Читать книгу Of Royal Blood - William Le Queux - Страница 7

Table of Contents

A CABINET Council had been summoned to decide some important affair of State, therefore my interview with Lord Macclesfield was a brief one. As usual he was grave and courteous, sitting in his large padded writing-chair, his thin white hands clasped upon the table before him, his keen dark eyes fixed upon me.

"I wish to see you once more before you leave, Crawford, in order to give a word of final advice in the matter you are about to undertake. The affair, from later despatches appears to be much more serious than I had at first believed. It will require the greatest care and judgment. We have enemies in Brussels—secret enemies you understand—and if report be true they are the most daring and unscrupulous set with whom we have yet had to deal. Have you thought over the matter well?"

"Yes," I answered. "I have recollected every word you spoke to me when you entrusted the secret in my keeping."

"And you now feel yourself quite competent to undertake the task?"

"Entirely so," I said. "You may rely upon me doing my best."

"You are not married, I presume?" he asked suddenly, with a quick penetrating glance.

"No," I laughed.

"Are you likely to be?"

"Well," I responded with a smile, "truth to tell, I have not yet found a woman for whom I should care as wife."

"Quite right. Quite right," he answered testily. "It's a mistake for any young diplomatist to marry—a grave mistake. He should be free—entirely free. You are free, therefore you have every chance of succeeding."

"I shall strive my utmost."

"Both Russia and France have clever representatives at the Belgian Court, therefore you will be compelled to act with considerable tact. But I rely on you. Matters have become so serious that it is better for you to leave at once for Brussels and take up your position at the Embassy. I have instructed Sir John Drummond to allow you to have an absolutely free hand, both as regards time and expense, and from time to time you will report direct to me by special messenger. Trust nothing to the post, for we have already had evidence that the cabinet noir is active."

I nodded acquiescence.

"And before you leave," the Premier added, "you had better see Clunes, of the Treaty Department. Yesterday, in conversation with me upon another matter, he made a statement which is very extraordinary, and appears to have some connection with the mystery you are about to fathom."

"Clunes!" I ejaculated in surprise. "What has he discovered?"

"You had better hear his statement; for the information may or may not be of use to you. At any rate the story is an astounding one, and if true, shows the extraordinary ingenuity of our enemies."

"You have doubts as to its veracity?" I suggested.

His eyes fell upon the blotting pad before him, and for a few seconds he appeared deep in thought.

"Truth to tell, Crawford," he said at last, in a tone of confidence, "I am wondering whether the strange allegation was not made to me with some ulterior motive."

"But you don't suspect that Clunes, a trusted servant in that department where secrecy is so imperative, would willingly mislead you?" I asked.

His lordship shook his head doubtfully.

"Recollect," he added quickly, "this matter is entirely between us. I do not know whether or not you are a friend of Clunes's, but if you are, then recollect that you are before everything the servant of your Queen and country, just as I am, and that private friendships or prejudices must never be allowed to interfere with duty."

"Then what do you wish me to do?" I asked.

"See Clunes this evening, obtain his statement, and on arrival in Brussels report to me your opinion regarding its truth."

"Very well," I answered, not, however, pleased at the prospect. His lordship's suspicion of Gordon unsettled me, for I had always found him a true and faithful friend. What, I wondered, had he discovered? and what could be the nature of this extraordinary statement, which might throw some light upon the matter I was about to investigate? If anything of importance had come to his knowledge it was strange, knowing that I had been appointed on a secret mission, that friends as we were he had not given me the benefit of his knowledge. I scarcely suspected him of endeavouring to curry favour with his lordship, except that on account of his wife's eagerness that he should obtain a post abroad he might have been induced by her to make a bold bid for fortune. I recollected that this woman he had married was my secret and most bitter enemy. Perhaps she was endeavouring to use her husband as a tool for my downfall.

My teeth closed tightly as I recollected that look of triumph in her eyes.

Then, with a final adieu to his lordship, who had already risen and put on his hat to attend the meeting of the Cabinet, I went out and downstairs to Gordon's room.

