Her Royal Highness: A Romance of the Chancelleries of Europe

“Ah,” he sighed, “I fear you are a sad breaker of the conventionalities. Before I knew that you were my little friend of the Nile I had heard several stories of your various little escapades.”

“Oh yes,” she cried quickly. “No doubt you’ve been told some awful tales about my doings – stories which get about Rome, and everyone exaggerates them as they pass from mouth to mouth. My worst offence, I believe, is because I entered for a motor-cycle race and won it. Well, haven’t your girls in England won similar races?”

“True, but what a shop-assistant may do is forbidden to a princess,” was his reproof.

“Ah, that’s just it?” she exclaimed in protest. “Merely because I happen to be born a princess I’m supposed to put on a veneer of Court manners, and observe Court etiquette day in and day out, until it all bores me stiff – as you say in English. Just because I try and behave like other girls, obtain my freedom when I can, and enjoy myself with open-air pursuits, I am held in horror by Their Majesties, and the people declare that I am a disgrace to our Royal House.”

“No – not a disgrace, Princess.”

“Lola, please,” she said, correcting him.

“Lola then – if you will have it so,” he said. “The people secretly admire you for your courage in breaking the steel bonds of Court etiquette; nevertheless remember that such escapades as yours must lead you into danger – grave personal danger. You are a girl, and remember also that there are some blackguards about who, knowing your active and daring temperament, may entrap you and then levy blackmail upon you.”

Her beautiful face instantly fell. He saw that she grew paler and more thoughtful. Her lips twitched slightly.

“You think so,” she said slowly, her voice so changed that he wondered. “You think that someone might really attempt to levy blackmail upon me – eh?”

“Certainly. And in that lies the very serious peril to which you must be exposed, if you continue to disregard the conventionalities which surround you as a daughter of a Royal House.”

“You are rather hard upon me, Mr Waldron,” she said in a low voice, quite unusual to her.

“Not in the least. Remember I am your friend. If at any time I can serve you in any way you have only to come to me, and I will exert every effort on your behalf,” he said, speaking very earnestly. “But I would beg of you to exercise the greatest discretion. Why continue to annoy Their Majesties by this conduct which must sooner or later bring unpleasantness, and perhaps trouble, upon you?”

“Trouble!” she echoed, her great dark eyes fixed upon him. “Trouble! It has already brought trouble upon me. That is why I came here to-night to see you – to tell you – to confess – and to ask your help as my good, kind friend?”

Chapter Twelve.

The King’s Confidences

At that moment there was a discreet tap at the door and Peters entered, saying:

“An aide-de-camp of His Majesty wishes to see you on a matter of great importance, sir.”

For a second Waldron stood confused.

“Oh! he must not find me here,” whispered the Princess, starting up in quick alarm. “Where can I go?”

“In this room,” the diplomat replied quickly, opening a door which led to his small dining-room. He switched on the light, and she passed within, closing the door noiselessly. It was all done in a few seconds, and then Hubert said in his natural voice:

“Oh, show him in.”

Next moment a tall, good-looking, dark-moustached officer, wearing his grey military cloak, entered jauntily, saying in Italian with a merry twinkle in his eyes as he grasped the other’s hand:

“Sorry to disturb you at this hour, friend Waldron – especially when you have a lady visitor.”

“Lady visitor! What do you mean?” he asked, for Count Guicciolo was an old friend of many years.

“Well, your man told me that you could not be disturbed, so I naturally formed my own conclusions,” replied the aide-de-camp airily, pointing to the muff. “But I apologise. Here is a message for you from His Majesty. I was to deliver it into your hands,” and from beneath his cloak he produced a letter which upon the flap bore the neat royal cipher of the House of Savoy.

In surprise the diplomat broke the seal and read the following formal words:

“His Majesty the King commands to private audience the Honourable Hubert Waldron, M.V.O., this evening and immediately,” followed by the date.

Hubert noticed the neat handwriting. It had been penned by His Majesty King Umberto himself.

“Well!” he asked the Count.

“I was sent to bring you at once to the Palace, my friend,” replied the other.

“What is amiss? Surely it is strange that I should receive a command at this hour!”

“Yes. But His Majesty works very late sometimes.”

“Is anything seriously wrong?”

