Roddy Redmayne, having returned safely from abroad, was living in quiet
seclusion with Guy in apartments in a small, pleasantly situated cottage
beyond West Worthing, on the dusty road to Goring. Immediately on his
arrival from Hull he had gone to Brighton, but after a few days had
taken apartments in the ancient little place, with its old-world garden
filled with roses.
Both he and Guy, under assumed names, of course, represented themselves
as clerks down from London, spending their summer holidays, and
certainly their flannel suits, white shoes, and Panama hats gave them
that appearance. Kinder was in hiding in a house up in
Newcastle-on-Tyne, having crossed to that port from Antwerp. The
Baroness's jewels, which were a particularly fine lot, had been disposed
of to certain agents in Leyden, and therefore Roddy and his friends were
in funds, though they gave no sign of wealth to their landlady, the
thrifty wife of a cab proprietor.
It was a very pleasant little cottage, standing quite alone, and as the
two men were the only lodgers they were quite free to do as they liked.
The greater part of the day they smoked and read under the trees in the
big, old-fashioned garden, and at evening would walk together into
Worthing, and generally met Claire upon the pier.
"Madame," as they called her, went with Leucha several times and lunched
with them at the little place, while once or twice they had had the
honour of dining at her table, when they had found her a most charming
hostess. Both men tried to do all they could to render her what little
services lay in their power, and each day they sent her from the
florist's large bunches of tea-roses, her favourite flowers. Little
Ignatia was not forgotten, for they sent her dolls and toys.
Claire's life was now at last calm and peaceful, with her three strange
friends. Leucha was most attentive to Ignatia, and took her each
morning for a run with bare feet upon the sands, while the two men who
seldom, if ever, went out before dusk, generally met her and walked with
her after dinner beside the sea.
Often, when alone, she wondered how her husband fared at Treysa, and how
Carl was enduring the broiling heat of the long, thirsty Italian summer.
Where was that traitress, the Trauttenberg, and what, she wondered, had
become of those two faithful servants, Allen and Henriette? Her past
unhappiness at Treysa sometimes arose before her like some hideous but
half-remembered dream. In those days she lived among enemies, but now
she was with friends, even though they might be outlawed from society.
With all her timid flexibility and soft acquiescence Claire was not
weak; for the negative alone is weak, and the mere presence of goodness
and affection implies in itself a species of power, power with repose--
that soul of grace.
Many a pleasant stroll after sundown she took with the courtly old
adventurer, who looked quite a gay old dog in his flannels and rakish
Panama pulled down over his eyes; or with Guy, who dressed a trifle more
quietly. The last-named, however, preferred, of course, the society of
Leucha, and frequently walked behind with her. Claire treated Roddy's
daughter more as an equal than as a dependant--indeed, treated her as
her lady-in-waiting, to fetch and carry for her, to tie her veil, to
button her gloves, and to perform the thousand and one little services
which the trained lady-in-waiting does so deftly and without ceremony.
Though at first very strange to the world, Claire was now beginning to
realise its ways, and to enjoy and appreciate more and more the freedom
which she had at last gained. She delighted in those evening walks
beneath the stars, when they would rest upon a seat, listening to the
soft music of the sea, and watching the flashing light of the Owers and
the bright beacon on Selsea Bill.
Yes, life in the obscurity of Worthing was indeed far preferable to the
glare and glitter of the Court at Treysa. The people in the town--
shopkeepers and others--soon began to know Madame Bernard by sight, and
so many were her kindly actions that the common people on the
promenade--cabmen, baggage-porters, bath-chair men, and the like--
touched their hats to her in respect, little dreaming that the
beautiful, sweet-faced foreigner with the pretty child was actually
queen of a German kingdom.
As the summer days went by, and the two men met her each evening at the
entrance to the pier, she could not close her eyes to the fact that the
affection between Guy and Leucha had increased until it now amounted to
a veritable passion. They loved each other both truly and well, yet
what could be done? There was, alas! the ghastly barrier of want
between them--a barrier which, in this cruel, hard world of ours,
divides so many true and loving hearts.
And as those peaceful summer days went by, the two strangers, a man and
a woman, who lived at separate hotels, and only met on rare occasions,
were ever watchful, noting and reporting the Queen's every action, and
keeping close observation upon the two men who were living at that
rose-embowered cottage in calm ignorance of the dastardly betrayal that
was being so ingeniously planned.
