[Illustration]
Prince Charlie
BY
BURFORD DELANNOY
AUTHOR OF
"THE MARGATE MYSTERY"
"£19,000," ETC., ETC.
_WITH FRONTISPIECE_
R. F. FENNO & COMPANY
18 EAST SEVENTEENTH STREET, NEW YORK
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I HERO AND HEROINE MEET 7
II THE CHILD THE WISE MAN, AND THE LADY 15
III SHE DISCOVERS THE AUTHOR 24
IV THE DANGER SIGNAL 31
V PLAYING WITH FIRE 40
VI A STRANGE REQUEST 48
VII READING THE HAND 59
VIII A SOFT GOOD-NIGHT 67
IX OVER THE GARDEN WALL 76
X THE LITTLE WINGED GOD 86
XI THE VOICE IN THE DARKNESS 94
XII MISUNDERSTANDINGS 100
XIII FEVERISH SYMPTOMS 111
XIV TO BEG FOR MERCY 123
XV ON HER KNEES TO HIM 131
XVI GOD'S LITTLE BOY 141
XVII THE PASSING OF THE NIGHT 150
XVIII THE BREAKING OF THE DAY 159
XIX PLAYING THE SPY 167
XX A HORRIBLE REVELATION 176
XXI THE ONLY WAY 184
XXII WHITE LIES 192
XXIII LOVE'S LABOUR LOST 204
XXIV RESTORED SIGHT 213
XXV EJECTED FROM THE CABIN 223
XXVI AS SOBER AS A JUDGE 230
XXVII THE FINANCIAL LOADSTONE 237
XXVIII HOMEWARD BOUND 244
XXIX ACHING HEARTS AND LAUGHING FACES 252
XXX AS FAITHFUL AS A DOG 261
XXXI A TEACUP STORM 269
XXXII RESUMPTION OF DICK'S GOOD TEMPER 277
XXXIII A TANGLED TRINITY 287
XXXIV OUR SEAT 298
XXXV CHRISTMAS EVE 308
XXXVI THE CHRISTMAS BOX 315
PRINCE CHARLIE
CHAPTER I
HERO AND HEROINE MEET
The advent of its regatta is usually the herald of a sea-side season's
demise. Wivernsea, as yet, is not sufficiently developed to justify
indulgence in a water festival. So far, its carnival flights have been
confined within the limits of flower shows and the treats of its Sunday
school.
The builder--his surname is Jerry--is around with a rule though. His
conspiracy with the man who plots lands and dispenses free luncheons and
railway tickets, will possibly wreak a change on that part of the map's
countenance. Increased population may render the place more famous--or
infamous. So very much depends on one's viewpoint.
The houses of Wivernsea are built in its bay. Stuck in round the fringe
of it like teeth in a lower jaw. Picture to yourself the long ago--the
bay's origin--and the present appearance of the place may come before
you. If possible to introduce a belief that there were giants in the
earth in those days it will make realization simpler. Because it looks
as if a mammoth had snapped at the coast just there and bitten out a
huge mouthful.
If your imagination is sufficiently elastic to give play to it, conceive
houses being dropped into the marks left by the giant's teeth--a sort of
dental stopping. So may be garnered a fair idea of the presentment of
this particular indentation in the land.
When the goose of Michaelmas is shaking in its scales, Wivernsea lodging
letters encroach on the farmer's privilege. The closing time of their
harvest is near enough to be grumbled at. It is painful knowledge to
them that visitors scuttle away as September ends. The exodus is due to
some absurd belief that the weather then--like a school at the advent of
the holidays--breaks up.
In the ears of one man--William Masters by name,
binder-together-of-sensational-incidents in-book-form by
profession--such grumbles tingled pleasantly. Because the usual October
Wivernsea weather is mild and bright and rainless. Being a
non-gregarious man, the place shaped before his eyes as a land flowing
with milk and honey. He knew it to be good then.
Knowledge is the wing on which we fly to heaven. In this instance, the
author's flight from London was via the London and South Western Railway
Company's terminus. Later on he told himself that it was
proving--veritably--his Waterloo.
Wivernsea's sea wall is known locally as the Esplanade.
Euphemisms--sacrifices to vanity at the expense of truth--are not
uncommon objects of the seashore. The walk terminated eastwards with the
abruptness of a cinematograph view. A private owner claimed the land
there.
It was not an undisputed claim. Opposition made the owner handle the
matter with mailed fist. To make his position stronger he erected a high
wall. If it did not prevent his opponents going further with their
labial opposition, it effectually prevented them from going further
along the parade.
The embellishments of the wall were, apparently, the outcome of deep
thought. Its top was artistically embroidered with spikes and broken
bottles. This sharply jagged crown was known locally as a
shivery-freeze. Give the average man an opportunity to mispronounce a
word and his success may be counted on every time.
