In the golden September sunset, the long, wide promenade stretching
beside the blue sea from Brighton towards the fashionable suburb of Hove
was agog with visitors.
A cloudless sky, a glassy sea flecked by the white sails of pleasure
yachts, and ashore a crowd of well-dressed promenaders, the majority of
whom were Londoners who, stifled in the dusty streets, were now seeking
the fresh sea air of the Channel.
I had dressed leisurely for dinner in the Hotel Metropole, where I had
taken up my abode, and about seven o'clock descended the steps, and,
crossing the King's Road to the asphalted promenade, set out to walk
westward towards Hove.
Many things had happened since that well-remembered afternoon in July
when Natalia had discovered the clever theft of Madame de Rosen's
letters, and I had, an hour later, ill though I was, sent to His Majesty
that single word "Bathildis" and was granted immediate audience.
When I told him the facts he appeared interested, paced the room, and
then snapped his fingers with a careless gesture. The little madcap had
certainly annoyed him greatly, and though feigning indifference, he
nevertheless appeared perplexed.
Natalia was called at once and questioned closely; she was the soul of
honour and would reveal nothing of the secret. Afterwards I returned to
the Embassy and summoned Hartwig, to inform him of the Grand Duchess's
loss. The renowned police official had since made diligent inquiry;
indeed, the whole complicated machinery of the Russian criminal police
had been put into motion, but all to no avail.
The theft was still an entire mystery.
As I approached the Lawns at Hove, those wide, grassy promenades beside
the sea, I saw that many people were still lingering, enjoying the warm
sunset, although the fashionable hour when women exercise their pet
dogs, and idle men lounge and watch the crowd, had passed and the band
had finished its performance.
My mind was filled by many serious apprehensions, as turning suddenly
from the Lawns, I recrossed the road and entered Brunswick Square, that
wide quadrangle of big, old-fashioned houses around a large railed-in
garden filled with high oaks and beeches.
Before a drab, newly-painted house with a basement and art-green blinds,
I halted, ascended the steps and rang.
A white-whiskered old manservant in funereal black bowed as I entered,
and, casting off my overcoat, I followed the old fellow past a man who
was seated demurely in the hall, to whom I nodded, and up
thickly-carpeted stairs to the big white-enamelled drawing-room, where
Natalia sprang up from a couch of daffodil silk and came forward to meet
me with glad welcome and outstretched hand.
"Well, Uncle Colin!" she cried, "wherever have you been? I called for
you at the `Metropole' the day before yesterday, and your superb
hall-porter told me that you were in London!"
"Yes. I had to go up there on some urgent business," I said. "I only
returned to-day at five o'clock and received your kind invitation to
dine," and then, turning, I greeted Miss West, the rather thin, elderly
woman who for years had acted as English governess to Her Imperial
Highness--or Miss Gottorp, as she was now known at Hove. Miss West had
been governess in the Emperor's family for six years before she had
entered the service of the Grand Duchess Nicholas, so life at Court,
with all its stiff etiquette, had perhaps imparted to her a slightly
unnatural hauteur.
Natalia looked inexpressibly sweet in an evening gown of fine black
spotted net, the transparency of which about the chest heightened the
almost alabaster whiteness of her skin. She wore a black aigrette in
her hair, but no jewellery save a single diamond bangle upon her wrist,
an ornament which she always wore.
"Sit down and tell me all the news," she urged, throwing herself into an
armchair and patting a cushion near by as indication where I should sit.
"There is no news," I said. "This morning I was at the Embassy, and
they were naturally filled with curiosity regarding you--a curiosity
which I did not satisfy."
"Young Isvolski is there, isn't he?" she asked. "He used to be attached
to my poor father's suite."
"Yes," I replied. "He's third secretary. He wanted to know whether you
had police protection, and I told him they had sent you another agent
from Petersburg. I suppose it is that melancholy man I've just seen
sitting in the hall?"
"Yes. Isn't it horrid? He sits there all day long and never moves,"
Miss West exclaimed. "It is as though the bailiffs are in the house."
