The Princess Galva: A Romance

by David Whitelaw

  CHAPTER V

  AN ECHO OF A TRAGEDY AND THE DRAINAGE OF A COTTAGE

  As Edward was, after sending in his slip of paper, ushered into theprivate office, a tall, gaunt man of unmistakable solicitor type rosefrom his desk and crossed over to him with extended hand. Edward puthis out also and winced somewhat as it was tightly engulfed by the bonyfingers of the solicitor.

  "Mr. Sydney, I understand."

  Edward Povey bowed, he had no great liking for telling lies and hepreferred to act them where possible.

  Mr. Abraham Nixon handed a chair to his visitor, and, reseating himselfat his desk, picked up a telephone receiver and inquired for Mr.Crooks, asking that gentleman to kindly be sure that they were notdisturbed for at least one hour.

  At this Edward grew cold with apprehension. It seemed to him thatthere was something of an ordeal in front of him. Mr. Nixon's firstwords, however, somewhat reassured him.

  "I understand from Mr. Baxendale that you are entirely ignorant of thesubject referred to in his letter, Mr. Sydney."

  "Entirely, Mr. Nixon, and it is perhaps better to say at once that,however much I desire to help my old friend and to fall in with hiswishes, I cannot hold myself liable in any way--cannot commit myself."

  Mr. Nixon held up a thin hand.

  "A very sensible remark, Mr. Sydney, and one that I should have mademyself had I been placed as you are. You are not in any way bound bywhat I am telling you except in the event of your refusal; in whichcase I shall enjoin you to secrecy. Pray excuse me a moment."

  Selecting a flat key from a ring he took from his pocket, Mr. Nixonleft the room, returning in a few minutes with a small deed-box onwhich was painted in white letters--

  GALVA--BAXENDALE

  This, Mr. Nixon placed upon a small side table, and selecting a flatkey from the bunch on his ring inserted it in the lock.

  "It is a curious story that I have to tell you, Mr. Sydney," he beganas he pushed open the creaking lid. "I suppose I'm the only person towhom Mr. Baxendale told it. A very reserved and secretive man, Mr.Sydney."

  "Very," answered Edward Povey, much relieved to hear it. Then he keptsilent as he watched the solicitor remove from the box a few smallarticles, each carefully sealed up and docketed in a neat handwriting,the purport of which Edward could not make out at the distance. Thesearticles arranged in a row upon his desk, Mr. Nixon leant back in hischair, and, placing the tips of his thin fingers together, began histale.

  "Perhaps you will remember, Mr. Sydney, the era of bloodshed and murderwhich attacked the little island kingdom of San Pietro some years back,I think in the autumn of '93. It was, in its way, as virulent as theParis revolution, but San Pietro is a small kingdom, and although quiteindependent was not able to withstand the pressure of her more powerfulneighbours. Spain, being the nearest, has always had a word to say inthe San Pietro politics. The result was that the crisis was asshort-lived as it was terrible. The reigning family had been put todeath at the outburst of the revolution. The king, rather apleasure-loving sort of person, had enjoyed some popularity among hissubjects, but his marriage with an actress whom he had met in Viennainflamed the ladies of the court, and, through them, their husbands.

  "Most of these were officers standing high at court or in the army, andconsidering their wives insulted by the presence of an actress upon thethrone, planned the assassination under the cloak of politics. Theresult was the terrible doings at the Palace at Corbo on that night inOctober.

  "Baxendale, then a middle-aged man, traveling on business in Spain atthe time, took ship across to San Pietro, intending to send first-handnews to a paper he was interested in in New York. Once arrived,however, he found more difficulty in returning. The Dictator whom thepeople had set up was very rigid in the matter of censorship, and notonly could poor Baxendale get no news through, but he himself waspolitely but firmly told he could not leave the island.

  "One afternoon about three or four days after the massacre he wastaking a walk through the Sebastin Park, which I understand is on theedge of the capital, and merges from cultivation to the wild track offorest land which lies to the north. Baxendale had walked further thanhe had intended and was surprised to find of a sudden that the sun wassinking. As he turned to retrace his steps a curious sound came to hisears, that was for all the world like the cry of a child, The forest atthis place was very dense, the branches of the tall pines interlacingoverhead, whilst the undergrowth was thick enough to hide objects at afew yards.

  "Baxendale parted the bushes and forced a way through them in thedirection from which the cries seemed to come. The wailing hadstopped, and he was telling himself that it was some forest beast hehad heard when it was again taken up, and now he made out the lowcrooning of one who hushes and soothes a baby. At this he movedfaster, and in a few moments came upon a tumble-down hut such as isused by the charcoal-burners of the woods.

  "He had not been heard, for the crooning still continued and wasevidently having the desired effect, as the child's cries had ceased.His light tap at the crazy-hinged door was answered only by the suddencessation of the voice, and a dead silence. Then he cautiously pushedopen the door.