On entering I found him absent, and one of the clerks informed me that a telegram had been received that morning saying that he was indisposed, and would not attend that day. I was annoyed at this, as it meant that I should be compelled to travel down to Richmond and there again meet the hateful woman who held my future in her unscrupulous hands.

As I left my friend's room I ran up against one of my whilom colleagues, Jack Carmichael, and with him walked round to the St. James's Club to lunch. He was an easy-going bachelor of thirty-five, who never took life very seriously, and as we sat over our coffee in the smoking-room he gossiped on, telling me all the news of the personnel of the Foreign Office during the past couple of years; how young Carew had gone the pace, got into the hands of the Jews and been compelled to resign; how Bramford, the younger son of a well-known peer, had died of alcoholic poisoning; how old Black, the passport-clerk, had retired on a pension, and how kind Lady Macclesfield had been to the family of old Saddington, the messenger and hall-porter, who had died of bronchitis after forty years of service. These and other things he related, all of them interesting to me, for in the days before my nomination as attache abroad I had, I believe, been rather popular among my colleagues. At least they had made me a very handsome presentation when I had left them for more important duties.

"And Clunes has taken to himself a wife," I remarked, when he had finished.

My companion shrugged his shoulders expressively.

"Why?" I asked.

"A wife!" and he smiled again.

"But surely she is his wife," I exclaimed. I knew Gordon to be the soul of honour.

"Certainly," answered Carmichael, "but she's not the sort of woman I'd care to marry, old chap."

"Why?" I inquired instantly interested.

"Least said soonest mended, you know," he answered vaguely.

"But tell me," I urged.

"No," he responded. "It isn't fair to gossip about a pal's wife. He's your friend and mine, remember."

"Of course," I said. "Nevertheless I've met her, and I also have suspicions that they are not quite so happy as people imagine."

"Oh! yes, they're happy enough," he answered. "Gordon's far happier than most men who forge the matrimonial fetters. Thank Heaven that although I've had my periods of sentimental silliness I've never so far played the giddy ass as to marry."

"Nor I," I observed. "But neither of us is an old man yet. We both might fall in love."

Jack Carmichael pulled a wry face, as though such a prospect was nauseous. But he was always joking, and one never knew whether or not to take him quite seriously.

"If I married," he said after a pause, "I'd rather marry a washerwoman than an unknown foreigner, as Gordon did."

"A foreigner! Surely she's not a foreigner, is she?"

"Yes. But Heaven alone knows what her nationality really is. She speaks English well, and passes as an Englishwoman," he replied. "I stood as Gordon's best man at the wedding, and it was at the wedding luncheon that I first detected that she wasn't English."

"How?"

"She was excited, having drunk an unusual quantity of fizz, and once or twice she dropped into a foreign accentuation of certain words. Gordon never seemed to have noticed it, strangely enough."

"Then perhaps her maiden name was a false one?" I suggested, all these facts only serving to verify the suspicion I had from the first moment entertained of her.

"Her name was Judith Carter-Harrison, but Heaven knows whether it was an assumed name, or not," he answered. "Since their marriage I've been a frequent visitor at Richmond, and once, when I was alone with her, I carefully led up to the subject of foreign birth and education. She, however, strenuously evaded giving me direct answers to my questions, and seemed extremely annoyed that I should entertain any suspicion that she was other than she had represented herself to be."

"Strange," I remarked. "Very strange. She's, of course, extremely good-looking."

"I should rather think so. When Gordon takes her to the theatre she's always the centre of attraction. Her face is almost flawless in its beauty."

"And poor old Gordon is so blindly infatuated that he has not yet discovered that she has deceived him," I said with a sigh. "Some day, I fear, he will suddenly awake to the truth, and then the blow will fall heavily upon him."

"Yes," my friend replied. "He's such an excellent fellow that I can't help feeling sorry for him. Truth to tell, I believe the Chief does not give him his promotion solely because of this foolish marriage."

"Does Lord Macclesfield know her?" I gasped.

"I'm not certain," he responded. "But I have a vague suspicion that he does."