"Bailiffs?" repeated the girl. "What are they?" I explained to her,
whereupon she laughed heartily. "Hartwig is due in Brighton to-night or
to-morrow morning," I said. "I have received a telegram from him,
despatched from Berlin early yesterday morning. But," I added, "I trust
that you are finding benefit from the change."
"I am," she assured me. "I love this place. I feel so free and so
happy here. Miss West and I go for walks and drives every day, and
though a lot of people stare at me very hard, I don't think they know
who I am. I hope not."
"They admire your Highness's good looks," I ventured to remark. But she
made a quick gesture of impatience, and declared that I only intended
sarcasm.
"I suppose Miss West, that all the men turn to look at Her Highness?" I
said. "Englishmen at the seaside during the summer are always
impressionable, so they must be forgiven."
"You are quite right, Mr Trewinnard. It is really something dreadful.
Only to-day a young man--quite a respectable young fellow, who was
probably a clerk in the City--followed us the whole length of the
promenade to the West Pier and kept looking into her Highness's face."
"He was really a very nice-looking boy," the girl declared
mischievously. "If I'd been alone he would have spoken to me. And, oh,
I'd have had such ripping fun."
"No doubt you would," I said. "But you know the rule. You are never
upon any pretext to go out alone. Besides, you are always under the
observation of a police-agent. You would scarcely care to do any
love-making before him, would you?"
"Why not? Those persons are not men--they're only machines," she
declared. "The Emperor told me that long ago."
"Well, take my advice," I urged with a laugh, "and don't attempt it."
"Oh, of course, Uncle Colin; you're simply dreadful. You're a perfect
Saint Anthony. It's too jolly bad," she declared.
"Yes. Perhaps I might be a Saint Anthony where you are concerned.
Still, you must not become a temptress," I laughed, when at that moment,
old Igor, the butler, entered to announce that dinner was served.
So we descended the stairs to the big dining-room, where the table at
which she took the head was prettily decorated with Marshal Neil roses,
and, a merry trio, we ate our meal amid much good-humoured banter and
general laughter.
As she sat beneath the pink-shaded electric lamp suspended over the
table, I thought I had never seen her looking so inexpressibly charming.
Little wonder, indeed, that young City men down for a fortnight's
leisure at the seaside, the annual relaxation from their weary
work-a-day world of office and suburban railway, looked upon her in
admiration and followed her in order to feast their eyes upon her
marvellous beauty. What would they have thought, had they but known
that the girl so quietly and well-dressed in black was of the bluest
blood of Europe, a daughter of the Imperial Romanoffs.
That big, old-fashioned house which I had arranged for her six weeks ago
belonged to the widow of a brewery baronet, a man who had made a great
fortune out of mild dinner-ale. The somewhat beefy lady--once a
domestic servant--had gone on a voyage around the world and had been
pleased to let it furnished for a year. With her consent I had had the
whole place repainted and decorated, had caused new carpets to be
provided, and in some instances the rooms had been refurnished in modern
style, while four of the servants, including Igor, the butler, and
Davey, Her Highness's maid, had been brought from her father's palace
beside the Neva.
For a girl not yet nineteen it was, indeed, quite a unique
establishment. Miss West acting as chaperone, companion and
housekeeper.
Seated at the head of the table, the little Grand Duchess did the
honours as, indeed, she had so often done them at the great table in
that magnificent salon in Petersburg, for being the only child, it had
very often fallen to her lot to help her father to entertain, her mother
having died a month after her birth.
Dinner over, the ladies rose and left, while I sat to smoke my cigarette
alone. Outside in the hall the undersized, insignificant little man in
black sat upon a chair reading the evening paper, and as old Igor poured
out my glass of port I asked him in French how he liked England.
"Ah! m'sieur," he exclaimed in his thin, squeaky voice. "Truly it is
most beautiful. We are all so well here--so much better than in
Petersburg. Years ago I went to London with my poor master, the Grand
Duke. We stayed at Claridge's. M'sieur knows the place--eh?"
"Of course," I said. "But tell me, Igor, since you've been in
Brighton--over a month now--have you ever met, or seen, anybody you
know? I mean anyone you have seen before in Petersburg?"
