The Lady in the Car

The fat widow, with her black bodice cut low, and the circle of diamonds sparkling upon her red neck, sipped her wine slowly, but said nothing.

His Highness did not refer to this matter again. He was a past-master of craft and cunning.

Later on, the Rev. Thomas Clayton was announced, and the trio spent quite a pleasant evening, which concluded by the lady inviting them both to Milnthorpe the following week.

At first the Prince again hesitated. The widow sat in breathless expectancy. At all hazards she must get his Highness to visit her. It would be known all over the county. She would pay a guinea each to the fashionable papers to announce the fact, for it would be worth so very much to her in the county.

“I fear, Mrs Edmondson, that I must go to Berlin next week,” replied the Prince. “I’m sure it’s very good of you, but the Emperor has summoned me regarding some affairs of my brother Karl.”

“Oh! why can’t you postpone your visit, and come and see me first?” she urged in her most persuasive style. “Mr Clayton, do urge the Prince to come to me,” she added.

“You can surely go to Germany a week later, Prince,” exclaimed the cleric. “Where’s the Kaiser just now?”

“At Kiel, yachting.”

“Then he may not be in Berlin next week?”

“He has appointed to meet me at Potsdam. His Majesty never breaks an engagement.”

“Then you will break yours, Prince, and go with me to Milnthorpe,” declared the Parson.

“Yes,” cried Mrs Edmondson; “and we will have no further excuses, will we, Mr Clayton?”

So his Highness was forced to accept, and next day the wily widow returned to Yorkshire to make preparations for the visit which was to shed such social lustre upon her house.

Three

The Prince and the Parson held several long interviews in the two days that followed, and it was apparent from one meeting which took place, and at which both Mason and Garrett were present, that some clever manoeuvre was intended. The quartette held solemn councils in the Prince’s chambers, and there was much discussion, and considerable laughter.

The latter, it appeared, was in consequence of Max’s recollection of the wonderful record of his Highness at Brooklands.

On the day appointed both Prince and parson, attended by the faithful Charles, left King’s Cross by train for Whitby, Garrett having started alone on the “forty,” with orders to travel by way of Doncaster and York, and arrive at Milnthorpe by noon next day.

The fine old place was, the Prince found, quite a comfortable residence. The widow did the honours gracefully, welcoming her guests warmly.

When the two friends found themselves alone in the Prince’s room, his Highness whispered to the exemplary vicar:

“I don’t like the look of that Italian butler, Tommy. Do you know I’ve a very strange fancy?”

“Of what?”

“That I’ve met that fellow before, somewhere or other.”

“I sincerely hope not,” was the clergyman’s response.

“Where I’ve met him I can’t remember. By Jove! It’ll be awkward for us if he recollects me.”

“Then we’ll have to watch him. I wonder if – ”

And the Parson crossed noiselessly to the bedroom door and opened it suddenly.

As he did so there was the distinct sound of some one scuffling round the corner in the corridor. Both men detected it.

There had been an eavesdropper! They were suspected!

At dinner that night the pair cast furtive glances at the thin, clean-shaven face of the middle-aged Italian butler, whose head was prematurely bald, but whose manners as a servant were perfect. Ferrini was the name by which his mistress addressed him, and it was apparent that he was very devoted to her. The young footman was English – a Cockney, by his twang.

In the old panelled room, with its long family portraits and its old carved buffet laden with well-kept silver – or rather electro-plate, as the pair already knew – a well-cooked dinner was served amid flowers and cunningly-concealed lights. The table was a round one, and the only other guest was a tall, fair-haired young girl, a Miss Maud Mortimer, the daughter of a neighbouring squire. She was a loosely built, slobbering miss, with a face like a wax doll, and a slight impediment in her speech.

At first she seemed shy in the presence of the Kaiser’s cousin, but presently, when her awkwardness wore off, she grew quite merry.

To the two visitors the meal was a perfect success. Those dark watchful eyes of the Italian, however, marred their pleasure considerably. Even the Parson was now convinced that the man knew something.

What was it? Where had the fellow met the Prince before? Was it under suspicious circumstances – or otherwise?

Next day Garrett arrived with the car, while to the White House Hotel at Whitby came a quietly dressed and eminently respectable golfer, who gave his name as Harvey, but with whom we are already familiar under the name of Mason.

