He was ushered into a stately drawing room by an unnerving sort of butler who fixed Dolph's tubby figure with a haughty look, and said, “Make not provision for the flesh to fulfill the lusts thereof,” before bowing and stalking out.
A terrifyingly massive woman, with a hand outstretched, came down the room toward him. She was dressed from head to foot in black velvet. “I am Madame Chubiski,” she announced.
Dolph bowed. “I am come to see Her Royal Highness.”
“Vot is eet you vish?” said Madame Chubiski.
“I wish to speak to Princess Felicity about it, if I may.”
“What is it?” came a light young voice from behind a carved screen in the corner. Madame Chubiski waved an imperious hand, and Dolph approached the screen cautiously.
“I am come to beg a favor, ma'am,” he said timidly. Then he thought of Martha Barchester, and his voice strengthened. “My friend, Lord Arthur Bessamy, would be deeply honored it you could manage to issue him an invitation to your rout.”
There was a long silence, and Dolph felt almost as if the temperature in the room had dropped by several degrees. He turned about and smiled winningly at Madame Chubiski, who glowered back.
At last, the princess's voice came to him very faintly from behind the screen. “Yes,” it said on a little sigh. “He may come.”
“Thank you,” said Dolph, bowing to the screen.
“You've got what you want, young man, so take your leave,” growled a robust English accent behind him. Dolph started. But there was still only Madame Chubiski in the room-who had sounded so foreign only a moment before.
But he felt he had better leave quickly before the princess changed her mind.
When he had gone, Miss Chubb said ruefully, “Did you really have to give him an invitation?”
“Yes, this way Lord Arthur will not suspect anything,” said Felicity, emerging from behind the screen. “Besides, there will be such a crush, the poor man will have difficulty in seeing me at all! And I am supposed to be dead, remember? You know, Miss Chubb, I am so tired of this silly accent I have to affect, and your own is beginning to come and go alarmingly. Why do we not start to speak proper English-and praise our good Mr. Silver for effecting the transformation?”
“Good idea,” sighed Miss Chubb. “Do you know. I live in terror of being confronted by some fool who claims to speak Brasnian!”
Chapter Seven
“I speak excellent Brasnian, Your Royal Highness,” said Lord Arthur Bessamy.
Felicity carefully concealed all the dismay she felt. Miss Chubb had made a dreadful mistake. There must be a wretched place called Brasnia after all. Around them, the glittering cream of London society ebbed and flowed in the pink and gold saloon at Chesterfield Gardens.
With a thin little smile, Felicity said, “I do not wish to speak Brasnian. It would shame my tutor, who has been at such pains to teach me excellent English.”
“You are a credit to him, ma'am,” said Lord Arthur, smiling down into her eyes. “One would suppose, to listen to you, that you had been speaking English all of your life.”
Felicity glanced nervously sideways, looking for help. But Lord Arthur was a leader of society and so was being allowed a few moments alone with her, a courtesy afforded to very few. Miss Chubb's tall, feathered headdress could be seen at the far end of the room. “She should not have left me alone for a minute,” thought Felicity, irritation now mixing with her fear.
She took a deep breath. “May I congratulate you on your forthcoming marriage, Lord Arthur?”
“Thank you,” he said stiffly. “You are well-informed.”
“I make it my business to be so.”
“Tell me, do you know much of our country?”
“No, not much.”
“You have never been to Cornwall, for example?”
“I believe I have.”
Lord Arthur leaned closer to her and murmured, “Where in Cornwall exactly?”
“Why, I arrived at Falmouth.”
“His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, the Prince Regent,” cried Spinks loudly.
Silence fell on the room. The guests parted to form two lines.
Lord Arthur bowed and moved away. Felicity began to shake. This was flying too high! She had not invited the Prince, would not have dreamed of doing so. But Prinny went anywhere in society he wanted to go, invited or not.
How very fat he is, was Felicity's dazed thought as the corpulent royal figure moved toward her.
Miss Chubb tried to edge around the outside of the room to get to Felicity. Why had the Prince come this evening of all evenings? wondered Miss Chubb frantically. It had all been going so splendidly, and there had been no flash of recognition on Lord Arthur's face when he had first seen Felicity. And she looked so young and regal, standing in a white silk gown embroidered with tiny diamonds and seed pearls and with the Channing diamonds glittering and flashing.
Felicity sank into a deep curtsey before the Prince Regent. “This is a very great honor,” she said.
“On the contrary,” said the Prince, “it is you who do England honor. We have never been to Brasnia.”
“No, sire?” said Felicity in a shaky voice.
“Can't go anywhere with Boney strangling Europe. Brasnia, now let me see…?”
The color flew from Felicity's cheeks. She was about to be found out.
The Prince shook his heavy head so that the curls of his nut-brown wig bounced and shook. “We have never heard of the place. Where is it?”
“On th-the R-Russian b-border,” stammered Felicity.
“And your father, King…?”
Felicity closed her eyes in despair. She tried to think up some lie, something to say-anything! But it was as if terror had frozen her brain.
“I fear Princess Felicity is overcome with the heat of the rooms,” came Lord Arthur's voice. “Let me explain, sire. Brasnia is a small principality, not a kingdom. It is a very small country, about the size of Luxembourg. Princess Felicity's brother, Prince Georgi, is the ruler.” His voice dropped to a boring monotone. “It is mainly an agricultural country, growing maize-corn, wheat, and oats in the fertile plains surrounding the River Zorg. The river itself produces excellent fish, one of which is the curpa, a local delicacy that has to be cleaned by experts because it contains a deadly poison. Anyone who is unlucky enough to take this poison endures severe fits of vomiting and the flux prior to death. What is even more peculiar is that the vomit is bright green in color…”
“Gad's Oonds!” cried the Prince, holding his fat stomach. “Enough! Enough! We do not wish to hear another word.”
He nodded curtly to Felicity and hurried away. His voice carried back to Felicity and Lord Arthur. “What on earth is up with that fellow, Bessamy? Used to be a wit. Now about the biggest bore in Christendom. We are bored. We wish to leave…”
The Prince's petulant voice faded away as he disappeared out the door of the saloon with Lord Alvanley at his heels.
Felicity looked up nervously at Lord Arthur. Either he had gone raving mad or he had mistaken Brasnia for another country-or he knew the truth about her. And Felicity was very much afraid he knew the truth.
But he merely smiled, a charming smile that lit up his eyes. “You must have accepted many social engagements for the weeks to come, ma'am.”
“N-no,” said Felicity breathlessly. “I mean, I have not accepted any invitations as yet. Madame Chubb… iski is going to look through them all and choose which ones we should attend.”
“So, you had not planned to go to the balloon ascension at the Belvedere Tea Gardens in Pentonville tomorrow afternoon?”
“No, my lord.”
“Then, you and… er… Madame Chubiski must allow me and Mr. Godolphin the pleasure of escorting you there tomorrow at three o'clock.”
“S-so soon? I had planned to stay quietly at home for a few days.”
“Why not, Your Highness? Such poor creatures as myself and Dolph will not be able to come near you once you start the social round. Besides, we could talk about that fascinating country, Brasnia.”