CHAPTER XVIIITHE DEN OF THE HIGHWAYMANPrue allowed James to direct the chairmen to Marlborough House, but, a short distance away, she stopped them, and giving them a crown, desired them to carry her with the utmost speed to Essex Street, where she would reward them amply for their diligence. Scenting an intrigue, with the usual accompaniment of a generous douceur for their share in it, they trotted off at a pace that gave their light burden hard work to keep her seat.With all their haste, it was dark before they reached Essex Street, where Prue desired them to seek out "Pip's Coffee-House," a small hostelry of retiring, not to say furtive aspect. A flickering oil-lamp hung over the entrance, and through the red-baize window-curtain a dull glimmer penetrated.Excited as she was, Prue was not without alarms at the sinister possibilities of this adventure, so vastly different from the sparkling follies of her giddy career. But "Cowards fayle," and Prue was no coward, nor was she capable of drawing back when curiosity and inclination combined to thrust her on. She descended, and bidding the chairmen wait, boldly entered the house and knocked at the first door she came to.A voice called out, "Come in," and she obeyed. The room was of moderate size, divided into small compartments, each containing a rough wooden table and a couple of benches to match. The floor was sanded, the ceiling low and smoke-blackened, but there was no appearance of squalor, and the few occupants, who were reading theNewssheet or playing dominoes, looked respectable and orderly enough.Reassured, Prue approached the man in charge of the little curtained bar, and in a timid voice inquired for "Mr. Steve Larkyn."He stared at her, but her veil effectually hid her face, though the sweetness of her voice and the distinction of her bearing could not be disguised."Steve Larkyn? I'll call him, my lady," said the man."I'm no lady," retorted Prue sharply. "If I were I should not be asking for Steve Larkyn!"She was sorry for her quickness the next moment, for the man laughed rather rudely, and opening a door behind him, called out, "Hullo, Steve, here's a lady asking for thee, that says she ain't no lady."The Steve Larkyn who came hurrying out was so unlike the one she had seen in disguise, that she was about to repudiate him, when with a sudden grimace he changed himself back into the rustic foot-boy, all but the shock of tow-colored hair, which no longer covered his sleek brown head. The change passed like a ripple of wind over a smooth pool, but it reassured Prue."Can you come outside a minute?" she said, in a very low voice; "I must speak with you."He followed her into the street, and once out of range of observant eyes and ears, she grasped him by the arm, and demanded to be taken instantly to the captain."I can take a message," said Steve, hesitating. "It will attract less notice than a visit from a lady.""Waste no time in idle objections," she cried, almost fiercely. "Imustsee him; what I have to say is for his ear alone, and even if otherwise, 'twould be a waste of precious time to tell my tale twice over. Lead me to him instantly or take the responsibility of his certain death upon your own head!""Come, then," he replied; "but you must come afoot. 'Tis ill enough to take a woman into a secret, without a pair of spying lackeys to boot. Can you walk a short distance? The road is dark and rough.""No matter, I can walk it." She paid the chairmen liberally, and dismissing them, followed Steve down a steep and narrow lane leading to the riverside. It was unlighted, and she slipped and stumbled on the miry, uneven causeway until Steve, in pity, begged her to lean upon his arm. "'Tis not far now," he said, less gruffly, and a few yards farther they came to a huge and gloomy gateway, within which a little door admitted them into a dark hall. Steve struck a light and led the way across the echoing emptiness and up a broad staircase. He scratched with his nail upon a door, which was promptly opened by Robin himself, fully equipped for a journey."Steve!" he exclaimed. "What has happened, and who is this with you?"Before he could answer. Prue stepped forward and throwing off her veil replied, "Your wife!""Lady Prudence!" he cried, scarcely believing the evidence of his senses. "In the name of Heaven, what brings you here? Why are you so pale and excited? Something terrible has happened?""No; but will happen unless you instantly escape." She came into the room and closed the door, leaving Steve outside. "Oh! Robin, Robin," she cried, clasping her hands and looking at him with reproachful eyes, "I know all that happened last night. How could you be so mad? You can not hope to escape again if you are arrested for this.""Indeed," said Robin grimly, "if I am taken this time, 'twill be worse than hanging! But I'll never be taken alive—""There is time to escape," she urged. "Your retreat is known and you will be arrested to-night. Lord Beachcombe has discovered where he was brought yester night—""Ah!" said Robin, with a bitter smile. "I should have taken extra precautions against the bloodhound instinct of hatred! And so, Dear Heart," he went on, in a very different tone, "you came to warn me of danger? 'Twas very noble of you, for if you had left me to my fate, in a few hours you might have been a free woman."Prue burst into tears. "Oh! you are cruel, cruel," she sobbed. "I do not want freedom—that way.""I believe it," he said, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips. "Do not grieve, my hunted life is not worth one of those tears—""But hasten," she interrupted, listening attentively and holding up her hand to silence him. "I know who you are and that you are concerned in Jacobite plots. Soldiers will surround the house and you will be arrested and taken to the Tower as a traitor. You have very little time to escape—"He glanced at some papers on the table and began to gather them up and conceal them about him. In doing this, he uncovered a jewel-case of purple velvet embroidered in gold with the royal arms.Prue uttered a faint shriek and covered her eyes, as if to shut out the sight that confirmed her worst fears."Oh! Robin!" she gasped. "The queen's necklace—!""Was it the queen's?" he replied carelessly. "Well, now it is yours, if you care to have it." He opened the case and displayed the diamonds flashing like a string of fire. "'My faith! the gems are gorgeous; they will look well on the peerless neck of my beautiful Prue.""Iwear the queen's diamonds! You must be mad! What possessed you to take them? Oh, I hoped so that it was a mistake and that you were innocent of this.""Innocent of what? Do you really think I stole the necklace? My dear Lady Prudence, I am a highwayman when occasion serves, but I am not a thief. Last night, on the king's business, I waylaid the wrong man, and all I got for my pains was this fine casket, which I never opened until now. Evidently I robbed the thief, confound him! and the papers I was commanded to secure are God knows where!""Oh! Robin, I am so glad!" she cried. "They said Robin the highwayman was at his tricks again, and had stolen the queen's necklace from Marlborough House, and oh, I was so ashamed to think such a thing could be said of—-my husband!"She half turned away, murmuring the last words so softly that only the ears of love could have caught them."Oh! Prue—angel—is it really possible that you think of me as your husband? Oh! I know there has been an empty ceremony which meant nothing to you, and to me only vain longing and a mad dream of unattainable happiness; but what a fool I am! Of course I ought to have understood that you fear to be brought to shame if it should be suspected that the thief of the queen's necklace is your—"Prue's eyes flashed and her little high-heeled shoe tapped angrily on the floor."You are indeed a fool!" she exclaimed. "I do not know why I have any patience at all with you. Will you begone from here at once, sir, and not offend me by tarrying when I have risked so much to save your life?"He started and flushed guiltily. "Selfish brute that I am! I forgot the danger to you. A thousand thanks, dear Lady Prudence, for your warning. I will profit by it when I have conducted you to safety.""You will do nothing of the sort," she retorted imperiously. "When I arrived you were preparing to depart; do so at once, for if you wait for the house to be surrounded by the soldiers it will be too late. Even now, if you leave it alive, you may fall into an ambush. Is there no exit except into the street?""Yes; this room opens on a terrace overlooking the river, and although I believed myself safe in London for a few days, I have a boat in readiness in case I should be forced to leave in a hurry," said Robin. "There are hiding-places in Southwark and Lambeth where the queen's whole army might hunt a week for me in vain.""Be cautious then, for that may be known to your enemies; and, above all, be speedy—"While she was speaking, the door was flung open abruptly and Steve Larkyn—his face blazing with fury—darted in."You are betrayed, Captain!" he ejaculated. "This woman has brought the soldiers with her. For the love of God, do not stop to listen to her, but escape while there is time—""You hear?" cried Prue, in a frenzy. "Go—go instantly! I command you!""What, go away and leave you here to meet the soldiers alone? Never!" said Robin, with a calmness that contrasted strongly with the excitement of the others."Then I will remain with you, and when the soldiers come I will declare that I helped you enter Marlborough House, and show the diamonds to prove that I was your accomplice; nay, I will say that my familiarity with the duchess' apartments gave me access where you could not have entered and thatIstole the diamonds and gave them to you!""You will do this?" he gasped, utterly stupefied."I will; and if necessary I will proclaim myself your wife and let them think I have had my share in whatever you are accused of.""But why? In the name of God, what is the meaning of this madness?"She stretched out her arms to him with a gesture of utter self-abandonment. "It means that I love you, Robin. I love you, and would rather die with you than live without you!"He caught her in his arms and strained her to his breast with all the pent-up passion of his being in that fervid embrace."Leave you—now, my darling, my heart's heart—"She tore herself from his arms. "More than ever now," she pleaded. "If you hope ever to possess me, fly, and I swear that I will come to you—if not on earth, in Heaven. Stay, I have an idea." She snatched up a sheet of paper and thrust a pen into his hand. "Write," she commanded, and he wrote at her dictation."MISTRESS BROOKE:"Follow the bearer and you will find the queen's diamond necklace.""There," she exclaimed, laughing and crying together, "leave the rest to me, and go—if you do not wish to destroy us both. Hark! the soldiers are already at the gate," she flung the window open—"trust to my woman's wit," she cried, "I shall not only be safe but covered with glory and honor."He pressed a burning kiss upon her willing lips and sprang through the window. "Follow your master," she said to Larkyn, who stood by, an effigy of astonishment. He obeyed without demur, and she shut the window, closing and fastening the shutter and half-drawing the faded curtain.Then she resumed her mantle and veil and looked around for any sign of Robin's late occupancy. He had secured all his papers and on the table nothing was left except the purple velvet case and some writing materials, which she thrust into a drawer. In doing so she came upon a packet addressed:"To Mistress Larkyn,"In care of Mine Hostess of"The Fox and Grapes."She took it up and recognized Robin's writing. The angry blood glowed in her veins. "The insolent varlet!" she muttered. "He has been writing to a woman—'Mistress Larkyn,' indeed!—Mine Hostess of the 'Fox and Grapes,' forsooth! 