One evening, just before she sat down to dinner, the maidservant handed
her a letter with a Belgian stamp, and opening it, she saw that enclosed
was a communication from the faithful Steinbach.
She tore open the envelope with breathless eagerness, and read as
follows:--
"Your Majesty.--In greatest haste I send you warning to acquaint you
with another fresh conspiracy, the exact nature of which I am at present
unaware. Confidential papers have, however, to-day passed through my
hands in the Ministry--a report for transmission to Crispendorf, in
London. This report alleges that you are unduly friendly with a certain
Englishman named Guy Bourne, said to be living in the town of Worthing,
in the county of Sussex. This is all I can at present discover, but it
will, I trust, be sufficient to apprise you that your enemies have
discovered your whereabouts, and are still seeking to crush you. The
instant I can gather more I will report further. Your Majesty's most
humble and obedient servant.--S."
She bit her lip. Then they had discovered her, and, moreover, were
trying now to couple her name with Bourne's! It was cruel, unjust,
inhuman. In such a mind as hers the sense of a cruel injury, inflicted
by one she had loved and trusted, without awakening any violent anger or
any desire of vengeance, sank deep--almost incurably and lastingly deep.
Leucha, who entered the room at that moment, noticed her grave
expression as she held the letter in her hand, but was silent.
The tender and virtuous woman reread those fateful lines, and reflected
deeply. Steinbach was faithful to her, and had given her timely
warning. Yes, she had on many occasions walked alone with Guy along the
promenade, and he had, unseen by any one, kissed her hand in homage of
her royal station. She fully recognised that, unscrupulous liars as her
enemies were, they might start another scandal against her as cruel as
that concerning Carl Leitolf.
She had little appetite for dinner but afterwards, when she went out
with Leucha into the warm summer's night, and, as usual, they met the
two men idling near the pier, she took Guy aside and walked with him at
some distance behind Roddy and his daughter.
At first their conversation was as usual, upon the doings of the day.
She gave him permission to smoke, and he lit his cigar, the light of the
match illuminating his face.
It was a delightful August night, almost windless, and with a crescent
moon and calm sea, while from the pier there came across the waters the
strains of one of the latest waltzes. She was dressed all in white, and
Guy, glancing at her now and then, thought he had never seen her looking
more graceful and beautiful. Nevertheless her Imperial blood betrayed
itself always in her bearing, even on those occasions when she had
disguised herself in her maid's gowns.
Presently, when father and daughter were some distance ahead, she turned
to him and, looking into his countenance, said very seriously,--
"Much as I regret it, Mr. Bourne, our very pleasant evenings here must
end. This is our last walk together."
"What! Madame!" he exclaimed. "Are you leaving?" and he halted in
surprise.
"I hardly know yet," she replied, just a trifle confused, for she
hesitated to tell the cruel truth to this man who had once risked his
life for hers. "It is not, however, because I am leaving, but our
parting is imperative, because--well--for the sake of both of us."
"I don't quite follow your Majesty," he said, looking inquiringly at
her. They were quite alone, at a spot where there were no promenaders.
"No," she sighed. "I expect not. I must be more plain, although it
pains me to be so. The fact is that my enemies at Court have learnt
that we are friends, and are now endeavouring to couple our names--you
and I. Is it not scandalous--when you love Leucha?"
"What!" he cried, starting back amazed. "They are actually endeavouring
to again besmirch your good name! Ah! I see! They say that I am your
latest lover--eh? Tell me the truth," he urged fiercely. "These liars
say that you are in love with me! They don't know who I am," he laughed
bitterly. "I, a thief--and you, a sovereign!"
"They are enemies, and will utter any lies to create scandal concerning
me," she said, with quiet resignation. "For that reason we must not be
seen together. To you, Mr. Bourne, I owe my life--a debt that I fear I
shall never be able to sufficiently repay. Mr. Redmayne and yourself
have been very kind and generous to me, a friendless woman, and yet I am
forced by circumstances to withdraw my friendship because of this latest
plot conceived by the people who have so ingeniously plotted my ruin.
