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[Illustration: "_She was going to have a look at the pictures, she
said._"]
THE WEIGHT OF THE CROWN
by
FRED. M. WHITE
Author of
"Tregarthen's Wife" "The Robe of Lucifer"
"The Crimson Blind" etc.
Illustrated
R. F. Fenno & Company, _Publishers_
18 East Seventeenth Street, New York City
Ward Lock & Co. Limited: London
1906
Copyright 1904.
By Transatlantic Press, Ltd.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I WITHOUT A FRIEND 7
II A DESPERATE VENTURE 18
III ON GUARD 30
IV THE WARNING LIGHT 36
V DEEPER STILL 43
VI THE PERIL SPEAKS 49
VII "UNEASY LIES THE HEAD" 55
VIII THE VERY MAN 61
IX "PONGO" 72
X A FRIEND AT COURT 78
XI IN THE GARDEN 84
XII A PRODIGAL SON 90
XIII THE MODERN JOURNALIST 96
XIV BAFFLED! 102
XV THE SEARCH 108
XVI WAS IT RUSSIA? 114
XVII A BOW AT A VENTURE 120
XVIII WATCHING 126
XIX THE QUEST OF THE PAPERS 132
XX A SPECIAL EFFORT 138
XXI "FOREWARNED, FOREARMED" 144
XXII THE TRAIL GROWS 150
XXIII GENERAL MAXGREGOR 156
XXIV AT THE WINDOW 162
XXV AN UNEXPECTED HONOUR 168
XXVI LOYAL SILENCE 174
XXVII LECHMERE TO THE RESCUE 180
XXVIII THE POWER OF THE PRESS 186
XXIX IN MAXGREGOR'S CHAMBERS 192
XXX HER FRIEND, THE QUEEN 198
XXXI A SURPRISE FOR JESSIE 204
XXXII NO TIME TO LOSE 210
XXXIII THE FISH ON THE LINE 216
XXXIV A ROYAL ACTOR 222
XXXV A RACE FOR A THRONE 228
XXXVI ANNETTE TELLS A STORY 234
XXXVII CROSS PURPOSES 240
XXXVIII ON BROKEN GROUND 246
XXXIX IN THE CAMP OF THE FOE 252
XL THIN ICE 258
XLI ANNETTE AT BAY 264
XLII THE COUNTESS RETURNS 271
XLIII IN SEARCH OF THE KING 277
XLIV DEAD! 283
XLV CHECK! 289
XLVI MATE IN TWO MOVES 295
XLVII THE SITUATION IS SAVED 301
XLVIII THE PAPERS AT LAST 307
XLIX LOVE AND ROSES 313
THE WEIGHT OF THE CROWN
CHAPTER I
WITHOUT A FRIEND
The girl stood there fighting hard to keep back the tears from her eyes.
The blow had been so swift, so unexpected. And there was the hurt to her
pride also.
"Do I understand that I am dismissed, Madame?" Jessie Harcourt asked
quietly. "You mean that I am to go at the end of the week?"
The little woman with the faded fair hair and the silly affectation of
fashion was understood to say that Miss Harcourt would go at once. The
proprietress of the fashionable millinery establishment in Bond Street
chose to call herself Madame Malmaison, though she was London to the
core. Her shrill voice shook a little as she spoke.
"You are a disgrace to the establishment," she said. "I am sorry you
ever came here. It is fortunate for me that Princess Mazaroff took the
proper view so far as I am concerned. Your conduct was infamous,
outrageous. You go to the Princess to try on hats for her Highness, and
what happens? You are found in the library engaged in a bold flirtation
with her Highness's son, Prince Boris. Romping together! You suffered
him to kiss you. When the Princess came here just now and told me the
story, I was----"
"It is a lie," Jessie burst out passionately. "A cowardly lie on the
part of a coward. Why did not that Russian cad tell the truth? He came
into the drawing-room where I was waiting for the Princess. Don't
interrupt me, I must speak, I tell you."
Madame Malmaison subsided before the splendid fury of Jessie's anger.
She looked more like a countess than a shop girl as she stood there with
her beautiful eyes blazing, the flash of sorrow on her lovely face.
Madame Malmaison had always been a little proud of the beauty and grace
and sweetness of her fitter-on. Perhaps she felt in her heart of hearts
that the girl was telling the truth.