The afternoon was a hot, breathless one, but towards five o’clock the Prince invited his hostess to go for a run on the “forty” – repainted, since its recent return from the Continent, dark blue with a coronet and cipher upon its panels.

Garrett who had had a look round the widow’s “sixty” Mercédès, in confidence told his master that it was all in order, and that the chauffeur was an experienced man.

With the widow and her two guests seated together behind, Garrett drove the car next day along the pretty road by Pickering down to Malton, returning by way of Castle Howard. The pace they travelled was a fast one, and the widow, turning to his Highness, said:

“Really, Prince, to motor with you is quite a new experience. My man would never dare to go at such a rate as this for fear of police-traps.”

“I’m pretty lucky in escaping them,” responded the good-looking adventurer, glancing meaningly at the man in black clerical overcoat and cap.

“The Prince once ran from Boulogne to Nice in twenty-eight hours on his St. Christopher,” remarked the Rev. Thomas. “And in winter, too.”

“Marvellous!” declared the widow, adjusting her pale-blue motor-veil, new for the occasion. “There’s no doubt a great future before that car – especially after the record at Brooklands.”

“Rather!” exclaimed the rubicund vicar. “I’m only a poor parson, but if I had a little capital I should certainly put it in. I have inside knowledge, as they say in the City, I believe, Mrs Edmondson,” he laughed.

“From the Prince?”

“Of course. He intends having the largest interest in the concern. They’ve had eight orders for racers in the last six days. A record at Brooklands means a fortune to a manufacturer.”

His Highness was silent, while the self-satisfied widow discussed the future of the eight-cylinder St. Christopher.

Returning to the Hall, Ferrini came forth bowing to his mistress, and casting a distinctly suspicious glance at the two visitors. Both men noticed it, and were not a little apprehensive. They had played some clever games, but knew not from one moment to the other when some witness might not point a finger at them in open denunciation.

While the Prince was dressing for dinner Charles said:

“That butler fellow is far too inquisitive for my liking. I found him in here an hour ago, and I’m positive he had been trying to unlock your crocodile suit-case. He made an excuse that he had come to see whether you had a siphon of soda. But I actually caught him bending over your bag.”

The Prince remained grave and silent.

“Where have we met that fellow before? I can’t remember.”

“Neither can I. His face is somehow familiar. I’m sure we’ve seen him somewhere!”

“That’s what the Parson says. Write to Max at Whitby, and tell him to come over on some pretext or other and get a glance at the man. Post the letter yourself to-night.”

“Perhaps the fellow is afraid of his plate,” the valet exclaimed in an undertone, laughing.

“He needn’t be. It’s all ‘B’ electro – not worth taking away in a dung-cart. The only thing I’ve seen is the old woman’s necklet, and that she keeps in her room, I fancy. If the sparklers are real they’re worth a couple of thousand to the Dutchman.”

“They are certainly real. She’s got them out of the bank in your honour. Her maid told me so to-day. And she means, I believe, to give a big dinner-party for some of the county people to meet you.”

“Are you sure of this?” asked his master quickly.

“The cook told the footman, who told me. The housekeeper to-day ordered a lot of things from London, and to-morrow the invitations are to be sent out.”

“Are people coming here to dine and sleep?”

“Yes. Eight bedrooms are to be prepared.”

“Then keep an eye on that confounded Italian. Send that letter to Max, and tell him to reply to you in cipher. His letter might fall into somebody else’s hands. Max might also inquire into what the police arrangements are about here – where the village constable lives, and where is the nearest police-station.”

“Couldn’t you send me in to Whitby, and I’d give him all instructions, and tell him the state of affairs?”

“Yes. Go in the morning. Garrett will take you in on the car. Say you’re going to buy me a book I want.”

And with that his Highness finished tying his cravat with care, and descended into the pretty drawing-room, where the widow, lounging picturesquely beneath the yellow-shaded lamp, awaited him.

That evening the Parson, who complained of headache on account of the sun during a walk in the morning, retired to his room early, and until past eleven the Prince sat alone with his fat and flattered hostess.

As she lolled back in the big silk-covered easy-chair, slowly fanning herself and trying to look her best, he, calm, calculating person that he was, had his eyes fixed upon her sparkling necklet, wondering how much the old Jew in Amsterdam would give for it.