'Tis some low intrigue, and I thought him my true lover and loyal husband. I will see how he addresses this creature." She was about to tear open the packet, when a crash below stairs and the sound of hurried footsteps warned her that the soldiers had broken into the house. She hurriedly thrust it into her bosom and waited.A voice shouted harshly, "In the queen's name!" and the door was opened without ceremony. Half-a-dozen soldiers with drawn swords rushed in, and at sight of the little cloaked figure, came to a halt in some confusion.But Prue, without waiting to be interrogated, threw back her veil, exclaiming, "Soldiers!" in accents of well-feigned joy and relief. "Oh! I am so glad! I was afraid, when I heard the noise, that I had fallen into a den of robbers, who would, perhaps, kill me for the sake of the queen's necklace.""The queen's necklace!" exclaimed the officer in command. "Who are you, and what do you know about the queen's necklace?""I am the Viscountess Brooke," she replied, in her loftiest tone, "and this message will explain why I am here, and what I know about the queen's necklace."She landed the paper to him and watched anxiously to see its effect. He read it dubiously and turned it over and over, evidently at a loss how to deal with a matter outside of his instructions."You see the necklace," she went on after a pause, taking up the emblazoned casket and opening it. "The person who brought me here disappeared when the noise began at the gate." She looked round in every direction but the window. "I think there must be a secret panel somewhere in the room, for while my attention was distracted by the noise, she disappeared.""She!" cried the officer. "Did a woman bring you here? What kind of person was it? Could it not have been a man, disguised?""A man!" she exclaimed; "oh, no"—then the advantage of prolonging this cross-examination struck her and she continued slowly, as if pondering over the suggestion—"at least, that never occurred to me. Her voice was loud and rough 'tis true—""Was she—or he—tall and broad?" demanded the officer, glancing at a document in his hand and reading from it—"swarthy complexion, black eyes, black hair, without powder, worn—"She interrupted him with a laugh. "Surely not, the woman was old, bent, no taller than myself; a toothless, blear-eyed beldame—""And she disappeared, you say? Sergeant, examine the room thoroughly and break in anything that seems like a secret panel. I fear, Madam," the officer said, again addressing Prue, "that I shall be compelled to arrest you if we can not find the person we are seeking.""Arrestme!" cried Prue. "Why, you will make yourself the laughing-stock of London if you arrest Lady Prudence Brooke. As to myself, I should enjoy it amazingly; I have never been arrested, and it would be something quite new for me in the way of an adventure, but I have found the queen's necklace"—she clasped it in her arms with an air of defiance—"and you must first take me either to Marlborough House, where it was lost, or to Kensington Palace, where you will easily find out whether or no to arrest one of Her Majesty's ladies-in-waiting."She threw off her veil and smiled up at him with all the alluring archness at her command. It was not thrown away, although the young soldier made a brave effort to resist her captivating arts, by ordering his men to leave no loophole of escape for the object of their search or any one who might be his accomplice. They roughly tested the walls with blows and kicks, and finding at last a hollow-sounding panel, knocked it in without delay and found, not a secret passage, but a closet containing some weapons, a saddle and a couple of cloaks. These they made into a bundle and were about to search farther, when the sounds of shouts and shots from the river drew their attention that way."By Heaven, they have caught him on the river!" cried the officer, hurrying to the window. He unclasped the shutter and dashing the window open, sprang out on the terrace, followed by Prue. The night was intensely dark and a drizzling rain falling, but at a short distance the blaze of torches stained the fog a dull crimson, that looked to her excited imagination like a haze of blood. She stood shivering on the terrace beside the officer, as he shouted himself hoarse in his efforts to get into communication with the crew of the boat which had intercepted Robin's flight, but the lights drifted farther away and the shouting ceased, and, at last, she ventured to lay her hand lightly on the officer's arm."Who is being pursued?" she asked, "and what is all the disturbance about?""Don't you know that this is the hiding-place of the notorious highwayman, Robin Freemantle, who is also suspected of being an active agent of the Jacobite plotters in Scotland? It is strange that you should be alone here, Madam, and yet know nothing of this man's escape! My orders are to arrest him and all persons found in his company; therefore you must consider yourself under arrest.""Arrest me if you will," she replied, "but if you refuse to take me to the Duchess of Marlborough or the queen, the consequences be on your own head. Rest assured that there will be honors and promotion for the gallant soldier who protects one of the ladies of the court and brings her and the treasure she has recovered to safety. But to thrust one of my condition"—her eyes flashed and she raised her head with indignant pride—"into prison, will certainly bring disgrace or worse upon you. I have influence with the duchess and through her, with the duke."The officer was young and not altogether insensible either to the sweet, imperious voice, or the arguments it propounded. He hesitated, and meeting the earnest eyes raised to his, began to waver. This was evidently a great lady. Her elegant dress and haughty manner abashed him, and he began to think that if he took her to the Tower in place of Robin Freemantle, she might prove a dangerous substitute."Come, come, Sir Officer," Prue went on, reading the changes of his expression with an experienced eye, "do not be so hard to convince." She smiled up at him now with a bewitching petulance and laid her slender hand on his arm. "'Tis but a step to Marlborough House and I am in a fever to see the duchess. I was, perhaps, indiscreet in coming to this strange place alone, but the hope of finding the jewels turned my foolish head and put all other considerations out of it. I fear I ran a desperate risk; I might have been attacked by robbers, instead of rescued by soldiers! I shall never forget that I owe my safety, perhaps my life, to you!"By this time the lieutenant was in complete subjection. "I am most fortunate, Madam, in being of some service to you!" he said gallantly. "When I came here to take a prisoner, I little expected to become a captive myself."Prue finished him off with a glance of irresistible archness. "Oh! I am quite reconciled to my arrest now," she protested. "Indeed, I should claim your escort, if I did not feel sure that you would wish to see the queen's necklace safely through its adventures. Fortunate man! there is not an officer in the duke's army, who would not envy your good luck.""I can well believe it!" he cried, with an ardent glance. "I would not change places with a general!""The duchess appreciates devotion as much as her husband does courage," said Prue, with tantalizing demureness."And the Lady Prudence Brooke—does she also appreciate devotion?" the young officer murmured hurriedly. "Oh! if I could believe so—""You would take me to Marlborough House instead of the Tower?" she interrupted quickly. "Prove your devotion by doing so, and afterward"—she lingered softly on the word—"we will talk about appreciation."The soldiers, by this time, having ransacked the house without finding anything suspicious, one of them was despatched to fetch a chair for Lady Prudence, and leaving a guard at the house in case of Robin's return, the lieutenant and the rest of his soldiers escorted the prisoner—and the necklace—to Marlborough House.CHAPTER XIXIN THE DUCHESS' APARTMENTSAny doubts that Prue's escort might have secretly entertained as to the credibility of her strange story, were set at rest the moment she entered the doors of Marlborough House. Her reception was that of the elect; a privileged guest whom all delighted to honor. The obsequious flunkeys bowed before her, and the stately Groom of the Chambers, by whose command the lieutenant was shown into a waiting-room, himself carried the Lady Prue's request for an audience of the duchess on most pressing business.The anterooms were thronged with visitors whose curiosity had been whetted by a rumor that the long-expected had happened, and that the queen had gladly availed herself of the loss of her jewels as an excuse for humiliating the tyrannical favorite whose exactions had lately increased in proportion to the waning of her influence. It was whispered that the queen had been most reluctant to attend the masquerade, and that the duchess, fearing that she might repeat the slight of a recent public occasion (when Her Majesty had declined to appear in regal state in compliment to her), had exercised her privilege as Mistress of the Robes, and caused certain jewels to be conveyed to the royal tiring-room in Marlborough House. But the queen, on her arrival, had signalized her disapproval of this audacious proceeding, by refusing to make any alteration in the conspicuously simple costume she wore, and the jewels—among which the necklace was the most important—were left in the tiring-room in care of the attendants.All this, however, was mere gossip. Those more friendly to the duchess discredited the whole story and claimed to know that no royal jewels had come into the house, except on the queen's person, and that if any were mislaid, they would certainly be found either at Kensington Palace, where Her Majesty had been residing for some weeks, or St. James', where she had passed the previous day, in order to incur as little fatigue as possible in attending the masquerade.Ladies Rialton and Monthemer, with other members of the ducal family and household, flitted from group to group, making light of the rumored estrangement between "poor, unfortunate, faithful Mrs. Morley" and her erstwhile inseparable and all-powerful friend, and vowing that nothing kept them apart but the violent illness of the duchess, over whom the physicians were in consultation as to the propriety of bleeding her to avert an attack of fever. But all hints and allusions to the lost necklace were ignored, and those who were hardy enough to put their inquiries into plain words, were met with diplomatic replies that neither affirmed nor denied anything.With a greeting here and a hand-pressure there, Prue threaded her way through the crowd and hurried up-stairs to the duchess' private apartments. The way led past the little conservatory where she had sat with Robin last night. It was dark now and the entrance was blocked with tubs containing the orange-trees and shrubs which had adorned the grand stair-case and entrance-hall. Prue's heart beat a shade faster and a pang of remorse assailed her at the thought that by introducing Robin to this sequestered part of the house she had exceeded her privilege as a guest, and exposed both Robin and herself to a suspicion that only her utmost ingenuity could dissipate.In the duchess' dressing-room a little throng of ladies-in-waiting and intimate friends welcomed her warmly. Deep concern sat upon every face as they listened to the hysterical cries and moans, in which the patient in the adjoining bedroom gave expression to her sufferings, and the broken exclamations and fierce invectives by which she called upon her doctors and attendants to bear witness to the ingratitude and perfidy of the queen, and the baseness of her minions.While Prue hesitated about intruding, the doctor and the apothecary came out. The former hurried away with a red face and air of offended dignity, and his satellite only lingered long enough to assure the ladies that her grace, having refused to be blooded and having ordered the two medicos from her presence under pain of a drenching with their own potions, nothing could be done for her until she could be brought into a more reasonable mood."I must see her at once," said Prue, with decision. "I have a cure for her malady far more efficacious than all the court physicians' nostrums.""Why, do you come from the queen? Has she found her diamond necklace?" A dozen eager questioners crowded about her, but with a smile of mysterious but encouraging significance, Prue reiterated her demand and at last escaped from further interrogation, by making her way unannounced into the presence of the duchess.The great lady lay upon her bed, her disordered dress and disheveled hair revealing the ravages of time, which she usually disguised with so much skill. Her tire-women vainly attempted to soothe her by chafing her feet and hands and fanning her flushed and swollen face."Who is that?" she screamed, catching sight of Prue. "Go away—I can not see any one—I am very ill—I am dying! Make haste to pay your court to Masham—Masham! the creature I raised out of the mire—the kitchen-wench, who will queen it to-morrow when I am dead! Oh! oh! oh!" And the hysterics were resumed with wilder frenzy than ever."Leave her to me," said Prue to the women. "I can cure her, but I must have her to myself for a few minutes." They looked from one to the other with bewildered eyes, wondering at Prue's audacity, yet unable to resist her calm tone of authority.When they had withdrawn to the farther end of the room, she bent over the shrieking, raving duchess, and said, in a quiet, penetrating voice, "The necklace is not lost, it is quite safe."The cries ceased with almost ludicrous suddenness. "What do you say?" gasped the patient."I will tell you all about it as soon as you are able to lie still and listen," said Prue, who had laid her plans on her way from Essex Street, and had her story all ready. The duchess quieted down and turned her face partly toward her."Is that Prudence Brooke?" she asked. "If you know anything about that accursed necklace, tell me quickly, before it is the death of me.""I have news of it," said Prue, passing a cool, soothing hand over the hot brow and brushing away the heavy, straggling masses of hair, once the pride of Sarah Churchill and the envy of rival beauties. "If the necklace is returned what reward will you give the finder?""Reward? Oh! he shall be well rewarded; the finder need not be afraid to ask his own price," cried the duchess. "And yet the thing is worthless to any one, child—worse than worthless—it is deadly! No one would steal it except to injure me! But they shall swing for it, no matter who is at the bottom of it. It is a conspiracy of those who hate me—""It is a mistake," interrupted Prue; "the necklace was not stolen, it was taken by—by accident.""Accident! Oh, I know what kind of accident it was; it was a conspiracy, I tell you!" the duchess reiterated."It was a mistake," Prue urged. "I am sure I can prove it.""Prove it a conspiracy, Prudence Brooke—prove it so that I can get my revenge upon these wretches and you may ask what reward you will. Honors and emoluments shall be heaped upon you—""I want neither!" cried Prue vehemently. "That is, the finder would not accept money or anything of that kind." She began to feel uneasy at the threatening tone the duchess took, and her nimble wit jumped for shelter. "For myself," she said, in her most cajoling way, "I would ask a favor—not now, but later—and I want you to promise that you will grant it, no matter how strange and unreasonable it may seem."The duchess, who was now quite collected, sat up and looked searchingly into the guileless blue eyes, bent so eagerly upon her. "Youwould not ask anything that would injureme?" she said slowly. "My enemies are so many and so wily, I fear to trust—even you. Is it something you want for yourself? If so, I promise.""A thousand thanks," cried Prue. "I may never ask for anything; certainly never for anything that would hurt my dear benefactress to grant. 