Chapter Seventeen.In which “The Mute” is Revealed.When, in order to save appearances, Bourne had ordered her abock, Roddy Redmayne bent to her, and in a low whisper said,—“I beg, Princess, that you will first accept my most humble apologies for what I did the other day. As to your Highness’s secrecy, I place myself entirely in your hands.”“I have already forgiven both Mr Bourne and yourself,” was her quiet answer, lifting her veil and sipping thebock, in order that her hidden face should not puzzle the waiter too much. “Your friend has told me that, finding certain letters in the bag, you discovered that it belonged to me.”“Exactly, and we were all filled with regret,” said the old thief. “We have heard from the newspapers of your flight from Treysa, owing to your domestic unhappiness, and we decided that it would be a coward’s action to take a woman’s jewels in such circumstances. Therefore we resolved to try and discover you and to hand them back intact.”“I am very grateful,” was her reply. “But is it not a considerable sacrifice on your part? Had you disposed of them you would surely have obtained a good round sum?”The man smiled.“We will not speak of sacrifice, your Highness,” the old fellow said. “If you forgive us and accept back your property, it is all that we ask. I am ashamed, and yet at the same time gratified, that you, an Imperial Princess, should offer me your hand, knowing who and what I am.”“Whatever you may be, Mr Redmayne,” she said, “you have shown yourself my friend.”“And I am your friend; I’ll stand your friend, Princess, in whatever service you may command me,” declared the keen-eyed old man, who was acknowledged by the Continental police to be one of the cleverest criminals in the length and breadth of Europe. “We have discovered that you are alone here; but remember that you are not friendless. We are your friends, even though the world would call us by a very ugly name—a gang of thieves.”“I can only thank you,” she sighed. “You are extremely good to speak like this. It is true that misfortune has fallen upon me, and being friendless, it is reassuring to know that I have at least two persons in Paris ready to perform any service I require. Mr Bourne once rendered me a very great service, but refused to accept any reward.” And she added, laughing, “He has already explained the reason of his hurried departure from Treysa.”“Our departures are often hurried ones, your Highness,” he said. “Had we not discovered that the jewels were yours, we should in an hour have dispersed, one to England, one to Germany, and one to Amsterdam. But in order to discover you we remained here, and risked being recognised by the police, who know me, and are aware of my profession. To-morrow we leave Paris, for already Hamard’s agents, suspecting me of the theft, are searching everywhere to discover me.”“But you must not leave before I make you some reward,” she said. “Where are the jewels?”“In that closed cab. Can you see it away yonder?” and he pointed to the lights of a vehicle standing some distance up the street. “Kinder, one of our friends, has it with him. Shall we get into the cab and drive away? Then I will restore the bag to you, and if I may advise your Highness, I would deposit it in the Crédit Lyonnais to-morrow. It is not safe for a woman alone to carry about such articles of great value. There are certain people in Paris who would not hesitate to take your life for half the sum they represent.”“Thank you for your advice, Mr Redmayne,” she said. “I will most certainly take it.”“Will your Highness walk to the cab with me?” Bourne asked, after he had paid the waiter. “You are not afraid to trust yourself with us?” he added.“Not at all,” she laughed. “Are you not my friends?” And she rose and walked along the street to where the cab was in waiting. Within the vehicle was a man whom he introduced to her as Mr Kinder, and when all four were seated within, Bourne beside her and Redmayne opposite her, the elder man took the precious bag from Kinder’s hand and gave it to her, saying,—“We beg of your Highness to accept this, with our most humble apologies. You may open it and look within. You will not, I think, find anything missing,” he added.She took the dressing-bag, and opening it, found within it the cheap leather bag she had brought from Treysa. A glance inside showed her that the jewels were still there, although there were so many that she, of course, did not count them.For a few moments she remained in silence; then thanking the two for their generosity, she said,—“I cannot accept their return without giving you some reward, Mr Redmayne. I am, unfortunately, without very much money, but I desire you to accept these—if they are really worth your acceptance,” and taking from the bag a magnificent pair of diamond earrings she gave them into his hand. “You, no doubt, can turn them into money,” she added.The old fellow, usually so cool and imperturbable, became at once confused.“Really, Princess,” he declared, “we could not think of accepting these. You, perhaps, do not realise that they are worth at least seven hundred pounds.”“No; I have no idea of their value. I only command you to accept them as a slight acknowledgment of my heartfelt gratitude.”“But—”“There are no buts. Place them in your pocket, and say nothing further.”A silence again fell between them, while the cab rolled along the asphalte of the boulevard.Suddenly Bourne said,—“Princess, you cannot know what a weight of anxiety your generous gift has lifted off our minds. Roddy will not tell you, but it is right that you should know. The fact is that at this moment we are all three almost penniless—without the means of escape from Paris. The money we shall get for those diamonds will enable us to get away from here in safety.”She turned and peered into his face, lit by the uncertain light of the street lamps. In his countenance she saw a deep, earnest look.“Then the truth is that without money to provide means of escape you have even sacrificed your chances of liberty, in order to return my jewels to me!” she exclaimed, for the first time realising the true position.He made no response; his silence was an affirmative. Kinder, who had spoken no word, sat looking at her, entirely absorbed by her grace and beauty.“Well,” she exclaimed at last, “I wonder if you would all three do me another small favour?”“We shall be only too delighted,” was Bourne’s quick reply. “Only please understand, your Highness, that we accept these earrings out of pure necessity. If we were not so sorely in need of money, we should most certainly refuse.”“Do not let us mention them again,” she said quickly. “Listen. The fact is this. I have very little ready money, and do not wish at this moment to reveal my whereabouts by applying to my lawyers in Vienna or in Treysa. Therefore it will be best to sell some of my jewellery—say one thousand pounds’ worth. Could you arrange this for me?”“Certainly,” Roddy replied, “with the greatest pleasure. For that single row diamond necklet we could get from a thousand to twelve hundred pounds—if that amount is sufficient.”She reopened the bag, and after searching in the fickle light shed by the street lamps she at length pulled out the necklet in question—one of the least valuable of the heap of jewels that had been restored to her in so curious and romantic a manner.The old jewel thief took it, weighed it in his hand, and examined it critically under the feeble light. He had already valued it on the day when he had secured it. It was worth in the market about four thousand pounds, but in the secret channel where he would sell it he would not obtain more than twelve hundred for it, as, whatever he said, the purchaser would still believe it to be stolen property, and would therefore have the stones re-cut and reset.“You might try Père Perrin,” Guy remarked. “It would be quicker to take it to him than to send it to Amsterdam or Leyden.”“Or why not old Lestocard, in Brussels? He always gives decent prices, and is as safe as anybody,” suggested Kinder.“Is time of great importance to your Highness?” asked the head of the association, speaking with his decidedly Cockney twang.“A week or ten days—not longer,” she replied.“Then we will try Père Perrin to-morrow, and let you know the result. Of course, I shall not tell him whose property it is. He will believe that we have obtained it in the ordinary way of our profession. Perrin is an old Jew who lives over at Batignolles, and who asks no questions. The stuff he buys goes to Russia or to Italy.”“Very well. I leave it to you to do your best for me, Mr Redmayne,” was her reply. “I put my trust in you implicitly.”“Your Imperial Highness is one of the few persons—beyond our own friends here—who do. To most people Roddy Redmayne is a man not to be trusted, even as far as you can see him!” and he grinned, adding, “But here we are at the Pont d’Austerlitz. Harry and I will descend, and you, Bourne, will accompany the Princess to her hotel.”Then he shouted an order to the man to stop, and after again receiving her Highness’s warmest thanks, the expert thief and his companion alighted, and, bowing to her, disappeared.When the cab moved on again towards the Place de la Bastille, she turned to the Englishman beside her, saying—“I owe all this to you, Mr Bourne, and I assure you I feel most deeply grateful. One day I hope I may be of some service to you, if,” and she paused and looked at him—“well, if only to secure your withdrawal from a criminal life.”“Ah, Princess,” he sighed wistfully, “if I only could see my way clear to live honestly! But to do so requires money, money—and I have none. The gentlemanly dress which you see me wearing is only an imposture and a fraud—like all my life, alas! nowadays.”She realised that this man, a gentleman by birth, was eager to extricate himself from the low position into which he had, by force of adverse circumstances, fallen. He was a cosmopolitan of cosmopolitans, a quiet, slow-speaking, slightly built, high-browed, genial-souled man, with his slight, dark moustache, shrewd dark eyes, and a mouth that had humour smiling at the corners; a man of middle height, his dark hair showing the first sign of changing early to grey, and a countenance bitten and scarred by all the winds and suns of the round globe; a wise and quiet man, able to keep his own counsel, able to get his own end with few words, and yet unable to shape his own destiny; a marvellous impostor, the friend of men and women of thehaut monde, who all thought him a gentleman, and never for one instant suspected his true occupation.Such was the man who had once risked his life for hers, the man who had now returned her stolen jewels to her, and who was at that moment seated at her side escorting her to her hotel on terms of intimate friendship.She thought deeply over his bitter words of regret that he was what he was. Could she assist him, she wondered. But how?“Remain patient,” she urged, in a calm, kindly tone. “I shall never forget my great indebtedness to you, and I will do my utmost in order that you may yet realise your wish to lead an honest life. At this moment I am, like yourself, an outcast, wondering what the future may have in store for me. But be patient and hope, for it shall be my most strenuous endeavour to assist you to realise your commendable desire.”“Ah! really your Highness is far too kind,” he answered, in a voice that seemed to her to falter in emotion. “I only hope that some way will open out to me. I would welcome any appointment, however menial, that took me out of my present shameful profession—that of a thief.”“I really believe you,” she said. “I can quite understand that it is against the nature of a man of honour to find himself in your position.”“I assure you, Princess, that I hate myself,” he declared in earnest confidence. “What greater humility can befall a man than to be compelled to admit that he is a thief—as I admitted to you this afternoon? I might have concealed the fact, it is true, and have returned the jewels anonymously; yet an explanation of the reason of my sudden flight from Treysa after all your kindness was surely due to you. And—well, I was forced to tell you the whole truth, and allow you to judge me as you will.”“As I have already said, Mr Bourne, your profession does not concern me. Many a man of note and of high position and power in the Ministries of Europe commits far greater peculations than you do, yet is regarded as a great man, and holds the favour of his sovereign until he commits the unpardonable sin of being found out. No, a man is not always what his profession is.”“I thank you for regarding me in such a lenient light, your Highness, and I only look forward with hope to the day when, by some turn of Fortune’s wheel, I gain the liberty to be honest,” he answered.“Remember, Mr Bourne, that I am your friend; and I hope you are still mine in return,” she said, for the cab had now stopped at the corner of the Rue d’Amsterdam, as he had ordered it, for it was running unnecessary risk for him to drive with her up to the hotel.“Thank you, Princess,” he said earnestly, raising his hat, his dark, serious eyes meeting hers. “Let us be mutual friends, and perhaps we can help each other. Who knows? When I lay in the hospital with my chest broken in I often used to wonder what you would say if you knew my real identity. You, an Imperial Princess, were sending flowers and fruit from the royal table to a criminal for whom half the police in Europe were in active search!”“Even an Imperial Princess is not devoid of gratitude,” she said, when he was out upon the pavement and had closed the door of the cab.The vehicle moved forward to the hotel, and he was left there, bowing in silence before her, his hat in his hand.To the hall porter she gave the precious bag, with orders to send it at once to her room, and then turned to pay the cabman.But the man merely raised his white hat respectfully, saying,—“Pardon, Madame, but I have already been paid.”Therefore she gave him a couple of francs as tip.Then she ascended in the lift to her room, where a porter with the bag was awaiting her, and unlocking the door, found that little Ignatia, tired out by her afternoon drive, had not stirred.Locking the door and throwing off her things, she opened the bag and took out the magnificent ornaments one by one. She had not counted them before leaving the palace, therefore could not possibly tell if all were intact. In handfuls she took them out and laid them in a glittering heap upon the dressing-table, when of a sudden she found among them a small envelope containing something hard to the touch.This she opened eagerly, and took out a cheap, tiny little brooch, about half an inch long, representing a beetle, scarlet, with black spots—the innocent little insect which has so interested all of us back in our youthful days—a ladybird.The ornament was a very cheap one, costing one franc at the outside, but in the envelope with it was a letter. This she opened, scanned the few brief lines quickly, then re-read it very carefully, and stood staring at the little brooch in her hand, puzzled and mystified.The words written there revealed to her the existence of a secret.
