The Prince and the Parson held several long interviews in the two days
that followed, and it was apparent from one meeting which took place,
and at which both Mason and Garrett were present, that some clever
manoeuvre was intended. The quartette held solemn councils in the
Prince's chambers, and there was much discussion, and considerable
laughter.
The latter, it appeared, was in consequence of Max's recollection of the
wonderful record of his Highness at Brooklands.
On the day appointed both Prince and parson, attended by the faithful
Charles, left King's Cross by train for Whitby, Garrett having started
alone on the "forty," with orders to travel by way of Doncaster and
York, and arrive at Milnthorpe by noon next day.
The fine old place was, the Prince found, quite a comfortable residence.
The widow did the honours gracefully, welcoming her guests warmly.
When the two friends found themselves alone in the Prince's room, his
Highness whispered to the exemplary vicar:
"I don't like the look of that Italian butler, Tommy. Do you know I've
a very strange fancy?"
"Of what?"
"That I've met that fellow before, somewhere or other."
"I sincerely hope not," was the clergyman's response.
"Where I've met him I can't remember. By Jove! It'll be awkward for us
if he recollects me."
"Then we'll have to watch him. I wonder if--"
And the Parson crossed noiselessly to the bedroom door and opened it
suddenly.
As he did so there was the distinct sound of some one scuffling round
the corner in the corridor. Both men detected it.
There had been an eavesdropper! They were suspected!
At dinner that night the pair cast furtive glances at the thin,
clean-shaven face of the middle-aged Italian butler, whose head was
prematurely bald, but whose manners as a servant were perfect. Ferrini
was the name by which his mistress addressed him, and it was apparent
that he was very devoted to her. The young footman was English--a
Cockney, by his twang.
In the old panelled room, with its long family portraits and its old
carved buffet laden with well-kept silver--or rather electro-plate, as
the pair already knew--a well-cooked dinner was served amid flowers and
cunningly-concealed lights. The table was a round one, and the only
other guest was a tall, fair-haired young girl, a Miss Maud Mortimer,
the daughter of a neighbouring squire. She was a loosely built,
slobbering miss, with a face like a wax doll, and a slight impediment in
her speech.
At first she seemed shy in the presence of the Kaiser's cousin, but
presently, when her awkwardness wore off, she grew quite merry.
To the two visitors the meal was a perfect success. Those dark watchful
eyes of the Italian, however, marred their pleasure considerably. Even
the Parson was now convinced that the man knew something.
What was it? Where had the fellow met the Prince before? Was it under
suspicious circumstances--or otherwise?
Next day Garrett arrived with the car, while to the White House Hotel at
Whitby came a quietly dressed and eminently respectable golfer, who gave
his name as Harvey, but with whom we are already familiar under the name
of Mason.
The afternoon was a hot, breathless one, but towards five o'clock the
Prince invited his hostess to go for a run on the "forty"--repainted,
since its recent return from the Continent, dark blue with a coronet and
cipher upon its panels.
Garrett who had had a look round the widow's "sixty" Mercedes, in
confidence told his master that it was all in order, and that the
chauffeur was an experienced man.
With the widow and her two guests seated together behind, Garrett drove
the car next day along the pretty road by Pickering down to Malton,
returning by way of Castle Howard. The pace they travelled was a fast
one, and the widow, turning to his Highness, said:
"Really, Prince, to motor with you is quite a new experience. My man
would never dare to go at such a rate as this for fear of police-traps."
"I'm pretty lucky in escaping them," responded the good-looking
adventurer, glancing meaningly at the man in black clerical overcoat and
cap.
"The Prince once ran from Boulogne to Nice in twenty-eight hours on his
St Christopher," remarked the Rev Thomas. "And in winter, too."
"Marvellous!" declared the widow, adjusting her pale-blue motor-veil,
new for the occasion. "There's no doubt a great future before that
car--especially after the record at Brooklands."
"Rather!" exclaimed the rubicund vicar. "I'm only a poor parson, but if
I had a little capital I should certainly put it in. I have inside
knowledge, as they say in the City, I believe, Mrs Edmondson," he
laughed.
