Part 12 (1/2)

I had dressed leisurely for dinner in the Hotel Metropole, where I had taken up my abode, and about seven o'clock descended the steps, and, crossing the King's Road to the asphalted promenade, set out to walk westward towards Hove.

Many things had happened since that well-remembered afternoon in July when Natalia had discovered the clever theft of Madame de Rosen's letters, and I had, an hour later, ill though I was, sent to His Majesty that single word ”Bathildis” and was granted immediate audience.

When I told him the facts he appeared interested, paced the room, and then snapped his fingers with a careless gesture. The little madcap had certainly annoyed him greatly, and though feigning indifference, he nevertheless appeared perplexed.

Natalia was called at once and questioned closely; she was the soul of honour and would reveal nothing of the secret. Afterwards I returned to the Emba.s.sy and summoned Hartwig, to inform him of the Grand d.u.c.h.ess's loss. The renowned police official had since made diligent inquiry; indeed, the whole complicated machinery of the Russian criminal police had been put into motion, but all to no avail.

The theft was still an entire mystery.

As I approached the Lawns at Hove, those wide, gra.s.sy promenades beside the sea, I saw that many people were still lingering, enjoying the warm sunset, although the fas.h.i.+onable hour when women exercise their pet dogs, and idle men lounge and watch the crowd, had pa.s.sed and the band had finished its performance.

My mind was filled by many serious apprehensions, as turning suddenly from the Lawns, I recrossed the road and entered Brunswick Square, that wide quadrangle of big, old-fas.h.i.+oned houses around a large railed-in garden filled with high oaks and beeches.

Before a drab, newly-painted house with a bas.e.m.e.nt and art-green blinds, I halted, ascended the steps and rang.

A white-whiskered old manservant in funereal black bowed as I entered, and, casting off my overcoat, I followed the old fellow past a man who was seated demurely in the hall, to whom I nodded, and up thickly-carpeted stairs to the big white-enamelled drawing-room, where Natalia sprang up from a couch of daffodil silk and came forward to meet me with glad welcome and outstretched hand.

”Well, Uncle Colin!” she cried, ”wherever have you been? I called for you at the `Metropole' the day before yesterday, and your superb hall-porter told me that you were in London!”

”Yes. I had to go up there on some urgent business,” I said. ”I only returned to-day at five o'clock and received your kind invitation to dine,” and then, turning, I greeted Miss West, the rather thin, elderly woman who for years had acted as English governess to Her Imperial Highness--or Miss Gottorp, as she was now known at Hove. Miss West had been governess in the Emperor's family for six years before she had entered the service of the Grand d.u.c.h.ess Nicholas, so life at Court, with all its stiff etiquette, had perhaps imparted to her a slightly unnatural hauteur.

Natalia looked inexpressibly sweet in an evening gown of fine black spotted net, the transparency of which about the chest heightened the almost alabaster whiteness of her skin. She wore a black aigrette in her hair, but no jewellery save a single diamond bangle upon her wrist, an ornament which she always wore.

”Sit down and tell me all the news,” she urged, throwing herself into an armchair and patting a cus.h.i.+on near by as indication where I should sit.

”There is no news,” I said. ”This morning I was at the Emba.s.sy, and they were naturally filled with curiosity regarding you--a curiosity which I did not satisfy.”

”Young Isvolski is there, isn't he?” she asked. ”He used to be attached to my poor father's suite.”

”Yes,” I replied. ”He's third secretary. He wanted to know whether you had police protection, and I told him they had sent you another agent from Petersburg. I suppose it is that melancholy man I've just seen sitting in the hall?”

”Yes. Isn't it horrid? He sits there all day long and never moves,”

Miss West exclaimed. ”It is as though the bailiffs are in the house.”

”Bailiffs?” repeated the girl. ”What are they?” I explained to her, whereupon she laughed heartily. ”Hartwig is due in Brighton to-night or to-morrow morning,” I said. ”I have received a telegram from him, despatched from Berlin early yesterday morning. But,” I added, ”I trust that you are finding benefit from the change.”

”I am,” she a.s.sured me. ”I love this place. I feel so free and so happy here. Miss West and I go for walks and drives every day, and though a lot of people stare at me very hard, I don't think they know who I am. I hope not.”

”They admire your Highness's good looks,” I ventured to remark. But she made a quick gesture of impatience, and declared that I only intended sarcasm.

”I suppose Miss West, that all the men turn to look at Her Highness?” I said. ”Englishmen at the seaside during the summer are always impressionable, so they must be forgiven.”

”You are quite right, Mr Trewinnard. It is really something dreadful.

Only to-day a young man--quite a respectable young fellow, who was probably a clerk in the City--followed us the whole length of the promenade to the West Pier and kept looking into her Highness's face.”

”He was really a very nice-looking boy,” the girl declared mischievously. ”If I'd been alone he would have spoken to me. And, oh, I'd have had such ripping fun.”

”No doubt you would,” I said. ”But you know the rule. You are never upon any pretext to go out alone. Besides, you are always under the observation of a police-agent. You would scarcely care to do any love-making before him, would you?”

”Why not? Those persons are not men--they're only machines,” she declared. ”The Emperor told me that long ago.”