Now, alone in the room, Aria was still lost. How did one draw a bath? The manager, Mr. Catton, had said to ring if she needed anything but she could find no bellpull anywhere.
There was a knock at the door and when she did not answer it a man walked in wheeling her baggage. Once the baggage was put in the closet, the man stood there looking at her. “You may go,” she said. He gave her a little sneer and started toward the door.
“Wait!” she called, grabbing her purse. As far as she could tell, Americans would do anything for the green bills—and it made them so happy when the bills had zeroes on them. She pulled out a bill. “I need a maid. Do you know someone who can help me dress, draw my bath, unpack for me?”
The man’s eyes bulged as he looked at the hundred-dollar bill. “For how long? My sister might do the work but she ain’t nobody’s maid forever.”
It was Aria’s turn to be stunned. In her country it was no disgrace to be someone’s maid. Her ladies-in-waiting were aristocrats. “For a few days,” she managed to say.
“I’ll call her,” the man said, and went to a black telephone on a table by the window.
Aria had used a telephone but someone else had always dialed it for her. She watched with interest as the man turned the dial. He turned away from her as he began to talk to his sister. Aria went to the bedroom.
The woman arrived two hours later. She was sullen, angry, and made it clear to Aria that she wasn’t really a maid, that only because it was wartime was she willing to wait on anyone. She did what Aria asked but only reluctantly.
At four P.M. Aria lay down. She had bathed and washed her hair, eaten a mediocre meal, and now planned to sleep for several hours.
She had barely closed her eyes when the loud ringing of the telephone woke her. Groggily, she answered it. “Yes? This is Her Royal Highness.”
“You don’t lay off it even when you’re asleep, do you?” said a familiar voice.
“What do you want, Lieutenant Montgomery?” She sat up straighter in bed.
“Bill wanted me to call to make sure you were all right.”
“Of course I’m all right.”
“No problems getting into the hotel?”
“None whatever. Everyone has been very kind,” she lied.
“Did you see General Brooks yet?”
“I will see him tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? What did you do today?”
She wanted to scream at him that she had waited in line, been laughed at, had to deal with a maid who hated her, and been accused of being the enemy. “I washed my hair and spent hours in a tub of hot water.”
“Of course. I should have known. A princess would put luxury before everything else. I’ll call tomorrow night and see what he said.”
“Please do not bother. I’m sure your government will rid itself of the imposter.”
He paused a moment. “I guess you haven’t seen the papers. That princess is a dead ringer for you and she’s a hit wherever she goes. Maybe Americans will like her so much they won’t want the real princess.”
She glared at the telephone then slammed it down. “Hideous man!” she said as she left the bed and went into the living room of the suite. They had brought a newspaper with her dinner but she had left it where it lay.
On the second page was a photograph of a woman who looked very much like her, smiling at two men in uniform and cutting a wide ribbon. The caption told how Her Royal Highness, Princess Aria of Lanconia, was spreading peace across America. Instantly, she recognized her cousin Maude. “Were you always jealous of me, Cissy?” she asked in wonder, calling her cousin by the royal family’s pet name. As she looked closer at the photo, she saw that in the background, smiling and hovering, was Lady Emere, Cissy’s aunt. It was obvious that Lady Emere was protecting Cissy, probably keeping Aria’s other attendants at a distance, but surely, Aria thought, one of them must be suspicious.
“Doesn’t anyone know that’s not me?” she said, blinking back tears.
She went back to bed but she didn’t sleep very well.
Morning brought more problems. The woman she had hired to be her maid walked out when Aria held out her leg for her hose to be put on, so it took Aria three hours to get dressed. She was very glad for the black, veiled hat that covered her attempts at hairdressing.
When she left the hotel, she was feeling less than confident, but she kept her head high and her shoulders back. Once again she heard those low whistles from the men as she walked through the lobby, but she ignored them.
The doorman was someone she understood. She told him she wanted to see General Brooks, he blew a whistle, and a taxi came forward. Aria pointed at a long black Cadillac with a chauffeur leaning against the hood. “I want that car.” The doorman walked across the traffic and talked to the chauffeur, who nodded.