Peril in Paris. Katherine Woodfine
like if they lived in Elffburg with Grandfather all the time. But she knew that wouldn’t happen, at least not until they were quite grown up. Grandfather was much too busy to have time for them; he preferred to keep them here, in the mountains, under the Countess’s watchful eye.
At least he visited them often. Whenever he came, he’d bring presents – boxes of chocolates tied with ribbons, or sometimes things for them to read. For Alex, he’d bring magazines about theatre stars, or programmes from the latest production at Arnovia’s Royal Theatre. For Anna, he’d bring storybooks, most especially English school stories. Ever since she’d read The Fortunes of Beryl, a splendid story about a girl who travelled from South America to England, to go to a wonderful boarding school, she’d been entranced by these kinds of books. She might not be able to go away to school herself, but at least she could get lost in marvellous tales of bold schoolgirls who played hockey and tennis, and had all kinds of thrilling adventures, which usually ended in them becoming Head Girl, or at the very least the heroine of the Fourth Form.
The Countess did not really approve of Anna’s storybooks, which she considered unsuitable reading for a princess; nor of Alex’s magazines, which she said were ‘inappropriate’ and ‘frivolous’. Unlike the Countess though, the new governess didn’t seem to mind in the least what they read. She’d grinned at the sight of The Fortunes of Beryl and Anna had even seen her flicking through Alex’s theatre magazines herself, once or twice, when she thought that nobody else was watching. It was almost as though Miss Carter didn’t really care about what was appropriate for a princess and the future King of Arnovia, Anna thought with a frown.
What was even more puzzling, although she was supposed to be preparing Alex for school, she didn’t seem to care very much about lessons either. She had a habit of letting them slide: ‘That’s enough arithmetic for one day,’ she’d say, pushing the textbook away as if she was as bored of it as they were. Instead, she’d let them act out plays, which Alex loved more than anything else. She helped them rehearse some scenes from Shakespeare’s The Tempest to perform for the Count and Countess, even making them costumes – sticking silver-paper stars on to an old curtain so that Alex could dress as the magician, Prospero, and carefully cutting wings out of cardboard for Anna to wear to play the part of his magical servant, Ariel. She seemed to understand what acting meant to Alex, who was quite different when he was performing, or making up a story. He could roar and rant as the mighty Prospero in a way he never could as his ordinary, timid self.
Other times she’d read aloud, or play games with them – Hide-and-Seek, or Stuck-in-the-Mud, or their favourite, Murder in the Dark. She played just as enthusiastically as Alex and Anna did themselves: when it was her turn to be ‘murdered’ she died with such horrifying groans and moans that even Alex was impressed.
It ought to have been fun, but there was something about it all that made Anna feel uneasy. She didn’t like the way that Miss Carter always seemed to be there. Their previous governesses had been attentive, but Miss Carter never left them alone for so much as a moment. For Anna, who was used to being able to slip about the castle by herself, it felt stifling to have the governess always with them, suggesting she read them a story or that they all played a jolly game. After all, Anna was thirteen years old, not a child to be coddled and amused.
Alex, on the other hand, seemed to relish Miss Carter’s company. He spent hours listening to her talk about the school he’d be going to in the autumn. ‘My brother went to the same school, and he told me all about it,’ she’d begin, before embarking on complicated explanations of what the boys ate, their games, their lessons and the pranks they played on the schoolmasters. Alex hung on to every word whilst Anna fidgeted resentfully beside him. It was bad enough that Alex would get to go away and live in the wonderful world of school she’d read about – that enchanted realm of satchels and swimming baths, and delightful unknown things like ‘chemistry labs’ and ‘gymnasiums’ – without having to hear every detail of his new life, before he was even gone.
‘I don’t know why you’re being so funny about her,’ Alex said, on a rare moment when they were alone. They were in the castle grounds, throwing a ball for the Count’s dog, a rather sorrowful-looking long-haired dachshund that Alex had nicknamed Würstchen, because he was exactly the same shape as the fat sausages the Count always ate for breakfast. ‘I thought you loved all that boarding-school stuff. Besides, I think Miss Carter’s marvellous. She’s by far the best governess we’ve ever had.’
Now he was even starting to sound like her, thought Anna irritably. Couldn’t he see that there was something odd about the way Miss Carter was always hanging around them? And what kind of governess didn’t care about lessons? The only time she ever made them do any work was when the Countess appeared in the schoolroom – then suddenly it was all grammar and arithmetic and history dates. But as soon as the door had closed, she’d be back to acting out plays.
Alone with Miss Carter in the schoolroom, Anna studied the governess carefully from behind her copy of The School by the Sea. The two heroines, Mops and Jean, were having a most thrilling adventure in the middle of the night, but somehow she couldn’t fix her attention on their exploits. Why was Miss Carter working so hard to make them like her? Why did she sometimes have that odd, wary look on her face, like a fox on the prowl?
Just then, there was a sharp tap on the school-room door and Miss Carter sat upright, suddenly alert. But it was only Karl, one of the footmen.
‘A telegram for you, Miss Carter,’ he announced, offering her a silver tray. Karl was one of the children’s great friends, and he paused to flash Anna a quick grin before performing a bow, and withdrawing politely again.
Miss Carter had already ripped open the envelope. As she glanced at the telegram, Anna saw a frown flit over her face, but then she said cheerfully: ‘Oh, how nice – a message from an old friend.’ She got to her feet, pushing the telegram into her pocket and out of sight before Anna could see it. ‘Excuse me for a moment – I’m going to go and telephone through a reply.’
‘Is everything all right?’ Anna asked at once.
‘Oh, yes, of course – quite all right,’ said Miss Carter blithely. But she went out of the room in a hurry, so distracted that she forgot the spectacles she always wore for reading and writing, leaving them lying beside Anna on the table. Without really thinking about what she was doing, Anna picked up the governess’s spectacles and tried them on. As soon as she did so, she realised something very surprising.
They were not real spectacles.
The lenses were quite plain, ordinary glass.
She dropped the spectacles back on to the table as though they had burned her fingers. Why would a person wear pretend spectacles – spectacles that clearly they did not really need? It was as though Miss Carter were wearing a disguise, or a costume. As though she were merely dressing up as a governess, and acting the part.
The thought electrified her, as though a flash of something had run through her. Now she was quite sure of it. There was something very strange about the new governess, and Anna was determined that she would find out exactly what it was.
Victoria Station, London, England
‘Read all about it! Preparations under way for the coronation of His Majesty George V! Read all about it! Arnovia faces new pressure from Germany! Grand Aerial Tour to launch in Paris! Read all about it! ’
It was going to be another scorcher, thought the newspaper-seller, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. It was not yet ten o’clock, but already the streets outside Victoria railway station were hot and dusty, and he was thinking longingly of a glass of cold beer. ‘Thank you kindly, guv’nor,’ he muttered, without really paying attention to the thin man in grey who took a copy of The Daily Picture and handed over a ha’penny before shuffling on in the direction of the station entrance.
The thin man’s jacket was grey, his hat was grey, and the hair that could be seen beneath it was grey