When, in order to save appearances, Bourne had ordered her abock, Roddy Redmayne bent to her, and in a low whisper said,—
“I beg, Princess, that you will first accept my most humble apologies for what I did the other day. As to your Highness’s secrecy, I place myself entirely in your hands.”
“I have already forgiven both Mr Bourne and yourself,” was her quiet answer, lifting her veil and sipping thebock, in order that her hidden face should not puzzle the waiter too much. “Your friend has told me that, finding certain letters in the bag, you discovered that it belonged to me.”
“Exactly, and we were all filled with regret,” said the old thief. “We have heard from the newspapers of your flight from Treysa, owing to your domestic unhappiness, and we decided that it would be a coward’s action to take a woman’s jewels in such circumstances. Therefore we resolved to try and discover you and to hand them back intact.”
“I am very grateful,” was her reply. “But is it not a considerable sacrifice on your part? Had you disposed of them you would surely have obtained a good round sum?”
The man smiled.
“We will not speak of sacrifice, your Highness,” the old fellow said. “If you forgive us and accept back your property, it is all that we ask. I am ashamed, and yet at the same time gratified, that you, an Imperial Princess, should offer me your hand, knowing who and what I am.”
“Whatever you may be, Mr Redmayne,” she said, “you have shown yourself my friend.”
“And I am your friend; I’ll stand your friend, Princess, in whatever service you may command me,” declared the keen-eyed old man, who was acknowledged by the Continental police to be one of the cleverest criminals in the length and breadth of Europe. “We have discovered that you are alone here; but remember that you are not friendless. We are your friends, even though the world would call us by a very ugly name—a gang of thieves.”
“I can only thank you,” she sighed. “You are extremely good to speak like this. It is true that misfortune has fallen upon me, and being friendless, it is reassuring to know that I have at least two persons in Paris ready to perform any service I require. Mr Bourne once rendered me a very great service, but refused to accept any reward.” And she added, laughing, “He has already explained the reason of his hurried departure from Treysa.”
“Our departures are often hurried ones, your Highness,” he said. “Had we not discovered that the jewels were yours, we should in an hour have dispersed, one to England, one to Germany, and one to Amsterdam. But in order to discover you we remained here, and risked being recognised by the police, who know me, and are aware of my profession. To-morrow we leave Paris, for already Hamard’s agents, suspecting me of the theft, are searching everywhere to discover me.”
“But you must not leave before I make you some reward,” she said. “Where are the jewels?”
“In that closed cab. Can you see it away yonder?” and he pointed to the lights of a vehicle standing some distance up the street. “Kinder, one of our friends, has it with him. Shall we get into the cab and drive away? Then I will restore the bag to you, and if I may advise your Highness, I would deposit it in the Crédit Lyonnais to-morrow. It is not safe for a woman alone to carry about such articles of great value. There are certain people in Paris who would not hesitate to take your life for half the sum they represent.”
“Thank you for your advice, Mr Redmayne,” she said. “I will most certainly take it.”
“Will your Highness walk to the cab with me?” Bourne asked, after he had paid the waiter. “You are not afraid to trust yourself with us?” he added.
“Not at all,” she laughed. “Are you not my friends?” And she rose and walked along the street to where the cab was in waiting. Within the vehicle was a man whom he introduced to her as Mr Kinder, and when all four were seated within, Bourne beside her and Redmayne opposite her, the elder man took the precious bag from Kinder’s hand and gave it to her, saying,—
“We beg of your Highness to accept this, with our most humble apologies. You may open it and look within. You will not, I think, find anything missing,” he added.
She took the dressing-bag, and opening it, found within it the cheap leather bag she had brought from Treysa. A glance inside showed her that the jewels were still there, although there were so many that she, of course, did not count them.
For a few moments she remained in silence; then thanking the two for their generosity, she said,—
“I cannot accept their return without giving you some reward, Mr Redmayne. I am, unfortunately, without very much money, but I desire you to accept these—if they are really worth your acceptance,” and taking from the bag a magnificent pair of diamond earrings she gave them into his hand. “You, no doubt, can turn them into money,” she added.
The old fellow, usually so cool and imperturbable, became at once confused.
“Really, Princess,” he declared, “we could not think of accepting these. You, perhaps, do not realise that they are worth at least seven hundred pounds.”
“No; I have no idea of their value. I only command you to accept them as a slight acknowledgment of my heartfelt gratitude.”
“But—”
“There are no buts. Place them in your pocket, and say nothing further.”
A silence again fell between them, while the cab rolled along the asphalte of the boulevard.
Suddenly Bourne said,—
“Princess, you cannot know what a weight of anxiety your generous gift has lifted off our minds. Roddy will not tell you, but it is right that you should know. The fact is that at this moment we are all three almost penniless—without the means of escape from Paris. The money we shall get for those diamonds will enable us to get away from here in safety.”
She turned and peered into his face, lit by the uncertain light of the street lamps. In his countenance she saw a deep, earnest look.
“Then the truth is that without money to provide means of escape you have even sacrificed your chances of liberty, in order to return my jewels to me!” she exclaimed, for the first time realising the true position.
He made no response; his silence was an affirmative. Kinder, who had spoken no word, sat looking at her, entirely absorbed by her grace and beauty.
“Well,” she exclaimed at last, “I wonder if you would all three do me another small favour?”
“We shall be only too delighted,” was Bourne’s quick reply. “Only please understand, your Highness, that we accept these earrings out of pure necessity. If we were not so sorely in need of money, we should most certainly refuse.”
“Do not let us mention them again,” she said quickly. “Listen. The fact is this. I have very little ready money, and do not wish at this moment to reveal my whereabouts by applying to my lawyers in Vienna or in Treysa. Therefore it will be best to sell some of my jewellery—say one thousand pounds’ worth. Could you arrange this for me?”
“Certainly,” Roddy replied, “with the greatest pleasure. For that single row diamond necklet we could get from a thousand to twelve hundred pounds—if that amount is sufficient.”
She reopened the bag, and after searching in the fickle light shed by the street lamps she at length pulled out the necklet in question—one of the least valuable of the heap of jewels that had been restored to her in so curious and romantic a manner.
The old jewel thief took it, weighed it in his hand, and examined it critically under the feeble light. He had already valued it on the day when he had secured it. It was worth in the market about four thousand pounds, but in the secret channel where he would sell it he would not obtain more than twelve hundred for it, as, whatever he said, the purchaser would still believe it to be stolen property, and would therefore have the stones re-cut and reset.
“You might try Père Perrin,” Guy remarked. “It would be quicker to take it to him than to send it to Amsterdam or Leyden.”
“Or why not old Lestocard, in Brussels? He always gives decent prices, and is as safe as anybody,” suggested Kinder.
“Is time of great importance to your Highness?” asked the head of the association, speaking with his decidedly Cockney twang.
“A week or ten days—not longer,” she replied.
“Then we will try Père Perrin to-morrow, and let you know the result. Of course, I shall not tell him whose property it is. He will believe that we have obtained it in the ordinary way of our profession. Perrin is an old Jew who lives over at Batignolles, and who asks no questions. The stuff he buys goes to Russia or to Italy.”
“Very well. I leave it to you to do your best for me, Mr Redmayne,” was her reply. “I put my trust in you implicitly.”
“Your Imperial Highness is one of the few persons—beyond our own friends here—who do. To most people Roddy Redmayne is a man not to be trusted, even as far as you can see him!” and he grinned, adding, “But here we are at the Pont d’Austerlitz. Harry and I will descend, and you, Bourne, will accompany the Princess to her hotel.”
Then he shouted an order to the man to stop, and after again receiving her Highness’s warmest thanks, the expert thief and his companion alighted, and, bowing to her, disappeared.
When the cab moved on again towards the Place de la Bastille, she turned to the Englishman beside her, saying—
“I owe all this to you, Mr Bourne, and I assure you I feel most deeply grateful. One day I hope I may be of some service to you, if,” and she paused and looked at him—“well, if only to secure your withdrawal from a criminal life.”
“Ah, Princess,” he sighed wistfully, “if I only could see my way clear to live honestly! But to do so requires money, money—and I have none. The gentlemanly dress which you see me wearing is only an imposture and a fraud—like all my life, alas! nowadays.”
She realised that this man, a gentleman by birth, was eager to extricate himself from the low position into which he had, by force of adverse circumstances, fallen. He was a cosmopolitan of cosmopolitans, a quiet, slow-speaking, slightly built, high-browed, genial-souled man, with his slight, dark moustache, shrewd dark eyes, and a mouth that had humour smiling at the corners; a man of middle height, his dark hair showing the first sign of changing early to grey, and a countenance bitten and scarred by all the winds and suns of the round globe; a wise and quiet man, able to keep his own counsel, able to get his own end with few words, and yet unable to shape his own destiny; a marvellous impostor, the friend of men and women of thehaut monde, who all thought him a gentleman, and never for one instant suspected his true occupation.
Such was the man who had once risked his life for hers, the man who had now returned her stolen jewels to her, and who was at that moment seated at her side escorting her to her hotel on terms of intimate friendship.
She thought deeply over his bitter words of regret that he was what he was. Could she assist him, she wondered. But how?
“Remain patient,” she urged, in a calm, kindly tone. “I shall never forget my great indebtedness to you, and I will do my utmost in order that you may yet realise your wish to lead an honest life. At this moment I am, like yourself, an outcast, wondering what the future may have in store for me. But be patient and hope, for it shall be my most strenuous endeavour to assist you to realise your commendable desire.”
“Ah! really your Highness is far too kind,” he answered, in a voice that seemed to her to falter in emotion. “I only hope that some way will open out to me. I would welcome any appointment, however menial, that took me out of my present shameful profession—that of a thief.”
“I really believe you,” she said. “I can quite understand that it is against the nature of a man of honour to find himself in your position.”
“I assure you, Princess, that I hate myself,” he declared in earnest confidence. “What greater humility can befall a man than to be compelled to admit that he is a thief—as I admitted to you this afternoon? I might have concealed the fact, it is true, and have returned the jewels anonymously; yet an explanation of the reason of my sudden flight from Treysa after all your kindness was surely due to you. And—well, I was forced to tell you the whole truth, and allow you to judge me as you will.”
“As I have already said, Mr Bourne, your profession does not concern me. Many a man of note and of high position and power in the Ministries of Europe commits far greater peculations than you do, yet is regarded as a great man, and holds the favour of his sovereign until he commits the unpardonable sin of being found out. No, a man is not always what his profession is.”
“I thank you for regarding me in such a lenient light, your Highness, and I only look forward with hope to the day when, by some turn of Fortune’s wheel, I gain the liberty to be honest,” he answered.
“Remember, Mr Bourne, that I am your friend; and I hope you are still mine in return,” she said, for the cab had now stopped at the corner of the Rue d’Amsterdam, as he had ordered it, for it was running unnecessary risk for him to drive with her up to the hotel.
