Half the people in the gallery had the same notion, but she and Derek got there first. The gaudy stranger looked somewhat disconcerted when they bobbed up on either side of him.
Daisy apologized. “We could not help overhearing,” she said, enunciating clearly in deference to his foreignness. Close to, he seemed very young, not much more than twenty, she guessed. He had a long nose, and brown eyes set a trifle too close together, spoiling an otherwise handsome face. “The children are eager to see your … the ruby.”
He pointed dramatically. “Dere it is, de largest here and de last hope of mine contry.”
Between the children’s heads as they pressed forward, Daisy glimpsed several rubies of varying sizes and shades of red.
“It’s not as big as the opals,” said Belinda, disappointed, “and not as pretty either.”
“Your country?” Daisy enquired quickly.
“Excuse, please!” Recollecting his manners, the young man took a pace backwards, clicked his heels, and bowed. With a glance around at the people with pricked ears politely but unconvincingly studying the contents of nearby cases, helowered his voice. “I am Rudolf Maximilian, Grand Duke of Transcarpathia, at your service,gnädige Frau.”
“Fräulein,”Daisy corrected, that being about the only word of German she knew. It was not at all proper to introduce herself to a strange gentleman met in a public place—her mother would have fainted at the thought—but Daisy was now dying of curiosity. In order to hold her own with a Grand Duke, she used the courtesy title she usually omitted. His stiff expression relaxed a little as she said, “I am the Honourable Daisy Dalrymple. How do you do? I’m afraid I’m not very sure where Transcarpathia is.”
“Mine contry is betveen Moldavia and Transylvania and Bukovina,” he informed her, leaving her little the wiser. “Now is mine contry not existing. De Russians have take it. Instead of Grand Duke is Red Commissar. Mine family is exile, penniless, and mine pee-ople suffer under de Russian boot. Wizzout dis ruby can I for them nodink.”
The splendid uniform was threadbare, Daisy noticed, the cuffs frayed, the gold braid unravelling. Given his youth, either the Grand Duke Rudolf possessed no other clothes, or he had inherited the outfit from his father.
“How exactly does the ruby come to be in the Natural History Museum?” she asked.
“MineGrossvaterhas de ruby to Qveen Victoria presented. You understand, in dose days vas de family rich. Dey visit to England and make gift to cousin of magnificent precious gem. But now ve have need, cousin vould give back,nicht wahr?”
Daisy rather doubted that most cousins would be so generous. The museum’s trustees were even less likely to oblige. However, she said soothingly, “I am sure King George will sympathize and do what he can for you.”
With a despairing gesture towards Pettigrew’s back as theKeeper stalked out of the gallery, the Grand Duke groaned, “Dieser viehische, schreiende Kerlvill everysink spoil.”
“Please, sir, what’s … what you just said?” Derek queried. He and Belinda had long since stopped admiring the ruby—which, however large and precious, just sat there—in favour of listening to Rudolf Maximilian’s story.
“And what will you do if you get it back?” asked Belinda.
To fend off a translation, which she suspected was better not delved into, Daisy seconded Bel’s question. “Yes, what would you do?”
“I use to raise an army of loyalists, naturally. Mit mine pee-ople behind me, ve zrow out de Red Army and make peaceful again.”
Though not much of a newspaper reader, Daisy knew the Red Army had proved virtually impossible to throw out once having steamrollered in. The Transcarpathian loyalists were more likely to be slaughtered wholesale than to succeed. That an entire army of loyalists could be raised on the proceeds of even the most valuable jewel was another dubious proposition. Transcarpathia must be somewhere in eastern Europe. The common people of that part of the world were Slav peasants little better than serfs, with no reason to feel loyalty towards their German-speaking rulers. Unless the Grand Dukes’ reign had been singularly benevolent, Rudolf Maximilian was probably headed for bitter disappointment even if he recovered the ruby.
Which was unlikely—but disillusioning the ardent young man was none of Daisy’s business, and she still had business to be done.
“Enough chatter, children,” she said. “Come along, time is passing and I want to take a photograph of the Melbourne meteorite with you two on each side to show how enormous it is. I wish you the best of luck, sir.”
Instead of shaking the hand she held out to him, Grand Duke Rudolf bowed over it, heels clicking, and raised it to his lips. “I sank for your much sympazy,gnädiges Fräulein,”he said. “You lift to me de courage. I fight on!”
Bel and Derek were much more excited by the Grand Duke’s story than by the three-and-a-half-ton meteorite. They wove a wonderful tale about a wicked sorcerer called the Red Commissar and a magic ruby with the power to raise an army overnight. Pettigrew’s place in the narrative was a source of much argument. Derek had him as an ogre who had stolen the jewel, while Belinda insisted he was not an ogre, because he had been nice to them, letting them hold the opals and giving them fool’s gold.
“Not real gold,” Derek pointed out. “It’ll prob’ly turn into dead leaves overnight. I bet he’s in league with the Red Commissar, and he’s just trying to buy us off.”
They were still elaborating their make-believe when Daisy put them onto a bus back to St. John’s Wood—inside. Though the rain had stopped, the skies had darkened ominously. As she walked home through South Kensington and Chelsea, the photographic equipment and her notebook seemed to grow heavier and heavier. It wasn’t far to Mulberry Place, but she had been tramping around the museum for hours. Hard floors and city pavements were much more tiring than fields and woods.
When she reached the “bijou residence” she shared with Lucy Fotheringay, she went straight through the house and down to Lucy’s mews studio. Lucy, tall, dark, smart, and fashionably flat fore and aft, was just seeing a client out of the alley door. Turning, she asked, “How did it go, darling?”
“Not too bad,” said Daisy, plopping down on the nearestchair, “except for my poor feet. The children were good and everyone was frightfully helpful.”
“I mean the photos,” Lucy said impatiently.
“I can’t tell, darling, till you develop them for me. Be an angel and do them right away.”
“Tomorrow,” Lucy promised. “Binkie’s taking me to seeThe Prisoner of Zendatonight.”
