~ A Life Hidden ~

by

Barbara Wilson Wright

One

Kralowiecza, 1937

The door to the study opened and in ran a little girl dressed in her nightgown and robe.

"Papa, I’ve had my bath and I’m ready for you to read me a story and play with me," the child announced.

The Duke looked up from his newspaper and smiled at the five-year-old. She was his only child, a daughter, blonde, with blue eyes that changed to turquoise when the light shone on her a certain way. And she was very spoiled. How much she reminded him of her mother who had died two years ago.

Several years previous, the young Duke Mikhail had been asked to represent Kralowiecza at a royal wedding abroad. This he was more than happy to do because he was very restless and bored in his own country. He spied his future wife at one of the official balls and fell in love immediately, completely, and totally. Instead of returning to Kralowiecza, the Duke went to Sweden with his newfound love and shortly thereafter was married causing the King, in a fit of anger, to exile him. In 1932, however, quite unexpectedly, his mother became very sick and King Vlat relented and allowed Mikhail to return. The joy of the reunion was short lived as Mikhail’s mother and only sister to the King died. By that time the Duke and his beautiful wife, Odile, were expecting their child. King Vlat demanded that this possible heir be born in Kralowiecza and assume its rightful position in the country. So it was that Anna Natalia Ursula Susanna Helen Alicia was born.

"Such a long name for a small baby," her father exclaimed and using the first letter from each name called her Anusha. She grew up a happy, spoiled child, the delight of both her parents.

Unfortunately tragedy struck. Odile, who was expecting another child, returned to Sweden for a family visit and to attend her younger sister’s wedding. One day, while the family was sailing, a boating accident claimed them all. The Duke was grief stricken and only the fact that he was now responsible for raising his daughter kept him alive.

One of the Duke’s pleasures was to read The London Times. Although it was at least a week old by the time it arrived in Plonsk, he delighted in catching up on world news and events. He always read the paper from cover to cover. This is what he was doing when his daughter walked in.

"I am ready for a story now," said Anusha impatiently.

"One moment darling, I just want to finish this article."

"But Papa, if I have to wait until you finish then I’ll only have time for a short story and I wanted a long one." Anusha emphasized the word long.

"Anusha, I said one moment please. Find a book on the shelf and I will read it to you." He returned to his paper.

Anusha went over to a shelf. She chose one, struggled to get it off the shelf, then dropped the heavy book to the floor. She looked at her father, "I want you to read a long story."

"That’s not much of a story book, Anusha. That is a dictionary and you are lucky that it landed on the floor because if it had hit your toe, there would have been no story tonight. You would have had to see the doctor."

"Why can’t you read me the dictionary?" Anusha asked.

"Because it only contains words. It helps a person spell correctly."

"I know how to spell," said Anusha emphatically. "I can spell a lot of words." She launched into a recital of her spelling list.

"Papa. Did you hear me spell my words?"

"Yes my pet," he answered, "you spell very well."

But this did not mollify Anusha. She continued, "You know I can read and I can also speak French." She began another recital. The Duke lovingly looked at his daughter standing in front of him.

"I’m very impressed. You do indeed spell, and speak French well. My compliments to Chrysja. She taught you well."

"Well, she just taught me," Anusha said indignantly. "I had to do all the studying."

"My compliments to both of you," said the Duke, bowing his head. "I shall tell Pani Chrysja what a good job she is doing."

"You can tell her yourself. I won’t. I don’t like her. Pani Chrysja has cold, cruel eyes," continued Anusha stressing the words cold and cruel.

The Duke laughed out loud and, mimicking Anusha, repeated, ‘"Cold, cruel eyes?’ Really Anusha, how do you think of these things to say?"

"Well she has," Anusha said stubbornly defending her words, "and I don’t like her as well as Pani Manja."

"Oh I know why," said the Duke. "I know why you don’t like Chrysja."

"Oh really? Why?"

"Because Pani Chrysja is strict with you. She insists on good behavior. She emphasizes good manners and she makes you do your lessons. She does not spoil you like your former governess Pani Manja did and you, young lady, do not like to be told what to do."

Anusha sat down on the carpet in front of her father and glared at him. "Well," she said finally, "Pani Chrysja does have those kind of eyes and that’s that."

Knowing he was not going to get the best of this discussion the Duke looked at his daughter and said, "Very well. I am almost finished with my newspaper. Why don’t you go to my desk and find a piece of paper and draw me a pretty picture? Then I will read you a "medium" story.

This satisfied Anusha. She went to her father’s desk, a massive piece of dark oak furniture, which took up one wall of the Duke’s study. She rummaged on the top of it but finding only letters proceeded to open one of the large drawers on the side. Then she giggled as another thought inspired her.

Using all her strength she pushed aside the large chair behind the desk. The Duke looked up as he heard her straining and smiled to himself. Anusha crept into the kneehole and pulled the chair in after her. She peeked out and could see only the lower part of her father’s legs. She giggled in her hideaway and then, in a teasing voice, announced, "Papa, I’m hiding and I bet you can’t find me."

"I hear you Anusha but I can’t see you. Where are you?"

Suddenly the door to the study burst open and two men armed with pistols entered.

"What the hell!" exclaimed the Duke, dropping his newspaper to the floor.

"Mikhail Vlatsowy," said one, using the ancient surname of the royal family. "In the name of the People’s Revolutionary Committee you are under arrest." The Duke rose and looked incredulously at the two men.

"The People’s Revolutionary Committee? What is that? Who are you and how the hell did you get in?"

"We told you who we are. How we got in is no matter," the other man said. "You are under arrest."

"Like hell," the duke said scornfully. "The People’s Revolutionary Committee. What are you, some sort of comical, cheap version of the Bolsheviks? I’ll show you who’s under arrest."