“Thank you, Princess,” he said earnestly, raising his hat, his dark, serious eyes meeting hers. “Let us be mutual friends, and perhaps we can help each other. Who knows? When I lay in the hospital with my chest broken in I often used to wonder what you would say if you knew my real identity. You, an Imperial Princess, were sending flowers and fruit from the royal table to a criminal for whom half the police in Europe were in active search!”
“Even an Imperial Princess is not devoid of gratitude,” she said, when he was out upon the pavement and had closed the door of the cab.
The vehicle moved forward to the hotel, and he was left there, bowing in silence before her, his hat in his hand.
To the hall porter she gave the precious bag, with orders to send it at once to her room, and then turned to pay the cabman.
But the man merely raised his white hat respectfully, saying,—
“Pardon, Madame, but I have already been paid.”
Therefore she gave him a couple of francs as tip.
Then she ascended in the lift to her room, where a porter with the bag was awaiting her, and unlocking the door, found that little Ignatia, tired out by her afternoon drive, had not stirred.
Locking the door and throwing off her things, she opened the bag and took out the magnificent ornaments one by one. She had not counted them before leaving the palace, therefore could not possibly tell if all were intact. In handfuls she took them out and laid them in a glittering heap upon the dressing-table, when of a sudden she found among them a small envelope containing something hard to the touch.
This she opened eagerly, and took out a cheap, tiny little brooch, about half an inch long, representing a beetle, scarlet, with black spots—the innocent little insect which has so interested all of us back in our youthful days—a ladybird.
The ornament was a very cheap one, costing one franc at the outside, but in the envelope with it was a letter. This she opened, scanned the few brief lines quickly, then re-read it very carefully, and stood staring at the little brooch in her hand, puzzled and mystified.
The words written there revealed to her the existence of a secret.
Chapter Eighteen.The Ladybird.The note enclosed with the cheap little brooch ran,—“If your Imperial Highness will wear this always in a prominent position, so that it can be seen, she will receive the assistance of unknown friends.”That was all. Yet it was surely a curious request, for her to wear that cheap little ornament.She turned it over in her hand, then placing it upon a black dress, saw how very prominently the scarlet insect showed.Then she replaced all the jewels in her bag and retired, full of reflections upon her meeting with the friendly thieves and her curious adventure.Next morning she took the bag to the Crédit Lyonnais, as Roddy Redmayne had suggested, where it was sealed and a receipt for it was given her. After that she breathed more freely, for the recovery of her jewels now obviated the necessity of her applying either to her father or to Treysa.The little ladybird she wore, as old Roddy and his companions suggested, and at the bank and in the shops a number of people glanced at it curiously, without, of course, being aware that it was a secret symbol—of what? Claire wondered.Both Roddy and Guy had told her that they feared to come to her at the Terminus, as a detective was always lurking in the hall; therefore she was not surprised to receive, about four o’clock, a note from Roddy asking her to meet him at the Vachette at nine.When Ignatia was asleep she took a cab to the dingy little place, where she found Roddy smoking alone at the same table set out upon the pavement, and joined him there. She shook hands with him, and then was compelled to sip thebockhe ordered.“We will go in a moment,” he whispered, so that a man seated near should not overhear. “I thought it best to meet you here rather than risk your hotel. Our friend Bourne asked me to present his best compliments. He left this morning for London.”“For London! Why?”“Because—well,” he added, with a mysterious smile, “there were two agents of police taking an undue interest in him, you know.”“Ah!” she laughed; “I understand perfectly.”The old thief, who wore evening dress beneath his light black overcoat, smoked his cigar with an easy, nonchalant air. He passed with every one as an elderly Englishman of comfortable means; yet if one watched closely his quick eyes and the cunning look which sometimes showed in them, they would betray to the observer that he was a sly, ingenious old fellow—a perfect past master of his craft.Presently they rose, and after she had dismissed her cab, walked in company along the narrow street, at that hour almost deserted.“The reason I asked you here, your Highness, was to give you the proceeds of the necklet. I sold it to-day to old Perrin for twelve hundred and sixty pounds. A small price, but it was all he would give, as, of course, he believed that I could never have come by it honestly,” and he grinned broadly, taking from his pocket an envelope bulky with French thousand-franc bank-notes and handing it to her.“I am really very much obliged,” she answered, transferring the envelope to her pocket. “You have rendered me another very great service, Mr Redmayne; for as a matter of fact I was almost at the end of my money, and to apply for any would have at once betrayed my whereabouts.”“Ah, your Highness,” replied the old thief, “you also have rendered me a service; for with what you gave us last night we shall be able to leave Paris at once. And it is highly necessary, I can tell you, if we are to retain our liberty.”“Oh! then you also are leaving,” she exclaimed, surprised, as they walked slowly side by side. She almost regretted, for he had acted with such friendliness towards her.“Yes; it is imperative. I go to Brussels, and Kinder to Ostend. Are you making a long stay here?”“To-morrow I too may go; but I don’t know where.”“Why not to London, Princess?” he suggested. “My daughter Leucha is there, and would be delighted to be of any service to you—act as your maid or nurse to the little Princess. She’s a good girl, is Leucha.”“Is she married?” asked her Highness.“No. I trained her, and she’s as shrewd and clever a young woman as there is in all London. She’s a lady’s maid,” he added, “and to tell you the truth—for you may as well know it at first as at last—she supplies us with much valuable information. She takes a place, for instance, in London or in the country, takes note of where her lady’s jewels are kept, and if they are accessible, gives us all the details how best to secure them, and then, on ground of ill-health, or an afflicted mother, or some such excuse, she leaves. And after a week or two we just look in and see what we can pick up. So clever is she that never once has she been suspected,” he added, with paternal pride. “Of course, it isn’t a nice profession for a girl,” he added apologetically, “and I’d like to see her doing something honest. Yet how can she? we couldn’t get on without her.”The Princess remained silent for a few moments. Surely her life now was a strange contrast to that at Treysa, mixing with criminals and becoming the confidante of their secrets!“I should like to meet your daughter,” she remarked simply.“If your Imperial Highness would accept her services, I’m sure she might be of service to you. She’s a perfect maid, all the ladies have said; and besides, she knows the world, and would protect you in your present dangerous and lonely position. You want a female companion—if your Highness will permit me to say so—and if you do not object to my Leucha on account of her profession, you are entirely welcome to her services, which to you will be faithful and honest, if nothing else.”“You are very fond of her!” the Princess exclaimed. “Very, your Highness. She is my only child. My poor wife died when she was twelve, and ever since that she has been with us, living upon her wits—and living well too. To confess all this to you I am ashamed; yet now you know who and what I am, and you are our friend, it is only right that you should be made aware of everything,” the old fellow said frankly.“Quite right. I admire you for telling me the truth. In a few days I shall cross to London, and shall be extremely glad of your daughter’s services if you will kindly write to her.”“When do you think of leaving?”“Well, probably the day after to-morrow, by the first serviceviaCalais.”“Then Leucha shall meet that train on arrival at Charing Cross. She will be dressed as a maid, in black, with a black straw sailor hat and a white lace cravat. She will at once enter your service. The question of salary will not be discussed. You have assisted us, and it is our duty to help you in return, especially at this most perilous moment, when you are believed to have eloped with a lover.”“I’m sure you are very, very kind, Mr Redmayne,” she declared. “Truth to tell, it is so very difficult for me to know in whom to trust; I have been betrayed so often. But I have every confidence in both you and your daughter; therefore I most gladly accept your offer, for, as you say, I am sadly in need of some one to look after the child—some one, indeed, in whom I can trust.” An exalted charm seemed to invest her always.“Well, your Highness,” exclaimed the pleasant-faced old fellow, “you have been kind and tolerant to us unfortunates, and I hope to prove to you that even a thief can show his gratitude.”“You have already done so, Mr Redmayne; and believe me, I am very much touched by all that you have done—your actions are those of an honest man, not those of an outlaw.”“Don’t let us discuss the past, your Highness,” he said, somewhat confused by her kindly words; “let’s think of the future—your own future, I mean. You can trust Leucha implicitly, and as the police, fortunately, have no suspicion of her, she will be perfectly free to serve you. Hitherto she has always obtained employment with an ulterior motive, but this fact, I hope, will not prejudice her in your eyes. I can only assure you that for her father’s sake she will do anything, and that for his sake she will serve you both loyally and well.” He halted beneath a street lamp, and tearing a leaf from a small notebook, wrote an address in Granville Gardens, Shepherd’s Bush, which he gave to her, saying: “This is in case you miss her at Charing Cross. Send her a letter, and she will at once come to you.”Again she thanked him, and they walked to the corner of the Boulevard Saint Germain, where they halted to part.“Remember, Princess, command me in any way,” said the old man, raising his hat politely. “I am always at your service. I have not concealed anything from you. Take me as I am, your servant.”“Thank you, Mr Redmayne. I assure you I deeply appreciate and am much touched by your kindness to a defenceless woman.Au revoir.” And giving him her hand again, she mounted into a fiacre and drove straight back to her hotel.Her friendship with this gang of adventurers was surely giving a curious turn to the current of strange events. She, a woman of imperial birth, had at last found friends, and among the class where one would hesitate to look for them—the outcasts of society! The more she reflected upon the situation, the more utterly bewildering it was to her. She was unused as a child to the ways of the world. Her life had always been spent within the narrow confines of the glittering Courts of Europe, and she had only known of “the people” vaguely. Every hour she now lived more deeply impressed her that “the people” possessed a great and loving heart for the ill-judged and the oppressed.At the hotel she counted the notes Roddy had given her, and found the sum that he had named. The calm, smiling old fellow was actually an honest thief!The following day she occupied herself in making some purchases, and in the evening a police agent called in order to inform her that up to the present nothing had been ascertained regarding her stolen jewels. They had knowledge of a gang of expert English jewel-thieves being in Paris, and were endeavouring to discover them.The Princess heard what the man said, but, keeping her own counsel, thanked him for his endeavours and dismissed him. She congratulated herself that Roddy and his two associates were already out of France.On the following afternoon, about half-past four, when the Continental express drew slowly into Charing Cross Station, where a knot of eager persons as usual awaited its arrival, the Princess, leading little Ignatia and wearing the ladybird as a brooch, descended from a first-class compartment and looked about her in the bustling crowd of arrivals. A porter took her wraps and placed them in a four-wheeled cab for her, and then taking her baggage ticket said,—“You’ll meet me yonder at the Custom ’ouse, mum,” leaving her standing by the cab, gazing around for the woman in black who was to be her maid. For fully ten minutes, while the baggage was being taken out of the train, she saw no one answering to Roddy’s description of his daughter; but at last from out of the crowd came a tall, slim, dark-haired, rather handsome young woman, with black eyes and refined, regular features, neatly dressed in black, wearing a sailor hat, a white lace cravat, and black kid gloves.As she approached the Princess smiled at her; whereupon the girl, blushing in confusion, asked simply,—“Is it the Crown Princess Claire? or am I mistaken?”“Yes. And you are Leucha Redmayne,” answered her Highness, shaking hands with her, for from the first moment she became favourably impressed.“Oh, your Highness, I really hope I have not kept you waiting,” she exclaimed concernedly. “But father’s letter describing you was rather hurried and vague, and I’ve seen several ladies alone with little girls, though none of them seemed to be—well, not one of them seemed to be a Princess—only yourself. Besides, you are wearing the little ladybird.”Her Highness smiled, explained that she was very friendly with her father, who had suggested that she should enter her service as maid, and expressed a hope that she was willing.“My father has entrusted to me a duty, Princess,” was the dark-eyed girl’s serious reply. “And I hope that you will not find me wanting in the fulfilment of it.”And then they went together within the Customs barrier and claimed the baggage.The way in which she did this showed the Princess at once that Leucha Redmayne was a perfectly trained maid.How many ladies, she wondered, had lost their jewels after employing her?
