The Prince and The Pekingese

CHAPTER ONE ~ 1902-2

She had first read the mythology of the Gods and Goddesses who had lived on Mount Olympus. Then she had followed the miseries the Greeks had suffered under the foot of the all-conquering Ottoman Empire.

Cephalonia was a large island lying off the West Coast of Greece and although Angelina could find little that was written about it, when she had first been told the name of the Ministry that was established next door to her grandmother’s house, she felt that it was Fate that it should come there.

Now, as she came down the stairs with Twi-Twi following her in a dignified manner, she thought that perhaps she would be fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of Prince Xenos.

She had seen him only once after his arrival in England for the Coronation as first planned.

Tall, dark and handsome, she told herself that he was exactly how a Greek should look.

Then, before she had had little more than a quick glimpse of him, the whole party from Cephalonia had departed and there was only the Minister, who was elderly, left for Angelina to observe.

Now the Prince was back again and he had, in fact, arrived the day before yesterday.

Angelina had been expecting him and, when she was not actually in the garden peeping through the bushes, she had been able to look out through the drawn curtains of the large double drawing room that occupied almost the whole of the first floor of her grandmother’s house.

Ever since Lady Medwin had been confined to her bed in a room that overlooked the back of the house, the Holland covers had been placed over the furniture in the drawing room, the blinds drawn and the heavy damask curtains pulled.

There was a sitting room, which was known as the study, for Angelina to use on the ground floor and was actually far more cosy than the drawing room.

But she thought what a waste it was to have a large well-furnished room shrouded as if it was in mourning and unlikely to be opened again, unless her grandmother’s health by some miracle improved.

Lady Medwin was very ill and the doctors, who visited her frequently, did not offer much hope that she would ever come downstairs again.

Angelina would tell herself dream stories in which her grandmother was suddenly well again and gave a party in the big drawing room, inviting Prince Xenos of Cephalonia as one of her guests.

Angelina would picture the chandeliers glinting with light, her grandmother arrayed in her tiara and diamonds that badly wanted cleaning and which she kept in a small locked safe.

She herself would have a white gown that she could have worn at Buckingham Palace with three ostrich feathers in her hair, if there had been anyone to present her.

Her mother had often described to her the beautiful pageantry that took place at Queen Victoria’s drawing rooms that she had attended on innumerable occasions.

Because she was sure that her own debut would take place in the traditional manner, Angelina had looked forward to making her curtsey.

Now Angelina’s mother was dead, her grandmother was ill and her father away in India. There were no balls, no parties, no presentation and no sight of the Coronation.

Prince Xenos would be in Westminster Abbey and would drive in the procession to the Palace. He would see all the other Kings and Queens from Europe, besides the King’s innumerable relatives and, of course, His Majesty’s special favourites.

Angelina read the newspapers avidly for her own interest and they were the only way in which her grandmother could keep in touch with her old acquaintances.

Lady Medwin had to know how often the King’s special friends were mentioned as being at Buckingham Palace in the more gossipy newspapers, which would describe their appearance and make comments that were sometimes definitely innuendos.

Every newspaper had noted that Sarah Bernhardt, Lady Kimberley, Mrs. Arthur Paget, and the King’s current favourite, Mrs. George Keppel, would all have special seats in Westminster Abbey.

Lady Medwin, when she was well enough, usually had some caustic but informative anecdote to tell about everyone that Angelina mentioned.

‘What will the Prince think of the women he will meet at Buckingham Palace?’ Angelina wondered.

She remembered that Greek girls were very beautiful and it was therefore likely that his standards of beauty would be very demanding.

As she reached the narrow rather dark hall, old Ruston who seemed to be permanently on duty there, saw her and came from the shadows holding the key to the garden in his hand.

“Going out, Miss Angelina?” he asked.

It was something he always said, although it was quite obvious what she was doing and, as Angelina took the key from him, she smiled and answered,

“Yes. It’s a lovely day, Ruston. Far too nice to be indoors.”

“That’s right, Miss Angelina. You enjoy yourself among the flowers,” he said, having some difficulty with his rheumaticky hands in opening the front door.

She looked rather like a flower herself he thought poetically as, having picked up Twi-Twi in her arms, she ran across the empty road to where, a little way to the left, there was the gate.

A high iron fence prevented anyone who was not entitled to enter the garden from doing so.

Every householder had a key, but Angelina found that very few of them bothered to use it.

Usually, and it was the same this afternoon, she and Twi-Twi had the whole place to themselves.

It was quite a big garden for the square was a large one and in the spring it was a riot of daffodils, crocuses, lilac and syringa, and had a wildness that made Angelina yearn for the real country.

