The room which had been allotted to Jennie Baxter in the Schloss
Steinheimer enjoyed a most extended outlook. A door-window gave access
to a stone balcony, which hung against the castle wall like a swallow’s
nest at the eaves of a house. This balcony was just wide enough to give
ample space for one of the easy rocking-chairs which the Princess had
imported from America, and which Jennie thought were the only really
comfortable pieces of furniture the old stronghold possessed, much as
she admired the artistic excellence of the mediæval chairs, tables, and
cabinets which for centuries had served the needs of the ancient line
that had lived in the Schloss. The rocking-chair was as modern as this
morning’s daily paper; its woodwork painted a bright scarlet, its arms
like broad shelves, its rockers as sensitively balanced as a marine
compass; in fact, just such a chair as one would find dotted round
the vast verandah of an American summer hotel. In this chair sat Miss
Jennie, two open letters on her lap, and perplexity in the dainty little
frown that faintly ruffled the smoothness of her fair brow. The scene
from the high balcony was one to be remembered; but, although this was
her last day at the Castle, the girl saw nothing of the pretty town of
Meran so far below; the distant chalk-line down the slope beyond which
marked the turbulent course of the foaming Adege; the lofty mountains
all around, or the further snow-peaks, dazzling white against the deep
blue of the sky.
One of the epistles which lay on her lap was the letter she had received
from the editor recounting the difficulties he had met with while
endeavouring to make arrangements for reporting adequately the Duchess
of Chiselhurst’s ball; the other was the still unanswered invitation
from the Duchess to the Princess. Jennie was flattered to know that
already the editor, who had engaged her with unconcealed reluctance,
expected her to accomplish what the entire staff were powerless to
effect. She knew that, had she but the courage, it was only necessary to
accept the invitation in the name of her present hostess, and attend the
great society function as Princess von Steinheimer. Yet she hesitated,
not so much on account of the manifest danger of discovery, but because
she had grown to like the Princess, and this impersonation, if it came
to the knowledge of the one most intimately concerned, as it was almost
sure to do, would doubtless be regarded as an unpardonable liberty. As
she swayed gently back and forth in the gaudy rocking-chair, she thought
of confessing everything to the Princess and asking her assistance; but
pondering on this, she saw that it was staking everything on one throw
of the dice. If the Princess refused, then the scheme became impossible,
as that lady herself would answer the letter of the Duchess and decline
the invitation. Jennie soothed her accusing conscience by telling
herself that this impersonation would do no harm to Princess von
Steinheimer, or to anyone else for that matter, while it would be of
inestimable assistance to her own journalistic career. From that
she drifted to meditation on the inequalities of this life--the
superabundance which some possess, while others, no less deserving, have
difficulty in obtaining the scant necessities. And this consoling train
of thought having fixed her resolve to take the goods the gods scattered
at her feet, or rather threw into her lap, she drew a long sigh of
determination as there came a gentle tap at the door of her room, and
the voice of the Princess herself said, “May I come in?”
Jennie, a rapid blush flaming her cheeks, sprang to her feet, flung the
letters on a table, and opened the door.
The visitor entered, looking attractive enough to be a princess of
fairyland, and greeted Miss Baxter most cordially.
“I am so sorry you are leaving,” she said. “Cannot you be persuaded to
change your mind and stay with me? Where could you find a more lovely
view than this from your balcony here?”
“Or a more lovely hostess?” said the girl, looking at her visitor with
undisguised admiration and quite ignoring the landscape.
The Princess laughed, and as they now stood together on the balcony she
put out her hands, pushed Jennie gently into the rocking-chair again,
seating herself jauntily on its broad arm, and thus the two looked like
a pair of mischievous schoolgirls, home at vacation time, thoroughly
enjoying their liberty.
“There! You are now my prisoner, about to be punished for flattery,”
cried the Princess. “I saw by the motion of the chair that you had just
jumped up from it when I disturbed you, so there you are, back in it
again. What were you thinking about? A rocking-chair lends itself
deliciously to meditation, and we always dream of someone very
particular as we rock.”
“I am no exception to the rule,” sighed Jennie; “I was thinking of you,
Princess.”