The note enclosed with the cheap little brooch ran,—
“If your Imperial Highness will wear this always in a prominent position, so that it can be seen, she will receive the assistance of unknown friends.”
That was all. Yet it was surely a curious request, for her to wear that cheap little ornament.
She turned it over in her hand, then placing it upon a black dress, saw how very prominently the scarlet insect showed.
Then she replaced all the jewels in her bag and retired, full of reflections upon her meeting with the friendly thieves and her curious adventure.
Next morning she took the bag to the Crédit Lyonnais, as Roddy Redmayne had suggested, where it was sealed and a receipt for it was given her. After that she breathed more freely, for the recovery of her jewels now obviated the necessity of her applying either to her father or to Treysa.
The little ladybird she wore, as old Roddy and his companions suggested, and at the bank and in the shops a number of people glanced at it curiously, without, of course, being aware that it was a secret symbol—of what? Claire wondered.
Both Roddy and Guy had told her that they feared to come to her at the Terminus, as a detective was always lurking in the hall; therefore she was not surprised to receive, about four o’clock, a note from Roddy asking her to meet him at the Vachette at nine.
When Ignatia was asleep she took a cab to the dingy little place, where she found Roddy smoking alone at the same table set out upon the pavement, and joined him there. She shook hands with him, and then was compelled to sip thebockhe ordered.
“We will go in a moment,” he whispered, so that a man seated near should not overhear. “I thought it best to meet you here rather than risk your hotel. Our friend Bourne asked me to present his best compliments. He left this morning for London.”
“For London! Why?”
“Because—well,” he added, with a mysterious smile, “there were two agents of police taking an undue interest in him, you know.”
“Ah!” she laughed; “I understand perfectly.”
The old thief, who wore evening dress beneath his light black overcoat, smoked his cigar with an easy, nonchalant air. He passed with every one as an elderly Englishman of comfortable means; yet if one watched closely his quick eyes and the cunning look which sometimes showed in them, they would betray to the observer that he was a sly, ingenious old fellow—a perfect past master of his craft.
Presently they rose, and after she had dismissed her cab, walked in company along the narrow street, at that hour almost deserted.
“The reason I asked you here, your Highness, was to give you the proceeds of the necklet. I sold it to-day to old Perrin for twelve hundred and sixty pounds. A small price, but it was all he would give, as, of course, he believed that I could never have come by it honestly,” and he grinned broadly, taking from his pocket an envelope bulky with French thousand-franc bank-notes and handing it to her.
“I am really very much obliged,” she answered, transferring the envelope to her pocket. “You have rendered me another very great service, Mr Redmayne; for as a matter of fact I was almost at the end of my money, and to apply for any would have at once betrayed my whereabouts.”
“Ah, your Highness,” replied the old thief, “you also have rendered me a service; for with what you gave us last night we shall be able to leave Paris at once. And it is highly necessary, I can tell you, if we are to retain our liberty.”
“Oh! then you also are leaving,” she exclaimed, surprised, as they walked slowly side by side. She almost regretted, for he had acted with such friendliness towards her.
“Yes; it is imperative. I go to Brussels, and Kinder to Ostend. Are you making a long stay here?”
“To-morrow I too may go; but I don’t know where.”
“Why not to London, Princess?” he suggested. “My daughter Leucha is there, and would be delighted to be of any service to you—act as your maid or nurse to the little Princess. She’s a good girl, is Leucha.”
“Is she married?” asked her Highness.
“No. I trained her, and she’s as shrewd and clever a young woman as there is in all London. She’s a lady’s maid,” he added, “and to tell you the truth—for you may as well know it at first as at last—she supplies us with much valuable information. She takes a place, for instance, in London or in the country, takes note of where her lady’s jewels are kept, and if they are accessible, gives us all the details how best to secure them, and then, on ground of ill-health, or an afflicted mother, or some such excuse, she leaves. And after a week or two we just look in and see what we can pick up. So clever is she that never once has she been suspected,” he added, with paternal pride. “Of course, it isn’t a nice profession for a girl,” he added apologetically, “and I’d like to see her doing something honest. Yet how can she? we couldn’t get on without her.”
The Princess remained silent for a few moments. Surely her life now was a strange contrast to that at Treysa, mixing with criminals and becoming the confidante of their secrets!
“I should like to meet your daughter,” she remarked simply.
“If your Imperial Highness would accept her services, I’m sure she might be of service to you. She’s a perfect maid, all the ladies have said; and besides, she knows the world, and would protect you in your present dangerous and lonely position. You want a female companion—if your Highness will permit me to say so—and if you do not object to my Leucha on account of her profession, you are entirely welcome to her services, which to you will be faithful and honest, if nothing else.”
“You are very fond of her!” the Princess exclaimed. “Very, your Highness. She is my only child. My poor wife died when she was twelve, and ever since that she has been with us, living upon her wits—and living well too. To confess all this to you I am ashamed; yet now you know who and what I am, and you are our friend, it is only right that you should be made aware of everything,” the old fellow said frankly.
“Quite right. I admire you for telling me the truth. In a few days I shall cross to London, and shall be extremely glad of your daughter’s services if you will kindly write to her.”
“When do you think of leaving?”
“Well, probably the day after to-morrow, by the first serviceviaCalais.”
“Then Leucha shall meet that train on arrival at Charing Cross. She will be dressed as a maid, in black, with a black straw sailor hat and a white lace cravat. She will at once enter your service. The question of salary will not be discussed. You have assisted us, and it is our duty to help you in return, especially at this most perilous moment, when you are believed to have eloped with a lover.”
“I’m sure you are very, very kind, Mr Redmayne,” she declared. “Truth to tell, it is so very difficult for me to know in whom to trust; I have been betrayed so often. But I have every confidence in both you and your daughter; therefore I most gladly accept your offer, for, as you say, I am sadly in need of some one to look after the child—some one, indeed, in whom I can trust.” An exalted charm seemed to invest her always.
“Well, your Highness,” exclaimed the pleasant-faced old fellow, “you have been kind and tolerant to us unfortunates, and I hope to prove to you that even a thief can show his gratitude.”
“You have already done so, Mr Redmayne; and believe me, I am very much touched by all that you have done—your actions are those of an honest man, not those of an outlaw.”
“Don’t let us discuss the past, your Highness,” he said, somewhat confused by her kindly words; “let’s think of the future—your own future, I mean. You can trust Leucha implicitly, and as the police, fortunately, have no suspicion of her, she will be perfectly free to serve you. Hitherto she has always obtained employment with an ulterior motive, but this fact, I hope, will not prejudice her in your eyes. I can only assure you that for her father’s sake she will do anything, and that for his sake she will serve you both loyally and well.” He halted beneath a street lamp, and tearing a leaf from a small notebook, wrote an address in Granville Gardens, Shepherd’s Bush, which he gave to her, saying: “This is in case you miss her at Charing Cross. Send her a letter, and she will at once come to you.”
Again she thanked him, and they walked to the corner of the Boulevard Saint Germain, where they halted to part.
“Remember, Princess, command me in any way,” said the old man, raising his hat politely. “I am always at your service. I have not concealed anything from you. Take me as I am, your servant.”
“Thank you, Mr Redmayne. I assure you I deeply appreciate and am much touched by your kindness to a defenceless woman.Au revoir.” And giving him her hand again, she mounted into a fiacre and drove straight back to her hotel.
Her friendship with this gang of adventurers was surely giving a curious turn to the current of strange events. She, a woman of imperial birth, had at last found friends, and among the class where one would hesitate to look for them—the outcasts of society! The more she reflected upon the situation, the more utterly bewildering it was to her. She was unused as a child to the ways of the world. Her life had always been spent within the narrow confines of the glittering Courts of Europe, and she had only known of “the people” vaguely. Every hour she now lived more deeply impressed her that “the people” possessed a great and loving heart for the ill-judged and the oppressed.
At the hotel she counted the notes Roddy had given her, and found the sum that he had named. The calm, smiling old fellow was actually an honest thief!
The following day she occupied herself in making some purchases, and in the evening a police agent called in order to inform her that up to the present nothing had been ascertained regarding her stolen jewels. They had knowledge of a gang of expert English jewel-thieves being in Paris, and were endeavouring to discover them.
The Princess heard what the man said, but, keeping her own counsel, thanked him for his endeavours and dismissed him. She congratulated herself that Roddy and his two associates were already out of France.
On the following afternoon, about half-past four, when the Continental express drew slowly into Charing Cross Station, where a knot of eager persons as usual awaited its arrival, the Princess, leading little Ignatia and wearing the ladybird as a brooch, descended from a first-class compartment and looked about her in the bustling crowd of arrivals. A porter took her wraps and placed them in a four-wheeled cab for her, and then taking her baggage ticket said,—
“You’ll meet me yonder at the Custom ’ouse, mum,” leaving her standing by the cab, gazing around for the woman in black who was to be her maid. For fully ten minutes, while the baggage was being taken out of the train, she saw no one answering to Roddy’s description of his daughter; but at last from out of the crowd came a tall, slim, dark-haired, rather handsome young woman, with black eyes and refined, regular features, neatly dressed in black, wearing a sailor hat, a white lace cravat, and black kid gloves.
As she approached the Princess smiled at her; whereupon the girl, blushing in confusion, asked simply,—
“Is it the Crown Princess Claire? or am I mistaken?”
“Yes. And you are Leucha Redmayne,” answered her Highness, shaking hands with her, for from the first moment she became favourably impressed.
“Oh, your Highness, I really hope I have not kept you waiting,” she exclaimed concernedly. “But father’s letter describing you was rather hurried and vague, and I’ve seen several ladies alone with little girls, though none of them seemed to be—well, not one of them seemed to be a Princess—only yourself. Besides, you are wearing the little ladybird.”
Her Highness smiled, explained that she was very friendly with her father, who had suggested that she should enter her service as maid, and expressed a hope that she was willing.
“My father has entrusted to me a duty, Princess,” was the dark-eyed girl’s serious reply. “And I hope that you will not find me wanting in the fulfilment of it.”
And then they went together within the Customs barrier and claimed the baggage.
The way in which she did this showed the Princess at once that Leucha Redmayne was a perfectly trained maid.
How many ladies, she wondered, had lost their jewels after employing her?