'Twas but a fancy. And such strange things happen—one never knows what one may be led into. I have had the strangest adventure to-night—""Another time, dear Prue," the duchess interrupted; "I can think of nothing now but the necklace.""Yet you will own," persisted Prue, "when you have heard it to the end, that it is worth listening to. 'Twas thus—as soon as I heard of your grace's troubles, I set out to offer my heartfelt condolences. Scarce a hundred yards from home, the chair was stopped and a rough hand thrust a paper through the curtains. Here it is; shall I fetch a lamp for you to read it by?""No, read it to me. I have wept myself purblind," replied the duchess, without attempting to disguise her impatience and lack of interest.Prue unfolded the paper, now soiled and crumpled from frequent handling, and read:"MISTRESS BROOKE:"Follow the bearer and you will find the queen's diamond necklace."The duchess started up and seized her arms convulsively. "Is this true, Prue?" she demanded tragically. "Then why did you not go at once without coming to make terms with me first?"Prue was too well acquainted with the suspicious and selfish nature of the woman to take any offense. "I thought you would be interested," she replied sweetly. "Have a moment's patience and I will tell you how, reckless of consequences, I ordered the chairmen to follow this unknown leader, who took us through narrow by-streets, where I momentarily expected to be waylaid and perhaps murdered. But my desire to serve your grace was stronger than my fears; besides, as you are well aware, I am not very timid, especially when there is an adventure to the fore—""Yes, yes, I know how reckless you are, but where did you find the necklace?" the duchess broke in."I am coming to that. The chair stopped at last and I descended in a dark and muddy street, where I followed my conductor afoot to a lonely house, apparently uninhabited.""Prudence—you reckless girl—you ventured into such a place alone and unprotected!" exclaimed the duchess, excited to such a pitch by the story that she absolutely forgot its reference to herself. "What madness!""Oh! that is nothing to what I would have done, if necessary, for—for your grace's sake," cried Prue. "But I confess that all my devotion was needed to keep up my courage. Inside the house my situation was even more terrifying. All was dark and empty—it seemed the very place for secret deeds of horror—yet no attempt was made to harm me; not a living creature appeared except the person who wrote this message and who, without any ado, placed this in my hand and begged me to take it away."Having now arrived at the climax of her story, Prue drew forth the emblazoned casket and displayed the diamond necklace.The duchess snatched it from her and gazed at it with entranced eyes. She flung her arms about Prue, calling her a heroine and a marvel, and the truest friend woman ever had."Any one but you would have gone straight to the queen and left me to my fate. There are those about that ungrateful woman who would have paid mighty high for such a chance of humiliating me. What reward did the robber demand, and how did you satisfy him?""There was no robber; only an old woman," said Prue, whipping out her carefully planned lie without a tremor. "I know not how she came by it, but she asked for no reward and only seemed to wish to be rid of it. Indeed, there was no time for me to ask an explanation, if she had one to give, for at the very moment when the casket was in my hands, there arose a hubbub in the street outside and the house was surrounded by soldiers. The old woman disappeared as if by magic, and when the soldiers broke into the room I was alone; nor could they find any trace of her, though they battered the place to pieces.""She shall be found and compelled to give up her accomplice," cried the duchess furiously. "Soldiers surrounded the house, and yet the miscreant escaped! Pretty soldiers, forsooth!""Yes, truly," cried Prue; "and more than that—they arrested poor little me—because I was all alone there with the queen's diamonds; think of that! I had a narrow escape of spending the night in jail! However, my tears and entreaties prevailed upon them to bring me here, and all that remains to be done is to dismiss my captors, and permit me to take my leave of your grace.""Not so fast, Prue; you have still something to do for me," said the duchess. "I must hasten to the queen and you must go with me, and repeat what you have just told me. Marie!—Alice!—leave off chattering and tire me with all despatch. I must see the queen without a moment's loss of time.""Surely, 'tis too late to-night," remonstrated Prue, who was sinking with fatigue. "Her Majesty will have retired.""That's no matter," retorted the duchess arrogantly; "I am still Mistress of the Robes, and by virtue of my office entitled to enter the queen's bed-chamber at all hours of day or night. You must accompany me, and repeat your story, else I might be discredited by the reptiles who are for ever at the royal ear, poisoningpoor, faithful Mrs. Morley'smind against her once belovedMrs. Freeman. Come, I am ready."As they descended by a private staircase to take the carriage, the Groom of the Chambers approached, and deferentially inquired what was to be done with the Viscountess Brooke's military escort."Faith, 'tis the honest soldier who wanted to hale me off to jail," cried Prue in reply to the duchess' look of surprised inquiry. "He came prepared to arrest a houseful of robbers or conspirators—he seemed uncertain just which—and finding me alone, with the queen's necklace in my hand, would have taken me to prison if I had not coaxed him to bring me to you first. If I might venture to suggest that your grace bid him attend us, he can corroborate my story, if needful.""Let him come," the duchess commanded. "I would I had a hundred witnesses that it was not found in Marlborough House."CHAPTER XXA THREAT AND A PROMISEWhen Prue reached home, about midnight, Peggie, who had been watching at the window during several anxious hours, met her at the door and almost carried her up-stairs in a strenuous embrace."Was that the Marlborough carriage?" she demanded eagerly."Yes; the duchess insisted on bringing me home.""Then all is well; you have no idea how uneasy I have been. About ten o'clock, Sir Geoffrey came to see you; on a matter of the utmost importance, he declared, and the mysterious hints he threw out about the danger your rashness and love of adventure had led you into, positively drove me distracted.""I am deeply indebted to him for his solicitude," said Prue disdainfully, "but the worst danger my rashness ever brought me near—that of marrying Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert—is happily averted. 'Tis true I have committed other follies—one of which has snatched me from the jaws of that peril, only to plunge me into a host of others, from which I know not how I shall extricate myself. Alack! my dearest Peg, methinks poor Prue is but a sorry fool after all's said."Peggie's countenance fell into an expression of deep concern. For Prue to express a doubt of her own ready wit, was to utter heresy against the first article of Peggie's faith in her."Why, what has happened?" Peggie asked, almost tearfully."Oh! nothing but good: indeed, the Fates have showered me with good luck until I am afraid I shall be buried alive under it.""Come, there are worse ways of being buried than that," cried Peggie, brightening up. "A fig for Sir Geoffrey's croaking, if there be nothing else to fear. Now tell me where you have been all the evening; with the duchess, of course, as she brought you home?""Not all the time. First I found the necklace. Then I took it to the duchess and together we returned it to the queen. And now, Peggie, bring down your eyebrows out of your hair and don't open your mouth wide enough to engulf me, and I'll tell you everything that has happened to me, if you will undress me, for I am too tired to move a finger."Peggie most gladly set to work and had her cousin unlaced and unpinned and comfortably tucked in bed, long before the history of the evening's events had been expounded. From her, Prue hid nothing; in fact she was craving to pour her confidence into that kindly ear and receive such ungrudging sympathy and shrewd advice as the circumstances prompted.When Peggie had exhausted the vocabulary of astonishment, admiration, congratulation and anticipation—had shuddered at Prue's danger, laughed at her wily devices, marveled incredulously at her passionate avowal of love, and rejected all possibility of fear for Robin's safety, she withdrew reluctantly, declaring that she should not close an eye that night—and was fast asleep almost before her head reached the pillow.Prue was less fortunate, and for an hour or two tossed and turned, vainly trying every soothing device to calm her racked nerves and woo repose.While Peggie the optimistic was beside her, Robin's escape appeared more than probable; she could almost persuade herself that it was an accomplished fact. But it looked less certain, now her blood ran cool, and her high spirit flagged in the darkness and silence of night. Her faith in his courage and resource could not entirely resist the paralyzing touch of fear, and even her confidence in the value of the pledge she had extracted from the duchess was shaken by the unmistakable coolness of the queen, who had listened in silence to the explanations of her former favorite and reserved all her praises and expressions of satisfaction for Prue, to whom she had been cordiality itself.Toward morning she slept so long and heavily, that Peggie came and went a dozen times before the long lashes lifted and the sweet blue eyes smiled drowsily up at her. And even when she woke she was loath to rise, and fain to rest more than once during the tedious process of her toilet, interrupted as it was by an obsequious procession of mercers and modistes, eager to make their peace with the restored favorite by the most pressing and disinterested services.But a curious change had come over the wilful beauty, and instead of throwing herself heart and soul into the entrancing discussions of hoops and pouffes, sarsenet and tabbinet, plumes and perfumes, she declined the counsel of this one and the coaxing of that one, and sent the sycophant crowd away wondering what had happened to turn the most extravagant of court butterflies niggardly. The most bewitching "head," the richest farthingale, won but a passing glance and a word of careless criticism, and when Peggie, almost as dissatisfied as the rejected tradesfolk, remonstrated against such a blind neglect of opportunity, Prue lay back wearily in her chair and dropping her arms loosely at her side, said impatiently:"Cousin, Cousin—I am sick to death of it all!""All of what?" cried Peggie briskly. "All you have lost for a whole year and won back in less than a week?""Aye, all that and more; sick of court and courtiers, sick of idle men and vapid women, sick of myself most of all—"Then she sprang to her feet and burst out laughing. "What a fool I am, Peg, and what a fool you look standing there, open-mouthed, drinking in my vaporings