“What a splendid ornament!” he remarked, as though he had noticed it for the first time.

“Do you like it?” she asked with a smile. “It belonged to my husband’s family.”

“Beautiful!” remarked his Highness, bending closer to examine it, for he had the eye of a connoisseur, and saw that it was probably French work of the eighteenth century.

“Many people have admired it,” she went on. “My husband was very fond of jewellery, and gave me quite a quantity. I never keep it here, however, for a year ago an attempt was made to break into the place.”

“So you keep them in a safe deposit?” he exclaimed; “and quite right, too. Diamonds are always a sore temptation to burglars.”

“I’m asking a few people to dinner next Wednesday, and am sending to the bank in York for some of my ornaments,” remarked the widow. “I hope they’ll be safe here. Since the attempt by thieves, I confess I’ve been awfully nervous.”

“Oh, they’ll be safe enough,” declared the audacious adventurer, taking a fresh Russian cigarette from his case.

“I hope so. I have invited a few people – the best in the county – to meet your Highness. I hope you won’t object.”

“Not at all,” he replied affably. “Only, as you know, I much prefer to remain incognito.”

“You’re one of the most modest men I’ve ever met,” she declared, in a soft voice, intended to be seductive.

“I find life as a commoner much more agreeable than as a prince,” he responded. “In incognito, I always enjoy freedom of speech and freedom of action, which, as a royalty, it is impossible to obtain.”

The widow’s mind was ever active. She was straining her utmost to fascinate her guest. The difference in their ages was really not so very great. Her secret hope was that she could induce him to make a declaration of love. Fancy her, plain Mrs Edmondson, ridiculed by the county and only tolerated by a certain section of it, suddenly becoming a princess!

Milnthorpe was a beautiful old place, but to her it was but a sepulchre. She hated it because, while in residence there, she was buried alive. She preferred Monte Carlo, Paris, or even Cairo.

“Then the dinner-party will be a very smart one?” he remarked for want of something better to say. “And my hostess herself will surely be the smartest of them all,” he added with a bow and an intent to flatter.

“Ah! I fear not,” replied the widow with a slight sigh. “I dare say the diamonds which poor Tubby gave me are as good as any worn by the other women, but as for smartness – well, Prince, a woman’s mirror does not lie,” and she sighed again. “Youth is but fleeting, and a woman’s life is, alas! a long old age.”

“Oh, come!” he laughed, lounging back in his chair. “You haven’t yet arrived at the regretful age. Life is surely still full of youth for you!”

She was much gratified at that little speech of his, and showed it.

He continued to flatter her, and with that cunning innate within him he slowly drew from her the fact that she would not be averse to a second marriage. He was fooling her, yet with such cleverness that she, shrewd woman that she was, never dreamed that he was laughing at her in his sleeve.

So earnest, so sensible, so perfectly frank and straightforward was he, that when after half an hour’s tête-à-tête she found him holding her hand and asking her to become Princess, she became utterly bewildered. What she replied she hardly knew, until suddenly, with an old-fashioned courtliness, he raised her fat, bejewelled hand gallantly to his lips and said:

“Very well. Let it be so, Mrs Edmondson. We are kindred spirits, and our souls have affinity. You shall be my princess.”

“And then the old crow started blubbering,” as he forcibly described the scene afterwards to the Parson.

For a few moments he held her in his embrace, fearful every moment that the ferret-eyed Italian should enter. Indeed, his every movement seemed to be watched suspiciously by that grave, silent servant.

They mutually promised, for the present, to keep their secret. He kissed her upon the lips, which, as he declared to the Parson, were “sticky with some confounded face-cream or other.” Then Ferrini suddenly appeared, and his mistress dismissed him for the night. The Prince, however, knew that he would not retire, but lurk somewhere in the corridor outside.

He stood before the old Jacobean fireplace, with its high overmantel of carved stone and emblazoned arms, a handsome man who would prove attractive to any woman. Was it therefore any wonder that the ambitious widow of the shipbuilder should have angled after him?

He had entirely eclipsed the Parson.