At this time of year the centre of the garden was neatly laid out with crimson geraniums, their beds edged with blue and white lobelia.

There were, however, some wild roses growing amongst the shrubs and the trees with their thick foliage offered plenty of shade from the hot sun.

Two gardeners were paid for by the householders to keep the garden well-watered so that the lawns were bright green and, when the geraniums were over, there would be a good display of dahlias, which were just coming into bud.

Angelina locked the gate behind her, which was one of the more stringent rules to which the owners of a key had always to adhere and then she put Twi-Twi down on the ground.

First thing in the morning he would usually scamper about, excited to be free, but, as this was his fourth visit to the garden today, he took his time noting that nothing had been changed since he had been there before.

After pretending to walk a little way towards the geranium beds in the centre of the garden, Angelina doubled back and moving amongst the thick shrubs that prevented the passers-by from looking into the garden, managed to secure a good view of the Ministry.

She had seen the Prince accompanied by the Minister leaving before luncheon in an open carriage.

There had been two men in uniform sitting opposite them whom Angelina guessed to be aides-de-camp.

She thought that they were either going to luncheon at Buckingham Palace or with some of the many Royalties who were packed into every available house and hotel in London.

The newspapers had said that there was not room for one more person to stay in the Capital, and Angelina had longed to offer them empty bedrooms in her grandmother’s house.

She had known that such a thing would be impossible, although it was delightful to dream of some minor Royalty who might become their guest.

The doors of the Ministry were open.

As Angelina looked through the leaves, she guessed that by the number of footmen in attendance and the fact that the red carpet was waiting in a roll at the top of the steps, she would not have long to wait.

The livery of the servants was very smart, green with a large amount of gold braid for the senior servants, and gold buttons engraved with the Cephalonian crest for the less important.

Through the open door she could see the bottom half of a huge crystal chandelier and the turn of a marble staircase.

The Cephalonian Ministry was much larger than her grandmother’s house. This was because two of the mansions in Belgrave Square had been converted into one and a double door had been built in the centre.

It looked very impressive with the huge flag flying over the portico, the flag whose colours always made Angelina’s heart leap a little because it was so romantic.

Sometimes she dreamt that she was sailing over the seas to Greece and that she would see for herself the land of Apollo, which, she had learnt from her books, had a strange light that was different from the light in any other part of the world.

When she awoke, she always knew that it was very unlikely that her dreams would ever come true.

Perhaps if her father relented and let her join him in India as she longed to do, she would, as the ship carried her down the Mediterranean towards the Suez Canal, pass Greece and perhaps have a glimpse of the islands that clustered round the South of that immortal country.

There was still no sign of the Prince and Angelina waiting felt impatiently that, if he did not come soon, she would have to go back to the house.

When her grandmother awoke, she would ring her bell and, when Hannah had shuffled in, her first demand would be for another hot water bottle, and her second for her granddaughter.

“Send Miss Angelina to me, Hannah,” she would say. “There is still quite a lot in the newspapers that she has not read to me. But first give me my looking glass. I want to see if my cap is on straight.”

Lady Medwin had, in her youth, been an acknowledged beauty and she was very particular that the elegant little lace caps trimmed with bows of blue ribbon that she wore on her thinning hair should be correctly adjusted.

Once, after the Vicar had called, she had caught sight of herself in the mirror and realised that all the time she had been talking to him, her cap had been on her head at a very jaunty angle.

She was horrified and after this always insisted at least a dozen times a day on looking to see if her cap was straight.

‘Where can he be?’ Angelina asked herself.

She thought perhaps the party had not been as formal as she had expected and the Prince had found some charming and attractive lady he could not tear himself away from.

Angelina had not listened to her grandmother’s conversation over the past two years without realising that Society ladies were very feminine and fascinating and they attracted the attention not only of their husbands but of other gentlemen as well.

It was not only the King who had current favourites who were the envy of their contemporaries. There were, it appeared to Angelina, a number of affairs involving every lovely woman she had ever heard of.

Lady Medwin, of course, talked mostly of the beauties she had known when she herself entertained interesting and famous people.

But they had now grown old and there was a new generation of beauties who had followed Mrs. Langtry, Lady de Grey and the Regal Duchess of Sutherland.

Angelina found that her grandmother knew very little about the younger women who were mentioned in the newspapers and whose gowns were illustrated in The Ladies Journal.

She tried to imagine who had captured the Prince’s attention and she wondered what he would say to her and if in fact he spoke good English.

Somewhere she had read that the top Society in Greece spoke mostly French amongst themselves, but that seemed to her almost a betrayal of their nationality.

How could they not be proud, very proud, to be Greek? Just as she thought that her father and all his friends assumed that by being English they had inherited the earth.