“Not that I am aware of. I was simply summoned to the private cabinet, and His Majesty gave me that letter, and ordered me to find you at once,” and he took a cigarette from the silver box which Waldron handed him, and holding it in his white-gloved hand slowly lit it.

“Will you come with me now?” he asked as he cast away the match. “I’m awfully sorry to disturb you,” he added with a laugh. “But it is His Majesty’s orders.”

“Oh, don’t apologise,” was the diplomat’s reply. He was annoyed, for he knew what a sad gossip was Guicciolo, and that on the morrow half Rome would know that a young lady had been found in his rooms. At all hazards her identity must be concealed. Therefore, making an excuse to obtain his coat, Waldron passed into the dining-room where the Princess was standing in anxiety, whispered to her an explanation how he would have to leave unceremoniously and urging her to leave five minutes later.

“We will resume our conversation to-morrow,” he added. “But not here. It is far too dangerous.”

“Where then?” she asked eagerly in a low whisper. “I will meet you anywhere after dark.” He reflected a second. Then said:

“Do you know Bucci’s little restaurant in the Piazza delle Coppelle?”

“Yes, I know. Quite a quiet little place. I will never be recognised there.”

“Well, at half-past eight. The dinner will be over then, and the place will be empty.”

“Agreed. Addio,” she said, and they grasped hands quickly. Then he put on his overcoat, and went out with the Count, while five minutes later Peters, ignorant of her identity, showed the Princess out, and accompanied her downstairs to the door.

As Waldron and the Count entered the fine Quirinale Palace they were challenged by the sentries at the great gateway, whereupon the aide-de-camp gave the password and they saluted.

Then, crossing the great handsome courtyard, they entered by one of the smaller doors, and passing round the gallery to the huge gilded staircase where two servants in the royal livery stood on either side like statues. They ascended, and passing along a well-carpeted corridor, halted at last before a heavy mahogany door outside which stood a sentry on duty – the door of the King’s private cabinet.

Again the Count uttered the password, was saluted, and was then allowed to knock.

A deep voice gave permission to enter, whereupon Hubert Waldron crossed the threshold and bowed low in the presence of a rather short, middle-aged man of smart military appearance, though he wore civilian evening dress with a single decoration on the breast of his coat, the Star of the Order of the Crown of Italy, of which he was Master.

The room was not large, but was tastefully, even luxuriantly furnished. In the centre stood a great mahogany writing-table piled with papers, from which he had just risen, while at the side was set an armchair for those to whom His Majesty gave audience.

“Ah, Waldron, I am very glad they have found you so quickly,” he exclaimed, putting out his hand in gracious welcome. “I want to have a confidential chat with you. I want you to assist me, for I feel sure you can.”

“If I can serve Your Majesty in any way,” replied the British diplomat, “I am, as you know, only too anxious and too willing.”

“Ah! I know. I know that,” replied King Umberto briskly. “Good! Sit down.”

Then, when His Majesty had settled himself again in his padded writing-chair – at that table where for many weary hours each day he attended to matters of State affecting forty millions of his subjects – he looked straight at the man before him, and asked suddenly in Italian:

“Signor Waldron, can you keep a Secret?”

“That is my profession,” was the other’s calm reply. “And any secret of Your Majesty’s will, I assure you, be safe in my keeping.”

The King paused. He was dressed plainly, for after the banquet given that night to a Russian royalty he had changed from his striking uniform into easier clothes before commencing work. Yet in his face was a deep, earnest, noble expression, for he was a monarch who had the welfare of his nation very deeply and genuinely at heart. His dark, deep-set eyes, his slightly sallow skin, and the three lines across his brow told their own tale. Though a King, the crown bore heavily upon his head, for the responsibilities of a State run by a Ministry which was not above suspicion weighed very heavily upon him.

The Cabinet was, alas, composed mainly of men with axes to grind. Of financial scandals there had been many, and more than once there had been a public outcry when Ministers had been tried as criminals and convicted of bribery, and of peculation of the public funds.

Yet as monarch his hands were tied, and perhaps no ruler in all Europe had so many sleepless nights as he.

The silence was broken by a bugle in the great courtyard below. The Palace guard were changing.

“Listen, Waldron,” he said at last in a low voice of deep earnestness after he had ascertained that the door was closed, “I have asked you here to-night because I feel that I can trust you. My father trusted your father, and I have known you ever since we were lads. I know how shrewd and painstaking you are, and what a high sense of honour you possess.”