"From the Prince?"
"Of course. He intends having the largest interest in the concern.
They've had eight orders for racers in the last six days. A record at
Brooklands means a fortune to a manufacturer."
His Highness was silent, while the self-satisfied widow discussed the
future of the eight-cylinder St Christopher.
Returning to the Hall, Ferrini came forth bowing to his mistress, and
casting a distinctly suspicious glance at the two visitors. Both men
noticed it, and were not a little apprehensive. They had played some
clever games, but knew not from one moment to the other when some
witness might not point a finger at them in open denunciation.
While the Prince was dressing for dinner Charles said:
"That butler fellow is far too inquisitive for my liking. I found him
in here an hour ago, and I'm positive he had been trying to unlock your
crocodile suit-case. He made an excuse that he had come to see whether
you had a siphon of soda. But I actually caught him bending over your
bag."
The Prince remained grave and silent.
"Where have we met that fellow before? I can't remember."
"Neither can I. His face is somehow familiar. I'm sure we've seen him
somewhere!"
"That's what the Parson says. Write to Max at Whitby, and tell him to
come over on some pretext or other and get a glance at the man. Post
the letter yourself to-night."
"Perhaps the fellow is afraid of his plate," the valet exclaimed in an
undertone, laughing.
"He needn't be. It's all `B' electro--not worth taking away in a
dung-cart. The only thing I've seen is the old woman's necklet, and
that she keeps in her room, I fancy. If the sparklers are real they're
worth a couple of thousand to the Dutchman."
"They are certainly real. She's got them out of the bank in your
honour. Her maid told me so to-day. And she means, I believe, to give
a big dinner-party for some of the county people to meet you."
"Are you sure of this?" asked his master quickly.
"The cook told the footman, who told me. The housekeeper to-day ordered
a lot of things from London, and to-morrow the invitations are to be
sent out."
"Are people coming here to dine and sleep?"
"Yes. Eight bedrooms are to be prepared."
"Then keep an eye on that confounded Italian. Send that letter to Max,
and tell him to reply to you in cipher. His letter might fall into
somebody else's hands. Max might also inquire into what the police
arrangements are about here--where the village constable lives, and
where is the nearest police-station."
"Couldn't you send me in to Whitby, and I'd give him all instructions,
and tell him the state of affairs?"
"Yes. Go in the morning. Garrett will take you in on the car. Say
you're going to buy me a book I want."
And with that his Highness finished tying his cravat with care, and
descended into the pretty drawing-room, where the widow, lounging
picturesquely beneath the yellow-shaded lamp, awaited him.
That evening the Parson, who complained of headache on account of the
sun during a walk in the morning, retired to his room early, and until
past eleven the Prince sat alone with his fat and flattered hostess.
As she lolled back in the big silk-covered easy-chair, slowly fanning
herself and trying to look her best, he, calm, calculating person that
he was, had his eyes fixed upon her sparkling necklet, wondering how
much the old Jew in Amsterdam would give for it.
"What a splendid ornament!" he remarked, as though he had noticed it for
the first time.
"Do you like it?" she asked with a smile. "It belonged to my husband's
family."
"Beautiful!" remarked his Highness, bending closer to examine it, for he
had the eye of a connoisseur, and saw that it was probably French work
of the eighteenth century.
"Many people have admired it," she went on. "My husband was very fond
of jewellery, and gave me quite a quantity. I never keep it here,
however, for a year ago an attempt was made to break into the place."
"So you keep them in a safe deposit?" he exclaimed; "and quite right,
too. Diamonds are always a sore temptation to burglars."
"I'm asking a few people to dinner next Wednesday, and am sending to the
bank in York for some of my ornaments," remarked the widow. "I hope
they'll be safe here. Since the attempt by thieves, I confess I've been
awfully nervous."
"Oh, they'll be safe enough," declared the audacious adventurer, taking
a fresh Russian cigarette from his case.
"I hope so. I have invited a few people--the best in the county--to
meet your Highness. I hope you won't object."
"Not at all," he replied affably. "Only, as you know, I much prefer to
remain _incognito_."