"I hope I am a lady," Jessie said a little more gently--"at any rate, I
try to remember that I was born one. And I am telling the truth--not
that it matters much, seeing that you would send us all into the gutter
rather than offend a customer like the Princess. That coward said his
mother was waiting for me in the library. He would show me the way. Then
he caught me in his arms and tried to kiss me. He wanted me to go to
some theatre with him to-night. He was too strong for me. I thought I
should have died of shame. Then the Princess came in, and all the anger
was for me. And that coward stood by and shirked the blame; he let it
pass that I had actually followed him into the library."
The girl was telling the truth, it was stamped on every word that she
said. Madame Malmaison knew it also, but the hard look on her greedy
face did not soften.
"You are wasting my time," she said. "The Princess naturally prefers her
version of the story. And she has demanded your instant dismissal. You
must go."
Jessie said no more. There was proud satisfaction in the fact that she
had conquered her tears. She moved back to the splendid show-room with
its Persian carpets and Louis Seize furniture as if nothing had
happened. She had an idea that Madame Malmaison believed her, and that
the latter would be discreet enough to keep the story from the other
hands. And Jessie had no friends there. She could not quite bring
herself to be friendly with the others. She had not forgotten the days
when Colonel Harcourt's daughter had mixed with the class of people whom
she now served. Bitterly Jessie regretted that she had ever taken up
this kind of life.
But unhappily there had been no help for it. Careless, easy-going
Colonel Harcourt had not troubled much about the education of his two
girls; and when the crash came and he died, they were totally unfitted
to cope with the world. The younger girl, Ada, was very delicate, and so
Jessie had to cast about to make a living for the two. The next six
months had been a horror.
It was in sheer desperation that Jessie had offered her services to
Madame Malmaison. Here was the ideal fitter-on that that shrewd lady
required. She was prepared to give a whole two guineas a week for
Jessie's assistance, and the bargain was complete.
"Well, it was all over, anyway, now," Jessie told herself. She was
dismissed, and that without a character. It would be in vain for her to
apply to other fashionable establishments of the kind unless she was
prepared to give some satisfactory reason for leaving Madame Malmaison.
Her beauty and grace and charm would count for nothing with rival
managers. The bitter, hopeless, weary struggle was going to begin all
over again. The two girls were utterly friendless in London. In all the
tragedy of life there is nothing more sad and pathetic than that.
Jessie conquered the feeling of despair for the moment. She had all her
things to arrange; she had to tell the girl under her that she was
leaving for good to-night. She had had a dispute with Madame Malmaison,
she explained, and she would not return in the morning. Jessie was
surprised at the steadiness of her own voice as she gave the
explanation. But her cold fingers trembled, and the tears were very
heavy in the beautiful eyes. Jessie was praying for six o'clock now.
Mechanically she went about her work. She did not heed or hear the
chatter of her companions; she did not see that somebody had handed her
a note. Somebody said that there was no answer, and Jessie merely
nodded. In the same dull way she opened the letter. She saw that the
paper was good, she saw that the envelope bore her name. There was no
address on the letter, which Jessie read twice before having the most
remote idea of its meaning.
A most extraordinary letter, Jessie decided, when at length she had
fixed her mind into its usual channel. She read it again in the light of
the sunshine. There was no heading, no signature.
"I am writing to ask you a great favour (the letter ran). I should have
seen you and explained, but there was no time. If you have any heart and
feeling you cannot disregard this appeal. But you will not ignore it,
however, because you are as good and kind as you are beautiful. The
happiness of a distressed and miserable woman is in your hands. Will you
help me?
"But you will help me, I am certain. Come to 17, Gordon Gardens,
to-night at half-past nine o'clock. Come plainly dressed in black, and
take care to wear a thick black veil. Say that you are the young person
from Forder's in Piccadilly, and that you have called about the dress.
That is all that I ask you to do for the present. Then you will see me,
and I can explain matters fully. Dare I mention money in connection with
this case? If that tempts you, why the price is your own. L500, L1,000
await you if you are bold and resolute."
There was nothing more, no kind of clue to the identity of the writer.
Jessie wondered if it were some mistake; but her name was most plainly
written on the envelope. It had been left by a district messenger boy,
so that there was no way of finding out anything. Jessie wondered if she
had been made the victim of some cruel hoax. Visions of a decoy rose
before her eyes.
And yet there was no mistake about the address. Gordon Gardens was one
of the finest and most fashionable squares in the West End of London.
