The Cruel Count (Bantam Series No. 28) Read Free

try, Mama,” Vesta said meekly.
    Now she hoped her face was expressionless as the door was flung open and a man strode into the room.
    Despite her resolution Vesta could not help feeling surprised at his appearance.
    He had thick black hair, broad shoulders but a narrow-hipped, thin and wiry figure. She thought she had never seen a man with such an arresting face!
    His features were sharp cut with a high-bridged nose between two hard penetrating dark eyes which stared at her so searchingly that she felt embarrassed.
    ‘His manner is impertinent!’ she thought.
    She noted with astonishment that his clothes were covered in dust, the polish of his boots almost obscured by it, and instead of a cravat round his neck, his shirt was open showing the sunburnt skin of his neck and chest.
    “They tell me you have arrived alone!” he said and his voice seemed to echo round the room. “Where is the Prime Minister?”
    There was something imperative in the way he spoke and Vesta sat up a little more stiffly.
    For the first time since she had arrived at Katona, she felt angry: She had felt alarmed before at not being met, but the manner in which this stranger had burst upon her and was now addressing her aroused her resentment.
    “As, Sir, you are apparently aware of my identity,” she said slowly, choosing her words with care, “it would perhaps be courteous if you would introduce yourself before asking me questions.”
    The Gentleman stared at her for a moment as if he was surprised at her reply. Then he shut the door behind him and advanced further into the small room.
    He seemed very over-powering and as his almost black eyes met Vesta’s blue ones, she thought to herself:
    “He looks like an eagle!”
    “My name,” the stranger said, “is Czako—Count Miklos Czako—and I have a message of great importance for the Prime Minister.”
    His English was excellent; there was only a faint accent, little more than an intonation, to show it was not his native tongue.
    “Then I am afraid you will have to go some distance to give it to His Excellency,” Vesta answered.
    “What the Devil do you mean by that?” the Count snapped.
    Then seeing the shocked surprise on her face he added quickly:
    “Your pardon, My Lady! I should not have spoken in such a manner! But I have instructions for His Excellency from the Prince.”
    “You have come here from His Royal Highness?” Vesta inquired.
    “Yes.”
    The reply could not have been briefer.
    “I imagine that there must have been some mistake, or perhaps a muddle about the date of my arrival,” Vesta said slowly. “His Excellency, the Prime Minister was expecting Baron Milovan to be here to greet me.”
    “Where is the Prime Minister?” the Count asked again.
    She knew by the tone of his voice that he had found the fact she had not answered his first question extremely irritating.
    “His Excellency is in hospital in Naples.”
    “In hospital!”
    “We had a very rough voyage through the Bay of Biscay,” Vesta replied, “but it was nothing to the storm we encountered on entering the Mediterranean. Indeed the Captain thought at one moment the ship might founder.”
    “And the Prime Minister was hurt?”
    “He broke a leg. It was a bad break and the doctors in Naples at the hospital to which we took him declared it was quite impossible for him to travel for at least another two weeks. It was His Excellency himself who insisted that I should continue my voyage.”
    “Alone?” the Count enquired. “Where are the rest of the people who should be with you?”
    Vesta could not help two dimples appearing at either side of her mouth as she smiled. She was well aware that the Gentleman in front of her was confused and bewildered by what she had to impart, and because he had upset her it amused her to disconcert him.
    “After we left Naples,” she said, “when in fact we were looking forward to arriving at Jeno, a number of the ship’s crew were taken ill. This happened on