“Your Majesty is far too flattering,” Hubert replied modestly. “I know that my dead father always held yours in the highest esteem. And you have shown towards myself a graciousness that I never expected.”

“Because I know that you are my friend,” he said. “Even a King must have a friend in whom he can at times confide. That is why I have asked you to come and see me.”

“You do me too great an honour,” declared the diplomat.

“Not at all. It is I who am asking your favour in your assistance,” was His Majesty’s quiet response. “Let me explain the situation of which you, as a British diplomat, will at once recognise the extreme gravity.” And then drawing his white hand wearily across his brow, he leaned back in his chair and sighed. In that gay, brilliant Court – one of the gayest in all Europe – His Majesty always presented a brilliant and kingly figure in his splendid uniforms and dazzling decorations, but at heart he hated all pomp and show, and as soon as a ceremony was over he always changed into evening-clothes, or else into a navy serge suit which, being an old friend, was slightly shiny at the elbows.

A high-minded, God-fearing ruler, he carried out to the letter all the traditions of the House of Savoy and worked incessantly and untiringly for the welfare of his nation, and for the benefit of the sweated factory-hand, and the poor, half-starved contadino. For certain Hebrew financiers who had tried to grip the country and strangle it, he had nothing but hatred. For the present Cabinet, mostly composed of commercial adventurers and place-seeking lawyers, he had the most supreme contempt, and daily he sighed that he was not an autocrat, so that he could sweep away with a single stroke of the pen all those who stood in the way of his beloved Italy’s prosperity.

True, by dint of his own business acumen and his resolute firmness against the various Ministers of Finance who were too often rogues, many of whom ought long ago to have been in prison, he had himself placed the finances of Italy upon a sound basis. The lire was now almost equal in value to the French franc. By this, commercial industries had been encouraged, foreign capital had been invested in Italy, the railways had been taken over by the State, and a wave of prosperity had swept upon the nation such as had never hitherto been experienced.

But this had not suited the Cabinet, every man of whom could be bought at a price. Hence he stood alone as ruler, compelled daily to combat the intrigues of that unscrupulous horde of adventurers which composed the Chamber of Deputies, and to continue the policy he had marked out as his own.

As a diplomat Hubert Waldron knew all this and deeply sympathised with him. Truly, the Palace of the Quirinale was not a bed of roses for its Sovereign.

Again the bugle sounded, and from below came the regular tramp of armed men.

The little buhl clock upon the mantelshelf chimed the hour upon its silver bell, the big fire burned cosily, and over the great writing-table the two green silk-shaded electric lamps threw their mellow glow.

“Waldron, my nation is to-day in gravest peril,” the King said at last, looking straight into the other’s eyes very gravely. “A secret – one which I foolishly believed to be safe from our enemies – has been betrayed! You are shrewd, cautious, and far-seeing. I will reveal the whole ghastly truth to you – for you must help me. I rely upon you, for though I am King of Italy you are, I know, my friend, and will help me through the most critical crisis that has occurred since my accession to the throne. Listen,” he urged, “and I will relate the whole of the remarkable circumstances.”

Chapter Thirteen.

His Majesty’s Secret

“The problem we have before us is as follows,” His Majesty began, bending towards Waldron from his chair, and speaking in a low, earnest, intense tone. “Some plans of important defences now being constructed upon our Austrian frontier have mysteriously disappeared from the Ministry of War. The theft was discovered at once, but up to the present it is known only to myself, to Ghelardi, our Chief of Secret Police; to General Cataldi, Minister of War, who reported to me this evening, and to three other persons, all of whom have been sworn to absolute secrecy.”

“In what circumstances have they disappeared?” inquired the diplomat.

“I will tell you,” was the King’s reply. “A year ago it was decided in secret by the Council of Defence to construct a chain of hidden fortresses from Feltre along the northern frontier to the Lago di Garda – eight of them, with quick-firing disappearing guns. Six have been constructed, commanding a wide sweep of our neighbour’s territory, and armed with our new long-range artillery, while two others are still in course of construction, the work being carried out in strictest secrecy. For many years the Council of Defence have felt that this portion of our frontier was the most vulnerable of all, but according to our unfortunate treaty with Austria, no strengthening of the defences on either side is permitted.”