As you know, they declared that Count Leitolf was my lover, but I swear
before God that he was only my friend--my dear, devoted friend, just as
I believe that you yourself are. And yet," she sighed, "it is so very
easy to cast scandal against a woman, be she a seamstress or of the
blood royal."
"I am certainly your devoted friend," the man declared in a clear,
earnest tone. "You are misjudged and ill-treated, therefore it is my
duty as a man, who, I hope, still retains some of the chivalry of a
gentleman, to stand your champion."
"In this, you, alas! cannot--you would only compromise me," she
declared, shaking her head sadly.
"We must part. You and Mr. Redmayne are safe here. Therefore I shall
to-morrow leave Worthing."
"But this is dastardly!" he cried in fierce resentment. "Are you to
live always in this glass house, for your enemies to hound you from
place to place, because a man dares to admire your beauty? What is your
future to be?"
She fixed her calm gaze upon him in the pale moonlight.
"Who can tell?" she sighed sadly. "For the present we must think only
of the present. My enemies have discovered me, therefore it is
imperative that we should part. Yet before doing so I want to thank you
very much for all the services you and Mr. Redmayne have rendered me.
Rest assured that they will never be forgotten--never."
Roddy and Leucha had seated themselves upon a seat facing the beach, and
they were now slowly approaching them.
"I hardly know how to take leave of you," Guy said, speaking slowly and
very earnestly. "You, on your part, have been so good and generous to
Leucha and myself. If these scandalmongers only knew that she loved me
and that I reciprocated her affection, they surely would not seek to
propagate this shameful report concerning us."
"It would make no difference to them," she declared in a low, hoarse
voice of grief. "For their purposes--in order that I shall be condemned
as worthless, and prevented from returning to Treysa--they must continue
to invent their vile fictions against my honour as a woman."
"The fiends!" he cried fiercely. "But you shall be even with them yet!
They fear you--and they shall, one day, have just cause for their fears.
We will assist you--Roddy and I. We will together prove your honesty
and innocence before the whole world."
They gained the seat whereon Leucha and her father were sitting, and
Claire sat down to rest before the softly sighing sea, while her
companion stood, she having forgotten to give him permission to be
seated. She was so unconventional that she often overlooked such
points, and, to her intimate friends, would suddenly laugh and apologise
for her forgetfulness.
While all four were chatting and laughing together--for Roddy had
related a droll incident he had witnessed that day out at Goring--there
came along the sea-path two figures of men, visitors like themselves,
judging from their white linen trousers and straw hats. Their approach
was quite unnoticed until of a sudden they both halted before the group,
and one of them, a brown-bearded man, stepping up to the younger man,
said, in a stern, determined voice,--
"I identify you as Guy Bourne. I am Inspector Sinclair of the Criminal
Investigation Department, and I hold a warrant for your arrest for jewel
robbery!" Claire gave vent to a low cry of despair, while Leucha sprang
up and clung to the man she loved. But at that same instant three other
men appeared out of the deep shadows, while one of them, addressing
Roddy, who in an instant had jumped to his feet, said,--
"I'm Detective-sergeant Plummer. I identify you as Roddy Redmayne,
_alias_ Scott-Martin, _alias_ Ward. I arrest you on a charge of jewel
robbery committed within the German Empire. Whatever statement you may
make will be used in evidence against you on your trial." Both men were
so utterly staggered that neither spoke a word. Their arrest had been
so quickly and quietly effected that they had no opportunity to offer
resistance, and even if they had they would have been outnumbered.
Roddy uttered a fierce imprecation beneath his breath, but Guy, turning
sadly to Claire, merely shrugged his shoulders, and remarked bitterly,--
"It is Fate, I suppose!"
And the two men were compelled to walk back with a detective on either
side of them, while Leucha, in a passion of tears, crushed and
heart-broken, followed with her grave-faced mistress--a sad, mournful
procession.
Claire spoke to them both--kind, encouraging words, urging them to take
courage--whereupon one of the detectives said,--
"I really think it would be better if you left us, madam." But she
refused, and walked on behind them, watched from a distance by the
German agent Stieger and Rose Reinherz, and, alas! in ignorance of the
vile, despicable plot of Hinckeldeym--the plot that was to ruin her for
ever in the eyes of her people.