ON BROKEN GROUND
Jessie opened her eyes and looked languidly around. She could not grasp
the situation at first. She was in a large room exquisitely furnished;
the silken draperies rustled in the breeze from the open window. Whence
came all this luxury, the girl wondered? As she lay there with her hair
sweeping over the laced pillow, the events of the previous evening began
to come back to her. Fresh and vigorous now after her night's rest,
Jessie could smile as she thought of it. It seemed almost impossible to
believe that she had gone through so much, that any girl had the pluck
to go through such a series of adventures without breaking down.
And yet she had done it! And Jessie thrilled with a little pardonable
pride as she dwelt upon the part she had played. At any rate, it had
been better than slaving in the shop of Madame Malmaison, without the
slightest prospect for the future. Jessie felt that now she had gained
powerful friends there was no chance of further genteel starvation.
Prince Mazaroff's disgraceful conduct had been a blessing in disguise.
And best of all, it had brought Ronald Hope back to her. Jessie flushed
with happiness as she thought of Ronald. She was thinking, too, of her
sister. What would Ada imagine had happened? She must find time to send
Ada a message. If Vera Galloway was in a position to be moved from the
hospital, then she might resign her part and go home. She would have to
keep out of the way for a bit--out of the way of those who were likely
to draw their own deductions from the knowledge that Vera Galloway had a
double.
Jessie was still turning these things over in her mind when the door
opened and a neat-looking maid came in with a dainty breakfast set out
on a tray. When this was despatched the maid volunteered to help her to
dress, from such things as had come from Vera Galloway's wardrobe. But
Jessie preferred to dress herself. She managed very well with a plain
skirt and a loose fluffy blouse that looked as if it had been made for
her. The queen was already up, and would see the young lady at once, the
maid said. Not without some feeling of nervousness, Jessie went
downstairs.
She bowed profoundly to the queen, who advanced and kissed the girl.
"You are my friend," she said, "my very good friend. Would that I had
others like you. We will talk it over presently. Meanwhile, I have many
letters to dictate. How fresh and sweet you look! I wonder if I shall
ever feel what it is to be young again! Meanwhile, you are to wait here.
There is nothing for you to do but to take care of yourself."
"Indeed, there is a great deal for me to do, madame," Jessie protested.
"I had meant to be up and doing long before this; it is already ten
o'clock. I have to go to the hospital and see Miss Galloway. She must be
removed before the Countess Saens takes any steps."
"I had forgotten that," the queen admitted. "There is so much to be done
that one is apt to forget. You will manage that through Dr. Varney of
course?"
Jessie explained that such was her intention. She meant to go and see
Dr. Varney at once. After that she would go to the hospital if
necessary. Only it would be just as well if she wore a veil, Jessie
thought. There was no reason why the attention of the hospital
authorities should be drawn to the likeness between the patient and the
visitor. The matter of the veil was adjusted without the slightest
difficulty, and Jessie left the hotel.
Dr. Varney was not to be disturbed, so his man said. It required
something very urgent indeed to interrupt the doctor at this hour.
Jessie ignored the suggestion, and, pushing by the astonished man,
walked boldly into the dining-room. Varney was not in the least angry.
"So it is you!" he said. "I rather expected this. How bright and fresh
you look this morning! So you have not had enough of adventures yet?
What are you going to do now? Don't mind my smoking a cigarette, do you?
I always do after breakfast. That, between ourselves, is one of the
reasons why I don't allow myself to be disturbed. What is the next
move."
"To get Miss Vera Galloway home--or rather, to get her out of the
hospital," Jessie said. "If we don't, we shall have Countess Saens
finding her there. She is certain to call at the hospital some time
to-day--probably this morning. If we can be first, well and good. If you
can go down with me on pretence of business and profess to recognize
Miss Galloway for somebody else so much the better. Then you can say
that she is fit to travel, and there is an end of it."
The doctor grinned with a comic expression of dismay.
"Well, you are a nice kind of young lady!" he said. "A pretty
proposition truly to a man in my exalted position! Why, if the truth
came out it would ruin me. But I suppose you expect to get your own way.
Only you can't take Miss Galloway home."
"I don't propose to take her home," Jessie said eagerly. "Lord and Lady
Merehaven think that their real niece is staying with the Queen of
Asturia for a day or two in the place of an absent woman-in-waiting. To
take Vera home would be to spoil everything. Besides, we should have to
account in some way for her sprained ankle, and it is quite imperative
that nobody should know of that."
"What a clever girl you are!" Varney muttered admiringly. "I begin to
see what you are driving at. Go on."
"There is very little more to say," Jessie murmured. "I shall pose as a
relation of Vera's--calling myself by my proper name of Harcourt, of
course. Dressed in her plain black--or rather in _my_ plain black and
veil--I shall convey Vera to the queen's hotel and there change clothes.
I shall just walk out of the hotel and vanish for the time being, and
there you are! The real Vera will be with the queen. She can nurse her
ankle for a day or two, and nobody will be any the wiser."
Varney loudly applauded the suggestion. It was just possible, he said,
that he was going to get himself into serious trouble, but he was not
going to back out of it now. If Jessie would go down to the hospital and
see Vera Galloway, he would follow after a discreet interval.
It all fell out exactly as Jessie had hoped. There was little the matter
with Vera save for the fact that her ankle was very troublesome, though
one of the house surgeons dismissed the idea of the patient being moved
for the next day or two. When the discussion was still on Varney came
in. He approached the matter in his own quick and breezy fashion.
"Well, young lady?" he cried. "I thought that I recognized you last
night, only I wasn't sure. Miss Harcourt's father was an old friend of
mine, Cattley. Wants to go home, does she? Well, I don't see any reason
why she should not. Matter of a cab, nothing more. Yes, yes."
And Varney moved off as if he had already washed his hands of the
matter--a mere incident in the life of a busy man like himself. Jessie
hurried on Vera's preparations with a shaking hand. It was just possible
that the countess might turn up at any moment. But the operation was
finished at length, and the cab was ready at the door.
"Pull your veil down as I have done with mine," Jessie whispered. "You
never know who may recognize you. And now lean heavily on my arm, and
walk as if nothing was the matter. Ah!"
And Jessie drew a sigh of relief once they were safely in the cab. The
cab was dismissed in Bond Street under pretext of shopping, and another
engaged. It was just as well to take all precautions, Jessie declared.
Vera was looking very faint and worn, but she expressed her warm thanks
to Jessie.
"It is really nothing," the latter proceeded to explain what had
happened. "As events turn out, everything is going most fortunately for
you. As I have told you, by sheer good luck I managed to escape from
Merehaven House without suspicions being excited. Lady Merehaven thinks
that you are with the queen and in a very short time you _will_ be with
the queen. Then you have only to nurse your ankle and get well. As to
me, I am going to discreetly disappear from view for the time."
"But you have no money," Vera protested. "You told me last night that
you were desperately placed, and that if it had not been for the money
you would not have come to me at all. Of course that was all nonsense,
because you would have done what you did for me or any other poor girl
in distress. Perhaps some day I may be able to properly thank you, dear
Jessie. But without money!... And I have none."
"I am not going to leave London," Jessie whispered. "I shall be quite
safe in my lodgings. And it is very little money I want. What I am
looking for is some situation----"
"Situation!" Vera cried scornfully. "As if I should ever permit you to
take a situation again! And what is Ronald Hope thinking about? If he
really cared for you----"
"He really does care for me," Jessie said with a fine colour. "And if
there is any need for you to thank me for bringing Ronald and myself
together.... But here we are at the hotel."