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St Christophe
6th December 1783
Dear Mother,
Good news! Today my new friend Amy was feeling ever so much better, so please don’t worry that I am still feeling lonely. I went to see her after breakfast and found her sat up in bed, a cunning look on her face that reminded me of that housemaid who kept helping herself to the teaspoons.
‘Morning, kid,’ she said. ‘I was wondering if you fancied joining me on a secret mission.’
She was up to something, I knew that. But I didn’t really mind, as Amy is great fun and wouldn’t ever get up to any harm.
‘What kind of secret?’ I asked, hoping this wouldn’t be like when Eloise tried to run away with that coachman.
Her eyes lit up excitedly. ‘Well, it’s like this,’ she said, beckoning me up onto the bed. ‘Dr Smith—’
‘I like him,’ I said.
‘So do I,’ she agreed. ‘Very much. He’s handsome, don’t you think? Well, he wants to know if there are any… secret patients. You know, VIPs hidden somewhere around the building. Nothing naughty or dangerous. Just people that Dr Bloom might not want us to know about.’
I considered. ‘Not really,’ I replied. ‘I don’t think Dr Bloom would care that much what you knew. But Madame Bloom… she’d be ever so cross if she found you where you shouldn’t be.’ I paused. ‘Or perhaps that’s just how she is with me.’
‘So come on, tell me, Maria,’ she said. ‘Where aren’t you allowed to go?’
I looked down at the floor, considering. I knew I’d tell her. I just didn’t want to seem too eager. ‘All right,’ I said at last. ‘There are Prince Boris’s rooms.’
Amy laughed delightedly. ‘Prince Boris?’ She clapped her hands together.
‘He’s very handsome,’ I sighed. ‘And Russian.’
Amy ruffled my hair. ‘A hot Russian with the cold dead eyes of a killer? Bring it on!’ She seemed excited.
I was doubtful. ‘I don’t think he’s killed anyone. I mean, he’s probably killed ever so many peasants, but they really don’t count in Russia.’
‘Um,’ said Amy.
‘But he’s very nice. He has chocolate.’
Amy fell back against the pillow, smiling. ‘Sounds like my ideal man.’
Which is how I ended up wheeling Amy to meet Prince Boris. I found a bath chair in one of the corridors and pushed her quite easily. She said it reminded her of going round a superb market with a trolley. What emporiums they must have in England where one is wheeled around in chairs! I would so like to visit an English Shop, Mother. The superb markets of White Rose can’t be as good as the delicatessens of Paris, but apparently the Tescaux family stock ever so many things.
The chair squeaked, which made us both giggle, and it honestly wasn’t that hard moving Amy around. She kept protesting and apologising that ‘her boys’ were ‘out and about’. She pulled a face. ‘Honestly, when you grow up you’ll learn you may as well try herding cats as keeping men in one place,’ she told me solemnly, which I vowed to remember.
Prince Boris still has that quite nice set of rooms in the west wing of the resort. Normally that dreadful Mr Kosov is around and chases me away, or sometimes plays cards with me, but there was no sign of him today, so I just knocked at the door.
‘Come in!’ yelled Prince Boris. He was speaking French and he does it ever so well.
Amy was immediately struck by Prince Boris. He’s ever so nice, isn’t he, Mother? He was sitting up in bed, reading, wrapped up in furs. Looking every inch how a Russian Prince should look – handsome, noble, his nightshirt beautifully made, and his long beard wonderfully trimmed.
‘You look like a yeti,’ breathed Amy.
Prince Boris laughed. ‘And you are?’
‘Amelia Pond,’ she said. ‘Your Grace. Sorry if I don’t get up. Maria, curtsy for the nice Prince.’
I curtsied and Amy nodded, pleased. ‘She does it very well, doesn’t she?’
Prince Boris bowed his head, solemnly. ‘I am likewise indisposed, I fear. Forgive me for not rising. I have been stuck in this bed for weeks, I regret.’ He sighed, tossing his book to one side. ‘You wouldn’t think I used to be an athlete, would you?’
