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

the twelfth day after sailing, and ever since everyone on board has been coming out one by one in spots that were so profuse and so ugly that we feared at first that they had contracted smallpox.”
    “Smallpox!” the Count ejaculated.
    “Fortunately our fears were groundless,” Vesta went on. “It was in fact a very unpleasant and virulent form of chicken-pox.”
    “But surely your attendants...”
    “The lady who chaperoned me and the Aide-de-camp both succumbed yesterday,” Vesta explained, “and this morning they are both running high temperatures. The Aide-de-camp’s was in fact over 103°. It was impossible for them to come ashore.”
    “Good God!”
    There was no doubt that the gentleman in the dusty riding clothes was shocked at the information Vesta conveyed to him.
    He stood for a moment looking down at her, at her blue eyes twinkling a little because his astonishment amused her, at her very fair hair silhouetted against the darkness of the arm chair.
    Then he said harshly:
    “As the Prime Minister is not here, I must therefore explain to you what has happened. The reason you have not been Welcomed to Katona, Lady Vesta, is that a Revolution is taking place!”
    “A Revolution!”
    It was Vesta’s turn to be surprised.
    The Count nodded.
    “It began about a week ago, and the Prince has therefore decided that it would be best for you to return home. That is the message I was to convey to the Prime Minister.”
    Vesta was silent for a moment. Then in a voice she hardly recognised as her own she said:
    “Are you seriously ... suggesting that I should go ... back to England?”
    “It would be best.”
    “After I have come all ... this way? It has been a ... long and difficult... journey.”
    “I am aware of that,” the Count said, “but a Revolution can be dangerous and one is not yet certain of the outcome.”
    “You mean the Prince might be ... deposed or forced to ... abdicate?”
    “There is always that possibility.”
    “But it has not happened ... yet?”
    “No, not yet.”
    Again Vesta was silent for a moment and then she said:
    “And how do you suggest that I should return? My ship has gone. It is now sailing to Athens, from which it is anticipated that both my chaperone and the Aide-de-camp will be well enough to return to Katona either by ship or overland.”
    “There must be other ships,” the Count said quickly. He looked out of the window as he spoke, as if expecting to see one in the harbour.
    “Even if there were one,” Vesta said calmly, “I would not board it. I have no intention of returning to England.”
    “That is a ridiculous attitude!” the Count said sharply. “You know little about this country. I imagine you know little about Revolutions, you have never had one in England. You must think of yourself and leave for safety.”
    “I have chosen to come here,” Vesta replied, “and whatever happens I consider it my duty to stay.”
    “Good God, woman, it is not for you to make the decision!”
    The Count spoke so violently and Vesta rose slowly from her chair. She stood facing him and now her eyes were flashing blue fire.
    “I cannot imagine that because there is a Revolution,” she said, “the officials surrounding His Royal Highness must lose all sense of propriety. You will please apologise for speaking to me like that.”
    Their eyes met and for a moment Vesta thought the Count intended to defy her. Then he said quietly:
    “I apologise, and I hope that you will forgive me. It is only that I am deeply concerned for your safety.”
    “I prefer to decide such things for myself,” Vesta answered. “And now will you answer one question: Is His Royal Highness in danger?”
    The Count appeared to be considering before he replied:
    “I cannot answer that with any certainty. He may be.”
    “In that case,” Vesta replied, “I should be at his side.”
    “It is impossible!” the Count retorted. “I have His Royal Highness’s authority to beg you to