There was no response to make except to return her embrace. I had recognized her at once from her photographs, of course. This was Her Imperial Majesty, the Dowager Empress of Germany, Princess Royal of Great Britain.
And my aunt Vicky.
CHAPTER
25
The next several minutes were occupied with the handing out of champagne glasses and the greeting of the other dignitaries. Toasts were proposed and drunk, and through it all, I felt nothing but a blank calm I could not escape. I said the proper things and made the proper gestures, and yet I wanted only to run.
The chancellor crept close to me at one point. “You said she was at Sandringham,” I hissed at him through smiling teeth.
He glanced at me in surprise. “It was thought so, but she clearly wishes to celebrate her achievement in bringing this about. Do not distress yourself, my dear. You are doing perfectly well.”
He moved away and I realized he did not—could not possibly—understand the true source of my distress. He did not know of my relationship with the royal family. But Stoker and Rupert did, and between them, they managed to keep close to me, one or the other always near at hand should I have need of them.
The toasts were finished when the empress rang a little bell. A footman appeared with a leather folio, presenting it to her with a flourish. Another small table had been draped with a cloth and atop this were three pens, each resting in a narrow tray of mother-of-pearl.
The empress opened the portfolio and produced the copies of the treaty. It was a single page, shorter than I expected, but beautifully rendered with elegant copperplate and flourishes. At the top, it read Treaty of Windsor Castle, January 1889. A moment of history, I thought as I gripped the pen tightly in my gloved hand.
The general, entirely revived by the excellence of the champagne, beamed at me. He bent and scrawled his signature on the first copy as I put the pen to mine. I glanced at the chancellor, who gave an almost imperceptible nod of the head.
Gisela Frederica Victoria Helena. I had practiced the princess’s signature until my fingers cramped, and the result was a triumph. There was a little stutter on the “G,” a hesitation as I held the pen poised over the paper, ready to commit forgery on an international and most likely felonious scale. But then I had taken a deep breath and pressed on, gaining confidence with each letter.
As I signed, the general applied his own signature to his copy, a trifle unsteadily, shaking his head once or twice to clear the cobwebs, no doubt.
It was done. We exchanged copies and countersigned, then Rupert stepped forward to put his name as witness to the treaty. The general straightened and saluted me, wobbling only slightly. “I am your servant, Your Serene Highness. It is my ardent hope that the bonds of our friendship will never be tested by the ambitions of the kaiser, but if they are, you may rest assured that the Alpenwald will never know a truer ally than France.”
He took a deep breath, summoning his composure, and bowed deeply, executing a perfect curtsy in my direction.
“Thank you, General,” I said gravely. “The Alpenwald is grateful for the friendship of France.”
Everyone applauded then and fresh champagne was poured. As the glasses were passed, the door opened and a plump gentleman in elegant evening dress entered. He glanced around the room.
“Have I missed the party, then?” he asked, rubbing his hands together.
I gripped the pen in my hand so tightly I heard it crack.
A footman stepped forward, blushing for his tardiness at not announcing the newcomer as soon as he arrived.
“His Royal Highness,” the footman proclaimed. “The Prince of Wales.”
* * *
• • •
I had seen my father only twice before and both times in passing. He advanced, smiling broadly and gesturing for a glass of champagne. I could not move or speak, but stood, staring at him in mute . . . what? Horror? Longing? Resentment? There were no words for what I felt in that moment. I was unmoored, as adrift as I had ever been in my life, and a roaring sound rose in my ears, shutting out the sudden burst of excited conversation at the prince’s appearance in the room.
Suddenly, my arm was gripped hard just above the elbow. “Oh dear,” said the empress coolly. “You seem to have spilt ink on your glove.”
I glanced down to the ruined pen still clutched in my nerveless fingers. I opened my palm to find pieces of it sitting in a pool of ebony ink on the ruined kidskin. “Come,” the empress ordered, steering me by the arm. “We must wash your hands.”
She guided me to the corner behind the champagne table, in the opposite direction from the prince. The baroness started forward to help, but the empress waved her off with an imperious gesture. I attempted to give the baroness a reassuring smile, but my mouth would not curve. I forced myself to walk calmly with the empress. In the corner there was only paneled wall, but she depressed a bit of molding and a hidden door sprang open. She led me through, closing it behind us. We were in a narrow corridor, a hushed passageway, thickly carpeted and leading deeper into the castle.
She did not speak as she moved, never hurrying but somehow covering the distance swiftly as she led me down the passage and through another concealed door. We passed through a small octagonal dining room and into another corridor, up a small staircase, and finally into a lavatory tiled in plain white and green and surprisingly plain for all its modern conveniences. She closed the door firmly behind us, locking it.
She turned, folding her hands together over the key. “Now, why don’t you tell me who you are and what you have done with Gisela?”
Her eyes, brightly blue and slightly protuberant, were watchful. She came only to my chin, but a royal upbringing and lifetime spent in the strictest courts of Europe had honed her imperiousness to a fine edge. I did not bother to lie. I would not have known how to begin.
“How did you know? I thought I was doing rather a good job of it.”
She did not smile, but the tightness of her lips eased. “I met Gisela last year at the baths at Friedrichsbad, where we both went to take the waters. We got to know one another quite well.”
“The chancellor said you had never met!”
“The chancellor knows only what Gisela wishes him to know,” she said with a knowing smile. “I presume he put you up to this. He of all people would know his princess from an imposter.”
“It was the chancellor’s idea,” I admitted.
“How much is he paying you?”
“Not a shilling,” I told her.
She raised an imperial brow. “Then why are you doing this?”
“For the sake of the treaty,” I said.
She regarded me a long moment, then shook her head. “You are a most remarkable person, Miss—” She gave me an expectant look.