as though you never had heard me grumble before! Did you think I was in earnest? Why, I was never so happy in my life. Did not the queen kiss me on the cheek, and the duchess swear to give me whatever I might ask of her; even the first choice of the places she has no longer to dispose of and the royal favors that she can no longer influence? Am I not invited to Windsor as lady-in-waiting on probation and lauded to the skies as a heroine by—""Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert wishes to know if your ladyship will receive him."The voice of James at the door produced a silence so profound that after a short pause he repeated his message in a louder tone. "Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert is below, my Lady, and wishes to see your ladyship most particularly.""You had better see him," said Peggie, in response to Prue's startled and questioning glance."I will see Sir Geoffrey," said Prue. "Tell him I will be down immediately.""Shall I come with you?" asked Peggie."Oh, no, no. I can play my little comedy better to an audience of one; besides,youknow the truth!" she cried, and ran to the mirror to see if the battery of her charms was in order for the fray.Sir Geoffrey, his face set in a mechanical smile, met her with a deep bow and pressed a ceremonious kiss upon her extended hand."Permit your slave to offer his humble congratulations, my dear Prudence," he said; "I hear that you have distinguished yourself with even more than your usual brilliancy.""You allude to the fortunate accident that enabled me to return the lost necklace to Her Majesty, I presume?" Prue replied, seating herself and negligently pointing with her fan to a sufficiently distant chair. "I assure you I deem myself most happy in rendering a service, which has been only too highly appreciated, but I can not lay claim to brilliancy, for I was but a passive instrument.""The brilliancy I refer to, dear Viscountess, was not so much the 'fortunate accident' as the ready wit by which you turned so compromising an adventure to such good account," said Sir Geoffrey significantly.The challenge of his tone and words was unmistakable and Prue responded with more spirit than wisdom."You must speak more plainly if you wish to be understood," she answered. "Compromising adventures, you know very well, are not rare in my experience—or yours"—she laughed rather maliciously—"but I seldom turn them to good account. Now, the accident that gave the queen's necklace into my hands—""Was the happy result of a little visit to Newgate," interposed Sir Geoffrey, with veiled insolence. "Why beat about the bush with me, dearest girl? I know who gave you the necklace—when he was warned, by you, of the danger of keeping it! and how it came about that he was lucky enough to escape before the soldiers arrived to arrest him.""What in the world are you talking about, Sir Geoffrey?" she cried, with rather over-acted bewilderment."What is every one talking about to-day, but the madcap viscountess, who coaxed the highwayman out of the stolen necklace, and being caught in the trap that was limed for Robin Freemantle, circumvented the soldiers, cozened the Duchess of Marlborough and beguiled the Queen's Majesty. Am I not right in congratulating you on such a brilliant series of achievements?""My dear Sir Geoffrey, you have mistaken your vocation," she laughed. "With such an imagination you ought to have been, not a member of Parliament, but a poet! I am quite interested in this romance; surely there is more of it?""Considerably more," he went on, lowering his voice and drawing his chair closer to her. "There are those who saw the beautiful shepherdess in close conversation with a masker in red, at the ball; and who now know that he was no other than Robin Freemantle in the borrowed plumes of Beachcombe. You have enemies, fair Prudence—men you have jilted and women you have excelled in wit and beauty—and by some of these you were seen, in company with the Red Domino, very near the queen's tiring-room, from which the necklace was stolen. Can you wonder that when a story is bruited about that Lady Prudence Brooke, in dead of night, was discovered with the necklace in her possession, in the place where Robin Freemantle was looked for, these good people should compare notes about her ladyship's latest exploit, and place their own construction upon it?""And you, Sir Geoffrey?" she asked, her thoughtful eyes upon his, "what construction do you place upon this curious rodomontade?""Oh!" he laughed softly; "I hold all the clews, so it seems less of a rodomontade to me than, perhaps, to others. I alone know of the little ceremony in Newgate, which explains all.""Oh! it explains all, does it?" she repeated reflectively. "I should be glad to hear the explanation, now you have propounded the conundrum.""'Tis simple enough. When Barbara Sweeting told the story of the necklace, you instantly jumped at the same conclusion as the rest of us—namely, that Robin Freemantle, secure in his disguise, had made the use of his opportunity that a robber naturally would, and had stolen the most valuable thing he could lay his hands on—""Oh! then you don't give me the credit of the robbery?" she exclaimed with a pout. "It would have added so much to the interest of the romance if I—""You? Oh! Lady Prudence, can you ask me such a question?" he interrupted, in a tone of vehement reproach. "I only give you credit for hastening to warn your—husbandof his danger and carrying away the incriminating proof of his guilt; and I admire your courage and generosity though I deplore its object.""Have you quite finished this romantic story, Sir Geoffrey?" queried Prue, dismissing his personal opinion with a disdainful toss of her fan."The preface only, but the rest will wait," he replied, with a sinister smile."Then perhaps you would like to hear what really happened? It would be useless for me to deny—even if I wished—that I spoke with Captain Freemantle, at the ball—""Quite so," Sir Geoffrey agreed blandly."Not that I wish to deny it," she went on petulantly; "at a masquerade everything is permitted, and you, my dear Sir Geoffrey, know better than any one else, this gentleman's claim upon my attention. Still, I fail to see any connection between Captain Freemantle's presence at the ball and the disappearance of the necklace—about which, you must acknowledge, that I know more than any one else, since I found—and restored it."Sir Geoffrey bowed his acquiescence, but his smile was not reassuring."We all know what an admirableraconteuseBarbara is, and I was naturally much worked up by her story of the lost necklace; in fact I could scarcely restrain my impatience to hear a more authentic account," Prue proceeded, recovering her self-confidence, which for a moment had wavered under Sir Geoffrey's attack. "So the moment my visitors left me, I sent for a chair and started for Marlborough House, to get my information at first hand. At a short distance, however, I was interrupted by a person who thrust this paper into my hand."She drew from her bosom the crumpled document which had already played an important part in her version of the affair, and handed it to him.Sir Geoffrey read it carefully, refolded it, and meeting her eye, bowed gravely, as though to intimate that he was too much interested to break the thread of the narrative, even by a word."You know my love of adventure too well to doubt that I instantly decided to risk everything and follow this clue. It took me to a dismal old house—empty, I believe, except for an old hag, who, keeping her face concealed, thrust the casket into my hands and at the first sound of the soldiers' approach, disappeared."Sir Geoffrey softly clapped his hands, as though in applause."Capital! excellent!" he cried. "My dear Prue, with shame I confess that I never before have done justice to the vast resources of your wit. I actually dared to wonder how you had managed to forestall suspicion and snatch safety out of the jaws of peril. You have surpassed yourself! To plan so subtly; to execute so promptly! To omit nothing—even the written proof—and to crown it all with a guileless frankness that might disarm the most captious, and certainly would have deceived me, if I had not been close beside you from the moment you emerged from your own door until that of Robin Freemantle hid you from my jealous eyes!"Then suddenly, without giving her time to disguise the startled dismay that sprang to her eyes, he bent forward and seized her two hands in his."Why treat your faithful lover so harshly, sweet Prue?" he went on passionately. "Have I not proven my love again and again in the defense of your reputation and in unquestioning submission to your caprices? Have I not endured your coldness and yielded my just claims before the scruple that prompted you to deny your future husband the smallest favor, while the phantom of a vow linked you to a felon? And am I to have no reward, not even enough of your confidence to enable me to give the lie to your traducers?""My traducers!" she cried impatiently. "Who are they? At present the only person who has dared to cast a doubt on my veracity is—Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert!""And how long do you expect to escape the pack of 'damned good-natured friends' who have been accustomed to feed upon the choice morsels of scandal you have liberally provided for them?" he demanded. "Before to-night every gossip in town will be in possession of the story of your adventures, and each one who recounts it will put his own construction upon it.""'Tis true," she murmured. "I have often assisted at such feasts of reason. They are highly entertaining, and every one is eager to add a dash of spice or vinegar to the witches' broth. And there is nothing I can do to stop those busybodies." She glanced resentfully at Sir Geoffrey, yet there was inquiry in her eye."Certainly there is something," he replied, answering the unspoken question. "You can give them something else to talk about that will throw the escapade of the necklace into the shade. The shade, do I say? Rather into utter oblivion." An ironical smile began to dawn upon her face, but he did not leave her time to speak. "You can give them a wedding to talk about, a subject that eclipses every other; if you prefer it, an elopement; indeed, I think that would be more dramatic. Say but the word, dearest, and in an hour, a post-chaise—""Oh! Sir Geoffrey," she exclaimed, bursting into a hearty laugh. "Can you really seriously propose such an absurdity tome? An elopement? a post-chaise? Methinks I should be like a man who jumps into a river to avoid being wetted by a passing shower! We should indeed give the town something to talk about; and not only talk, but laugh at.""Let them laugh," said Sir Geoffrey doggedly. "So can I; and he laughs longest who laughs last.""With me for the butt of your hilarity? Thanks, I am always pleased to have my friends—and my enemies—laughwithme, but to have them all laughingatme is scarcely to my taste. Besides, for you, Sir Geoffrey, to suggest such a thing to me—you who know that I am already another man's wife and can not therefore legally become yours—for you to make such an offer is an insult—no less.""My dearest Prue, spare me these reproaches. I grant that yesterday, while this man lived, you were—in a sort of way—his wife. But why should you, who were on the spot, pretend to be ignorant of what the whole town knows this morning, that Robin Freemantle was killed last night, and that consequently you are, as you naturally wish to be—his widow? I congratulate you—and myself."All Prue's forebodings revived at these words, uttered with an air of triumphant security that struck a chill to her heart. "I—I do not understand you—" she stammered, trying to appear unconcerned."Oh! I think you do," he replied, "only you love to torment me by playing the inexorable prude. You were at Robin's house and witnessed—nay, possibly connived at his escape. You were still there when the soldiers overtook the boat in which he and his band were attempting escape, and shot the fugitives and sank their boat. The news in to-day'sCourantcan not but confirm your own hopes of regaining the joys of freedom, with all the advantages for which you married Captain—de Cliffe."As she remained silent, he drew theNewssheet from his pocket and, with a great show of searching out the item, handed it to her. She waved it away with a careless gesture and when he offered to read it to her, she merely bent her head slightly, never moving her eyes from his face.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE DEN OF THE HIGHWAYMAN
Prue allowed James to direct the chairmen to Marlborough House, but, a short distance away, she stopped them, and giving them a crown, desired them to carry her with the utmost speed to Essex Street, where she would reward them amply for their diligence. Scenting an intrigue, with the usual accompaniment of a generous douceur for their share in it, they trotted off at a pace that gave their light burden hard work to keep her seat.