I held my breath in alarm. If that were so, then I knew not from one moment to another when she might go to him and relate the ghastly story which I had ever striven to hide, a secret which, if exposed, would ruin me irretrievably. His lordship's remarkable words regarding the fidelity of Clunes himself recurred to me, and I became pensive, plunged in gloomy apprehension.

That being my last day in London, I made several calls during the afternoon, and it was about five o'clock, and already dark, when I entered the train at Waterloo for Richmond.

What Carmichael had told me caused me considerable uneasiness. That my old chum Gordon should marry an adventuress seemed extremely improbable, yet I could not forget that her face was quite familiar to me. There was but one way to silence her, I reflected. That I feared her I willingly admit; still when I thought calmly and weighed each fact carefully, I saw that the look of terror I had noticed in her eyes was not altogether without reason. Her attitude when I visited her on the last occasion had been one of watchfulness. She apparently desired to see whether I recognised her, or whether I intended to speak to her husband upon her striking resemblance to that woman I had once known. Yet I had made no sign, therefore she had smiled in confidence and triumph when she had uttered the one name most hateful to me.

In that journey to Richmond, stifled in a compartment overcrowded by city men eagerly returning to their homes at Barnes, Mortlake, and Teddington, and that new suburb, Fulwell, I reflected deeply. If ever man was desperate, I was at that moment. Before me I had a secret mission which, if successfully accomplished, would no doubt result in my further advancement. For a young man I had made rapid strides; but this woman stood as a menace between myself and success. Well I knew her ingenuity, her craftiness, the calm cunning and the relentless revenge of which she was capable. She was, indeed, a formidable enemy.

Nevertheless, it likewise tardily occurred to me that although she held my secret, yet I also held the key to her disreputable past. Could I not, if she uttered a single word, expose her in her true light as an adventuress, a woman declassée and beyond the pale of society, an infamous schemer whose real name stank in the nostrils of everyone in two European capitals? This I saw was my only safeguard. She was now awaiting her chance to expose my true office and to bring not only me, but British diplomacy into derision, and render it ignominious; therefore I realised that it was incumbent upon me to strike the first blow. I sat in the railway carriage pretending to read the evening paper, but really trying to decide how to act. The best and wisest course appeared to be to recognise her at once, pretend to hold her in abhorrence, and threaten to explain all to her husband. Then she in turn would threaten me, whereupon I could proceed to make advantageous terms with her. This seemed the only course, therefore after due consideration I decided to adopt it.

A neat maid answered my summons when I rang, and I was at once ushered into the white drawing-room which I had so admired on my first visit. Then, after a few minutes, she entered, rather flurried, I thought. She was confused at my unexpected call, and this gave me courage.

"I've come down to see Gordon on business," I explained, when we had exchanged greetings and she had taken a seat opposite me.

"He was not at all well this morning, poor boy, so I persuaded him not to go to town," she explained.

"What's the matter with him?" I asked, concerned.

"Nothing," she answered quickly. "A slight headache, that's all. He's very subject to headaches, occasioned, I suppose, by overwork. Lord Macclesfield ought to give him an assistant. It's really too bad."

She spoke the truth. The duties in the Treaty Department were always very onerous and heavy. He had several times complained to me in his letters that further assistance was absolutely necessary.

"Are you very devoted to him?" I said suddenly, my gaze fixed severely upon her.

She started quickly. I saw a look of terror in her blue eyes. Her brows contracted.

"Devoted to him? Of course I am. What do you mean?" she asked with affected hauteur.

"It is useless to feign ignorance," I said, quickly. "Recollect that we are not strangers, Judith."

"No," she answered, in a hoarse voice. "Would to God we were!"

"Well," I went on ruthlessly, "and why do I find you masquerading here as wife of my best friend? Surely you were not so confiding as to believe that you, of all women, could remain long undiscovered?"

"Not if you were in the vicinity," she replied in a tone of hatred, her teeth set hard, her eyes flashing an angry fire.

"No, no," I laughed. "To struggle against the inevitable is useless. You were ill-advised to marry Gordon Clunes. It is not often that you make such a grave error as this, but it is a step you cannot retrace. That you married him with some set purpose is quite apparent. I won't ask you what it is, because I know you well enough to be aware that I should never obtain the truth from your lips. But," I added in a stern, meaning tone, "if you suppose that I will allow my friend to be longer imposed upon by a woman so unscrupulous and worthless, then you are mistaken."

