The Eternal Collection

Chapter One ~ 1873-2

She was spoken of as being beautiful merely because of her social rank and because when she appeared at balls or parties, she was well dressed and carried herself with a kind of insolent pride.

Theola knew more about Greece than about any other part of the world. It had been her father’s love and obsession, and he had talked to Theola of Greek mythology, shown her pictures of Greek statuary, and fired her with some of his own enthusiasm for the most perfect civilisation the world has ever known.

Richard Waring taught his daughter, as he had taught so many of his students, to love the Classics. He had also said,

“You cannot really understand how a country feels or thinks unless you study its language.”

So Theola had learnt French, German, Latin and Greek and she had read the great authors aloud to her father. When they discussed them, he would listen to her opinions just as he expected her to listen to his. She had never believed it possible there were people as important as the Duke of Wellesbourne who never read a book, yet were prepared to lay down the law about every conceivable subject without allowing anyone else to reply.

Sometimes when she went to bed at night in the Castle, so tired that her whole body ached from the tasks she had been set during the day, she would think her mind was starving for intelligent conversation.

It was difficult to find time to read. Lamps illuminated all the rooms in the Castle except for the bedrooms, which were lit by candles for economy’s sake, and where Theola and the servants were concerned these were strictly limited. It was therefore impossible to read at night and during the day she had little time.

Theola was reduced to reciting to herself in the darkness the poems and passages of prose she had read with her father. They moved her because the language was like music and the rhythm of it swept away her unhappiness and lulled her into a dreamless sleep.

And yet, incredibly, after a year of misery and darkness, here she was in Kavõnia!

It was of course the Duchess, through her Holtz-Melderstein relatives, who had arranged Catherine’s marriage with a cousin – King Ferdinand of Kavõnia.

Following the lead of Greece and other European countries who had invited a member of a foreign Royal family to reign over them, the Kavõnians had made Ferdinand their King. Theola knew they had played with the idea of inviting a King from Scandinavia. This was because King George of Greece, who had been the second son of the Heir to the Throne of Denmark, had stabilised the country in the ten years of his reign and brought peace to its people. But there had been no Danish or Swedish Prince available and they had instead chosen Ferdinand, a relative of the Emperor Franz-Joseph, who had accepted the throne with alacrity.

It was difficult in England to learn very much about him except that he was thirty-five, had already been married, but his wife had died two years earlier leaving him without an heir.

“I have not seen Ferdinand since he was a little boy,” the Duchess said to her daughter, “but in his portraits he appears extremely handsome, very like His Majesty Franz-Joseph, when he was young.”

She gave a little sigh of satisfaction.

“Protocol in the Royal Palaces in Vienna is strict and very formal. It is, in my opinion, a model for all Royal houses which I hope, Catherine, you will remember when you are Queen.”

“I certainly prefer formality, Mama,” Catherine replied. “I have heard of the licence that was tolerated in France under Louis Napoleon. It is not surprising they now have a Republic.”

“The less said about the French the better!” the Duchess said reprovingly. “I am sure you will find that King Ferdinand is a very proper and autocratic King.”

“I hope so,” Catherine replied.

Theola thought it sounded rather frightening. She had read about the Hapsburgs and she had always thought that in many ways they sounded detestable.

‘Surely Kings and Queens should try to understand their people?’ she had thought, and knew it was what her father would have said.

She thought that Catherine would at least try to learn the language of the country over which she was to reign, but when she suggested it, Catherine said sharply,

“King Ferdinand speaks German and English. Why should I wish to learn Kavõnian – a language that is never spoken outside the country?”

“But you will be living in it,” Theola said.

“I do not imagine I shall have much contact with the common people,” Catherine replied, “and those at Court will certainly speak German or English, as their Monarch does.”

Theola thought this was a strange way in which to approach a throne. At the same time she was too wise to say so aloud but determined that she would learn Kavõnian, which she was certain she would not find difficult as she already spoke Greek.

She discovered this to be true as soon as she stepped aboard the ship that had been sent by the King to meet them at Marseilles. They had travelled across France by train in a manner that Theola thought exceedingly luxurious considering the Duke’s propensity for not spending money. There was a courier to escort them, besides the Duke’s secretary, his valet, a maid for Catherine, and herself.

The Duchess had been declared by her doctors unfit to travel such a long distance. It had, Theola knew, been a bitter disappointment that she would not see her daughter married. At the same time her heart had been troubling her for some years and the Duke was insistent that she should not take any risks.