‘So what you in here for?’ asked Amy. Scottish women, were, I thought, a little direct.
‘Laziness!’ Prince Boris laughed again with his deep and lovely laugh. ‘Oh, I’m wasting away along with everyone else!’ There was the tiniest rattle which you could just hear under his voice. ‘My family don’t care to look at me like this, so they’ve packed me off here to be out of the way. Which I am doing splendidly. It’s quite a relief really. No estates to look after, no serfs to deal with. I’m reading ever so many clever books. But I do miss the dancing and the hunting and…’ he paused, gallantly, ‘the company of a pretty young lady, Mademoiselle.’
‘Madame.’ Amy was firm, wheeling herself a little closer to the bed. ‘I’m a married woman,’ she said softly.
‘Aren’t they all?’ Prince Boris laughed, again with that slight echo in his chest. ‘I’ve no doubt you are, my dear. So what is your story? What are you doing among the dead?’
She tipped her head to one side. ‘Our carriage came off the road nearby, and I’m still a bit the worse for wear.’ She winced. ‘A bump on the head, but I should be up and about in a day or so.’
‘Oh.’ Prince Boris has very nice manners. ‘How sad that I shall not long have the delight of your company. I should have adored taking you horse riding.’
‘You can still ride horses?’
Boris nodded. ‘Maybe, soon. My manservant Kosov taught me to ride when I was a boy. Been with me ever since. Even followed me to this lacklustre place. He says there’s actually some improvement in my condition, can you believe it? Put it down to the fresh sea air! How he can tell, I don’t know. Bless the fellow, he watches over me while I sleep. I should be touched by his loyalty. But it is rather like having a faithful hound.’
‘One that does the ironing,’ muttered Amy.
Prince Boris noticed I was getting a bit bored of all this. ‘Ah, and what do you think of our very own pet here, the adorable Maria?’
Amy looked at me, smiling like she’d stolen sweets. ‘She’s a treasure. If I were her mother, I wouldn’t leave her alone.’ I am sorry Mother, but that is what she said! I think you are CRUEL for leaving me here!
‘Indeed,’ agreed Boris (see, even ROYALTY agrees!). ‘But she’s here for her health, aren’t you, my dear?’
‘I’m feeling much better, thank you, Your Highness,’ I muttered dully.
‘Now, now, none of that. Especially not in front of Madame Pond. You’ll call me Boris. Now, what can we do to amuse you?’ He cracked such a lovely smile.
Which is how we ended up having a chariot race. Amy objected, but Boris had soon settled her on his bed while he and I faced up to each other in wheelchairs.
‘I can’t believe you’re doing this,’ protested Amy.
‘Nonsense,’ laughed Boris. ‘A little light exercise will do me the power of good.’ He tested his grip on the wheels. ‘Capital,’ he announced.
‘Don’t let me win, Boris,’ I warned him.
He looked at me solemnly. ‘My dear, I am a Romanov. We were brought up never to let anyone else win anything.’ He turned back to Amy, bouncing his chair off the ground. ‘Come now, will you start the race like Queen Guinevere by dropping a handkerchief? Permit me to fetch you one.’
A minute later one of Prince Boris’s embroidered silk handkerchiefs fluttered to the floor and we were off, round the room and down the corridor. To be truthful, it was harder work than I had thought, my hands stiff against the squeaking wheels and the chair itself so heavy.
Prince Boris had a clear lead and was laughing loudly, a laugh that simply spurred me to try harder and faster. The wheels rattled against the hard floor and I spun them faster and faster, catching up to his chair. As I started to overtake, he gave an enormous hearty roar of outrage and grabbed his wheel, twisting it so that his chair brushed against mine. ‘I do not play fair!’ he hissed, his eyes FLASHING.
I could hear Amy yelling foul, but I pushed on ahead and streaked off around the corner.
I had travelled a hundred yards before I realised that something was wrong.
Oh Mother! Will they forgive me for KILLING him?
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