"You dare!" she cried, rising quickly to her feet, pale, with alarm. "You—you intend to expose me!"

"Do you recollect your words on the last occasion we met?" I asked, also rising and regarding her fixedly. She was, I know, a woman who would hesitate at nothing in order to gain her ends.

"I forget nothing," she answered in a low harsh tone.

"Neither do I," I replied. "Once, you played me false."

"Ah, no Philip!" she cried, her manner in an instant changing from defiance to penitence. "I tell you that was not my fault. You have misjudged me."

"But you have nevertheless inveigled Gordon into marriage," I said bitterly. "And I am his friend."

She paused, her eyes fixed for a moment on the burning logs. I saw that she held me in fear.

"But I am his wife," she said.

"Exactly. And for that very reason I intend to tell him the truth."

"You dare not," she said, her face white and resolute. "Listen! If you utter one word to him I will explain all that I know. You are fully aware of what I mean."

I smiled. It was just what I had expected. From her manner I had divined her secret intention to expose me, but victory generally lies with him who strikes the first blow, and I saw that she was now in deadly fear of me.

"And if you spoke who would believe you?" I said, in order to taunt her, for by doing so I thought I might perhaps gather something further of her plans.

"Once you measured your strength with mine and proved victor," she said in a voice of intense hatred. "My life was wrecked because of you. I staked high and lost—ignominiously. You were too clever and outwitted me. I shall take care to repay the debt."

"After Gordon has cast you from his house," I said, preserving a perfect calm.

"If you dare to tell him, the result will be fatal to your own interest—to all your prospects. You go now to Brussels. Good! Forewarned is forearmed."

"If your husband overhears this interesting conversation he'll no doubt be edified," I said.

"He cannot overhear," she answered in a strained voice. Then she added quickly, "Do not imagine that I fear any statement that you may care to make about me. You have no evidence."

"Except one little piece, which is, I think you'll admit, quite sufficient."

"And what is that, pray?" she inquired with indignation.

"Something which you have apparently forgotten," I answered. "Your photograph taken when you left your enforced confinement in that place where they didn't trouble to air the beds, and where the drawing-room was not exactly in Early English style."

My words held her dumb. She stood before me open-mouthed, her countenance blanched to the lips.

Suddenly her hands clenched, her cold blue eyes darted at me a look of evil, a murderous glance that I had only once seen before, and with an imprecation she cried with a strained, hollow laugh.

"Then tell him!—tell him! But recollect that if you do, I will make a statement to the press which will considerably alter the political situation in Europe. You have to choose between silence and exposure."

And without further word she swept past me out of the room.

I laughed to myself, for this scene had been enacted exactly as I had intended it should be, and I saw by her manner that my threat to expose her had sealed her lips. She had become Gordon's wife for some mysterious purpose or other, and it was evident that she did not mean to relinquish her position. This fact gave me confidence; for I saw that as long as she remained with him she dared utter no word of the past.

I remained there alone for a few minutes, then, hearing no sound, I opened the door and crossed the hall to the dining-room in search of Gordon. The room was, however, empty; therefore recollecting that the door at the end of that room led to my friend's cosy little study where we had smoked when I had first visited him I walked across and opened it.

On the couch on the opposite side of the writing table Gordon was lying, and on seeing him I cried:

"Wake up, old chap! Not too seedy to see me, are you?"

His face was turned to the wall, and he was apparently sleeping soundly.

For a moment I hesitated whether I should rouse him, but suddenly the paleness of his neck against the cushion of dark red velvet struck me as peculiar, and I bent over and looked into his face.

His eyes, those merry, laughing eyes I knew so well, were wide open.

I touched his cheek lightly with my finger tips. It was pale, waxen, and as cold as ice.

In an instant the ghastly truth flashed upon me, and involuntarily I uttered a cry of horror and dismay.

Gordon Clunes, the husband of this scheming, evil woman who held my secret, was dead!