Jessie fluttered over the leaves of the _London Directory_. There was
Gordon Gardens right enough--Lady Merehaven. The name was quite familiar
to her, though the lady in question was not a customer of Madame
Malmaison's. All this looked very genuine, so also did the letter with
the passionate, pleading tone behind the somewhat severe restraint of it
all. Jessie had made up her mind.
She would go. Trouble and disappointment had not soured the nobility of
her nature. She was ready as ever to hold out a helping hand to those in
distress. And she was bold and resolute, too. Moreover, as she told
herself with a blush, she was not altogether indifferent to the money.
Only a few shillings stood between her and Ada and absolute starvation.
L500 sounded like a fortune.
"I'll go," Jessie told herself. "I'll see this thing to the bitter end,
whatever the adventure may lead to. Unless, of course, it is something
wrong or dishonest. But I don't think that the writer of the letter
means that. And perhaps I shall make a friend. God knows I need one."
The closing hour came, and Jessie went her way. At the corner of New
Bond Street a man stood before her, and bowed with an air of suggested
politeness. He had the unmistakable air of the dissipated life; he was
well dressed, and handsome, in a picturesque way. But the mouth under
the close-cropped beard was hard and sensual; the eyes had that in them
that always fills the heart of a girl with disgust.
"I have been waiting for you," the man said. "You see I know your
habits. I am afraid you are angry with me."
"I am not angry with you at all," Jessie said coldly. "You are not worth
it, Prince Boris. A man who could play the contemptible cur as you
played it this morning----"
"But, _ma cherie_, what could I do? Madame la Princess, my mother, holds
the purse-strings. I am in disfavour the most utter and absolute. If my
mother comes to your establishment and says----"
"The Princess has already been. She has told her version of the story.
No doubt she heartily believes that she has been told the truth. I have
been made out to be a scullery girl romping with the page boy. My word
was as nothing against so valuable a client as the Princess. I am
discharged without a character."
Prince Boris stammered something, but the cruel light of triumph in his
eyes belied his words. Jessie's anger flamed up passionately.
"Stand aside and let me pass," she said; "And never dare to address me
again. If you do, I will appeal to the first decent man who passes, and
say you have grossly insulted me. I have a small consolation in the
knowledge that you are not an Englishman."
The man drew back abashed, perhaps ashamed, for his dark face flushed.
He made no attempt to detain Jessie, who passed down the street with her
cheeks flaming. She went on at length until she came to one of the
smaller byways leading out of Oxford Street, and here, before a
shabby-looking house, she stopped and let herself in with a latchkey. In
a bare little room at the top of the house a girl was busy painting. She
was a smaller edition of Jessie, and more frail and delicate. But the
same pluck and spirit were there in Ada Harcourt.
"What a colour!" the younger girl cried. "And yet--Jessie, what has
happened? Tell me."
The story was told--indeed, there was no help for it. Then Jessie
produced her mysterious letter. The trouble was forgotten for the time
being. The whole thing was so vague and mysterious, and moreover there
was the promise of salvation behind it. Ada flung her paint brush aside
hastily.
"You will go?" she cried. "With an address like that there can be no
danger. I am perfectly certain that that is a genuine letter, Jess, and
the writer is in some desperate bitter trouble. We have too many of
those troubles of our own to ignore the cry of help from another. And
there is the money. It seems a horrible thing, but the money is a sore
temptation."
Jessie nodded thoughtfully. She smiled, too, as she noted Ada's flushed,
eager face.
"I am going," she said. "I have quite made up my mind to that. I am
going if only to keep my mind from dwelling on other things. Besides,
that letter appeals to me. It seems to be my duty. And as you say, there
is the money to take into consideration. And yet I blush even to think
of it."
Ada rose and walked excitedly about the room. The adventure appealed to
her. Usually in the stories it was the men only to whom these exciting
incidents happened. And here was a chance for a mere woman to
distinguish herself. And Jessie would do it, too, Ada felt certain. She
had all the courage and resolution of her race.
"It's perfectly splendid!" Ada cried. "I feel that the change of our
fortunes is at hand. You are going to make powerful friends, Jessie; we
shall come into our own again. And when you have married the prince, I
hope you will give me a room under the palace roof to paint in. But you
must not start on your adventure without any supper."
Punctual to the moment Jessie turned into Gordon Gardens. Her heart was
beating a little faster now; she half felt inclined to turn back and
abandon the enterprise altogether. But then such a course would have
been cowardly, and the girl was certainly not that. Besides, there was
the ever unceasing grizzly spectre of poverty dangling before Jessie's
eyes. She must go on.