Chapter Nineteen.Leucha Makes Confession.Leucha Redmayne was, as her father had declared, a very clever young woman.She was known as “the Ladybird” on account of her habit of flitting from place to place, constantly taking situations in likely families. Most of the ladies in whose service she had been had regretted when she left, and many of them actually offered her higher wages to remain. She was quick and neat, had taken lessons in hairdressing and dressmaking in Paris, could speak French fluently, and possessed that quiet, dignified demeanour so essential to the maid of an aristocratic woman.Her references were excellent. A well-known Duchess—whose jewels, however, had been too carefully guarded—and half a dozen other titled ladies testified to her honesty and good character, and also to their regret on account of her being compelled to leave their service; therefore, armed with such credentials, she never had difficulty in obtaining any situation that was vacant.So ingenious was she, and so cleverly did she contrive to make her excuses for leaving the service of her various mistresses, that nobody, not even the most astute officers from Scotland Yard, ever suspected her.The case of Lady Harefield’s jewels, which readers of the present narrative of a royal scandal will well remember, was a typical one. Leucha, who saw in theMorning Postthat Lady Harefield wanted a maid to travel, applied, and at once obtained the situation. She soon discovered that her Ladyship possessed some extremely valuable diamonds; but they were in the bank at Derby, near which town the country place was situated. She accompanied her Ladyship to the Riviera for the season, and then returning to England found out that her mistress intended to go to Court upon a certain evening, and that she would have the diamonds brought up from Derby on the preceding day. His Lordship’s secretary was to be sent for them. As soon as she obtained this information she was taken suddenly ill, and left Lady Harefield’s service to go back to her fictitious home in the country. At once she called her father and Bourne, with the result that on the day in question, when Lord Harefield’s secretary arrived at St. Pancras Station, the bag containing the jewels disappeared, and was never again seen.More than once too, she had, by pre-arrangement with her father, left her mistress’s bedroom window open and the jewel-case unlocked while the family were dining, with the result that the precious ornaments had been mysteriously abstracted. Many a time, after taking a situation, and finding that her mistress’s jewels were paste, she had calmly left at the end of the week, feigning to be ill-tempered and dissatisfied, and not troubling about wages. If there were no jewels she never remained. And wherever she chanced to be—in London, in the country, or up in Scotland—either one or other of her father’s companions was generally lurking near to receive her secret communications.Hers had from childhood been a life full of strange adventures, of ingenious deceptions, and of clever subterfuge. So closely did she keep her own counsel that not a single friend was aware of her motive in so constantly changing her employment; indeed, the majority of them put it down to her own fickleness, and blamed her for not “settling down.”Such was the woman whom the Crown Princess Claire had taken into her service.At the Savoy, where she took up a temporary abode under the title of Baroness Deitel of Frankfort, Leucha quickly exhibited her skill as lady’s maid. Indeed, even Henriette was not so quick or deft as was this dark-eyed young woman who was the spy of a gang of thieves.While she dressed the Princess’s hair, her Highness explained how her valuable jewels had been stolen, and how her father had so generously restored them to her.“Guy—Mr Bourne, I mean—has already told me. He is back in London, and is lying low because of the police. They suspect him on account of a little affair up in Edinburgh about three months ago.”“Where is he?” asked the Princess; “I would so like to see him.”“He is living in secret over at Hammersmith. He dare not come here, I think.”“But we might perhaps pay him a visit—eh?”From the manner in which the girl inadvertently referred to Bourne by his Christian name, her Highness suspected that they were fond of each other. But she said nothing, resolving to remain watchful and observe for herself.That same evening, after dinner, when Ignatia was sleeping, and they sat together in her Highness’s room overlooking the dark Thames and the long lines of lights of the Embankment, “the Ladybird,” at the Princess’s invitation, related one or two of her adventures, confessing openly to the part she had played as her father’s spy. She would certainly have said nothing had not her Highness declared that she was interested, and urged her to tell her something of her life. Though trained as an assistant to these men ever since she had left the cheap boarding-school at Weymouth, she hated herself for the despicable part she had played, and yet, as she had often told herself, it had been of sheer necessity.“Yes,” she sighed, “I have had several narrow escapes of being suspected of the thefts. Once, when in Lady Milborne’s service, down at Lyme Regis, I discovered that she kept the Milborne heirlooms, among which were some very fine old rubies—which are just now worth more than diamonds in the market—in a secret cupboard in the wall of her bedroom, behind an old family portrait. My father, with Guy, Kinder, and two others, were in the vicinity of the house ready to make thecoup; and I arranged with them that on a certain evening, while her Ladyship was at dinner, I would put the best of the jewels into a wash-leather bag and lower them from the window to where Guy was to be in waiting for them in the park. He was to cut the string and disappear with the bag, while I would draw up the string and put it upon the fire. Her Ladyship seldom went to the secret cupboard, and some days might elapse before the theft was discovered. Well, on the evening in question I slipped up to the bedroom, obtained the rubies and let them out of the window. I felt the string being cut, and hauling it back again quickly burnt it, and then got away to another part of the house, hoping that her Ladyship would not go to her jewels for a day or two. In the meantime I dare not leave her service, or suspicion might fall upon me. Besides, the Honourable George, her eldest son—a fellow with a rather bad reputation for gambling and racing—was about to be married to the daughter of a wealthy landowner in the neighbourhood; a most excellent match for him, as the Milbornes had become poor owing to the depreciation in the value of land.“About two hours after I had let down the precious little bag I chanced to be looking out into the park from my own window, and saw a man in the public footway strike three matches in order to light his pipe—the signal that my friends wanted to speak to me. In surprise I slipped out, and there found Guy, who, to my utter amazement, told me that they had not received the bag; they had been forestalled by a tall man in evening dress who had emerged from the Hall, and who chanced to be walking up and down smoking when the bag dangled in front of him! Imagine my feelings!“Unfortunately I had not looked out, for fear of betraying myself; and as it was the exact hour appointed, I felt certain that my friend would be there. The presence of the man in evening dress, however, deterred them from emerging from the bushes, and they were compelled to remain concealed and watch my peril. The man looked up, and though the room was in darkness, he could see my white apron. Then in surprise he cut the string, and having opened the bag in the light, saw what it contained, placed it in his pocket, and re-entered the house. Guy described him, and I at once knew that it was the Honourable George, my mistress’s son. He would no doubt denounce me as a thief.“I saw the extreme peril of the situation. I had acted clumsily in not first ascertaining that the way was clear. To fly at once was to condemn myself. I reflected for a moment, and then, resolving upon a desperate course of action, returned to the house, in spite of Bourne’s counsel to get away as quickly as possible. I went straight to her Ladyship’s room, but from the way she spoke to me saw that up to the present her son had told her nothing. This was fortunate for me. He was keeping the secret in order, no doubt, to call the police on the morrow and accuse me in their presence. I saw that the only way was to bluff him; therefore I went very carefully to work.“Just before midnight I slipped into his sitting-room, which adjoined his bedroom, and secreted myself behind the heavy plush curtains that were drawn; then when he was asleep I took the rubies from the drawer in which he had placed them, but in doing so the lock of the drawer clicked, and he awoke. He saw me, and sprang up, openly accusing me of theft. Whereupon I faced him boldly, declaring that if he did not keep his mouth closed I would alarm the household, who would find me alone in his room at that hour. He would then be compromised in the eyes of the woman whom in two days he was about to marry. Instantly he recognised that I held the whip-hand. He endeavoured, however, to argue; but I declared that if he did not allow me to have the rubies to replace in the cupboard and maintain silence, I would arouse the household. Then he laughed, saying, ‘You’re a fool, Leucha. I’m very hard up, and you quite providentially lowered them down to me. I intend to raise money on them to-morrow.’ ‘And to accuse me!’ I said. ‘No, you don’t. I shall put them back, and we will both remain silent. Both of us have much to lose—you a wife, and I my liberty. Why should either of us risk it? Is it really worth while?’ This argument decided him. I replaced the jewels, and next day left Lady Milborne’s service.“That was, however, one of the narrowest escapes I ever had, and it required all my courage to extricate myself, I can tell you.”“So your plots were not always successful,” remarked the Princess, smiling and looking at her wonderingly. She was surely a girl of great resource and ingenuity.“Not always, your Highness. One, which father had planned here a couple of months ago, and which was to be effected in Paris, has just failed in a peculiar way. The lady went to Paris, and, unknown to her husband, suddenly sold all her jewelsen massein order to pay her debts at bridge.”“She forestalled him!”“Exactly,” laughed the girl. “But it was a curiouscontretemps, was it not?”Next day proved an eventful one to the Crown Princess, for soon after eleven o’clock, when with Leucha and Ignatia she went out of the hotel into the Strand, a man selling theEvening Newsheld a poster before her, bearing in large capitals the words:—EVENING NEWS, FRIDAY, JUNE 26th.DEATH OF THE KING OF MARBURG.EVENING NEWS.She halted, staring at the words.Then she bought a newspaper, and opening it at once upon the pavement, amid the busy throng, learnt that the aged King had died suddenly at Treysa, on the previous evening, of senile decay.The news staggered her. Her husband had succeeded, and she was now Queen—a reigning sovereign!In the cruelly wronged woman there still remained all the fervour of youthful tenderness, all the romance of youthful fancy, all the enchantment of ideal grace—the bloom of beauty, the brightness of intellect, and the dignity of rank, taking the peculiar hue from the conjugal character which shed over all like a consecration and a holy charm. Thoughts of her husband, the man who had so cruelly ill-judged her, were in her recollections, acting on her mind with the force of a habitual feeling, heightened by enthusiastic passion, and hallowed by a sense of duty. Her duty to her husband and to her people was to return at once to Treysa. As she walked with Leucha towards Trafalgar Square she reflected deeply. How could she go back now that her enemies had so openly condemned her? No; she saw that for her own happiness it was far better that she still remain away from Court—the Court over which at last she now reigned as Queen.“My worst enemies will bow to me in adulation,” she thought to herself. “They fear my retaliation, and if I went back I verily believe that I should show them no mercy. And yet, after all, it would be uncharitable. One should always repay evil with good. If I do not return, I shall not be tempted to revenge.”That day she remained very silent and pensive, full of an acute sense of the injustice inflicted upon her. Her husband the King was no doubt trying to discover her whereabouts, but up to the present had been unsuccessful. The papers, which spoke of her almost daily, stated that it was believed she was still in Germany, at one or other of the quieter spas, on account of little Ignatia’s health. In one journal she had read that she had been recognised in New York, and in another it was cruelly suggested that she was in hiding in Rome, so as to be near her lover Leitolf.The truth was that her enemies at Court were actually paying the more scurrilous of the Continental papers—those which will publish any libel for a hundred francs, and the present writer could name dozens of such rags on the Continent—to print all sorts of cruel, unfounded scandals concerning her.During the past few days she had scarcely taken up a single foreign paper without finding the heading, “The Great Court Scandal,” and something outrageously against her; for her enemies, who had engaged as their secret agent a Jew money-lender, had started a bitter campaign against her, backed with the sum of a hundred thousand marks, placed by Hinckeldeym at the unscrupulous Hebrew’s disposal with which to bribe the press. A little money can, alas! soon ruin a woman’s good name, or, on the other hand, it can whitewash the blackest record.This plot against an innocent, defenceless woman was as brutal as any conceived by the ingenuity of a corrupt Court of office-seekers and sycophants, for at heart the King had loved his wife—until they had poisoned his mind against her and besmirched her good name.Of all this she was well aware, conscious of her own weakness as a woman. Yet she retained her woman’s heart, for that was unalterable, and part of her being: but her looks, her language, her thoughts, even in those adverse circumstances, assumed the cast of the pure ideal; and to those who were in the secret of her humane and pitying nature, nothing could be more charming and consistent than the effect which she produced upon others.As the hot, fevered days went by, she recognised that it became hourly more necessary for her to leave London, and conceal her identity somewhere in the country. She noticed at the Savoy, whenever she dined or lunched with Leucha, people were noting her beauty and inquiring who she was. At any moment she might be recognised by some one who had visited the Court at Treysa, or by those annoying portraits that were now appearing everywhere in the illustrated journals.She decided to consult Guy Bourne, who, Leucha said, usually spent half his time in hiding. Therefore one evening, with “the Ladybird,” she took a cab to a small semi-detached villa in Wolverton Gardens, off the Hammersmith Road, where she alighted and entered, in utter ignorance, unfortunately, that another hansom had followed her closely all the way from the Savoy, and that, pulling up in the Hammersmith Road, the fare, a tall, thin, middle-aged man, with a black overcoat concealing his evening dress, had alighted, walked quickly up the street, and noted the house wherein she and her maid had entered.The stranger muttered to himself some words in German, and with a smile of self-satisfaction lit a cigar and strolled back to the Hammersmith Road to wait.A fearful destiny had encompassed her.
Leucha Redmayne was, as her father had declared, a very clever young woman.