With all their haste, it was dark before they reached Essex Street, where Prue desired them to seek out "Pip's Coffee-House," a small hostelry of retiring, not to say furtive aspect. A flickering oil-lamp hung over the entrance, and through the red-baize window-curtain a dull glimmer penetrated.
Excited as she was, Prue was not without alarms at the sinister possibilities of this adventure, so vastly different from the sparkling follies of her giddy career. But "Cowards fayle," and Prue was no coward, nor was she capable of drawing back when curiosity and inclination combined to thrust her on. She descended, and bidding the chairmen wait, boldly entered the house and knocked at the first door she came to.
A voice called out, "Come in," and she obeyed. The room was of moderate size, divided into small compartments, each containing a rough wooden table and a couple of benches to match. The floor was sanded, the ceiling low and smoke-blackened, but there was no appearance of squalor, and the few occupants, who were reading theNewssheet or playing dominoes, looked respectable and orderly enough.
Reassured, Prue approached the man in charge of the little curtained bar, and in a timid voice inquired for "Mr. Steve Larkyn."
He stared at her, but her veil effectually hid her face, though the sweetness of her voice and the distinction of her bearing could not be disguised.
"Steve Larkyn? I'll call him, my lady," said the man.
"I'm no lady," retorted Prue sharply. "If I were I should not be asking for Steve Larkyn!"
She was sorry for her quickness the next moment, for the man laughed rather rudely, and opening a door behind him, called out, "Hullo, Steve, here's a lady asking for thee, that says she ain't no lady."
The Steve Larkyn who came hurrying out was so unlike the one she had seen in disguise, that she was about to repudiate him, when with a sudden grimace he changed himself back into the rustic foot-boy, all but the shock of tow-colored hair, which no longer covered his sleek brown head. The change passed like a ripple of wind over a smooth pool, but it reassured Prue.
"Can you come outside a minute?" she said, in a very low voice; "I must speak with you."
He followed her into the street, and once out of range of observant eyes and ears, she grasped him by the arm, and demanded to be taken instantly to the captain.
"I can take a message," said Steve, hesitating. "It will attract less notice than a visit from a lady."
"Waste no time in idle objections," she cried, almost fiercely. "Imustsee him; what I have to say is for his ear alone, and even if otherwise, 'twould be a waste of precious time to tell my tale twice over. Lead me to him instantly or take the responsibility of his certain death upon your own head!"
"Come, then," he replied; "but you must come afoot. 'Tis ill enough to take a woman into a secret, without a pair of spying lackeys to boot. Can you walk a short distance? The road is dark and rough."
"No matter, I can walk it." She paid the chairmen liberally, and dismissing them, followed Steve down a steep and narrow lane leading to the riverside. It was unlighted, and she slipped and stumbled on the miry, uneven causeway until Steve, in pity, begged her to lean upon his arm. "'Tis not far now," he said, less gruffly, and a few yards farther they came to a huge and gloomy gateway, within which a little door admitted them into a dark hall. Steve struck a light and led the way across the echoing emptiness and up a broad staircase. He scratched with his nail upon a door, which was promptly opened by Robin himself, fully equipped for a journey.
"Steve!" he exclaimed. "What has happened, and who is this with you?"
Before he could answer. Prue stepped forward and throwing off her veil replied, "Your wife!"
"Lady Prudence!" he cried, scarcely believing the evidence of his senses. "In the name of Heaven, what brings you here? Why are you so pale and excited? Something terrible has happened?"
"No; but will happen unless you instantly escape." She came into the room and closed the door, leaving Steve outside. "Oh! Robin, Robin," she cried, clasping her hands and looking at him with reproachful eyes, "I know all that happened last night. How could you be so mad? You can not hope to escape again if you are arrested for this."
"Indeed," said Robin grimly, "if I am taken this time, 'twill be worse than hanging! But I'll never be taken alive—"
"There is time to escape," she urged. "Your retreat is known and you will be arrested to-night. Lord Beachcombe has discovered where he was brought yester night—"
"Ah!" said Robin, with a bitter smile. "I should have taken extra precautions against the bloodhound instinct of hatred! And so, Dear Heart," he went on, in a very different tone, "you came to warn me of danger? 'Twas very noble of you, for if you had left me to my fate, in a few hours you might have been a free woman."
Prue burst into tears. "Oh! you are cruel, cruel," she sobbed. "I do not want freedom—that way."
"I believe it," he said, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips. "Do not grieve, my hunted life is not worth one of those tears—"
"But hasten," she interrupted, listening attentively and holding up her hand to silence him. "I know who you are and that you are concerned in Jacobite plots. Soldiers will surround the house and you will be arrested and taken to the Tower as a traitor. You have very little time to escape—"
He glanced at some papers on the table and began to gather them up and conceal them about him. In doing this, he uncovered a jewel-case of purple velvet embroidered in gold with the royal arms.
Prue uttered a faint shriek and covered her eyes, as if to shut out the sight that confirmed her worst fears.
"Oh! Robin!" she gasped. "The queen's necklace—!"
"Was it the queen's?" he replied carelessly. "Well, now it is yours, if you care to have it." He opened the case and displayed the diamonds flashing like a string of fire. "'My faith! the gems are gorgeous; they will look well on the peerless neck of my beautiful Prue."
"Iwear the queen's diamonds! You must be mad! What possessed you to take them? Oh, I hoped so that it was a mistake and that you were innocent of this."
"Innocent of what? Do you really think I stole the necklace? My dear Lady Prudence, I am a highwayman when occasion serves, but I am not a thief. Last night, on the king's business, I waylaid the wrong man, and all I got for my pains was this fine casket, which I never opened until now. Evidently I robbed the thief, confound him! and the papers I was commanded to secure are God knows where!"
"Oh! Robin, I am so glad!" she cried. "They said Robin the highwayman was at his tricks again, and had stolen the queen's necklace from Marlborough House, and oh, I was so ashamed to think such a thing could be said of—-my husband!"
She half turned away, murmuring the last words so softly that only the ears of love could have caught them.
"Oh! Prue—angel—is it really possible that you think of me as your husband? Oh! I know there has been an empty ceremony which meant nothing to you, and to me only vain longing and a mad dream of unattainable happiness; but what a fool I am! Of course I ought to have understood that you fear to be brought to shame if it should be suspected that the thief of the queen's necklace is your—"
Prue's eyes flashed and her little high-heeled shoe tapped angrily on the floor.
"You are indeed a fool!" she exclaimed. "I do not know why I have any patience at all with you. Will you begone from here at once, sir, and not offend me by tarrying when I have risked so much to save your life?"
He started and flushed guiltily. "Selfish brute that I am! I forgot the danger to you. A thousand thanks, dear Lady Prudence, for your warning. I will profit by it when I have conducted you to safety."
"You will do nothing of the sort," she retorted imperiously. "When I arrived you were preparing to depart; do so at once, for if you wait for the house to be surrounded by the soldiers it will be too late. Even now, if you leave it alive, you may fall into an ambush. Is there no exit except into the street?"
"Yes; this room opens on a terrace overlooking the river, and although I believed myself safe in London for a few days, I have a boat in readiness in case I should be forced to leave in a hurry," said Robin. "There are hiding-places in Southwark and Lambeth where the queen's whole army might hunt a week for me in vain."
"Be cautious then, for that may be known to your enemies; and, above all, be speedy—"
While she was speaking, the door was flung open abruptly and Steve Larkyn—his face blazing with fury—darted in.
"You are betrayed, Captain!" he ejaculated. "This woman has brought the soldiers with her. For the love of God, do not stop to listen to her, but escape while there is time—"
"You hear?" cried Prue, in a frenzy. "Go—go instantly! I command you!"
"What, go away and leave you here to meet the soldiers alone? Never!" said Robin, with a calmness that contrasted strongly with the excitement of the others.
"Then I will remain with you, and when the soldiers come I will declare that I helped you enter Marlborough House, and show the diamonds to prove that I was your accomplice; nay, I will say that my familiarity with the duchess' apartments gave me access where you could not have entered and thatIstole the diamonds and gave them to you!"
"You will do this?" he gasped, utterly stupefied.
"I will; and if necessary I will proclaim myself your wife and let them think I have had my share in whatever you are accused of."
"But why? In the name of God, what is the meaning of this madness?"
She stretched out her arms to him with a gesture of utter self-abandonment. "It means that I love you, Robin. I love you, and would rather die with you than live without you!"
He caught her in his arms and strained her to his breast with all the pent-up passion of his being in that fervid embrace.
"Leave you—now, my darling, my heart's heart—"
She tore herself from his arms. "More than ever now," she pleaded. "If you hope ever to possess me, fly, and I swear that I will come to you—if not on earth, in Heaven. Stay, I have an idea." She snatched up a sheet of paper and thrust a pen into his hand. "Write," she commanded, and he wrote at her dictation.
"MISTRESS BROOKE:
"Follow the bearer and you will find the queen's diamond necklace."
"There," she exclaimed, laughing and crying together, "leave the rest to me, and go—if you do not wish to destroy us both. Hark! the soldiers are already at the gate," she flung the window open—"trust to my woman's wit," she cried, "I shall not only be safe but covered with glory and honor."
He pressed a burning kiss upon her willing lips and sprang through the window. "Follow your master," she said to Larkyn, who stood by, an effigy of astonishment. He obeyed without demur, and she shut the window, closing and fastening the shutter and half-drawing the faded curtain.
Then she resumed her mantle and veil and looked around for any sign of Robin's late occupancy. He had secured all his papers and on the table nothing was left except the purple velvet case and some writing materials, which she thrust into a drawer. In doing so she came upon a packet addressed:
"The Fox and Grapes."
She took it up and recognized Robin's writing. The angry blood glowed in her veins. "The insolent varlet!" she muttered. "He has been writing to a woman—'Mistress Larkyn,' indeed!—Mine Hostess of the 'Fox and Grapes,' forsooth! 'Tis some low intrigue, and I thought him my true lover and loyal husband. I will see how he addresses this creature." She was about to tear open the packet, when a crash below stairs and the sound of hurried footsteps warned her that the soldiers had broken into the house. She hurriedly thrust it into her bosom and waited.
A voice shouted harshly, "In the queen's name!" and the door was opened without ceremony. Half-a-dozen soldiers with drawn swords rushed in, and at sight of the little cloaked figure, came to a halt in some confusion.
But Prue, without waiting to be interrogated, threw back her veil, exclaiming, "Soldiers!" in accents of well-feigned joy and relief. "Oh! I am so glad! I was afraid, when I heard the noise, that I had fallen into a den of robbers, who would, perhaps, kill me for the sake of the queen's necklace."
"The queen's necklace!" exclaimed the officer in command. "Who are you, and what do you know about the queen's necklace?"