When they had said goodbye on the steps of the Castle with the carriage waiting to carry them to the railway station, Theola thought for the first time since she had known her aunt there was a suspicion of tears in her eyes and a softness about her hard features.

“Take care of yourself, my dearest child,” she had said to Catherine. “I shall be thinking of you and of course praying for your happiness.”

“Goodbye, Mama,” Catherine said, her voice devoid of any emotion.

She had stepped into the carriage and Theola was left with her aunt.

“Goodbye, Aunt Adelaide,” she said in her soft voice.

She had curtsied and wondered if her aunt was expecting to kiss her, but the Duchess merely looked at her with an unmistakable expression of dislike in her eyes.

“I hope, Theola, you will behave yourself,” she said sharply, “and make yourself useful to Catherine.”

“Of course, Aunt Adelaide.”

“I consider your uncle has made a great mistake in taking you with him on such an auspicious occasion. I only hope he will not live to regret it.”

There was a spiteful note in the Duchess’s voice and Theola could do nothing but curtsey again and climb quickly into the carriage to sit with her back to the horses, facing her uncle and Catherine.

“It is sad for your mother to be left behind,” the Duke said to his daughter as the horses started down the drive.

“The journey would have made her ill and that would have been a nuisance,” Catherine replied coldly.

“I am sure you are right,” the Duke agreed, “but perhaps it would have been wiser to leave Theola with her. She could at least have made herself useful.”

Theola had held her breath.

Was it possible that at the last moment she would be sent back to the Castle?

“It is too late now, Papa,” Catherine said, “and besides, Theola must make herself useful to me, especially as Emily will go back from Marseilles with the courier.”

“It would be quite useless taking an English servant to a place like Kavõnia,” the Duke said, “and, as you say, Theola can do all that is necessary until we find a Kavõnian servant who will take care of your needs.”

The Duke had been right about one thing, Theola found. Emily, who felt travel-sick in the train, would certainly have been no use on the ship.

Although the Mediterranean was calm when they set sail from Marseilles, they ran into more than one storm before they reached the heel of Italy and turned into the Adriatic.

Catherine lay in bed groaning and complaining incessantly. It took two stewardesses and Theola all their time to pander to her requirements. Fortunately there was a doctor on board who was used to dealing with seasick patients. He prescribed sleeping draughts, which gave Catherine long hours of unconsciousness and left Theola free.

There were several Kavõnian dignitaries on board representing the King. They were very much to the Duke’s liking as they were ardent card players. The gentlemen whiled away the time in the smoking room while Theola, after finding it extremely dull sitting alone in the saloon, soon found a Kavõnian willing to teach her his language.

He was in fact an aide-de-camp to the Field Marshal who led the escorting party, and he might have found time lying heavy on his hands if Theola had not begged him humbly but determinedly to teach her what she wanted to know.

aide-de-camp“Why are you so interested, Miss Waring?” he enquired.

“I have longed to visit your country, Captain Petlos,” Theola replied.

She thought his eyes lit up at her reply and he answered,

“I hope you will find it lives up to your expectations.”

“I shall certainly appreciate it more if I can talk to your people and understand what they say to me.”

When Captain Nicias Petlos found some books in the library and put paper and pens down on the table in the saloon, she knew that he was not particularly optimistic that she would acquire much knowledge of the Kavõnian language before they reached port.

But the second day out from Marseilles he exclaimed,

“You are fantastic! I had no idea anyone could learn as quickly as you do!”

“I am only thankful that so many of the words are Greek in origin,” Theola smiled.

“We are of course a mixture of Greek and Albanian,” he said, “and as you have found, predominantly the former.”

By the time they had passed Sicily, Theola was speaking to him with few hesitations and understanding practically everything he said to her.

“You are incredible!” he exclaimed that evening. “I only wish . . .”

He stopped.

“What were you about to say?” Theola asked curiously.

“It is something I had best not say.”

“Why?”

“Because it might be construed as a criticism.”

Theola looked around the empty saloon and smiled.

“Be brave and say it,” she suggested. “There is no-one to hear you except some very empty chairs!”

Captain Petlos laughed.

“I was just wishing the King could speak the language of his people.”

“He does not do so?” Theola asked incredulously.

Captain Petlos shook his head.

“Unfortunately not.”

“But why? He has been in Kavõnia for twelve years. Surely, he has been interested enough?” she asked.

“I am sure His Majesty has very good reasons for preferring his own language,” Captain Petlos said stiffly.

“I am sure he has,” Theola agreed. “At the same time it seems so strange. How do your Kavõnian dignitaries converse with him?”