First their conversation was all of affection; then it turned upon something akin, money. Upon the latter point the Prince was utter careless. He had sufficient, he declared. But the widow was persistent in telling him the state of her own finances. Besides the estate of Milnthorpe, which produced quite a comfortable income, she enjoyed half the revenue from the great firm her husband had founded, and at that moment, besides other securities, she had a matter of seventy thousand pounds lying idle at her bank, over which she had complete control.

She expected this would interest him, but, on the contrary, he merely lit a fresh cigarette, and having done so, said:

“My dear Mrs Edmondson, this marriage of ours is not for monetary interest. My own estates are more than sufficient for me. I do not desire to touch one single penny of your money. I wish you to enjoy your separate estate, and remain just as independent as you are to-day.”

And so they chatted on until the chimes of the stable clock warned them it was two in the morning. Then having given him a slobbery good-night kiss, they separated.

Before his Highness turned in, he took from his steel despatch-box a small black-covered book, and with its aid he constructed two cipher telegrams, which he put aside to be despatched by Charles from the Whitby post office in the morning.

The calm, warm summer days went slowly by. Each afternoon the widow – now perfectly satisfied with herself – accompanied her two guests on runs on the Prince’s “forty” – one day to Scarborough, the next over the Cleveland Hills to Guisborough, to Helmsley on to the ruins of Rievaulx, and to other places.

One afternoon the Parson made an excuse to remain at home, and the widow took the Prince in to York in her own Mercédès. Arrived there, they took tea in the coffee-room of the Station Hotel, then, calling at a solicitor’s office in Coney Street, appended their joint names to a document which, at the widow’s instigation, had already been prepared.

A quarter of an hour later they pulled up before the West Riding Bank in Stonegate, and though the offices were already closed, a clerk on duty handed to the widow a box about eighteen inches square, tied with string, and sealed with four imposing red seals. For this she scribbled her name to a receipt, and placing it in the car between them, drove back by way of Malton, Pickering, and Levisham.

“This is the first time I’ve had my tiara out, my dear Albert, since the burglars tried to get in,” she remarked when they had gone some distance, and the Mercédès was tearing along that level open stretch towards Malton.

“Well, of course, be careful,” answered her companion. Then after a pause he lowered his voice so the chauffeur could not overhear, and said: “I wonder, Gertrude, if you’ll permit me to make a remark – without any offence?”

“Why, certainly. What is it?”

“Well, to tell the truth, I don’t half like the look of that foreign servant of yours. He’s not straight. I’m sure of it by the look in his eyes.”

“How curious! Do you know that the same thought has occurred to me these last few days,” she said. “And yet he’s such a trusty servant. He’s been with me nearly two years.”

“Don’t trust him further, Gertrude, that’s my advice,” said his Highness pointedly. “I’m suspicious of the fellow – distinctly suspicious. Do you know much of him?”

“Nothing, except that he’s a most exemplary servant.”

“Where was he before he entered your service?”

“With Lady Llangoven, in Hertford Street. She gave him a most excellent character.”

“Well, take my warning,” he said. “I’m sure there’s something underhand about him.”

“You quite alarm me,” declared the widow. “Especially as I have these,” and she indicated the sealed parcel at her side.

“Oh, don’t be alarmed. While I’m at Milnthorpe I’ll keep my eyes upon the fellow, never fear. I suppose you have a safe in which to keep your jewels?”

“Yes. But some of the plate is kept there, and he often has the key.”

His Highness grunted suspiciously, thereby increasing the widow’s alarm.

“Now you cause me to reflect,” she said, “there were several curious features about this recent attempt of thieves. The police from York asked me if I thought that any one in the house could have been in league with them. They apparently suspected one or other of the servants.”

“Oh!” exclaimed the Prince. “And the Italian was at that time in your service?”

“Yes.”

“Then does not that confirm our suspicions? Is he not a dangerous person to have in a house so full of valuable objects as Milnthorpe?”

“I certainly agree. After the dinner-party on Wednesday, I’ll give him notice.”

“Rather pay the fellow his month’s money, and send him away,” her companion suggested. Then in the same breath he added: “Of course it is not for me to interfere with your household arrangements. I know this is great presumption. But my eyes are open, and I have noted that the man is not all he pretends to be. Therefore I thought it only my duty to broach the subject.”