“And now the secret is probably out to Austria,” Waldron remarked. “Ah! I follow Your Majesty. The construction of these forts will be construed by Austria into a menace – even into an act of war!”

“Precisely. I see that you at once perceive the extreme gravity of the situation. Italy has been betrayed into the hands of her hereditary enemy, Austria. Ever since the recent riots in Trieste our relations have been greatly strained, and I am informed on the best authority that Austria-Hungary is only waiting an excuse to pick a quarrel and attack us, although her attitude is so diplomatically correct.”

“Then the situation is certainly most grave. There is, I fear, a distinct and imminent peril, Your Majesty.”

“Ah! You agree with me – eh?”

“Entirely,” was Waldron’s answer as he sat, his chin resting upon his hand, deep in thought. “But may I not know more precisely the exact circumstances of this theft?”

“Certainly, every fact within my knowledge is entirely at your disposal, for I am seeking your assistance, I have heard of your successes as a keen investigator of diplomatic secrets, and I appeal to you, Waldron, to assist me in what is a very serious difficulty and a distinct peril to my nation.”

“I am Your Majesty’s obedient servant to command,” was the other’s prompt reply.

“Yes, yes, I greatly appreciate your words,” the monarch said. “Now let me proceed further. The plans were produced at a meeting of the Council of Defence held at the Ministry of War yesterday at twelve o’clock. There had been suggested some strengthening of the fort overlooking the Lago di Garda at Gardone, also the one commanding the Austrian town of Riva, at the farther end of the lake. It was to discuss the details – the addition of guns of greater calibre and further range – that the plans were laid upon the table and examined by the Ministers of War and of Marine as well as the eight other high officers composing the Council. The proceedings were entirely private, of course, even the secretary of the Council being excluded from the council chamber, as he always is when purely confidential business affecting the nation’s secret defences is in progress. On his re-entry the plans in question were handed back to him by the hand of General Cataldi, the Minister of War, but a few minutes later they seem to have been mysteriously spirited away, the secretary of the Council, Lambarini, declaring that he had passed them on to Pironti, private secretary of the Minister.”

“And Lambarini?” queried Waldron. “Is he trustworthy – entirely trustworthy?”

“Entirely. Colonel Lambarini has occupied his position for the past fifteen years, and is thoroughly loyal and patriotic.”

Hubert Waldron drew a deep, long breath. His estimate of the Italian functionary, of whatever grade, was but a low one. He had never yet known any Government official in Italy – be he a humble clerk or a Cabinet Minister – who could not be bought with a price. Alas! that corruption in Italy was a matter of world-wide knowledge.

The King instantly noticed his visitor’s hesitation, and his brows contracted.

“Ah, I see! You suspect Lambarini. But there you are quite wrong, Waldron – quite wrong, I assure you! Too well I know the lack of personal honour at Monte Citorio and in our Government offices. But I know Lambarini. For me that is all-sufficient. When I know a man I trust him.”

“Then I at once withdraw my suspicion,” the diplomat exclaimed quickly. “Your Majesty can read men far better than I can. If you actually know this secretary, Lambarini, then no further word need be said.”

“It is not my desire to prejudice your views in any way, my dear Waldron,” the King assured him with a smile. “I want you to approach this affair with a perfectly open mind. Please understand that to you I am looking for assistance. I am powerless as monarch. I am hoping that you – the friend of my youth – may be able to solve the very serious and critical problem.”

“Of course I will do my best in Your Majesty’s interests,” declared Waldron. “But do please tell me more. What happened after the documents were placed in Lambarini’s hands?”

“He put them at once in the safe in His Excellency’s room.”

“Then he has a key to the safe?”

“It is a safe used for confidential documents when they are taken from the strong-room in the basement up to the Ministry, in order to be inspected. The safe is actually in General Cataldi’s private cabinet.”

“How many keys are there?”

“Three. The General has one,” replied His Majesty. “There is a system of keeping confidential documents, for if one is removed for any purpose, a slip of paper is left in its place bearing the signature of one or other of the three persons who have the key.”

“And has no one access to this safe except the persons Your Majesty has mentioned?”

“No one,” was the King’s reply.

“There must be a false key.”