"I am the Viscountess Brooke," she replied, in her loftiest tone, "and this message will explain why I am here, and what I know about the queen's necklace."
She landed the paper to him and watched anxiously to see its effect. He read it dubiously and turned it over and over, evidently at a loss how to deal with a matter outside of his instructions.
"You see the necklace," she went on after a pause, taking up the emblazoned casket and opening it. "The person who brought me here disappeared when the noise began at the gate." She looked round in every direction but the window. "I think there must be a secret panel somewhere in the room, for while my attention was distracted by the noise, she disappeared."
"She!" cried the officer. "Did a woman bring you here? What kind of person was it? Could it not have been a man, disguised?"
"A man!" she exclaimed; "oh, no"—then the advantage of prolonging this cross-examination struck her and she continued slowly, as if pondering over the suggestion—"at least, that never occurred to me. Her voice was loud and rough 'tis true—"
"Was she—or he—tall and broad?" demanded the officer, glancing at a document in his hand and reading from it—"swarthy complexion, black eyes, black hair, without powder, worn—"
She interrupted him with a laugh. "Surely not, the woman was old, bent, no taller than myself; a toothless, blear-eyed beldame—"
"And she disappeared, you say? Sergeant, examine the room thoroughly and break in anything that seems like a secret panel. I fear, Madam," the officer said, again addressing Prue, "that I shall be compelled to arrest you if we can not find the person we are seeking."
"Arrestme!" cried Prue. "Why, you will make yourself the laughing-stock of London if you arrest Lady Prudence Brooke. As to myself, I should enjoy it amazingly; I have never been arrested, and it would be something quite new for me in the way of an adventure, but I have found the queen's necklace"—she clasped it in her arms with an air of defiance—"and you must first take me either to Marlborough House, where it was lost, or to Kensington Palace, where you will easily find out whether or no to arrest one of Her Majesty's ladies-in-waiting."
She threw off her veil and smiled up at him with all the alluring archness at her command. It was not thrown away, although the young soldier made a brave effort to resist her captivating arts, by ordering his men to leave no loophole of escape for the object of their search or any one who might be his accomplice. They roughly tested the walls with blows and kicks, and finding at last a hollow-sounding panel, knocked it in without delay and found, not a secret passage, but a closet containing some weapons, a saddle and a couple of cloaks. These they made into a bundle and were about to search farther, when the sounds of shouts and shots from the river drew their attention that way.
"By Heaven, they have caught him on the river!" cried the officer, hurrying to the window. He unclasped the shutter and dashing the window open, sprang out on the terrace, followed by Prue. The night was intensely dark and a drizzling rain falling, but at a short distance the blaze of torches stained the fog a dull crimson, that looked to her excited imagination like a haze of blood. She stood shivering on the terrace beside the officer, as he shouted himself hoarse in his efforts to get into communication with the crew of the boat which had intercepted Robin's flight, but the lights drifted farther away and the shouting ceased, and, at last, she ventured to lay her hand lightly on the officer's arm.
"Who is being pursued?" she asked, "and what is all the disturbance about?"
"Don't you know that this is the hiding-place of the notorious highwayman, Robin Freemantle, who is also suspected of being an active agent of the Jacobite plotters in Scotland? It is strange that you should be alone here, Madam, and yet know nothing of this man's escape! My orders are to arrest him and all persons found in his company; therefore you must consider yourself under arrest."
"Arrest me if you will," she replied, "but if you refuse to take me to the Duchess of Marlborough or the queen, the consequences be on your own head. Rest assured that there will be honors and promotion for the gallant soldier who protects one of the ladies of the court and brings her and the treasure she has recovered to safety. But to thrust one of my condition"—her eyes flashed and she raised her head with indignant pride—"into prison, will certainly bring disgrace or worse upon you. I have influence with the duchess and through her, with the duke."
The officer was young and not altogether insensible either to the sweet, imperious voice, or the arguments it propounded. He hesitated, and meeting the earnest eyes raised to his, began to waver. This was evidently a great lady. Her elegant dress and haughty manner abashed him, and he began to think that if he took her to the Tower in place of Robin Freemantle, she might prove a dangerous substitute.
"Come, come, Sir Officer," Prue went on, reading the changes of his expression with an experienced eye, "do not be so hard to convince." She smiled up at him now with a bewitching petulance and laid her slender hand on his arm. "'Tis but a step to Marlborough House and I am in a fever to see the duchess. I was, perhaps, indiscreet in coming to this strange place alone, but the hope of finding the jewels turned my foolish head and put all other considerations out of it. I fear I ran a desperate risk; I might have been attacked by robbers, instead of rescued by soldiers! I shall never forget that I owe my safety, perhaps my life, to you!"
By this time the lieutenant was in complete subjection. "I am most fortunate, Madam, in being of some service to you!" he said gallantly. "When I came here to take a prisoner, I little expected to become a captive myself."
Prue finished him off with a glance of irresistible archness. "Oh! I am quite reconciled to my arrest now," she protested. "Indeed, I should claim your escort, if I did not feel sure that you would wish to see the queen's necklace safely through its adventures. Fortunate man! there is not an officer in the duke's army, who would not envy your good luck."
"I can well believe it!" he cried, with an ardent glance. "I would not change places with a general!"
"The duchess appreciates devotion as much as her husband does courage," said Prue, with tantalizing demureness.
"And the Lady Prudence Brooke—does she also appreciate devotion?" the young officer murmured hurriedly. "Oh! if I could believe so—"
"You would take me to Marlborough House instead of the Tower?" she interrupted quickly. "Prove your devotion by doing so, and afterward"—she lingered softly on the word—"we will talk about appreciation."
The soldiers, by this time, having ransacked the house without finding anything suspicious, one of them was despatched to fetch a chair for Lady Prudence, and leaving a guard at the house in case of Robin's return, the lieutenant and the rest of his soldiers escorted the prisoner—and the necklace—to Marlborough House.
CHAPTER XIX
IN THE DUCHESS' APARTMENTS
Any doubts that Prue's escort might have secretly entertained as to the credibility of her strange story, were set at rest the moment she entered the doors of Marlborough House. Her reception was that of the elect; a privileged guest whom all delighted to honor. The obsequious flunkeys bowed before her, and the stately Groom of the Chambers, by whose command the lieutenant was shown into a waiting-room, himself carried the Lady Prue's request for an audience of the duchess on most pressing business.
The anterooms were thronged with visitors whose curiosity had been whetted by a rumor that the long-expected had happened, and that the queen had gladly availed herself of the loss of her jewels as an excuse for humiliating the tyrannical favorite whose exactions had lately increased in proportion to the waning of her influence. It was whispered that the queen had been most reluctant to attend the masquerade, and that the duchess, fearing that she might repeat the slight of a recent public occasion (when Her Majesty had declined to appear in regal state in compliment to her), had exercised her privilege as Mistress of the Robes, and caused certain jewels to be conveyed to the royal tiring-room in Marlborough House. But the queen, on her arrival, had signalized her disapproval of this audacious proceeding, by refusing to make any alteration in the conspicuously simple costume she wore, and the jewels—among which the necklace was the most important—were left in the tiring-room in care of the attendants.
All this, however, was mere gossip. Those more friendly to the duchess discredited the whole story and claimed to know that no royal jewels had come into the house, except on the queen's person, and that if any were mislaid, they would certainly be found either at Kensington Palace, where Her Majesty had been residing for some weeks, or St. James', where she had passed the previous day, in order to incur as little fatigue as possible in attending the masquerade.
Ladies Rialton and Monthemer, with other members of the ducal family and household, flitted from group to group, making light of the rumored estrangement between "poor, unfortunate, faithful Mrs. Morley" and her erstwhile inseparable and all-powerful friend, and vowing that nothing kept them apart but the violent illness of the duchess, over whom the physicians were in consultation as to the propriety of bleeding her to avert an attack of fever. But all hints and allusions to the lost necklace were ignored, and those who were hardy enough to put their inquiries into plain words, were met with diplomatic replies that neither affirmed nor denied anything.
With a greeting here and a hand-pressure there, Prue threaded her way through the crowd and hurried up-stairs to the duchess' private apartments. The way led past the little conservatory where she had sat with Robin last night. It was dark now and the entrance was blocked with tubs containing the orange-trees and shrubs which had adorned the grand stair-case and entrance-hall. Prue's heart beat a shade faster and a pang of remorse assailed her at the thought that by introducing Robin to this sequestered part of the house she had exceeded her privilege as a guest, and exposed both Robin and herself to a suspicion that only her utmost ingenuity could dissipate.
In the duchess' dressing-room a little throng of ladies-in-waiting and intimate friends welcomed her warmly. Deep concern sat upon every face as they listened to the hysterical cries and moans, in which the patient in the adjoining bedroom gave expression to her sufferings, and the broken exclamations and fierce invectives by which she called upon her doctors and attendants to bear witness to the ingratitude and perfidy of the queen, and the baseness of her minions.
While Prue hesitated about intruding, the doctor and the apothecary came out. The former hurried away with a red face and air of offended dignity, and his satellite only lingered long enough to assure the ladies that her grace, having refused to be blooded and having ordered the two medicos from her presence under pain of a drenching with their own potions, nothing could be done for her until she could be brought into a more reasonable mood.
"I must see her at once," said Prue, with decision. "I have a cure for her malady far more efficacious than all the court physicians' nostrums."
"Why, do you come from the queen? Has she found her diamond necklace?" A dozen eager questioners crowded about her, but with a smile of mysterious but encouraging significance, Prue reiterated her demand and at last escaped from further interrogation, by making her way unannounced into the presence of the duchess.
The great lady lay upon her bed, her disordered dress and disheveled hair revealing the ravages of time, which she usually disguised with so much skill. Her tire-women vainly attempted to soothe her by chafing her feet and hands and fanning her flushed and swollen face.
"Who is that?" she screamed, catching sight of Prue. "Go away—I can not see any one—I am very ill—I am dying! Make haste to pay your court to Masham—Masham! the creature I raised out of the mire—the kitchen-wench, who will queen it to-morrow when I am dead! Oh! oh! oh!" And the hysterics were resumed with wilder frenzy than ever.
"Leave her to me," said Prue to the women. "I can cure her, but I must have her to myself for a few minutes." They looked from one to the other with bewildered eyes, wondering at Prue's audacity, yet unable to resist her calm tone of authority.
When they had withdrawn to the farther end of the room, she bent over the shrieking, raving duchess, and said, in a quiet, penetrating voice, "The necklace is not lost, it is quite safe."
The cries ceased with almost ludicrous suddenness. "What do you say?" gasped the patient.
"I will tell you all about it as soon as you are able to lie still and listen," said Prue, who had laid her plans on her way from Essex Street, and had her story all ready. The duchess quieted down and turned her face partly toward her.
"Is that Prudence Brooke?" she asked. "If you know anything about that accursed necklace, tell me quickly, before it is the death of me."