"You're one of the most modest men I've ever met," she declared, in a
soft voice, intended to be seductive.
"I find life as a commoner much more agreeable than as a prince," he
responded. "In _incognito_, I always enjoy freedom of speech and
freedom of action, which, as a royalty, it is impossible to obtain."
The widow's mind was ever active. She was straining her utmost to
fascinate her guest. The difference in their ages was really not so
very great. Her secret hope was that she could induce him to make a
declaration of love. Fancy her, plain Mrs Edmondson, ridiculed by the
county and only tolerated by a certain section of it, suddenly becoming
a princess!
Milnthorpe was a beautiful old place, but to her it was but a sepulchre.
She hated it because, while in residence there, she was buried alive.
She preferred Monte Carlo, Paris, or even Cairo.
"Then the dinner-party will be a very smart one?" he remarked for want
of something better to say. "And my hostess herself will surely be the
smartest of them all," he added with a bow and an intent to flatter.
"Ah! I fear not," replied the widow with a slight sigh. "I dare say
the diamonds which poor Tubby gave me are as good as any worn by the
other women, but as for smartness--well, Prince, a woman's mirror does
not lie," and she sighed again. "Youth is but fleeting, and a woman's
life is, alas! a long old age."
"Oh, come!" he laughed, lounging back in his chair. "You haven't yet
arrived at the regretful age. Life is surely still full of youth for
you!"
She was much gratified at that little speech of his, and showed it.
He continued to flatter her, and with that cunning innate within him he
slowly drew from her the fact that she would not be averse to a second
marriage. He was fooling her, yet with such cleverness that she, shrewd
woman that she was, never dreamed that he was laughing at her in his
sleeve.
So earnest, so sensible, so perfectly frank and straightforward was he,
that when after half an hour's _tete-a-tete_ she found him holding her
hand and asking her to become Princess, she became utterly bewildered.
What she replied she hardly knew, until suddenly, with an old-fashioned
courtliness, he raised her fat, bejewelled hand gallantly to his lips
and said:
"Very well. Let it be so, Mrs Edmondson. We are kindred spirits, and
our souls have affinity. You shall be my princess."
"And then the old crow started blubbering," as he forcibly described the
scene afterwards to the Parson.
For a few moments he held her in his embrace, fearful every moment that
the ferret-eyed Italian should enter. Indeed, his every movement seemed
to be watched suspiciously by that grave, silent servant.
They mutually promised, for the present, to keep their secret. He
kissed her upon the lips, which, as he declared to the Parson, were
"sticky with some confounded face-cream or other." Then Ferrini
suddenly appeared, and his mistress dismissed him for the night. The
Prince, however, knew that he would not retire, but lurk somewhere in
the corridor outside.
He stood before the old Jacobean fireplace, with its high overmantel of
carved stone and emblazoned arms, a handsome man who would prove
attractive to any woman. Was it therefore any wonder that the ambitious
widow of the shipbuilder should have angled after him?
He had entirely eclipsed the Parson.
First their conversation was all of affection; then it turned upon
something akin, money. Upon the latter point the Prince was utter
careless. He had sufficient, he declared. But the widow was persistent
in telling him the state of her own finances. Besides the estate of
Milnthorpe, which produced quite a comfortable income, she enjoyed half
the revenue from the great firm her husband had founded, and at that
moment, besides other securities, she had a matter of seventy thousand
pounds lying idle at her bank, over which she had complete control.
She expected this would interest him, but, on the contrary, he merely
lit a fresh cigarette, and having done so, said:
"My dear Mrs Edmondson, this marriage of ours is not for monetary
interest. My own estates are more than sufficient for me. I do not
desire to touch one single penny of your money. I wish you to enjoy
your separate estate, and remain just as independent as you are to-day."
And so they chatted on until the chimes of the stable clock warned them
it was two in the morning. Then having given him a slobbery good-night
kiss, they separated.
Before his Highness turned in, he took from his steel despatch-box a
small black-covered book, and with its aid he constructed two cipher
telegrams, which he put aside to be despatched by Charles from the
Whitby post office in the morning.
