The Dragonfly Pool

Prince Dmitri’s mother, the old Princess Natalia, brought a small, low-slung dog with a topknot and an ancient pedigree. Pom-Pom was descended from a long line of Outer Mongolian pedestal (or snuggle) dogs, which had been bred to warm the feet of the Great Khans in their drafty palaces and now wheezed through the corridors of Rottingdene House, seeking the dark, familiar world of legs and shoes and toes.

Don Alfonso, the South American ruler, brought a monkey which shivered and gibbered from morning to night—and Franz Heinrich brought that treasured jewel, a pearl beyond price, his daughter, Carlotta.

And spying on everybody, controlling everything, was the ancient, bullying, terrifying Duke of Rottingdene. The duke’s teeth rode up and down when he chewed, his hearing aid fell regularly into the soup, and one of his legs was largely made of metal, but he missed nothing that was going on.

It was to this house, full to the brim with discontented rulers, underpaid servants, and disturbed animals, that Karil was brought after his flight.

There was a knock at Karil’s door and a footman in the Rottingdene livery of purple and gold stood in the doorway.

“Your Highness is requested in the Red Salon immediately.”

“Thank you.”

Karil knew why . . . Neville Chamberlain, the prime minister, was going to make a speech—and there was little doubt about what he was going to tell the nation.

The Red Salon was packed with his relations. Uncle Dmitri sat on one enormous sofa with Aunt Diana and his aged mother, the Princess Natalia, who clutched Pom-Pom on her knee. On another sofa sat Uncle Franz Heinrich and Aunt Phyllis, and on two satinwood chairs sat Uncle Alfonso, Aunt Millicent, and the monkey, looking as always as though it was about to die of misery and cold. The duke sat in an imposing carved chair, closest to the wireless, and scowled. Lesser relatives were dotted about the room.

“Here, Karil,” came Carlotta’s voice, “sit next to me.”

Carlotta looked flushed and excited, and had dressed for the expected announcement of war in a white dress with a big lace collar. The man who came to take the photographs that were sent to Karil in Bergania had told her that she resembled an angel when wearing white, and on important days like this she took care to be angelic.

Karil took the place she offered. At the beginning he had tried to keep his distance from his cousin, but he was getting very tired, and his future here in this place was so bleak that Carlotta could hardly make things worse.

The prime minister came on the air. It was, as everyone had known it would be, an announcement of war. When it was over, the royal uncles got to their feet and saluted the wireless set, and Karil followed suit. In his high-backed chair the ancient duke harrumphed and shook his head, and Pom-Pom coughed.

So that was that, thought Karil. Bergania, occupied as it was by Hitler, was now as far away as the moon; there would be no letters and no contact with his native land.

He was still thinking about this when the air-raid alarm sounded—and at once the seemingly moribund relatives jerked into activity.

“Down into the basement,” shouted the duke, “but in an orderly manner.”

Prince Dmitri seized his wife and his mother and made for the door, reaching it at the same time as Archduke Franz Heinrich and Phyllis. Don Alfonso and Aunt Millicent only paused to catch the monkey before they caught up with them. Carlotta had run on ahead, looking pale and giving little cries of terror.

“Come along, Karil,” said Countess Frederica. Although Karil was in a house full of relations, she still saw him as her responsibility.

He was about to follow her when Pom-Pom freed himself from the arms of the old Princess Natalia and dived under the piano. The old lady tried to catch him, stumbled, fell under the piano on top of him and found she could not get up again.

“Go on! I’ll be all right here,” she cried.

But the people nearest the door turned back. No one minded about the old princess—she had had her life—but Pom-Pom was different. He was waiting to be united with the only other Outer Mongolian pedestal dog still in existence, a bitch now living in Brazil. When this happened, and puppies were born, they would be worth a fortune, and no one wanted him to be hit by a bomb before this happy event could come to pass.

But after a moment fear won over greed and they hurried down to the basement, where another problem awaited them. The servants who were assembled there had to be removed, since it was out of the question that they be allowed to shelter in the same place as their masters. By the time this had been done the all clear sounded and everybody trooped back upstairs, where they found the old Princess Natalia still lying under the piano with her dog.