She was known as “the Ladybird” on account of her habit of flitting from place to place, constantly taking situations in likely families. Most of the ladies in whose service she had been had regretted when she left, and many of them actually offered her higher wages to remain. She was quick and neat, had taken lessons in hairdressing and dressmaking in Paris, could speak French fluently, and possessed that quiet, dignified demeanour so essential to the maid of an aristocratic woman.
Her references were excellent. A well-known Duchess—whose jewels, however, had been too carefully guarded—and half a dozen other titled ladies testified to her honesty and good character, and also to their regret on account of her being compelled to leave their service; therefore, armed with such credentials, she never had difficulty in obtaining any situation that was vacant.
So ingenious was she, and so cleverly did she contrive to make her excuses for leaving the service of her various mistresses, that nobody, not even the most astute officers from Scotland Yard, ever suspected her.
The case of Lady Harefield’s jewels, which readers of the present narrative of a royal scandal will well remember, was a typical one. Leucha, who saw in theMorning Postthat Lady Harefield wanted a maid to travel, applied, and at once obtained the situation. She soon discovered that her Ladyship possessed some extremely valuable diamonds; but they were in the bank at Derby, near which town the country place was situated. She accompanied her Ladyship to the Riviera for the season, and then returning to England found out that her mistress intended to go to Court upon a certain evening, and that she would have the diamonds brought up from Derby on the preceding day. His Lordship’s secretary was to be sent for them. As soon as she obtained this information she was taken suddenly ill, and left Lady Harefield’s service to go back to her fictitious home in the country. At once she called her father and Bourne, with the result that on the day in question, when Lord Harefield’s secretary arrived at St. Pancras Station, the bag containing the jewels disappeared, and was never again seen.
More than once too, she had, by pre-arrangement with her father, left her mistress’s bedroom window open and the jewel-case unlocked while the family were dining, with the result that the precious ornaments had been mysteriously abstracted. Many a time, after taking a situation, and finding that her mistress’s jewels were paste, she had calmly left at the end of the week, feigning to be ill-tempered and dissatisfied, and not troubling about wages. If there were no jewels she never remained. And wherever she chanced to be—in London, in the country, or up in Scotland—either one or other of her father’s companions was generally lurking near to receive her secret communications.
Hers had from childhood been a life full of strange adventures, of ingenious deceptions, and of clever subterfuge. So closely did she keep her own counsel that not a single friend was aware of her motive in so constantly changing her employment; indeed, the majority of them put it down to her own fickleness, and blamed her for not “settling down.”
Such was the woman whom the Crown Princess Claire had taken into her service.
At the Savoy, where she took up a temporary abode under the title of Baroness Deitel of Frankfort, Leucha quickly exhibited her skill as lady’s maid. Indeed, even Henriette was not so quick or deft as was this dark-eyed young woman who was the spy of a gang of thieves.
While she dressed the Princess’s hair, her Highness explained how her valuable jewels had been stolen, and how her father had so generously restored them to her.
“Guy—Mr Bourne, I mean—has already told me. He is back in London, and is lying low because of the police. They suspect him on account of a little affair up in Edinburgh about three months ago.”
“Where is he?” asked the Princess; “I would so like to see him.”
“He is living in secret over at Hammersmith. He dare not come here, I think.”
“But we might perhaps pay him a visit—eh?”
From the manner in which the girl inadvertently referred to Bourne by his Christian name, her Highness suspected that they were fond of each other. But she said nothing, resolving to remain watchful and observe for herself.
That same evening, after dinner, when Ignatia was sleeping, and they sat together in her Highness’s room overlooking the dark Thames and the long lines of lights of the Embankment, “the Ladybird,” at the Princess’s invitation, related one or two of her adventures, confessing openly to the part she had played as her father’s spy. She would certainly have said nothing had not her Highness declared that she was interested, and urged her to tell her something of her life. Though trained as an assistant to these men ever since she had left the cheap boarding-school at Weymouth, she hated herself for the despicable part she had played, and yet, as she had often told herself, it had been of sheer necessity.
“Yes,” she sighed, “I have had several narrow escapes of being suspected of the thefts. Once, when in Lady Milborne’s service, down at Lyme Regis, I discovered that she kept the Milborne heirlooms, among which were some very fine old rubies—which are just now worth more than diamonds in the market—in a secret cupboard in the wall of her bedroom, behind an old family portrait. My father, with Guy, Kinder, and two others, were in the vicinity of the house ready to make thecoup; and I arranged with them that on a certain evening, while her Ladyship was at dinner, I would put the best of the jewels into a wash-leather bag and lower them from the window to where Guy was to be in waiting for them in the park. He was to cut the string and disappear with the bag, while I would draw up the string and put it upon the fire. Her Ladyship seldom went to the secret cupboard, and some days might elapse before the theft was discovered. Well, on the evening in question I slipped up to the bedroom, obtained the rubies and let them out of the window. I felt the string being cut, and hauling it back again quickly burnt it, and then got away to another part of the house, hoping that her Ladyship would not go to her jewels for a day or two. In the meantime I dare not leave her service, or suspicion might fall upon me. Besides, the Honourable George, her eldest son—a fellow with a rather bad reputation for gambling and racing—was about to be married to the daughter of a wealthy landowner in the neighbourhood; a most excellent match for him, as the Milbornes had become poor owing to the depreciation in the value of land.
“About two hours after I had let down the precious little bag I chanced to be looking out into the park from my own window, and saw a man in the public footway strike three matches in order to light his pipe—the signal that my friends wanted to speak to me. In surprise I slipped out, and there found Guy, who, to my utter amazement, told me that they had not received the bag; they had been forestalled by a tall man in evening dress who had emerged from the Hall, and who chanced to be walking up and down smoking when the bag dangled in front of him! Imagine my feelings!
“Unfortunately I had not looked out, for fear of betraying myself; and as it was the exact hour appointed, I felt certain that my friend would be there. The presence of the man in evening dress, however, deterred them from emerging from the bushes, and they were compelled to remain concealed and watch my peril. The man looked up, and though the room was in darkness, he could see my white apron. Then in surprise he cut the string, and having opened the bag in the light, saw what it contained, placed it in his pocket, and re-entered the house. Guy described him, and I at once knew that it was the Honourable George, my mistress’s son. He would no doubt denounce me as a thief.
“I saw the extreme peril of the situation. I had acted clumsily in not first ascertaining that the way was clear. To fly at once was to condemn myself. I reflected for a moment, and then, resolving upon a desperate course of action, returned to the house, in spite of Bourne’s counsel to get away as quickly as possible. I went straight to her Ladyship’s room, but from the way she spoke to me saw that up to the present her son had told her nothing. This was fortunate for me. He was keeping the secret in order, no doubt, to call the police on the morrow and accuse me in their presence. I saw that the only way was to bluff him; therefore I went very carefully to work.
“Just before midnight I slipped into his sitting-room, which adjoined his bedroom, and secreted myself behind the heavy plush curtains that were drawn; then when he was asleep I took the rubies from the drawer in which he had placed them, but in doing so the lock of the drawer clicked, and he awoke. He saw me, and sprang up, openly accusing me of theft. Whereupon I faced him boldly, declaring that if he did not keep his mouth closed I would alarm the household, who would find me alone in his room at that hour. He would then be compromised in the eyes of the woman whom in two days he was about to marry. Instantly he recognised that I held the whip-hand. He endeavoured, however, to argue; but I declared that if he did not allow me to have the rubies to replace in the cupboard and maintain silence, I would arouse the household. Then he laughed, saying, ‘You’re a fool, Leucha. I’m very hard up, and you quite providentially lowered them down to me. I intend to raise money on them to-morrow.’ ‘And to accuse me!’ I said. ‘No, you don’t. I shall put them back, and we will both remain silent. Both of us have much to lose—you a wife, and I my liberty. Why should either of us risk it? Is it really worth while?’ This argument decided him. I replaced the jewels, and next day left Lady Milborne’s service.
“That was, however, one of the narrowest escapes I ever had, and it required all my courage to extricate myself, I can tell you.”
“So your plots were not always successful,” remarked the Princess, smiling and looking at her wonderingly. She was surely a girl of great resource and ingenuity.
“Not always, your Highness. One, which father had planned here a couple of months ago, and which was to be effected in Paris, has just failed in a peculiar way. The lady went to Paris, and, unknown to her husband, suddenly sold all her jewelsen massein order to pay her debts at bridge.”
“She forestalled him!”
“Exactly,” laughed the girl. “But it was a curiouscontretemps, was it not?”
Next day proved an eventful one to the Crown Princess, for soon after eleven o’clock, when with Leucha and Ignatia she went out of the hotel into the Strand, a man selling theEvening Newsheld a poster before her, bearing in large capitals the words:—
EVENING NEWS, FRIDAY, JUNE 26th.
DEATH OF THE KING OF MARBURG.
EVENING NEWS.
She halted, staring at the words.
Then she bought a newspaper, and opening it at once upon the pavement, amid the busy throng, learnt that the aged King had died suddenly at Treysa, on the previous evening, of senile decay.
The news staggered her. Her husband had succeeded, and she was now Queen—a reigning sovereign!
In the cruelly wronged woman there still remained all the fervour of youthful tenderness, all the romance of youthful fancy, all the enchantment of ideal grace—the bloom of beauty, the brightness of intellect, and the dignity of rank, taking the peculiar hue from the conjugal character which shed over all like a consecration and a holy charm. Thoughts of her husband, the man who had so cruelly ill-judged her, were in her recollections, acting on her mind with the force of a habitual feeling, heightened by enthusiastic passion, and hallowed by a sense of duty. Her duty to her husband and to her people was to return at once to Treysa. As she walked with Leucha towards Trafalgar Square she reflected deeply. How could she go back now that her enemies had so openly condemned her? No; she saw that for her own happiness it was far better that she still remain away from Court—the Court over which at last she now reigned as Queen.
“My worst enemies will bow to me in adulation,” she thought to herself. “They fear my retaliation, and if I went back I verily believe that I should show them no mercy. And yet, after all, it would be uncharitable. One should always repay evil with good. If I do not return, I shall not be tempted to revenge.”
That day she remained very silent and pensive, full of an acute sense of the injustice inflicted upon her. Her husband the King was no doubt trying to discover her whereabouts, but up to the present had been unsuccessful. The papers, which spoke of her almost daily, stated that it was believed she was still in Germany, at one or other of the quieter spas, on account of little Ignatia’s health. In one journal she had read that she had been recognised in New York, and in another it was cruelly suggested that she was in hiding in Rome, so as to be near her lover Leitolf.
The truth was that her enemies at Court were actually paying the more scurrilous of the Continental papers—those which will publish any libel for a hundred francs, and the present writer could name dozens of such rags on the Continent—to print all sorts of cruel, unfounded scandals concerning her.
During the past few days she had scarcely taken up a single foreign paper without finding the heading, “The Great Court Scandal,” and something outrageously against her; for her enemies, who had engaged as their secret agent a Jew money-lender, had started a bitter campaign against her, backed with the sum of a hundred thousand marks, placed by Hinckeldeym at the unscrupulous Hebrew’s disposal with which to bribe the press. A little money can, alas! soon ruin a woman’s good name, or, on the other hand, it can whitewash the blackest record.
This plot against an innocent, defenceless woman was as brutal as any conceived by the ingenuity of a corrupt Court of office-seekers and sycophants, for at heart the King had loved his wife—until they had poisoned his mind against her and besmirched her good name.
Of all this she was well aware, conscious of her own weakness as a woman. Yet she retained her woman’s heart, for that was unalterable, and part of her being: but her looks, her language, her thoughts, even in those adverse circumstances, assumed the cast of the pure ideal; and to those who were in the secret of her humane and pitying nature, nothing could be more charming and consistent than the effect which she produced upon others.