Here was No. 17 at length--a fine, double-fronted house, the big doors of
which stood open, giving a glimpse of the wealth and luxury beyond.
Across the pavement, to her surprise, Jessie noticed that a breadth of
crimson cloth had been unrolled. The girl had expected to find the
house still and quiet, and here were evidences of social festivities.
Inside the hall two big footmen lounged in the vestibule; a row of hats
testified to the fact that there were guests here to dinner. A door
opened somewhere, and a butler emerged with a tray in his hand.
As the door opened there was a pungent smell of tobacco smoke, followed
by a bass roll of laughter. Many people were evidently dining there.
Jessie felt that she needed all her courage now.
It was only for a moment that the girl hesitated. She was afraid to
trust her own voice; the great lump in her throat refused to be
swallowed. Then she walked up the scarlet-covered steps and knocked at
the door. One of the big footmen strolled across and asked her her
business.
"I am the young person from Forder's, in Piccadilly," Jessie said, with
a firmness that surprised herself. "I was asked by letter to come here
at this hour to-night."
"Something about a dress?" the footman asked flippantly. "I'll send and
see."
A moment later and the lady's maid was inviting Jessie up the stairs. As
requested, the girl had dressed herself in black; she wore a black
sailor hat with a dark veil. Except in her carriage and the striking
lines of her figure, she was the young person of the better class
millionaire's shop to the life. She came at length to a dressing-room,
which was evidently about to be used by somebody of importance. The
dressing-room was large and most luxuriously fitted; the contents of a
silver-mounted dressing-bag were scattered over the table between the
big cheval glasses; on a couch a ball dress had been spread out. Jessie
began to understand what was going on--there had been a big dinner
party, doubtless to be followed presently by an equally big reception.
One of the blinds had not been quite drawn, and in the garden beyond she
could see hundreds of twinkling fairy lamps. The adventure was beginning
to appeal to her now; she was looking forward to it with zeal and
eagerness.
"My mistress will come to you in a moment," the maid said, in the tone
of one who speaks to an equal. "Only don't let her keep you any longer
than you can help. The sooner you are done, the sooner I shall be able
to finish and get out. Good night!"
The maid flitted away without shutting the door. Jessie's spirits rose
as she looked about her. There could be no possible chance of personal
danger here. Jessie would have liked to have raised her veil to get a
better view of all these lovely things that would appeal to a feminine
mind, but she reflected that the black veil had been strongly insisted
upon.
A voice came from somewhere, a voice asking somebody also in a whisper
to put the lights out. This command was repeated presently in a hurried
way, and Jessie realized that the voice was addressing her. Without a
minute's hesitation she crossed over to the door and flicked out the
lights. Well, the adventure was beginning now in real earnest, Jessie
told herself. The voices whispered something further, and then in the
corridor Jessie saw something that rooted her to the spot. In perfect
darkness herself, she could look boldly out into the light beyond. She
saw the figure of a man half led and half carried between two women--one
of them being in evening dress. The man's face was as white as death.
He was either very ill or very near to death, Jessie could see; his eyes
were closed, and he dragged his limbs after him like one in the last
stage of paralysis. One of the ladies in evening dress was elderly, her
hair quite gray; the other was young and handsome, with a commanding
presence. On her hair she wore a tiara of diamonds, only usually
affected by those of royal blood. She looked every inch a queen, Jessie
thought, as with her strong gleaming arms she hurried the stricken man
along. And yet there was a furtive air about the pair that Jessie did
not understand at all.
The phantom passed away quietly as it had come, like a dream; the trio
vanished, and close by somebody was closing a bedroom door gently, as if
fearful of being overheard. Jessie rubbed her eyes as if to make sure
that the whole thing had not been a delusion. She was still pondering
over that strange scene in a modern house, when there came the quick
swish of drapery along the corridor, and somebody flashed into the room
and closed and locked the door. That somebody was a woman, as the trail
of skirts testified, but Jessie rose instantly to the attitude of self.
She had not long to wait, for suddenly the lights flashed up, and a girl
in simple evening dress stood there looking at Jessie. There was a
placid smile on her face, though her features were very white and
quivering.
"How good of you!" she said. "God only knows how good of you. Will you
please take off your hat, and I will...? Thank you. Now stand side by
side with me before the glass. Is not that strange, Miss Harcourt? Do
you see the likeness?"
Jessie gasped. Side by side in the glass she was looking at the very
image of herself!