The grey-faced London magistrate had remanded the prisoners in custody
for seven days, and the papers that evening gave a brief account of the
proceedings under the heading: "Smart Capture of Alleged Jewel Thieves."
During the return journey to Worthing Claire remained almost silent at
Leucha's side. The girl, whose gallant lover had thus been snatched
from her so cruelly, was beside herself in utter dejection and
brokenness of heart. Surely they were a downcast pair, seated in the
corners of an empty first-class carriage on the way back to the seaside
town which possessed no further charm for them.
To Claire the plot was now revealed as clear as day. She had, however,
never dreamed that Hinckeldeym and Stuhlmann would descend to such
depths of villainy as this. Their spies had been at work, without a
doubt. She had been watched, and the watchers, whoever they were, had
evidently established the identity of the two men to whom she owed so
very much. And then Hinckeldeym, with that brutal unscrupulousness that
distinguished him, had conceived the hellish plot to create a fresh
scandal regarding the jewel thief Guy Bourne and herself.
The man who had risked his life for hers had now lost his liberty solely
on her account. It was cruel, unjust, inhuman! Night and day she had
prayed to her Maker for peace and for protection from the thousand
pitfalls that beset her path in that great complex world of which she
was almost as ignorant as little Ignatia herself. Yet it seemed as
though, on the contrary, she was slowly drifting on and on to a ruin
that was irreparable and complete.
She felt herself doubting, but instantly her strong faith reasserted
itself. Yes, God would hear her; she was sure He would. She was a
miserable sinner, like all other women, even though she were queen of an
earthly kingdom. He would forgive her; He would also forgive those two
men who stood charged with the crime of theft. God was just, and in Him
she still placed her implicit trust. In silence, as the train rushed
southward, she again appealed to Him for His comfort and His guidance.
Her bounden duty was to try and save the men who had been her friends,
even at risk to herself. Their friendliness with her had been their own
betrayal. Had they disappeared from Paris with her jewels they would
still have been at liberty.
Yet what could she do? how could she act?
Twenty years' penal servitude was the sentence which Leucha declared
would be given her father if tried in England, while upon Bourne the
sentence would not be less than fifteen years, having in view his list
of previous convictions. In Germany, with the present-day prejudice
against the English, they would probably be given even heavier
sentences, for, according to Mr. Gore-Palmer, an attempt was to be made
to make an example of them.
Ah! if the world only knew how kind, how generous those two criminals
had been to her, a friendless, unhappy woman, who knew no more of the
world than a child in her teens, would it really judge them harshly, she
wondered. Or would they receive from the public that deep-felt
compassion which she herself had shown them?
Many good qualities are, alas! nowadays dead in the human heart; but
happily chivalry towards a lonely woman is still, even in this twentieth
century, one of the traits of the Englishman's character, be he
gentleman or costermonger.
Alone in her room that night, she knelt beside the bed where little
Ignatia was sleeping so peacefully, and besought the Almighty to protect
her and her child from this last and foulest plot of her enemies, and to
comfort those who had been her friends. Long and earnestly she remained
in prayer, her hands clasped, her face uplifted, her white lips moving
in humble, fervent appeal to God.
Then when she rose up she pushed back the mass of fair hair from her
brow, and paced the room for a long time, pondering deeply, but
discerning no way out of the difficulties and perils that now beset her.
The two accused men would be condemned, while upon her would be heaped
the greatest shame that could be cast upon a woman.
Suddenly she halted at the window, and leaning forward, looked out upon
the flashing light far away across the dark, lonely sea. Beyond that
far-off horizon, mysterious in the obscurity of night, lay the
Continent, with her own Kingdom within. Though freedom was so
delightful, without Court etiquette and without Court shams, yet her
duty to her people was, she recollected, to be beside her husband; her
duty to her child was to live that life to which she, as an Imperial
Archduchess, had been born, no matter how irksome it might be to her.
Should she risk all and return to Treysa? The very suggestion caused
her to hold her breath. Her face was pale and pensive in her silent,
lofty, uncomplaining despair.
Would her husband receive her? Or would he, at the instigation of old
Hinckeldeym and his creatures, hound her out of the Kingdom as what the
liars at Court had falsely declared her to be?
Again she implored the direction of the Almighty, sinking humbly upon
her knees before the crucifix she had placed at the head of her bed,
remaining there for fully a quarter of an hour.
Then when she rose again there was a calm, determined look on her pale,
hard-set face.
Yes; her patience and womanhood could endure no longer. She would take
Leucha and go fearlessly to Treysa, to face her false friends and
ruthless enemies. They would start to-morrow. Not a moment was to be
lost. And instead of retiring to bed, she spent the greater part of the
night in packing her trunks in readiness for the journey which was to
decide her fate.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The summer's evening was breathless and stifling in Treysa. Attired in
Henriette's coat and skirt, and wearing her thick lace veil, Claire
alighted from the dusty _wagon-lit_ that had brought her from Cologne,
and stood upon the great, well-remembered platform unrecognised.
