'Had you some evidence of the President's intentions?’
'He tried to poison me,' she said, and went on hurriedly. 'Aunt Vicky could use her influence, I thought. As I told you, anything that relates to poor Uncle Albert - and we were third cousins’.
'My absence - or escape - had to be done secretly. I didn't want my family, who have suffered enough, to be held responsible. And as the President only visits me every four weeks or so, I felt I had enough time to make the visit and return without his knowledge.'
'Where did the Luck o' Lethie come into all this?' Faro asked, hastily banishing a suddenly vivid picture of 'Miss Fortescue' lying in his arms.
'I had some naive idea that it might restore our good fortune.' She sighed. 'All that I told you about its history is true. And had it been the original, then I would have been prepared to sell it to the American millionaire. I realise I behaved foolishly -'
'Impulsively - and in character,' Faro suggested, smiling.
'We had one person we could trust to make the arrangements. Roma's father, Miles Fortescue. He alerted the Lethies to the purpose of our journey -'
'So they knew who you were.'
She shook her head. 'Not at first. Had to tell them. A nuisance. That day you came on us at the Crusader's Tomb. I was trying to persuade them not to make matters more complicated.' Pausing, she smiled at him. 'They suspected everyone - including you.’
'Roma's father will be so relieved to know that she is safe. I have been terrified that something dreadful had happened to her. She was not at all well on the voyage, but she was determined to accompany me. Despite her doctor's orders.'
'She was ill?'
'Not exactly ill, but delicate. She suffered from a heart condition - brought about by a childhood attack of rheumatic fever. Despite her frail health, she must have made that incredible journey to Balmoral Castle, alone. And, on my behalf, arranged this meeting. I'll be grateful to her for the rest of my life.'
Without suggesting that the rest of her life might not be long, Faro had now before him the melancholy business of breaking the news that the real Miss Fortescue, far from being in Balmoral, had died of a heart attack on the night of the carriage accident. Sparing her the details, he said that with no knowledge of her identity, she had been buried in Edinburgh.
Amelie was deeply distressed. 'She was so afraid that I might be kidnapped or that somehow the President might have learned of our plan. She insisted we change clothes - and jewellery -everything by which I could be identified, on the ship. When I told her she was being ridiculous and overdramatising the situation, she just smiled and said: "Oh, they'll soon let me go when they find they've got the wrong one."'
She paused and then sobbed. 'And she's the one who is dead. Oh dear God, I can't bear it.'
Rather awkwardly, Faro put an arm about her shoulders. It was one thing comforting a lady-in-waiting, quite another offering comfort which might be misunderstood by a Grand Duchess.
'In an unknown grave. Oh no -' She wept at that. 'My poor Roma. When we get back, we must arrange a proper funeral -'
'Of course, of course we will.'
She dried her tears at last and raising her head, gave him a startled look. 'But then who - who is with the Queen?'
'No one, I'm afraid,' he said.
'What do you mean - no one?'
'The letter was a ruse to get you out of Edinburgh.'
'The Prime Minister -'
'A forgery. There isn't time to tell you, but I beg you, have no illusions, you were brought to this destination with me - for one purpose only. I think you know what that purpose is,' he added grimly. 'You're a brave woman, Your Highness.'
'If you've known - what was intended, then why did you come with me?' she asked softly.
'All part of my line of duty to protect a royal personage.'
'Is that all?' she asked softly, and in her eyes he saw reflected gratitude and something more than gratitude. Leaning over, he kissed her very gently. For a moment, she clung to him -'
'Hush!'
There was a sound outside.
A wisp of smoke curled under the door.
The nightmare had begun.
Faro knew that by opening the door he presented a ready target. But from the small windows it was impossible to see who might be waiting in the porch. The smell of smoke, however, painted a grim picture of their assailant's intentions.
Amelie grabbed his arm. 'Fire - they are setting fire to the house. Don't you understand? Do something, please - for God's sake.'
He heard the panic in her voice, remembered her story of a fire in a hotel which, perhaps, had been true after all.
She watched wide-eyed as Faro took a gun from his valise and opened the door an inch. Clouds of choking smoke billowed in.
Closing it hastily, he had seen enough to realise his worst fears. Their attacker had set fire to the rustic porch, which would soon spread to their door.
'Get water,' he said. Amelie fled to the kitchen, returning at last with a bucket.
'All I could find,' she gasped. 'Hidden away behind a rail of maids' uniforms. We're lucky to have running water.' And with rising panic in her voice: 'There is no back door. Did you know that?'
Faro didn't doubt that whoever waited outside also knew. Telling her to stay out of range, he opened the door and flung the
