A Dangerous Disguise

CHAPTER ONE - 1887-1

CHAPTER ONE - 1887The clan Chief was dead.

Colonel Owen McNewton who had been like a father to his people, had ruled them sternly but kindly for thirty years, and now he was gone.

When the burial service was over, they streamed out of the church and began the short walk to the imposing mansion where he had lived with his daughter, Ola.

The road lay slightly uphill, so that everyone could see the great building against the background of rugged Scottish scenery, at its best now that the month was June and the weather was glorious.

Ola, who was the chief mourner, forced herself not to cry as they walked away from her father, with whom she had spent the last five years after her mother's death.

She was a tall, rather stark figure as she led the procession home. Her auburn hair would have been fascinating if it had not been severely hidden away beneath a puritanical bonnet.

Her face contained many contradictions. She was beautiful, with large green eyes and a wide, generous mouth, but just now austerity had settled over her features, as though all thought of beauty was forbidden on this sad day.

Behind her walked the next clan Chief, Jonas McNewton, with his wife and numerous children. Although Ola was heiress to her father's considerable fortune, which meant only his money, but not the house and land, as they descended directly to the next Chief.

Soon she must leave Ben Torrach, this wild, beautiful place in the north of Scotland that had always been her home, and find her own niche in the world. Although the new Chief was polite, she knew he was awaiting the announcement of her departure.

The funeral feast was prepared, as lavish as tradition demanded. Owen McNewton was entertaining his friends for the last time. Ola was the perfect hostess, and everybody said that the fine old man had been given a fitting send-off.

Only one person seemed displeased. Ola saw Jonas regarding the feast with frugal disdain.

“I would not, myself, have gone to quite such expense,” he sniffed.

“My father believed in treating his neighbours generously,” Ola said crossly, and removed herself before he could pursue the subject.

Generous did not seem to be a word known to Jonas. The servants knew it, and were regarding him with dismay. None of them wanted to work for him.

Ola's maid, Greta, was particularly fierce.

“Work for that long streak of sour milk, after your mother and father? I should say not!”

Greta came from the little German dukedom of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha and had been maid to Ola's mother, Helene, also from the same place. On his one and only visit abroad, the young Angus had fallen in love with Helene, married her and taken her back to Scotland. The loyal Greta had come too.

She had once worked in great houses, for aristocratic masters, even once for minor royalty. But she had left glittering society behind to follow her dear mistress to 'that savage place' as she always referred to Scotland.

After Helene's death, two years ago, she had stayed on as a companion to Ola. She was thin, flat chested and grim faced, but behind the dragon exterior was the kindest heart in the world.

“When you leave this house,” she had told Ola, “you must take me with you, because if I stay here I'll shoot that man.”

Greta never minced words.

“But of course you'll come with me,” Ola said. “I couldn't do without you. I just wish I knew where I was going.”

She sighed wistfully. “If Papa hadn't become ill, we would have been on our way to London about now, to see Queen Victoria's Golden Jubilee celebrations.”

How they had planned and schemed for that visit! Living in the highlands Ola had seen nothing of society, and had almost no excitement in her life. But Papa had promised her that they would stay at least two weeks in town, and enjoy all the parades and processions.

How sad he had been to disappoint her when his last illness had overtaken him. But he had insisted that he would recover in time for at least some of the festivities.

He had even refused to cancel their hotel reservation, fearful of losing the suite of rooms that he had booked, since London was fast filling up with visitors from all over the world.

“Keep the reservation open, my dear,” he had told Ola. “And we will be there.”

But it was not to be.

On his deathbed, he had said to her,

“My darling, I want you to go to London, as we planned.”

“Oh no, Papa! How could I think of enjoying myself?”

“But it's what I want. You've had so little fun shut away up here. You're twenty-four. You should have gone into society years ago, but circumstances conspired against it.

“We meant to take you to London to make your debut, but then your mother became ill. Her death finished my own life. I could never rouse myself from my grief to make the effort until this year. And then it was too late. I regret my selfishness now.”

“Please Papa, it doesn't matter.”

“But it does. You have your life to live, and it isn't too late. You're beautiful, and you'll have money. Go and enjoy yourself, as we planned. Do all the things we meant to do together, and remember me.”

She had wept but he demanded her promise, finally saying,

“Obey me, daughter!”

It was the first time her kindly father had demanded unquestioning obedience, and she could not refuse.

But now that the time had come, how could she do such a thing while she was in mourning?

Greta knew about the promise her father had exacted. Now Ola said to her,

“Do you think I could really do that?”

“The Chief was a wise man, and he knew what was good for you. Of course you must go.”

At first Ola put off making her decision, but Jonas had already moved his family into her home and she was beginning to feel squeezed out.

The newspapers were full of reports of the Jubilee as the excitement mounted. It seemed incredible that one little woman had reigned over England for fifty years.

She had ascended the throne as a young girl in 1837, when she was only eighteen years old, and within three years had married Prince Albert from Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. It had always caused Ola's Mother great pleasure to think that the royal consort was a kinsman from her own little country.