I was anxious to learn whether young Hamborough, Paul Urusoff, or any of
the rest, had been in the vicinity.
The old fellow reflected a few moments. Then he replied:
"Of course I saw M'sieur Hartwig three weeks ago. Also His Excellency
the Ambassador when he came down from London to pay his respects to Her
Imperial Highness."
"Nobody else?" I asked, looking seriously into his grey old face, my
wine-glass poised in my hand.
"Ah, yes! One evening, three or four days ago, I was walking along
King's Road, towards Ship Street, when I passed a tall, thin,
clean-shaven man in brown, whose face was quite familiar. I know that
I've seen him many times in Petersburg, but I cannot recall who or what
he is. He looked inquisitively at me for a moment, and apparently
recognising me, passed on and then hurriedly crossed the road."
"Was he a gentleman?" I asked with curiosity.
"He was dressed like one, M'sieur. He had on a dark grey Homburg hat
and a fashionable dark brown suit."
"You only saw him on that one occasion?"
"Only that once. When I returned home I told Dmitri, the police-agent,
and described him. You don't anticipate that he is here with any evil
purpose, I suppose?" he added quickly.
"I can't tell, Igor. I don't know him. But if I were you I would not
mention it to her Highness. She's only a girl, remember, and her nerves
have been greatly shaken by that terrible tragedy."
"Rely upon me. I shall say no word, M'sieur," he promised.
Then I rose and ascended to the drawing-room, where Natalia was seated
alone.
"Miss West will be here in a few minutes," she said. "Tell me, Uncle
Colin, what have you been doing while you've been away--eh?"
"I had some business in London, and afterwards went on a flying visit to
see my mother down in Cornwall," I said.
"Ah! How is she? I hope you told her to come and see me. I would be
so very delighted if she will come and stay a week or so."
"I gave her Your Highness's kind message, and she is writing to thank
you. She'll be most delighted to visit you," I said.
"Nothing has been discovered regarding Madame de Rosen's letters, I
suppose?" she asked with a sigh, her face suddenly grown grave.
"Hartwig arrives to-night, or to-morrow," I replied. "We shall then
know what has transpired. From his Majesty he received explicit
instructions to spare no effort to solve the mystery of the theft."
"I know. He told me so when he was here three weeks ago. He has made
every effort. Of all the police administration I consider Hartwig the
most honest and straightforward."
"Yes," I agreed. "He is alert always, marvellously astute, and, above
all, though he has had such an extraordinary career, he is an
Englishman."
"So I have lately heard," replied my pretty companion. "I know he will
do his best on my behalf, because I feel that I have lost the one piece
of evidence which might have restored poor Marya de Rosen and her
daughter to liberty."
"You have lost the letters, it is true," I said, looking into her
splendid eyes. "You have lost them because it was plainly in the
interests of General Markoff, the Tzar's favourite, that they should be
lost. Madame de Rosen herself feared lest they should be stolen, and
yet a few days later she and Luba were spirited away to the Unknown.
Search was, no doubt, made at her house for that incriminating
correspondence. It could not be found; but, alas! you let out the
secret when sitting out with me at the Court ball. Somebody must have
overheard. Your father's palace was searched very thoroughly, and the
packet at last found."
"The Emperor appeared to be most concerned about it before I left
Russia. When I last saw him at Tzarskoie-Selo he seemed very pale,
agitated and upset."
"Yes," I said. Then, very slowly, for I confess I was much perturbed,
knowing how we were at that moment hemmed in by our enemies, I added:
"This theft conveyed more to His Majesty than at present appears to your
Highness. It is a startling coup of those opposed to the monarchy--the
confirmation of a suspicion which the Emperor believed to be his--and
his alone."
"A suspicion!" she exclaimed. "What suspicion? Tell me."
Next moment Miss West, thin-faced and rather angular, entered the room,
and we dropped our confidences. Then, at my invitation, my dainty
little hostess went to the piano, and running her white fingers over the
keys, commenced to sing in her clear, well-trained contralto "L'Heure
Exquise" of Paul Verlaine:
La lune blanche
Luit dans les bois;
De chaque branche
Part une voix
Sous la ramee...
O bien-aimee.