"I have news of it," said Prue, passing a cool, soothing hand over the hot brow and brushing away the heavy, straggling masses of hair, once the pride of Sarah Churchill and the envy of rival beauties. "If the necklace is returned what reward will you give the finder?"
"Reward? Oh! he shall be well rewarded; the finder need not be afraid to ask his own price," cried the duchess. "And yet the thing is worthless to any one, child—worse than worthless—it is deadly! No one would steal it except to injure me! But they shall swing for it, no matter who is at the bottom of it. It is a conspiracy of those who hate me—"
"It is a mistake," interrupted Prue; "the necklace was not stolen, it was taken by—by accident."
"Accident! Oh, I know what kind of accident it was; it was a conspiracy, I tell you!" the duchess reiterated.
"It was a mistake," Prue urged. "I am sure I can prove it."
"Prove it a conspiracy, Prudence Brooke—prove it so that I can get my revenge upon these wretches and you may ask what reward you will. Honors and emoluments shall be heaped upon you—"
"I want neither!" cried Prue vehemently. "That is, the finder would not accept money or anything of that kind." She began to feel uneasy at the threatening tone the duchess took, and her nimble wit jumped for shelter. "For myself," she said, in her most cajoling way, "I would ask a favor—not now, but later—and I want you to promise that you will grant it, no matter how strange and unreasonable it may seem."
The duchess, who was now quite collected, sat up and looked searchingly into the guileless blue eyes, bent so eagerly upon her. "Youwould not ask anything that would injureme?" she said slowly. "My enemies are so many and so wily, I fear to trust—even you. Is it something you want for yourself? If so, I promise."
"A thousand thanks," cried Prue. "I may never ask for anything; certainly never for anything that would hurt my dear benefactress to grant. 'Twas but a fancy. And such strange things happen—one never knows what one may be led into. I have had the strangest adventure to-night—"
"Another time, dear Prue," the duchess interrupted; "I can think of nothing now but the necklace."
"Yet you will own," persisted Prue, "when you have heard it to the end, that it is worth listening to. 'Twas thus—as soon as I heard of your grace's troubles, I set out to offer my heartfelt condolences. Scarce a hundred yards from home, the chair was stopped and a rough hand thrust a paper through the curtains. Here it is; shall I fetch a lamp for you to read it by?"
"No, read it to me. I have wept myself purblind," replied the duchess, without attempting to disguise her impatience and lack of interest.
Prue unfolded the paper, now soiled and crumpled from frequent handling, and read:
"MISTRESS BROOKE:
"Follow the bearer and you will find the queen's diamond necklace."
The duchess started up and seized her arms convulsively. "Is this true, Prue?" she demanded tragically. "Then why did you not go at once without coming to make terms with me first?"
Prue was too well acquainted with the suspicious and selfish nature of the woman to take any offense. "I thought you would be interested," she replied sweetly. "Have a moment's patience and I will tell you how, reckless of consequences, I ordered the chairmen to follow this unknown leader, who took us through narrow by-streets, where I momentarily expected to be waylaid and perhaps murdered. But my desire to serve your grace was stronger than my fears; besides, as you are well aware, I am not very timid, especially when there is an adventure to the fore—"
"Yes, yes, I know how reckless you are, but where did you find the necklace?" the duchess broke in.
"I am coming to that. The chair stopped at last and I descended in a dark and muddy street, where I followed my conductor afoot to a lonely house, apparently uninhabited."
"Prudence—you reckless girl—you ventured into such a place alone and unprotected!" exclaimed the duchess, excited to such a pitch by the story that she absolutely forgot its reference to herself. "What madness!"
"Oh! that is nothing to what I would have done, if necessary, for—for your grace's sake," cried Prue. "But I confess that all my devotion was needed to keep up my courage. Inside the house my situation was even more terrifying. All was dark and empty—it seemed the very place for secret deeds of horror—yet no attempt was made to harm me; not a living creature appeared except the person who wrote this message and who, without any ado, placed this in my hand and begged me to take it away."
Having now arrived at the climax of her story, Prue drew forth the emblazoned casket and displayed the diamond necklace.
The duchess snatched it from her and gazed at it with entranced eyes. She flung her arms about Prue, calling her a heroine and a marvel, and the truest friend woman ever had.
"Any one but you would have gone straight to the queen and left me to my fate. There are those about that ungrateful woman who would have paid mighty high for such a chance of humiliating me. What reward did the robber demand, and how did you satisfy him?"
"There was no robber; only an old woman," said Prue, whipping out her carefully planned lie without a tremor. "I know not how she came by it, but she asked for no reward and only seemed to wish to be rid of it. Indeed, there was no time for me to ask an explanation, if she had one to give, for at the very moment when the casket was in my hands, there arose a hubbub in the street outside and the house was surrounded by soldiers. The old woman disappeared as if by magic, and when the soldiers broke into the room I was alone; nor could they find any trace of her, though they battered the place to pieces."
"She shall be found and compelled to give up her accomplice," cried the duchess furiously. "Soldiers surrounded the house, and yet the miscreant escaped! Pretty soldiers, forsooth!"
"Yes, truly," cried Prue; "and more than that—they arrested poor little me—because I was all alone there with the queen's diamonds; think of that! I had a narrow escape of spending the night in jail! However, my tears and entreaties prevailed upon them to bring me here, and all that remains to be done is to dismiss my captors, and permit me to take my leave of your grace."
"Not so fast, Prue; you have still something to do for me," said the duchess. "I must hasten to the queen and you must go with me, and repeat what you have just told me. Marie!—Alice!—leave off chattering and tire me with all despatch. I must see the queen without a moment's loss of time."
"Surely, 'tis too late to-night," remonstrated Prue, who was sinking with fatigue. "Her Majesty will have retired."
"That's no matter," retorted the duchess arrogantly; "I am still Mistress of the Robes, and by virtue of my office entitled to enter the queen's bed-chamber at all hours of day or night. You must accompany me, and repeat your story, else I might be discredited by the reptiles who are for ever at the royal ear, poisoningpoor, faithful Mrs. Morley'smind against her once belovedMrs. Freeman. Come, I am ready."
As they descended by a private staircase to take the carriage, the Groom of the Chambers approached, and deferentially inquired what was to be done with the Viscountess Brooke's military escort.
"Faith, 'tis the honest soldier who wanted to hale me off to jail," cried Prue in reply to the duchess' look of surprised inquiry. "He came prepared to arrest a houseful of robbers or conspirators—he seemed uncertain just which—and finding me alone, with the queen's necklace in my hand, would have taken me to prison if I had not coaxed him to bring me to you first. If I might venture to suggest that your grace bid him attend us, he can corroborate my story, if needful."
"Let him come," the duchess commanded. "I would I had a hundred witnesses that it was not found in Marlborough House."
CHAPTER XX
A THREAT AND A PROMISE
When Prue reached home, about midnight, Peggie, who had been watching at the window during several anxious hours, met her at the door and almost carried her up-stairs in a strenuous embrace.
"Was that the Marlborough carriage?" she demanded eagerly.
"Yes; the duchess insisted on bringing me home."
"Then all is well; you have no idea how uneasy I have been. About ten o'clock, Sir Geoffrey came to see you; on a matter of the utmost importance, he declared, and the mysterious hints he threw out about the danger your rashness and love of adventure had led you into, positively drove me distracted."
"I am deeply indebted to him for his solicitude," said Prue disdainfully, "but the worst danger my rashness ever brought me near—that of marrying Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert—is happily averted. 'Tis true I have committed other follies—one of which has snatched me from the jaws of that peril, only to plunge me into a host of others, from which I know not how I shall extricate myself. Alack! my dearest Peg, methinks poor Prue is but a sorry fool after all's said."
Peggie's countenance fell into an expression of deep concern. For Prue to express a doubt of her own ready wit, was to utter heresy against the first article of Peggie's faith in her.
"Why, what has happened?" Peggie asked, almost tearfully.
"Oh! nothing but good: indeed, the Fates have showered me with good luck until I am afraid I shall be buried alive under it."
"Come, there are worse ways of being buried than that," cried Peggie, brightening up. "A fig for Sir Geoffrey's croaking, if there be nothing else to fear. Now tell me where you have been all the evening; with the duchess, of course, as she brought you home?"
"Not all the time. First I found the necklace. Then I took it to the duchess and together we returned it to the queen. And now, Peggie, bring down your eyebrows out of your hair and don't open your mouth wide enough to engulf me, and I'll tell you everything that has happened to me, if you will undress me, for I am too tired to move a finger."
Peggie most gladly set to work and had her cousin unlaced and unpinned and comfortably tucked in bed, long before the history of the evening's events had been expounded. From her, Prue hid nothing; in fact she was craving to pour her confidence into that kindly ear and receive such ungrudging sympathy and shrewd advice as the circumstances prompted.
When Peggie had exhausted the vocabulary of astonishment, admiration, congratulation and anticipation—had shuddered at Prue's danger, laughed at her wily devices, marveled incredulously at her passionate avowal of love, and rejected all possibility of fear for Robin's safety, she withdrew reluctantly, declaring that she should not close an eye that night—and was fast asleep almost before her head reached the pillow.
Prue was less fortunate, and for an hour or two tossed and turned, vainly trying every soothing device to calm her racked nerves and woo repose.
While Peggie the optimistic was beside her, Robin's escape appeared more than probable; she could almost persuade herself that it was an accomplished fact. But it looked less certain, now her blood ran cool, and her high spirit flagged in the darkness and silence of night. Her faith in his courage and resource could not entirely resist the paralyzing touch of fear, and even her confidence in the value of the pledge she had extracted from the duchess was shaken by the unmistakable coolness of the queen, who had listened in silence to the explanations of her former favorite and reserved all her praises and expressions of satisfaction for Prue, to whom she had been cordiality itself.
Toward morning she slept so long and heavily, that Peggie came and went a dozen times before the long lashes lifted and the sweet blue eyes smiled drowsily up at her. And even when she woke she was loath to rise, and fain to rest more than once during the tedious process of her toilet, interrupted as it was by an obsequious procession of mercers and modistes, eager to make their peace with the restored favorite by the most pressing and disinterested services.
But a curious change had come over the wilful beauty, and instead of throwing herself heart and soul into the entrancing discussions of hoops and pouffes, sarsenet and tabbinet, plumes and perfumes, she declined the counsel of this one and the coaxing of that one, and sent the sycophant crowd away wondering what had happened to turn the most extravagant of court butterflies niggardly. The most bewitching "head," the richest farthingale, won but a passing glance and a word of careless criticism, and when Peggie, almost as dissatisfied as the rejected tradesfolk, remonstrated against such a blind neglect of opportunity, Prue lay back wearily in her chair and dropping her arms loosely at her side, said impatiently:
"Cousin, Cousin—I am sick to death of it all!"