As the hot, fevered days went by, she recognised that it became hourly more necessary for her to leave London, and conceal her identity somewhere in the country. She noticed at the Savoy, whenever she dined or lunched with Leucha, people were noting her beauty and inquiring who she was. At any moment she might be recognised by some one who had visited the Court at Treysa, or by those annoying portraits that were now appearing everywhere in the illustrated journals.
She decided to consult Guy Bourne, who, Leucha said, usually spent half his time in hiding. Therefore one evening, with “the Ladybird,” she took a cab to a small semi-detached villa in Wolverton Gardens, off the Hammersmith Road, where she alighted and entered, in utter ignorance, unfortunately, that another hansom had followed her closely all the way from the Savoy, and that, pulling up in the Hammersmith Road, the fare, a tall, thin, middle-aged man, with a black overcoat concealing his evening dress, had alighted, walked quickly up the street, and noted the house wherein she and her maid had entered.
The stranger muttered to himself some words in German, and with a smile of self-satisfaction lit a cigar and strolled back to the Hammersmith Road to wait.
A fearful destiny had encompassed her.
Chapter Twenty.The Hermit of Hammersmith.Guy Bourne, in his shirt sleeves, was sitting back in a long cane lounge-chair in the little front parlour when the Princess and her companion entered. He had just finished his frugal supper.He jumped up confusedly, threw the evening paper aside, and apologised that her Highness had discovered him without a coat.“Please don’t apologise, Mr Bourne. This is rather an unusual hour for a visit, is it not? But pray forgive me,” she said in English, with scarcely any trace of a German accent.“Your Highness is always welcome—at any hour,” he laughed, struggling into his coat and ordering his landlady to clear away the remnants of the meal. “Leucha was here yesterday, and she told me how you were faring. I am sorry that circumstances over which I, unfortunately, have no control have not permitted my calling at the Savoy. At present I can only go out after midnight for a breath of air, and time passes rather slowly, I can assure you. As Leucha has probably told you, certain persons are making rather eager inquiries about me just now.”“I understand perfectly,” she laughed. “It was to obtain your advice as to the best way to efface myself that I came to see you this evening. Leucha tells me you are an expert in disappearing.”“Well, Princess,” he smiled, offering her a chair, “you see it’s part of my profession to show myself as little as possible, though self-imprisonment is always very irksome. This house is one among many in London which afford accommodation for such as myself. The landlady is a person who knows how to keep her mouth shut, and who asks no questions. She is, as most of them are, the widow of a person who was a social outcast like myself.”“And this is one of your harbours of refuge,” her Highness exclaimed, looking around curiously upon the cheaply furnished but comfortable room. There was linoleum in lieu of carpet, and to the Londoner the cheap walnut overmantel and plush-covered drawing-room suite spoke mutely of the Tottenham Court Road and the “easy-payment” system.The Princess was shrewd enough to notice the looks which passed between Leucha and the man to whom she was so much indebted. She detected that a passion of love existed between them. Indeed, the girl had almost admitted as much to her, and had on several occasions begged to be allowed to visit him and ascertain whether he was in want of anything.It was an interesting and a unique study, she found, the affection between a pair of the criminal class.What would the world say had it known that she, a reigning Queen, was there upon a visit to a man wanted by the police for half a dozen of the most daring jewel robberies of the past half-century?She saw a box of cheap cigarettes upon the table, and begged one, saying,—“I hope, Mr Bourne, you will not be shocked, but I dearly love a cigarette. You will join me, of course?”“Most willingly, your Highness,” he said, springing to his feet and holding the lighted match for her. She was so charmingly unconventional that people of lower station were always fascinated by her.“You know,” she exclaimed, laughing, “I used to shock them very much at Court because I smoked. And sometimes,” she added mischievously, “I smoked at certain functions in order purposely to shock the prudes. Oh, I’ve had the most delightful fun very often, I assure you. My husband, when we were first married, used to enter into the spirit of the thing, and once dared me to smoke a cigarette in the Throne Room in the presence of the King and Queen. I did so—and imagine the result!”“Ah!” he cried, “that reminds me. Pray pardon me for my breach of etiquette, but you have come upon me so very unexpectedly. I’ve seen in theMailthe account of his Majesty’s death, and that you are now Queen. In future I must call you ‘your Majesty.’ You are a reigning sovereign, and I am a thief. A strange contrast, is it not?”“Better call me your friend, Mr Bourne,” she said, in a calm, changed voice. “Here is no place for titles. Recollect that I am now only an ordinary citizen, one of the people—a mere woman whose only desire is peace.”Then continuing, she explained her daily fear lest she might be recognised at the Savoy, and asked his advice as to the best means of hiding herself.“Well, your Majesty,” said the past master of deception, after some thought, “you see you are a foreigner, and as such will be remarked in England everywhere. You speak French like aParisienne. Why not pass as French under a French name? I should suggest that you go to some small, quiet South Coast town—say to Worthing. Many French people go there as they cross from Dieppe. There are several good hotels; or you might, if you wished to be more private, obtain apartments.”“Yes,” she exclaimed excitedly; “apartments in an English house would be such great fun. I will go to this place Worthing. Is it nice?”“Quiet—with good sea air.”“I was once at Hastings—when I was a child. Is it anything like that?”“Smaller, more select, and quieter.”“Then I will go there to-morrow and call myself Madame Bernard,” she said decisively. “Leucha will go with me in search of apartments.”Having gained her freedom, she now wanted to see what an English middle-class house was like. She had heard much of English home life from Allen and from the English notabilities who had come to Court, and she desired to see it for herself. Hotel life is the same all the world over, and it already bored her.“Certainly. Your Majesty will be much quieter and far more comfortable in apartments, and passing as an ordinary member of the public,” Leucha said. “I happen to know a very nice house where one can obtain furnished apartments. It faces the sea near the pier, and is kept by a Mrs Blake, the widow of an Army surgeon. When I was in service with Lady Porthkerry we stayed there for a month.”“Then we will most certainly go there; and perhaps you, Mr Bourne, will find it possible to take the sea air at Worthing instead of being cooped up here. You might come down by a night train—that is, if you know a place where you would be safe.”He shook his head dubiously.“I know a place in Brighton—where I’ve stayed several times. It is not far from Worthing, certainly. But we will see afterwards. Does your Majesty intend to leave London to-morrow?”“Yes; but please not ‘your Majesty,’” she said, in mild reproach, and with a sweet smile. “Remember, I am in future plain Madame Bernard, of Bordeaux, shall we say? The landlady—as I think you call her in English—must not know who I am, or there will soon be paragraphs in the papers, and those seaside snap-shotters will be busy. I should quickly find myself upon picture postcards, as I’ve done, to my annoyance, on several previous occasions when I’ve wanted to be quiet and remain incognito.”And so it was arranged that she should establish herself at Mrs Blake’s, in Worthing, which she did about six o’clock on the following evening.The rooms, she found, were rather frowzy, as are those of most seaside lodgings, the furniture early Victorian, and on the marble-topped whatnot was that ornament in which our grandmothers so delighted—a case of stuffed birds beneath a glass dome. The two windows of the first-floor sitting-room opened out upon a balcony before which was the promenade and the sea beyond—one of the best positions in Worthing, without a doubt.Mrs Blake recognised Leucha at once, terms were quickly fixed, and the maid—as is usual in such cases—received a small commission for bringing her mistress there.When they were duly installed, Leucha, in confidence, told the inquisitive landlady that her mistress was one of the old French aristocracy, while at the same moment “Madame” was sitting out upon the balcony watching the sun disappear into the grey waters of the Channel.In the promenade a few people were still passing up and down, the majority having gone in to dinner. But among them was one man, who, though unnoticed, lounged past and glanced upward—the tall, thin, grey-haired man who had on the previous night watched her enter the house in Hammersmith.He wore a light grey suit, and presented the appearance of an idler from London, like most of the other promenaders, yet the quick, crafty look he darted in her direction was distinctly an evil one.Yet in ignorance she sat there, in full view of him, enjoying the calm sundown, her eyes turned pensively away into the grey, distant haze of the coming night.Her thoughts were away there, across the sea. She wondered how her husband fared, now that he was King. Did he ever think of her save with angry recollections; or did he ever experience that remorse that sooner or later must come to every man who wrongs a faithful woman?That morning, before leaving the Savoy, she had received two letters, forwarded to her in secret from Brussels. One was from Treysa, and the other bore the postmark “Roma.”The letter from Treysa had been written by Steinbach three days after the King’s death. It was on plain paper, and without a signature. But she knew his handwriting well. It ran:—“Your Majesty will have heard the news, no doubt, through the newspapers. Two days ago our King George was, after luncheon, walking on the terrace with General Scheibe, when he was suddenly seized by paralysis. He cried, ‘I am dying, Scheibe. Help me indoors!’ and fell to the ground. He was carried into the palace, where he lingered until nine o’clock in the evening, and then, in spite of all the physicians could do, he expired. The Crown Prince was immediately proclaimed Sovereign, and at this moment I have just returned from the funeral, whereat the greatest pomp has been displayed. All the Sovereigns of Europe were represented, and your Majesty’s absence from Court was much remarked and commented upon. The general opinion is that you will return—that your difference with the King will now be settled; and I am glad to tell you that those who were your Majesty’s bitterest enemies a week ago are now modifying their views, possibly because they fear what may happen to them if you really do return. At this moment the Court is divided into two sets—those who hope that you will take your place as Queen, and those who are still exerting every effort to prevent it. The latter are still crying out that you left Treysa in company with Count Leitolf, and urging his Majesty to sue for a divorce—especially now that the Emperor of Austria has degraded you by withdrawing your Imperial privileges and your right to bear the Imperial arms of Austria, and by decree striking you off the roll of the Dames de la Croix Etoilée. From what I have gathered, a spy of Hinckeldeym’s must have followed your Majesty to Vienna and seen you meet the Count. At present, however, although every effort is being made to find you, the secret agents have, it is said, been unsuccessful. I have heard that you are in Italy, to be near Leitolf; evidently a report spread by Hinckeldeym and his friends.“The people are clamouring loudly for you. They demand that ‘their Claire’ shall be brought back to them as Queen. Great demonstrations have been made in the Dom Platz, and inflammatory speeches have been delivered against Hinckeldeym, who is denounced as your arch-enemy. The mob on two occasions assumed an attitude so threatening that it had to be dispelled by the police. The situation is serious for the Government, inasmuch as the Socialists have resolved to champion your cause, and declare that when the time is ripe they will expose the plots of your enemies, and cause Hinckeldeym’s downfall.“I am in a position to know that this is no mere idle talk. One of the spies has betrayed his employers; hence the whole Court is trembling. What will the King do? we are all asking. On the one hand the people declare you are innocent and ill-judged, while on the other the Court still declares with dastardly motive that your friendship with Leitolf was more than platonic. And, unfortunately, his Majesty believes the latter.“My own opinion is that your Majesty’s best course is still to remain in concealment. A squadron of spies have been sent to the various capitals, and photographs are being purposely published in the illustrated press in order that you may be identified. I hope, however, that just at present you will not be discovered, for if so I fear that in order to stem the Socialistic wave even your friends must appear to be against you. Your Majesty knows too well the thousand and one intrigues which form the undercurrent of life at our Court, and my suggestion is based upon what I have been able to gather in various quarters. All tends to show that the King, now that he has taken the reins of government, is keenly alive to his responsibility towards the nation. His first speech, delivered to-day, has shown it. He appears to be a changed man, and I can only hope and pray that he has become changed towards yourself.“If you are in Paris or in London, beware of secret agents, for both capitals swarm with them. Remain silent, patient and watchful; but, above all, be very careful not to allow your enemies any further food for gossip. If they start another scandal at this moment, it would be fatal to all your Majesty’s interests; for I fear that even the people, faithful to your cause up to the present, would then turn against you. In conclusion, I beg to assure your Majesty of my loyalty, and that what ever there is to report in confidence I will do so instantly through this present channel. I would also humbly express a hope that both your Majesty and the Princess Ignatia are in perfect health.”The second letter—the one bearing the Rome postmark—was headed, “Imperial Embassy of Austria-Hungary, Palazzo Chigi,” and was signed “Carl.”