The Queen had borne nine children, gone into seclusion when her husband died in 1861 and emerged only with reluctance ten years later.

During her reign her Empire had expanded over most of the globe. She was not only Queen of Great Britain, but Empress of India.

Now it seemed as though the entire world was converging on London to pay tribute to her. And Ola longed to be there, just as her loving father had understood. That was why he had insisted.

A secret excitement was growing in Ola. If only she dared!

Suddenly she jumped up and went to the window. She was looking at a view she had seen a thousand times, and which never really changed.

“I'm getting older. At twenty-four I'm practically an old maid, and I have really done very little in my life,” she said.

Now the sun was shining brightly. As she looked up into the sky she felt that it was telling her to be brave and adventurous. To make a jump which would lead her into a world which she had never known before.

A world she had read about and perhaps at times even dreamt about, but which she had never thought for a moment would be hers.

She would have turned away from the window but the sunshine held her there. She felt as if she could see her future life as more brilliant, more glamorous and more exciting than it had ever been before.

It was as if the sun itself and the clear blue sky were waiting for her answer.

Then as if it was impossible for her to say 'no', she said aloud,

“I will do it! And please help me, because I've never done anything noteworthy in my life and now I must succeed.”

For a moment she stood very still, as if she was waiting for an answer.

Then, strangely enough, she heard the flutter of wings, and two white doves flew from the roof past her window and into the trees in the garden.

They were so white and, somehow, glittering in the sunshine, that she felt they were a direct message from the angels, and perhaps her father, that she should not be afraid, but do what she had promised him without any fear.

'I will do it! I will do it!' Ola told herself.

She summoned Greta to her at once.

“We're going to London,” she said. “Pack my finest things. I'm going to do everything in tremendous style, just as Papa would have wanted. And if people are shocked at my doing this when I'm in mourning, well, I'll – I'll be somebody else. Nobody knows me in London.”

“Well done!” said Greta at once. “You'll need a lot of new clothes.”

“I'll buy them in London.”

Greta gave a pleased sigh.

“I've looked forward to dressing you as you deserve to be dressed. You have beauty, if it's brought out properly, and by the time I've finished, you'll look like a Princess.” Ola stared at her.

“Greta, that's it! I'm going to be a Princess.”

“How will you manage that?”

“I shall say I'm a Princess, and nobody will know any different. You can tell me all I need to know.”

“I? How can I - ?”

“You lived at a court once.”

“For a few months, more than twenty years ago –”

“But it doesn't change, surely? You've always told me that royal life is fixed in aspic. Everything is done in the traditional way, at the traditional time. In any case, I shan't be living at court.”

“But –”

It was useless for her to protest. Ola was becoming really carried away.

“I am Her Royal Highness, Princess Relola of Oltenitza,” she declared grandly.

“And where exactly is Oltenitza?” asked Greta.

Ola shrugged airily.

“I don't know. I'll decide that later.”

This was so unlike the sensible young woman Greta knew that she became a little alarmed.

“Perhaps you should come down to earth,” she said.

“Greta, I don't want to come down to earth. I've had my feet on the ground all my life. Now I want to soar up and up, until I fly close to the sun.”

“And suppose your wings melt and you fall?”

“I don't care. I'll have the memories forever.”

“All right, my dear,” said Greta fondly. “You can be Princess Relola, and I'll be your lady in waiting.” She gave a deep curtsey. “Your Royal Highness.”

Ola regarded her haughtily.

“You may rise,” she said.

Then she burst into a giggle of delight.

“Oh Greta,” she said, “this is going to be such fun.”

*

They departed next morning, leaving early because of the length of the journey. As Ben Torrach was far out in the country there was a twenty mile trip in the carriage to the nearest tiny railway station, where they caught the train for Edinburgh.

There they caught another train for the long journey south to London. They had two first class sleeping compartments, and they sat up late while Greta did Ola's hair in curlers. Greta was racking her brains to remember what she had learned when she worked for Their Royal Highnesses the Duke and Duchess of Baynich many years ago.

“They were very minor royalty,” she told Ola, “but that didn't make them any less grand. On the contrary, the less important they were, the more they looked down their noses.

“The Prince of Wales came to visit them once, and he was really nice, actually winked at me. You wouldn't catch the Duke winking, or even noticing I existed.”

“I don't want to be unkind to people,” Ola said.

“If you're royal you don't worry what anyone thinks of you,” Greta explained. “If I'm your lady in waiting you'll have to learn to look through me as if I were less than nothing.”

“Will I?” Ola asked, startled.

“Yes. And don't call me Greta, it isn't regal.”

“You should have a title too,” said Ola, eager to share both the glory and the fun.

“True,” Greta agreed. “Only the very highest aristocrats are allowed to be in attendance on a royal person. I shall be Lady Krasler. But where is Oltenitza? If anyone should ask, we'd better tell the same story.”

“I've decided that it's one of the little Balkan states. There are so many of them that nobody will be quite sure whether it exists or not.”