Warnings to trespassers and threats of prosecution garnished the wall's
face with the liberality of almonds in a piece of French rock. The
everyday man might well be excused a fear that there was danger in
letting an unguarded eye rest on it.
Amongst others, the wall barred the easterly progress of William
Masters. In his instance no chagrin resulted. It was a boast of his that
he possessed views of his own: the things which other people smile at
unpleasantly and label eccentricities. The owner of the wall was a man
after his own heart. Undoubtedly a fellow-feeling makes us wondrous
kind.
It is not good that man should be alone. But the author had not yet
realized the greatness of that truth. He had been heard to voice the
nature of his Ultima Thule: undisturbed existence in a cot. Not beside
the hill, but in the centre of a big field. The situation to be enhanced
by possession of a shot gun, wherewith to pepper trespassers on his
solitude.
Strangers who heard Masters speak so, felt inclination to move away a
pace; were prompted to thoughts of Hanwell and Colney Hatch. His
friends--another boast of his was the poverty of their number--smiled.
The idea of Masters hurting a fly appealed to the humour in them.
But, as the blackest hat may have a silver-paper lining, so the wall
served a good purpose. It acted as a shelter from the one thing which
disturbed the enjoyment of October in Wivernsea: that wind which is said
to be good for neither man nor beast. Thoughtful hands had placed a
comfortable seat within the wall's shelter.
Knowledge of these things had inspired Masters' journey to Wivernsea.
Where he had stayed before the landlady had rooms vacant. She knew his
requirements and, hitherto, had suited him admirably. Had even acquired
the knowledge that his visits to Wivernsea were not prompted solely by a
desire to hear her talk!
Having done justice to a hastily prepared luncheon, Masters slipped a
note book into his pocket and sallied forth. His route was easterly, its
termination his favourite seat at the end of the Parade. There were some
hours left of warmth and sunshine: the author's intent was to avail
himself of them.
Seated, he for a time succumbed to the charm of the water as it stole
out and away. Listened to its lapping as it broadened the ribbon of sand
at each receding wave. Then, turning a deaf ear to the charm and his
eyes on to his note book, he buried himself in the particular chapter on
which he was engaged.
The writer's concentration was not of the plumbless kind. Sound of a
girl's voice roused him from his depth of thought. It should not be
gathered from that that the sex had any extraordinary influence over
him--save when it was very young.
He loved children. Loved them best before the rubbing off of what is
called their corners: the sweetness of what is actually the innocence we
all come into the world with--which it seems the business of the world
to destroy.
Masters guessed from the voice that it belonged to a very little girl.
Looking up, saw standing in front of him proof of the correctness of his
guess. A blue-eyed--wide-open-eyed-with-astonishment too at seeing him
there--little maid. She had turned the parade corner, and in doing so
came on him unexpectedly. It was plain that she had pulled up suddenly
at seeing him there. Just as suddenly called out in her clear, childish
treble:
"Oh! There's someone on your seat, Miss Mivvins!"
The young lady so addressed came into view at that moment, round the
bushes planted at the corner--the little one having, as usual, run on
ahead.
Miss Mivvins flushed a little. Becomingly, for otherwise the face might
have been considered a trifle too pale. The possibility of the child's
speech being considered rude induced her to say in an undertone:
"Hush, Gracie, dear!"
The speech reached Masters' ears. He was at once struck with the
governess's singularly sweet voice. When he looked at the place whence
the voice issued, he thought it the prettiest mouth he had ever set eyes
on. The little droop of sadness at its corners mellowed rather than took
away from the sweetness of it.
The lips--ripe red in colour, Cupid's bowed in shape--enchanting as they
were, did not hold his attention in iron bonds. His glance wandered to
her eyes and hair. From that inspection was formed an opinion--one which
he never changed.
The features were the most beautiful and womanly ones he had ever seen.
Just as sweet a face as a woman with golden hair--that peculiar tint of
gold which the sun ever seems anxious to search amongst--and
forget-me-not eyes, can possess at the age of three-and twenty. She was
good to look upon.
Observation was a trick of Masters' trade. The practice of it enabled
him to paint a picture in a paragraph. What he saw in one glimpse of
Miss Mivvins' face was eloquence itself. But of that gentle,
outward-going radiance in her eyes the merest layman would have been
sentient. It was the kind of which one felt even a blind man must be
conscious.
Details appealed to Masters just then. He happened to be engaged at the
moment on the description of a heroine. When he saw Miss Mivvins his
difficulty about shaping the book-woman vanished. In flesh and blood she
stood before him. All he needed was to describe what he saw: she would
fit in all respects.
Save her name. He was not particularly struck with that.