The calm, warm summer days went slowly by. Each afternoon the widow--
now perfectly satisfied with herself--accompanied her two guests on runs
on the Prince's "forty"--one day to Scarborough, the next over the
Cleveland Hills to Guisborough, to Helmsley on to the ruins of Rievaulx,
and to other places.
One afternoon the Parson made an excuse to remain at home, and the widow
took the Prince in to York in her own Mercedes. Arrived there, they
took tea in the coffee-room of the Station Hotel, then, calling at a
solicitor's office in Coney Street, appended their joint names to a
document which, at the widow's instigation, had already been prepared.
A quarter of an hour later they pulled up before the West Riding Bank in
Stonegate, and though the offices were already closed, a clerk on duty
handed to the widow a box about eighteen inches square, tied with
string, and sealed with four imposing red seals. For this she scribbled
her name to a receipt, and placing it in the car between them, drove
back by way of Malton, Pickering, and Levisham.
"This is the first time I've had my tiara out, my dear Albert, since the
burglars tried to get in," she remarked when they had gone some
distance, and the Mercedes was tearing along that level open stretch
towards Malton.
"Well, of course, be careful," answered her companion. Then after a
pause he lowered his voice so the chauffeur could not overhear, and
said: "I wonder, Gertrude, if you'll permit me to make a remark--without
any offence?"
"Why, certainly. What is it?"
"Well, to tell the truth, I don't half like the look of that foreign
servant of yours. He's not straight. I'm sure of it by the look in his
eyes."
"How curious! Do you know that the same thought has occurred to me
these last few days," she said. "And yet he's such a trusty servant.
He's been with me nearly two years."
"Don't trust him further, Gertrude, that's my advice," said his Highness
pointedly. "I'm suspicious of the fellow--distinctly suspicious. Do
you know much of him?"
"Nothing, except that he's a most exemplary servant."
"Where was he before he entered your service?"
"With Lady Llangoven, in Hertford Street. She gave him a most excellent
character."
"Well, take my warning," he said. "I'm sure there's something underhand
about him."
"You quite alarm me," declared the widow. "Especially as I have these,"
and she indicated the sealed parcel at her side.
"Oh, don't be alarmed. While I'm at Milnthorpe I'll keep my eyes upon
the fellow, never fear. I suppose you have a safe in which to keep your
jewels?"
"Yes. But some of the plate is kept there, and he often has the key."
His Highness grunted suspiciously, thereby increasing the widow's alarm.
"Now you cause me to reflect," she said, "there were several curious
features about this recent attempt of thieves. The police from York
asked me if I thought that any one in the house could have been in
league with them. They apparently suspected one or other of the
servants."
"Oh!" exclaimed the Prince. "And the Italian was at that time in your
service?"
"Yes."
"Then does not that confirm our suspicions? Is he not a dangerous
person to have in a house so full of valuable objects as Milnthorpe?"
"I certainly agree. After the dinner-party on Wednesday, I'll give him
notice."
"Rather pay the fellow his month's money, and send him away," her
companion suggested. Then in the same breath he added: "Of course it is
not for me to interfere with your household arrangements. I know this
is great presumption. But my eyes are open, and I have noted that the
man is not all he pretends to be. Therefore I thought it only my duty
to broach the subject."
"My interests are yours," cooed the widow at his side. "Most decidedly
Ferrini shall go. Or else one morning we may wake up and find that
thieves have paid us a second visit."
Then, the chauffeur having put on a "move," their conversation became
interrupted, and the subject was not resumed, for very soon they found
themselves swinging through the lodge-gates of Milnthorpe.
Wednesday night came. Milnthorpe Hall was aglow with light, the rooms
beautifully decorated by a well-known florist, the dinner cooked by a
_chef_ from London, the music played by a well-known orchestra stationed
on the lawn outside the long, oak-panelled dining-room; and as one guest
after another arrived in carriages and cars they declared that the widow
had certainly eclipsed herself by this entertainment in honour of his
Highness Prince Albert of Hesse-Holstein.
Not a word of their approaching marriage was allowed to leak out. For
the present, it was their own secret. Any premature announcement might,
he had told her, bring upon him the Kaiser's displeasure.