“How nice of you to say that; and as one good turn deserves another,
here is proof that a certain young lady has been in my thoughts.”
As she spoke, the Princess took from her pocket an embossed case of
Russian leather, opened it and displayed a string of diamonds, lustrous
as drops of liquid light.
“I want you to wear these stones in remembrance of our diamond
mystery--that is why I chose diamonds--and also, I confess, because I
want you to think of me every time you put them on. See how conceited I
am! One does not like to be forgotten.”
Jennie took the string, her own eyes for a moment rivalling in
brilliancy the sparkle of the gems; then the moisture obscured her
vision and she automatically poured the stones from one hand to the
other, as if their scintillating glitter hypnotized her. She tried once
or twice to speak, but could not be sure of her voice, so remained
silent. The Princess, noticing her agitation, gently lifted the necklace
and clasped it round the girl’s white throat, chattering all the while
with nervous haste.
“There! you can wear diamonds, and there are so many to whom they are
unbecoming. I also look well in diamonds--at least, so I’ve been told
over and over again, and I’ve come to believe it at last. I suppose the
young men have not concealed from you the fact that you are a strikingly
good-looking girl, Jennie. Indeed, and this is brag if you like, we two
resemble one another enough to be sisters, nearly the same height, the
same colour of eyes and hair. Come to the mirror, Miss Handsomeness, and
admire yourself.”
She dragged Jennie to her feet and drew her into the room, placing
her triumphantly before the great looking-glass that reflected back a
full-length portrait.
“Now confess that you never saw a prettier girl,” cried the Princess
gleefully.
“I don’t think I ever did,” admitted Jennie, but she was looking at the
image of the Princess and not at her own. The Princess laughed, but Miss
Baxter seemed too much affected by the unexpected present to join in the
merriment. She regarded herself solemnly in the glass for a few moments,
then slowly undid the clasp, and, slipping the string of brilliants from
her neck, handed them back to the Princess. “You are very, very kind,
but I cannot accept so costly a present.”
“Cannot? Why? Have I offended you by anything I have said since you
came?”
“Oh, no, no. It isn’t that.”
“What, then? Don’t you like me, after all?”
“Like you? I _love_ you, Princess!” cried the girl impulsively, throwing
her arms round the other’s neck.
The Princess tried to laugh as she pressed Jennie closely to her, but
there was a tremour of tears in the laughter.
“You must take this little gift as a souvenir of your visit with me. I
was really--very unhappy when you came, and now--well, you smoothed away
some misunderstandings--I’m more than grateful. And it isn’t natural for
a woman to refuse diamonds, Jennie.”
“I know it isn’t; and I won’t quite refuse them. I’ll postpone. It is
possible that something I shall do before long may seriously offend you.
If it does--then good-bye to the necklace! If it doesn’t, when I have
told you all about my misdeed--I shall confess courageously--you will
give me the diamonds.”
“Dear me, Jennie, what terrible crime are you about to commit? Why not
tell me now? You have no idea how you have aroused my curiosity.”
“I dare not tell you, Princess; not until my project proves a success or
a failure. We women--some have our way made for us--others have our own
way to make. I am among the others, and I hope you will remember that,
if you are ever angry with me.”
“Is it a new kind of speculation? A fortune made in a day? Gambling?”
“Something of that sort. I am going to stake a good deal on the turn of
a card; so please pray that luck will not be against me.”
“If pluck will make you win, I am sure you will carry it through, but
if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again; and if you haven’t the
money, I’ll supply the capital. I know I should like to gamble. Anyhow,
you have my best wishes for your success.”
“Thank you, Princess. I can hardly fail after that.”
The time had come when the two friends must part. The carriage was
waiting to take Miss Baxter to the station, and the girl bade good-bye
to her hostess with an uneasy feeling that she was acting disloyally to
one who had befriended her. In her handbag was the invitation to the
ball, and also the letter she had written in the Princess’s name
accepting it, which latter she posted in Meran. In due course she
reached London, and presented herself to the editor of the _Daily
Bugle_.