The _douaniers_ at the frontier had overhauled her baggage; the railway
officials had clipped her tickets; the _wagon-lit_ conductor had treated
her with the same quiet courtesy that he had shown to her
fellow-passengers, and she had passed right into the splendid capital
without a single person recognising that the Queen--"their Claire"--had
returned among them.
Leucha descended with Ignatia, who at once became excited at hearing her
native tongue again; and as they stood awaiting their hand-baggage an
agent of police passed them, but even he did not recognise in the
neat-waisted figure the brilliant and beautiful soft-eyed woman who was
his sovereign.
At first she held her breath, trembling lest she might be recognised,
and premature information of her return be conveyed to Hinckeldeym or to
the Prefect of Police, who, no doubt, had his orders to refuse her
admittance. Yet finding her disguise so absolutely complete, she took
courage, and passed out of the station to hail a closed cab.
They were all three utterly tired out after thirty-six hours of rail,
crossing by way of Dover and Ostend.
When Leucha and Ignatia had entered the cab she said to the man sharply,
in German,--
"Drive to the royal palace."
The man, who took her for one of the servants, settled himself upon his
box and drove up the straight tree-lined avenue to the great entrance
gates of the royal park, which were, as usual, closed.
As they approached them, however, her Majesty raised her veil, and
waited; while Leucha, with little Ignatia upon her knee, sat wondering.
She, "the Ladybird," the accomplice of the cleverest gang of thieves in
Europe, was actually entering a royal palace as intimate friend of its
Queen!
The cab halted, the sentries drew up at attention, and the gorgeous
porter came forward and put in his head inquisitively.
Next instant he recognised who it was, and started back; then, raising
his cocked hat and bowing low, gave orders to the cabman to drive on.
Afterwards, utterly amazed, he went to the telephone to apprise the
porter up at the palace that her Majesty the Queen had actually
returned.
When they drew up at the great marble steps before the palace entrance,
the gaudily-dressed porter stood bare-headed with three other
men-servants and the two agents of police who were always on duty there.
All bowed low, saluting their Queen in respectful silence as she
descended, and Leucha followed her with the little Princess toddling at
her side. It was a ceremonious arrival, but not a single word was
uttered until Claire passed into the hall, and was about to ascend the
grand staircase on her way to the royal private apartments; for she
supposed, and quite rightly, that her husband had, on his accession,
moved across to the fine suite occupied by his late father.
Bowing slightly to acknowledge the obeisance of the servants, she was
about to ascend the broad stairs, when the porter came forward, and said
apologetically,--
"Will your Majesty pardon me? I have orders from the Minister
Hinckeldeym to say that he is waiting in the blue anteroom, and wishes
to see you instantly upon your arrival."
"Then he knows of my return?" she exclaimed surprised.
"Your Majesty was expected by him since yesterday." She saw that his
spies had telegraphed news of her departure from London.
"And the King is in the palace?"
"Yes, your Majesty; he is in his private cabinet," responded the man,
bowing.
"Then I will go to him. I will see Hinckeldeym afterwards."
"But, your Majesty, I have strict orders not to allow your Majesty to
pass until you have seen his Excellency. See, here he comes!"
And as she turned she saw approaching up the long marble hall a fat man,
her arch-enemy, attired in funereal, black.
"Your Majesty!" he said, bowing, while an evil smile played upon his
lips. "So you have returned to us at Treysa! Before seeing the King I
wish to speak to you in private."
Deadly and inexorable malice was in his countenance. She turned upon
him with a quick fire in her eyes, answering with that hauteur that is
inherent in the Hapsbourg blood,--
"Whatever you have to say can surely be said here. You can have nothing
concerning me to conceal!" she added meaningly.
"I have something to say that cannot be said before the palace
servants," he exclaimed quickly. "I forbid you to go to the King before
I have had an opportunity of explaining certain matters."
"Oh! you forbid--_you_?" she cried, turning upon him in resentment at
his laconic insolence. "And pray, who are you?--a mere paid puppet of
the State, a political adventurer who discerns further advancement by
being my enemy! And you _forbid_?"
"Your Majesty--I--"
"Yes; when addressing me do not forget that I am your Queen," she said
firmly, "and that I know very well how to deal with those who have
endeavoured to encompass my ruin. Now go to your fellow-adventurers,
Stuhlmann, Hoepfner, and the rest, and give them my message." Every
word of hers seemed to blister where it fell. Then turning to Leucha,
she said in English,--
"Remain here with Ignatia. I will return to you presently."
And while the fat-faced officer of State who had so ingeniously plotted
her downfall stood abashed in silence, and confused at her defiance, she
swept past him, mounted the stairs haughtily, and turning into the
corridor, made her way to the royal apartments.
Outside the door of the King's private cabinet--that room wherein
Hinckeldeym had introduced his spies--she held her breath. She was
helpless at once, and desperate. Her hand trembled upon the door knob,
and the sentry, recognising her, started, and stood at attention.
With sudden resolve she turned the handle, and next second stood erect
in the presence of her husband.