“My interests are yours,” cooed the widow at his side. “Most decidedly Ferrini shall go. Or else one morning we may wake up and find that thieves have paid us a second visit.”

Then, the chauffeur having put on a “move,” their conversation became interrupted, and the subject was not resumed, for very soon they found themselves swinging through the lodge-gates of Milnthorpe.

Wednesday night came. Milnthorpe Hall was aglow with light, the rooms beautifully decorated by a well-known florist, the dinner cooked by a chef from London, the music played by a well-known orchestra stationed on the lawn outside the long, oak-panelled dining-room; and as one guest after another arrived in carriages and cars they declared that the widow had certainly eclipsed herself by this entertainment in honour of his Highness Prince Albert of Hesse-Holstein.

Not a word of their approaching marriage was allowed to leak out. For the present, it was their own secret. Any premature announcement might, he had told her, bring upon him the Kaiser’s displeasure.

Four

In the long drawing-room, receiving her guests, stood the widow, handsome in black and silver, wearing her splendid tiara and necklet of diamonds, as well as a rope of fine, well-matched pearls, all of which both the Parson and his Highness duly noted. She certainly looked a brilliant figure, while, beside her, stood the Prince himself, with the miniature crosses of half a dozen of his decorations strung upon a tiny gold chain across the lappel of his dress-coat.

Several guests had arrived earlier in the day to dine and sleep, while the remainder, from the immediate neighbourhood, included several persons of title and social distinction who had accepted the invitation out of mere curiosity. Half the guests went because they were to meet a real live prince, and the other half in order to afterwards poke fun at the obese tuft-hunter.

The dinner, however, was an unqualified success, the thanks being in a great measure due to his Highness, who was full of vivacity and brilliant conversation. Everybody was charmed with him, while of course later on, in the corner of the drawing-room, the Bayswater parson sang his friend’s praises in unmeasured terms.

The several unmarried women set their caps pointedly at the hero of the evening, and at last, when the guests had left and the visitors had retired, he, with the Parson and two other male visitors, Sir Henry Hutton, and a certain Lionel Meyer, went to the billiard-room.

It was two o’clock when they went upstairs. The Bayswater vicar had to pass the Prince’s room, in order to get to his own, but he did not enter further than the threshold. Both men looked eagerly across at the dressing-table, upon which Charles had left two candles burning.

That was a secret sign. Both men recognised it, and the Prince instantly raised his finger with a gesture indicative of silence. Then he exclaimed aloud: “Well, good-night, Clayton. We’ll go for a run in the morning,” and closed his door noisily, while the Parson went along to his own room.

The Prince, always an early riser, was up at eight o’clock, and was already dressed when Charles entered his room.

“Well?” he inquired, as was his habit.

“There’s a rare to-do below,” exclaimed the valet. “The whole house has been ransacked in the night, and a clean sweep made of all the jewellery. The old woman is asking to see you at once.”

Without ado, his Highness descended, sending Charles along to alarm the Parson.

In the morning-room he found the widow, with the two male guests and two ladies, assembled in excited conclave. As he entered, his hostess rushed towards him, saying:

“Oh, Prince! A most terrible thing has happened! Every scrap of jewellery, including my tiara and necklet, has been stolen!”

“Stolen!” he gasped, pretending not to have heard the news.

“Yes. I placed them myself in the safe in the butler’s pantry, together with several cases the maids brought me from my guests. I locked them up just after one o’clock and took the key. Here it is. It has never left my possession. I – ”

She was at that moment interrupted by the entrance of the Parson, who, having heard of the robbery from the servants, began:

“My de-ah Mrs Edmondson. This is really a most untoward circumstance – most – ”

“Listen,” the widow went on excitedly. “Hear me, and then advise me what to do. I took this key,” – and she held it up for their inspection – “and hid it beneath the corner of the carpet in my room. This morning, to my amazement, my maid came to say that the safe-door had been found ajar, and that though the plate had been left, all the jewellery had disappeared. Only the empty cases remain!”

“How has the safe been opened?” asked the Prince, standing amazed.

Was it possible that some ingenious adventurer had got ahead of him? It certainly seemed so.

“It’s been opened by another key, that’s evident,” replied the widow.

“And where’s Ferrini?” inquired his Highness quickly.