“Well, Miss Baxter,” he said, “you have been extraordinarily successful
in solving the diamond mystery, and I congratulate you. My letter
reached you, I suppose. Have you given any thought to the problem
that now confronts us? Can you get us a full report of the Duchess of
Chiselhurst’s ball, written so convincingly that all the guests who read
it will know that the writer was present?”
“It is entirely a question of money, Mr. Hardwick.”
“Most things are. Well, we are prepared to spend money to get just what
we want.”
“How much?”
“Whatever is necessary.”
“That’s vague. Put it into figures.”
“Five hundred pounds; seven hundred; a thousand if need be.”
“It will not cost you a thousand, and it may come to more than five
hundred. Place the thousand to my credit, and I shall return what is
left. I must go at once to Paris and carry out my plans from that city.”
“Then you have thought out a scheme. What is it?”
“I have not only thought it out, but most of the arrangements are
already made. I cannot say more about it. You will have to trust wholly
to me.”
“There is a good deal of money at stake, Miss Baxter, and our reputation
as a newspaper as well. I think I should know what you propose to do.”
“Certainly. I propose to obtain for you an accurate description of the
ball, written by one who was present.”
The editor gave utterance to a sort of interjection that always served
him in place of a laugh.
“In other words, you want neither interference nor advice.”
“Exactly, Mr. Hardwick. You know from experience that little good comes
of talking too much of a secret project not yet completed.”
The editor drummed with his fingers on the table for a few moments
thoughtfully.
“Very well, then, it shall be as you say. I should have been very glad
to share the responsibility of failure with you; but if you prefer to
take the whole risk yourself, there is nothing more to be said. The
thousand pounds shall be placed to your credit at once. What next?”
“On the night of the ball I should like you to have three or four expert
shorthand writers here; I don’t know how many will be necessary--you
understand more about that than I do; but it is my intention to dictate
the report right along as fast as I can talk until it is finished, and
I don’t wish to be stopped or interrupted, so I want the best
stenographers you have; they are to relieve one another just as if
they were taking down a parliamentary speech. The men had better be in
readiness at midnight; I shall be here as soon after that as possible.
If you will kindly run over their type-written MS. before it goes to
the compositors, I will glance at the proofs when I have finished
dictating.”
“Then you hope to attend the ball yourself.”
“Perhaps.”
“You have just returned from the Tyrol, and I fear you don’t quite
appreciate the difficulties that are in the way. This is no ordinary
society function, and if you think even a thousand pounds will gain
admittance to an uninvited guest, you will find yourself mistaken.”
“So I understood from your letter.”
Again the editorial interjection did duty for a laugh.
“You are very sanguine, Miss Baxter. I wish I felt as confident;
however, we will hope for the best, and if we cannot command success, we
will at least endeavour to deserve it.”
Jennie, with the thousand pounds at her disposal, went to Paris, took
rooms at the most aristocratic hotel, engaged a maid, and set about the
construction of a ball dress that would be a dream of beauty. Luckily,
she knew exactly the gown-making resources of Paris, and the craftsmen
to whom she gave her orders were not the less anxious to please her when
they knew that the question of cost was not to be considered. From
Paris she telegraphed in the name of the Princess von Steinheimer to
Claridge’s Hotel for an apartment on the night of the ball, and asked
that a suitable equipage be provided to convey her to and from that
festival.
Arriving at Claridge’s, she was well aware her first danger was that
someone who knew the Princess von Steinheimer would call upon her; but
on the valid plea of fatigue from her journey she proclaimed that in no
circumstances could she see any visitor, and thus shipwreck was avoided
at the outset. It was unlikely that the Princess von Steinheimer was
personally known to many who would attend the ball; in fact, the
Princess had given to Jennie as her main reason for refusing the
invitation the excuse that she knew no one in London. She had been
invited merely because of the social position of the Prince in
Vienna, and was unknown by sight even to her hostess, the Duchess of
Chiselhurst. Critically, she compared the chances of success with the
chances of failure, and often it seemed that disaster was inevitable,
unversed as she knew herself to be in the customs of grand society at
one of its high functions, but nevertheless she was undaunted by the
odds against her, and resolved to stake a career on the fortunes of a
night.