Guy Bourne, in his shirt sleeves, was sitting back in a long cane lounge-chair in the little front parlour when the Princess and her companion entered. He had just finished his frugal supper.
He jumped up confusedly, threw the evening paper aside, and apologised that her Highness had discovered him without a coat.
“Please don’t apologise, Mr Bourne. This is rather an unusual hour for a visit, is it not? But pray forgive me,” she said in English, with scarcely any trace of a German accent.
“Your Highness is always welcome—at any hour,” he laughed, struggling into his coat and ordering his landlady to clear away the remnants of the meal. “Leucha was here yesterday, and she told me how you were faring. I am sorry that circumstances over which I, unfortunately, have no control have not permitted my calling at the Savoy. At present I can only go out after midnight for a breath of air, and time passes rather slowly, I can assure you. As Leucha has probably told you, certain persons are making rather eager inquiries about me just now.”
“I understand perfectly,” she laughed. “It was to obtain your advice as to the best way to efface myself that I came to see you this evening. Leucha tells me you are an expert in disappearing.”
“Well, Princess,” he smiled, offering her a chair, “you see it’s part of my profession to show myself as little as possible, though self-imprisonment is always very irksome. This house is one among many in London which afford accommodation for such as myself. The landlady is a person who knows how to keep her mouth shut, and who asks no questions. She is, as most of them are, the widow of a person who was a social outcast like myself.”
“And this is one of your harbours of refuge,” her Highness exclaimed, looking around curiously upon the cheaply furnished but comfortable room. There was linoleum in lieu of carpet, and to the Londoner the cheap walnut overmantel and plush-covered drawing-room suite spoke mutely of the Tottenham Court Road and the “easy-payment” system.
The Princess was shrewd enough to notice the looks which passed between Leucha and the man to whom she was so much indebted. She detected that a passion of love existed between them. Indeed, the girl had almost admitted as much to her, and had on several occasions begged to be allowed to visit him and ascertain whether he was in want of anything.
It was an interesting and a unique study, she found, the affection between a pair of the criminal class.
What would the world say had it known that she, a reigning Queen, was there upon a visit to a man wanted by the police for half a dozen of the most daring jewel robberies of the past half-century?
She saw a box of cheap cigarettes upon the table, and begged one, saying,—
“I hope, Mr Bourne, you will not be shocked, but I dearly love a cigarette. You will join me, of course?”
“Most willingly, your Highness,” he said, springing to his feet and holding the lighted match for her. She was so charmingly unconventional that people of lower station were always fascinated by her.
“You know,” she exclaimed, laughing, “I used to shock them very much at Court because I smoked. And sometimes,” she added mischievously, “I smoked at certain functions in order purposely to shock the prudes. Oh, I’ve had the most delightful fun very often, I assure you. My husband, when we were first married, used to enter into the spirit of the thing, and once dared me to smoke a cigarette in the Throne Room in the presence of the King and Queen. I did so—and imagine the result!”
“Ah!” he cried, “that reminds me. Pray pardon me for my breach of etiquette, but you have come upon me so very unexpectedly. I’ve seen in theMailthe account of his Majesty’s death, and that you are now Queen. In future I must call you ‘your Majesty.’ You are a reigning sovereign, and I am a thief. A strange contrast, is it not?”
“Better call me your friend, Mr Bourne,” she said, in a calm, changed voice. “Here is no place for titles. Recollect that I am now only an ordinary citizen, one of the people—a mere woman whose only desire is peace.”
Then continuing, she explained her daily fear lest she might be recognised at the Savoy, and asked his advice as to the best means of hiding herself.
“Well, your Majesty,” said the past master of deception, after some thought, “you see you are a foreigner, and as such will be remarked in England everywhere. You speak French like aParisienne. Why not pass as French under a French name? I should suggest that you go to some small, quiet South Coast town—say to Worthing. Many French people go there as they cross from Dieppe. There are several good hotels; or you might, if you wished to be more private, obtain apartments.”
“Yes,” she exclaimed excitedly; “apartments in an English house would be such great fun. I will go to this place Worthing. Is it nice?”
“Quiet—with good sea air.”
“I was once at Hastings—when I was a child. Is it anything like that?”
“Smaller, more select, and quieter.”
“Then I will go there to-morrow and call myself Madame Bernard,” she said decisively. “Leucha will go with me in search of apartments.”
Having gained her freedom, she now wanted to see what an English middle-class house was like. She had heard much of English home life from Allen and from the English notabilities who had come to Court, and she desired to see it for herself. Hotel life is the same all the world over, and it already bored her.
“Certainly. Your Majesty will be much quieter and far more comfortable in apartments, and passing as an ordinary member of the public,” Leucha said. “I happen to know a very nice house where one can obtain furnished apartments. It faces the sea near the pier, and is kept by a Mrs Blake, the widow of an Army surgeon. When I was in service with Lady Porthkerry we stayed there for a month.”
“Then we will most certainly go there; and perhaps you, Mr Bourne, will find it possible to take the sea air at Worthing instead of being cooped up here. You might come down by a night train—that is, if you know a place where you would be safe.”
He shook his head dubiously.
“I know a place in Brighton—where I’ve stayed several times. It is not far from Worthing, certainly. But we will see afterwards. Does your Majesty intend to leave London to-morrow?”
“Yes; but please not ‘your Majesty,’” she said, in mild reproach, and with a sweet smile. “Remember, I am in future plain Madame Bernard, of Bordeaux, shall we say? The landlady—as I think you call her in English—must not know who I am, or there will soon be paragraphs in the papers, and those seaside snap-shotters will be busy. I should quickly find myself upon picture postcards, as I’ve done, to my annoyance, on several previous occasions when I’ve wanted to be quiet and remain incognito.”
And so it was arranged that she should establish herself at Mrs Blake’s, in Worthing, which she did about six o’clock on the following evening.
The rooms, she found, were rather frowzy, as are those of most seaside lodgings, the furniture early Victorian, and on the marble-topped whatnot was that ornament in which our grandmothers so delighted—a case of stuffed birds beneath a glass dome. The two windows of the first-floor sitting-room opened out upon a balcony before which was the promenade and the sea beyond—one of the best positions in Worthing, without a doubt.
Mrs Blake recognised Leucha at once, terms were quickly fixed, and the maid—as is usual in such cases—received a small commission for bringing her mistress there.
When they were duly installed, Leucha, in confidence, told the inquisitive landlady that her mistress was one of the old French aristocracy, while at the same moment “Madame” was sitting out upon the balcony watching the sun disappear into the grey waters of the Channel.
In the promenade a few people were still passing up and down, the majority having gone in to dinner. But among them was one man, who, though unnoticed, lounged past and glanced upward—the tall, thin, grey-haired man who had on the previous night watched her enter the house in Hammersmith.
He wore a light grey suit, and presented the appearance of an idler from London, like most of the other promenaders, yet the quick, crafty look he darted in her direction was distinctly an evil one.
Yet in ignorance she sat there, in full view of him, enjoying the calm sundown, her eyes turned pensively away into the grey, distant haze of the coming night.
Her thoughts were away there, across the sea. She wondered how her husband fared, now that he was King. Did he ever think of her save with angry recollections; or did he ever experience that remorse that sooner or later must come to every man who wrongs a faithful woman?
That morning, before leaving the Savoy, she had received two letters, forwarded to her in secret from Brussels. One was from Treysa, and the other bore the postmark “Roma.”
The letter from Treysa had been written by Steinbach three days after the King’s death. It was on plain paper, and without a signature. But she knew his handwriting well. It ran:—
“Your Majesty will have heard the news, no doubt, through the newspapers. Two days ago our King George was, after luncheon, walking on the terrace with General Scheibe, when he was suddenly seized by paralysis. He cried, ‘I am dying, Scheibe. Help me indoors!’ and fell to the ground. He was carried into the palace, where he lingered until nine o’clock in the evening, and then, in spite of all the physicians could do, he expired. The Crown Prince was immediately proclaimed Sovereign, and at this moment I have just returned from the funeral, whereat the greatest pomp has been displayed. All the Sovereigns of Europe were represented, and your Majesty’s absence from Court was much remarked and commented upon. The general opinion is that you will return—that your difference with the King will now be settled; and I am glad to tell you that those who were your Majesty’s bitterest enemies a week ago are now modifying their views, possibly because they fear what may happen to them if you really do return. At this moment the Court is divided into two sets—those who hope that you will take your place as Queen, and those who are still exerting every effort to prevent it. The latter are still crying out that you left Treysa in company with Count Leitolf, and urging his Majesty to sue for a divorce—especially now that the Emperor of Austria has degraded you by withdrawing your Imperial privileges and your right to bear the Imperial arms of Austria, and by decree striking you off the roll of the Dames de la Croix Etoilée. From what I have gathered, a spy of Hinckeldeym’s must have followed your Majesty to Vienna and seen you meet the Count. At present, however, although every effort is being made to find you, the secret agents have, it is said, been unsuccessful. I have heard that you are in Italy, to be near Leitolf; evidently a report spread by Hinckeldeym and his friends.
“The people are clamouring loudly for you. They demand that ‘their Claire’ shall be brought back to them as Queen. Great demonstrations have been made in the Dom Platz, and inflammatory speeches have been delivered against Hinckeldeym, who is denounced as your arch-enemy. The mob on two occasions assumed an attitude so threatening that it had to be dispelled by the police. The situation is serious for the Government, inasmuch as the Socialists have resolved to champion your cause, and declare that when the time is ripe they will expose the plots of your enemies, and cause Hinckeldeym’s downfall.
“I am in a position to know that this is no mere idle talk. One of the spies has betrayed his employers; hence the whole Court is trembling. What will the King do? we are all asking. On the one hand the people declare you are innocent and ill-judged, while on the other the Court still declares with dastardly motive that your friendship with Leitolf was more than platonic. And, unfortunately, his Majesty believes the latter.
“My own opinion is that your Majesty’s best course is still to remain in concealment. A squadron of spies have been sent to the various capitals, and photographs are being purposely published in the illustrated press in order that you may be identified. I hope, however, that just at present you will not be discovered, for if so I fear that in order to stem the Socialistic wave even your friends must appear to be against you. Your Majesty knows too well the thousand and one intrigues which form the undercurrent of life at our Court, and my suggestion is based upon what I have been able to gather in various quarters. All tends to show that the King, now that he has taken the reins of government, is keenly alive to his responsibility towards the nation. His first speech, delivered to-day, has shown it. He appears to be a changed man, and I can only hope and pray that he has become changed towards yourself.
“If you are in Paris or in London, beware of secret agents, for both capitals swarm with them. Remain silent, patient and watchful; but, above all, be very careful not to allow your enemies any further food for gossip. If they start another scandal at this moment, it would be fatal to all your Majesty’s interests; for I fear that even the people, faithful to your cause up to the present, would then turn against you. In conclusion, I beg to assure your Majesty of my loyalty, and that what ever there is to report in confidence I will do so instantly through this present channel. I would also humbly express a hope that both your Majesty and the Princess Ignatia are in perfect health.”
The second letter—the one bearing the Rome postmark—was headed, “Imperial Embassy of Austria-Hungary, Palazzo Chigi,” and was signed “Carl.”