“Even if one existed that would be useless, for a sentry is on duty outside the Minister’s private cabinet day and night.”

“And has this sentry been questioned?”

“I believe so.”

“By Ghelardi, most probably?”

“I think so.”

“Is Your Majesty aware of the views held by your Chief of Secret Police?”

“He simply declared the whole affair to be a mystery. His suspicion first fell upon Lambarini, just as yours has done. But he afterwards agreed with me that the official named is no traitor.”

“Well – there must be clever espionage at work somewhere,” said Waldron. “A substantial sum must have been paid for those documents, that’s certain. If we could trace money, we could place our hands at once upon the culprit.”

“Agreed,” exclaimed His Majesty, a dark cloud upon his brow. “But I hate to think that any Italian should sell his country’s secrets for foreign gold.”

“Alas! Your Majesty, in every country there are to be found black sheep. Even in our patriotic England we have them, as recent prosecutions have revealed.”

“Ah, yes, I know! But, Waldron, we must find this traitor who has no doubt stirred up against us once more the bitter enmity of Vienna. Three years ago our Secret Service reported a cunning and crafty move by Austria – an intention on her part to encroach into Venetia. There was a deep conspiracy afoot against us just as there was last year against Servia in the Balkans. Had we not discovered it we might have awakened to find Venice and Milan in the enemies’ hands. As it was, Ghelardi – though then in the German Service, but still a patriotic Italian – gave us a timely warning, and we were able to turn the tables upon our enemy. After this discovery the Council of War decided to strengthen our frontier defences in secret – the secret which is now, unfortunately, betrayed to those who wish to crush us.”

“And does Your Majesty desire me to make inquiries independently of the Commendatore Ghelardi – or in association with him?” inquired Waldron thinking deeply, for the problem was a complex one.

“Just as you deem best, Waldron. Act as your own discretion directs you,” the King replied, taking from the table a slip of yellow official paper whereon was scribbled some memoranda.

“I presume that I shall have no difficulty in obtaining the name of the sentry who was on duty outside His Excellency’s door?” the diplomat remarked after a brief silence.

“I have it here,” responded His Majesty. “It is Corporal Tonini, of the 19th Regiment of Bersiglieri – a loyal soldier.”

Hubert took the little gold pencil attached to his watch-chain and scribbled the name on the cuff of his dress-shirt, together with that of the secretaries of Minister of War and that of the Council of Defence.

“I will order Ghelardi to give you every assistance and information, as I desire, Waldron, that you will inquire into this matter upon my own personal behalf. I ask you to do this as a favour – as one who will be very grateful to you for your services. You are independent, and a foreigner, and you have no axe to grind as, alas! they all seem to have who surround me. A king is always the centre of human avarice, of base unscrupulousness, of jealousies, and of the fierce struggle for undeserved honours and emoluments.” Then with a sigh he added: “When one is a Sovereign there is, unfortunately, revealed all the worst side of human nature.”

“Is there any suspicion of a spy of Austria being at present in Rome?” Waldron inquired after a silence broken only by the tramp of the soldiers returning to their quarters on the opposite side of the great paved courtyard.

“Austrian agents are, of course, always among us. A dozen or so are known as residing in the north. But Ghelardi and his staff are ever watchful. You know him, I suppose?”

“I have met him,” replied Hubert vaguely. He dare not tell His Majesty the curious story of their acquaintance, or the circumstances in which he had met his madcap niece.

“Ah! then you will want no introduction. You will find him at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. But perhaps I had better give him instructions,” he added, and turning to his table he scribbled a hasty note, which he enclosed in an envelope and addressed. “If you wish to consult him or others that will prove an open sesame,” smiled His Majesty.

Waldron took the royal mandate with a word of thanks, and placed it securely in his inner pocket.

“Remember,” His Majesty urged very seriously, “in this affair, I beg of you, Waldron, to spare no effort. We must save the situation at all hazards, and though Ghelardi and his agents may make their own inquiries, I rely upon you alone to tell me the truth. Go to your Chief and ask him to relieve you of your present duties for a short time. Tell him that you are carrying out a personal mission for myself, the friend of your youth, and I feel sure he will raise no objection. Great Britain is ever the firm and true friend of myself, and of my beloved nation. But please keep the secret of our loss entirely to yourself.”