"All of what?" cried Peggie briskly. "All you have lost for a whole year and won back in less than a week?"
"Aye, all that and more; sick of court and courtiers, sick of idle men and vapid women, sick of myself most of all—"
Then she sprang to her feet and burst out laughing. "What a fool I am, Peg, and what a fool you look standing there, open-mouthed, drinking in my vaporings as though you never had heard me grumble before! Did you think I was in earnest? Why, I was never so happy in my life. Did not the queen kiss me on the cheek, and the duchess swear to give me whatever I might ask of her; even the first choice of the places she has no longer to dispose of and the royal favors that she can no longer influence? Am I not invited to Windsor as lady-in-waiting on probation and lauded to the skies as a heroine by—"
"Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert wishes to know if your ladyship will receive him."
The voice of James at the door produced a silence so profound that after a short pause he repeated his message in a louder tone. "Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert is below, my Lady, and wishes to see your ladyship most particularly."
"You had better see him," said Peggie, in response to Prue's startled and questioning glance.
"I will see Sir Geoffrey," said Prue. "Tell him I will be down immediately."
"Shall I come with you?" asked Peggie.
"Oh, no, no. I can play my little comedy better to an audience of one; besides,youknow the truth!" she cried, and ran to the mirror to see if the battery of her charms was in order for the fray.
Sir Geoffrey, his face set in a mechanical smile, met her with a deep bow and pressed a ceremonious kiss upon her extended hand.
"Permit your slave to offer his humble congratulations, my dear Prudence," he said; "I hear that you have distinguished yourself with even more than your usual brilliancy."
"You allude to the fortunate accident that enabled me to return the lost necklace to Her Majesty, I presume?" Prue replied, seating herself and negligently pointing with her fan to a sufficiently distant chair. "I assure you I deem myself most happy in rendering a service, which has been only too highly appreciated, but I can not lay claim to brilliancy, for I was but a passive instrument."
"The brilliancy I refer to, dear Viscountess, was not so much the 'fortunate accident' as the ready wit by which you turned so compromising an adventure to such good account," said Sir Geoffrey significantly.
The challenge of his tone and words was unmistakable and Prue responded with more spirit than wisdom.
"You must speak more plainly if you wish to be understood," she answered. "Compromising adventures, you know very well, are not rare in my experience—or yours"—she laughed rather maliciously—"but I seldom turn them to good account. Now, the accident that gave the queen's necklace into my hands—"
"Was the happy result of a little visit to Newgate," interposed Sir Geoffrey, with veiled insolence. "Why beat about the bush with me, dearest girl? I know who gave you the necklace—when he was warned, by you, of the danger of keeping it! and how it came about that he was lucky enough to escape before the soldiers arrived to arrest him."
"What in the world are you talking about, Sir Geoffrey?" she cried, with rather over-acted bewilderment.
"What is every one talking about to-day, but the madcap viscountess, who coaxed the highwayman out of the stolen necklace, and being caught in the trap that was limed for Robin Freemantle, circumvented the soldiers, cozened the Duchess of Marlborough and beguiled the Queen's Majesty. Am I not right in congratulating you on such a brilliant series of achievements?"
"My dear Sir Geoffrey, you have mistaken your vocation," she laughed. "With such an imagination you ought to have been, not a member of Parliament, but a poet! I am quite interested in this romance; surely there is more of it?"
"Considerably more," he went on, lowering his voice and drawing his chair closer to her. "There are those who saw the beautiful shepherdess in close conversation with a masker in red, at the ball; and who now know that he was no other than Robin Freemantle in the borrowed plumes of Beachcombe. You have enemies, fair Prudence—men you have jilted and women you have excelled in wit and beauty—and by some of these you were seen, in company with the Red Domino, very near the queen's tiring-room, from which the necklace was stolen. Can you wonder that when a story is bruited about that Lady Prudence Brooke, in dead of night, was discovered with the necklace in her possession, in the place where Robin Freemantle was looked for, these good people should compare notes about her ladyship's latest exploit, and place their own construction upon it?"
"And you, Sir Geoffrey?" she asked, her thoughtful eyes upon his, "what construction do you place upon this curious rodomontade?"
"Oh!" he laughed softly; "I hold all the clews, so it seems less of a rodomontade to me than, perhaps, to others. I alone know of the little ceremony in Newgate, which explains all."
"Oh! it explains all, does it?" she repeated reflectively. "I should be glad to hear the explanation, now you have propounded the conundrum."
"'Tis simple enough. When Barbara Sweeting told the story of the necklace, you instantly jumped at the same conclusion as the rest of us—namely, that Robin Freemantle, secure in his disguise, had made the use of his opportunity that a robber naturally would, and had stolen the most valuable thing he could lay his hands on—"
"Oh! then you don't give me the credit of the robbery?" she exclaimed with a pout. "It would have added so much to the interest of the romance if I—"
"You? Oh! Lady Prudence, can you ask me such a question?" he interrupted, in a tone of vehement reproach. "I only give you credit for hastening to warn your—husbandof his danger and carrying away the incriminating proof of his guilt; and I admire your courage and generosity though I deplore its object."
"Have you quite finished this romantic story, Sir Geoffrey?" queried Prue, dismissing his personal opinion with a disdainful toss of her fan.
"The preface only, but the rest will wait," he replied, with a sinister smile.
"Then perhaps you would like to hear what really happened? It would be useless for me to deny—even if I wished—that I spoke with Captain Freemantle, at the ball—"
"Quite so," Sir Geoffrey agreed blandly.
"Not that I wish to deny it," she went on petulantly; "at a masquerade everything is permitted, and you, my dear Sir Geoffrey, know better than any one else, this gentleman's claim upon my attention. Still, I fail to see any connection between Captain Freemantle's presence at the ball and the disappearance of the necklace—about which, you must acknowledge, that I know more than any one else, since I found—and restored it."
Sir Geoffrey bowed his acquiescence, but his smile was not reassuring.
"We all know what an admirableraconteuseBarbara is, and I was naturally much worked up by her story of the lost necklace; in fact I could scarcely restrain my impatience to hear a more authentic account," Prue proceeded, recovering her self-confidence, which for a moment had wavered under Sir Geoffrey's attack. "So the moment my visitors left me, I sent for a chair and started for Marlborough House, to get my information at first hand. At a short distance, however, I was interrupted by a person who thrust this paper into my hand."
She drew from her bosom the crumpled document which had already played an important part in her version of the affair, and handed it to him.
Sir Geoffrey read it carefully, refolded it, and meeting her eye, bowed gravely, as though to intimate that he was too much interested to break the thread of the narrative, even by a word.
"You know my love of adventure too well to doubt that I instantly decided to risk everything and follow this clue. It took me to a dismal old house—empty, I believe, except for an old hag, who, keeping her face concealed, thrust the casket into my hands and at the first sound of the soldiers' approach, disappeared."
Sir Geoffrey softly clapped his hands, as though in applause.
"Capital! excellent!" he cried. "My dear Prue, with shame I confess that I never before have done justice to the vast resources of your wit. I actually dared to wonder how you had managed to forestall suspicion and snatch safety out of the jaws of peril. You have surpassed yourself! To plan so subtly; to execute so promptly! To omit nothing—even the written proof—and to crown it all with a guileless frankness that might disarm the most captious, and certainly would have deceived me, if I had not been close beside you from the moment you emerged from your own door until that of Robin Freemantle hid you from my jealous eyes!"
Then suddenly, without giving her time to disguise the startled dismay that sprang to her eyes, he bent forward and seized her two hands in his.
"Why treat your faithful lover so harshly, sweet Prue?" he went on passionately. "Have I not proven my love again and again in the defense of your reputation and in unquestioning submission to your caprices? Have I not endured your coldness and yielded my just claims before the scruple that prompted you to deny your future husband the smallest favor, while the phantom of a vow linked you to a felon? And am I to have no reward, not even enough of your confidence to enable me to give the lie to your traducers?"
"My traducers!" she cried impatiently. "Who are they? At present the only person who has dared to cast a doubt on my veracity is—Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert!"
"And how long do you expect to escape the pack of 'damned good-natured friends' who have been accustomed to feed upon the choice morsels of scandal you have liberally provided for them?" he demanded. "Before to-night every gossip in town will be in possession of the story of your adventures, and each one who recounts it will put his own construction upon it."
"'Tis true," she murmured. "I have often assisted at such feasts of reason. They are highly entertaining, and every one is eager to add a dash of spice or vinegar to the witches' broth. And there is nothing I can do to stop those busybodies." She glanced resentfully at Sir Geoffrey, yet there was inquiry in her eye.
"Certainly there is something," he replied, answering the unspoken question. "You can give them something else to talk about that will throw the escapade of the necklace into the shade. The shade, do I say? Rather into utter oblivion." An ironical smile began to dawn upon her face, but he did not leave her time to speak. "You can give them a wedding to talk about, a subject that eclipses every other; if you prefer it, an elopement; indeed, I think that would be more dramatic. Say but the word, dearest, and in an hour, a post-chaise—"
"Oh! Sir Geoffrey," she exclaimed, bursting into a hearty laugh. "Can you really seriously propose such an absurdity tome? An elopement? a post-chaise? Methinks I should be like a man who jumps into a river to avoid being wetted by a passing shower! We should indeed give the town something to talk about; and not only talk, but laugh at."
"Let them laugh," said Sir Geoffrey doggedly. "So can I; and he laughs longest who laughs last."
"With me for the butt of your hilarity? Thanks, I am always pleased to have my friends—and my enemies—laughwithme, but to have them all laughingatme is scarcely to my taste. Besides, for you, Sir Geoffrey, to suggest such a thing to me—you who know that I am already another man's wife and can not therefore legally become yours—for you to make such an offer is an insult—no less."
"My dearest Prue, spare me these reproaches. I grant that yesterday, while this man lived, you were—in a sort of way—his wife. But why should you, who were on the spot, pretend to be ignorant of what the whole town knows this morning, that Robin Freemantle was killed last night, and that consequently you are, as you naturally wish to be—his widow? I congratulate you—and myself."
All Prue's forebodings revived at these words, uttered with an air of triumphant security that struck a chill to her heart. "I—I do not understand you—" she stammered, trying to appear unconcerned.
"Oh! I think you do," he replied, "only you love to torment me by playing the inexorable prude. You were at Robin's house and witnessed—nay, possibly connived at his escape. You were still there when the soldiers overtook the boat in which he and his band were attempting escape, and shot the fugitives and sank their boat. The news in to-day'sCourantcan not but confirm your own hopes of regaining the joys of freedom, with all the advantages for which you married Captain—de Cliffe."
As she remained silent, he drew theNewssheet from his pocket and, with a great show of searching out the item, handed it to her. She waved it away with a careless gesture and when he offered to read it to her, she merely bent her head slightly, never moving her eyes from his face.