobbles of the town of Falmouth when John Tremayne brought the carriage to a halt outside The Pelican.
“Here we go,” muttered Miss Chubb.
Felicity could only stand by and listen in amazement as Miss Chubb, a hat pulled down to conceal most of her face, began to show a previously hidden talent as an actress. In heavily accented English, she grandly set about turning The Pelican on its ears.
The landlord, dazed at this unexpected visit of foreign royalty, set his servants running hither and thither. After all the fuss had died down and the best rooms had been prepared, he positioned himself in the yard to await the arrival of the princess. He was taken aback when Miss Chubb appeared, still in her male disguise, to tell him that the princess had slipped quietly into the inn during all the fuss, but would be prepared to give the landlord an audience, and thank him personally for all his efforts.
The landlord, Mr. Jem Peters, was told to attend the princess in half an hour.
Upstairs, as Miss Chubb darted in and hurriedly began to change into clothes suitable for a royal companion, Felicity threw open the lid of the iron box and blinked as diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and gold flashed up at her.
“Oh, my goodness” said Miss Chubb. “What jewels! But we can admire them later. Put on the most showy, Miss Felicity, and quickly. The landlord will be here very soon.”
Mr. Peters eventually scratched timidly at the door. John Tremayne answered it, hoping the landlord would not notice that the princess's attendant was wearing outdoor livery.
But the dazed landlord had eyes only for the little figure who sat on a chair by the window.
She was wearing a white silk gown. A diamond tiara blazed in her red hair, and a collar of huge diamonds was clasped about her neck. A rope of real pearls hung down to her waist and a yellow silk sash across her bosom was decorated with a large diamond and ruby brooch in the shape of a cross, which looked very much like an order.
“We are pleassed to thank you,” said Felicity in what she hoped was a foreign accent. “It ees varry comfortable here.”
“Your Royal Highness,” stammered Mr. Peters. “My humble inn is entirely at your service.”
Felicity smiled and gave a stately little nod, and John Tremayne held the door open again to indicate that the brief audience was over.
Mr. Peters shot down the stairs, pausing only to grab his hat. The mayor must know of this, and the aldermen.
The beauty of this little princess spread like wildfire. All the long day, Felicity gave audiences, and feeling very guilty, received presents of flowers, fans, trinkets, bales of cloth, gloves, and even baskets of delicacies. She felt even more guilty when the mayor, in his full dress of office, bowed low before her and begged her to let the town of Falmouth have the honor of paying her stay at the inn.
But no one seemed to have the least interest in this mysterious country called Brasnia. No one even wanted to know on which ship the royal party had arrived. Felicity bowed and smiled, and accepted more presents, wondering what on earth was happening back at Tregarthan Castle, and if the infuriating Lord Arthur Bessamy ever even thought of her.
Lord Arthur Bessamy had slept badly. He had a nagging ache inside, which he put down to indigestion. The food at dinner had been abominable. The noise of the storm had been horrible. He found himself hoping Miss Felicity's boldness and courage ran to coping with storms, and the next minute damned her under his breath.
The ancient chambermaid creaked in and placed a small tray with a cup of weak chocolate beside the bed, and then drew back the curtains at the windows. Sunlight flooded the room. A fine day, thought Lord Arthur, clasping his hands behind his head and staring up at the frayed canopy. A good day for a ride to Tregarthan Castle. It was only decent, he told himself, to make every effort to dissuade Mr. Palfrey from forcing his young stepdaughter into marriage.
A flash of light on the canopy above his head caught his eye. He was just looking curiously at it and wondering what it could be, when the canopy gave way and a flood of water cascaded down all over his body.
He leapt from the bed with a yell. The roof had been leaking during the night, and the rainwater had formed a sort of lake on top of the canopy. Enough was enough. Dolph could stay if he liked, but he, Lord Arthur, was going to go straight to The Green Dolphin, after visiting Tregarthan Castle, and book a room.
Dolph, it transpired, had also suffered a similar disaster during the night, except that his flood had been in the closet where his clothes were hung. They had been dried in the kitchen at a scorching fire and most of them had shrunk.
He was a tubby pathetic figure at the breakfast table, with his waistcoat somewhere up about his chest, and his breeches strained to the point of indecency over his fat thighs.
He gloomily agreed to leave with Lord Arthur, although he tried to protest over the proposed visit to Tregarthan Castle. Miss Channing, pointed out Dolph, had seemed well able to look after herself, and it was folly to interfere in another family's affairs.
But the glory of the day when they finally set out on the road, after leaving a note for the still-sleeping baron, restored both men's spirits. The air was full of lark song, and clouds of little blue butterflies performed their erratic ballet over the strips of fields.
“I didn't really want his money all that much,” said Dolph.
“He may still leave it to you.”
“Not if you succeed in putting an end to this proposed marriage, he won't,” pointed out Dolph.
“I hadn't thought of that,” said Lord Arthur, nodding as a laborer at the side of the road saluted them. “Better write and tell him it was nothing to do with you.”
“On a sunny day like this, it all seems rather grimy-waiting for someone to pop off to get their moneybags.”
Lord Arthur smiled but did not reply. He slowed as they approached a farmer driving a cart and asked the man if they were on the right road to Tregarthan Castle. It turned out they only had a mile to go.
Soon the fantastic turrets of the castle rose above the moorland.
“What a place!” exclaimed Dolph. “Like something out of one of those romances. I wonder if they have ghosts.”
“If they have, they must be very modern ones. The castle is a folly, I believe, and quite new.”
They bowled across the drawbridge under the portcullis, which glittered wickedly above their heads in the bright sunlight. “I wonder if it works,” said Dolph, staring up at it. “I wouldn't want that thing to come crashing down on my head.”
The inner courtyard was empty. No servant came running to hold the horses or to announce their arrival.
Lord Arthur and Dolph got down and tethered the horses to a post and then rang the huge bell that stood beside the brass-bound door.
After some time, the door creaked open. Anderson, the butler, stood looking at them sorrowfully.
“Lord Arthur Bessamy and Mr. Godolphin present their compliments to Mr. Palfrey and wish to speak to him,” said Lord Arthur.
The butler bowed, turned, and walked away. After some hesitation, the two men walked into the hall.
The butler disappeared into a room at the end of the hall. There came the murmur of voices, and then they could hear Mr. Palfrey's voice suddenly sharp and querulous, saying, “Get rid of them. The disgrace of it all. They must not know.”
Lord Arthur raised his thin black brows. “Now, what is it that we must not know? Come, Dolph.” And with Dolph following at his heels, he walked straight into the room from which they had heard Mr. Palfrey's voice emerging.
Mr. Palfrey let out an outraged squawk at the sight of them.