  "It was a poor enough place--indeed, little more than a ruin, and, inthe dim light, Baxendale told me he could not at first make out anydefinite object. As his eyes grew more accustomed to the gloom,however, he made out the figure of a woman. She was standing facinghim; he could not see her face clearly, but her whole attitude was oneof defiance, and she seemed to be standing at bay, guarding somethingbehind her. Baxendale could make out a bench on which were rolled afew clothes.

  "Just then a ray of the setting sun pierced the branches andilluminated the interior of the hut. On the heap of clothes was alittle baby girl about two years of age. The red rays played round thecurly head, and Baxendale was smitten to the heart as he looked fromthe sleeping babe to the woman, who, seeing in Baxendale a friend, hadsunk down on the earth floor and was silently weeping."

  Mr. Nixon paused, and cleared his throat. He looked at his listenerfor signs of attention. The latter, who had almost forgotten the parthe was playing, in his interest in the tale that was being told to him,nodded his head and asked if Mr. Nixon objected to tobacco. The twomen smoked for a few moments in silence, then the solicitor resumed thetale.

  "Beyond this I know very little and that little I will tell quickly.Baxendale came into this office in the spring of '98 and told me allthis. The little child on wakening had held up her arms to him andsmiled. The good fellow could not withstand the mute appeal, andresolved then and there that she should be his charge. Afterwards,when he had got them safely across to England, the woman who was thechild's nurse told him the history. She had been afraid to do soearlier for fear it would have altered Baxendale's intentions, and shewas too anxious to set her back to San Pietro to risk that.

  "The baby girl was the Princess Miranda, only child of the ill-fatedking and queen of San Pietro. On the fatal night, the nurse toldBaxendale, she had been in the night nursery with the princess and herown niece, little Miranda's foster-sister, a child only a few monthsolder than the princess. She told him of how she had seen the flare oftorches and heard the clamour, and how the distracted queen had rushedin shrieking for her baby, and had caught up what she thought was herlittle one, and with it under her robe had fled to what she fondlyconsidered was a place of safety.

  "As events proved, there was no place of safety for that unhappy womanthat night, and when the next day the bodies were laid to rest in theroyal vault, a little dead child was buried with the queen, but it wasnot the Princess Miranda, although the monument that was raised by thetardy conscience of the San Pietro people is engraved with her name.

  "Since the revolution, the political state of San Pietro has beensomewhat uncertain. The people are simple and loyal folk at heart, andit was not long before they discovered the real reason of the uprising.Then they cried loudly for a king again, and Spain, who had only beenwaiting for
this, put Prince Enrico upon the throne. You will haveheard of this man, whose follies and deviltries are the talk of Europe.San Pietro tolerates him, for his court is brilliant, and has broughtmuch money to the place; in fact, the whole island, and more especiallythe capital, is now one of the pleasure centres of Europe. This hashad a most beneficent effect upon the fortunes of the island, but thereare still some of the more sedate families who deplore the loss ofdignity of their beloved land.

  "The rightful heir is of course Miranda, the little princess with whomthe poor nurse sought refuge in the forest.

  "She is now living in England, the nurse is still with her, and Mirandahas no idea of her high birth. Baxendale never confided to me what hisprojects were."

  The solicitor leant over and picked up a letter which had been in thedeed-box and handed it over to Edward, who took it and sat with itunopened in his hand waiting for Mr. Nixon to speak.

  "You will read that when you leave here, Mr. Sydney, carefully, and Ishall expect to hear from you in the course of a few days. There isthe matter of money to be considered. My client has made adequateprovision"--Edward pricked up his ears at this--"for what he terms 'themission.'"

  "In two days I will call on you again, Mr. Nixon. Good-afternoon."

  Povey stood in Leadenhall Street at the entrance to St. Mary Axe andtried to think things over. It seemed to him as though he had justemerged from the gloom of romantic forests and the splendour of courts,and the foggy atmosphere and hoard of hurrying clerks appeared to himto be unreal. Then he pulled himself together and strolled quietlywestward.

  Along Leadenhall Street and through the market he walked deep inthought, making his way from force of habit in the direction of LondonBridge. It was not until the spars and masts of the shipping came insight that he remembered his changed conditions, when he hailed apassing taxi and was driven to Euston.

  He had not long to wait for a train to Bushey, and no sooner had itleft the platform than he had the letter out of his pocket and wasbreaking the seal. It was written on the paper of the Waldorf Hotel,New York, and was dated at the beginning of the year.

  "_MY DEAR SYDNEY,_

  "_I am addressing you in this letter, as I hope and devoutly trust thatyours will be the hands into which it will fall. My own health hasbeen so bad of late and has shown such unmistakable signs of breakingup that I fear I must give up all hope of ever carrying out,personally, my desires. Next to myself, I would wish you to do so;failing you, Mr. Nixon has his instructions what to do. But you won'tfail me._

  "_This gentleman will have told you the outlines of the history of thePrincess Miranda. It has always been my desire that on her eighteenthbirthday she should be told the story of her high origin. As this dateapproaches--the_ 15_th of November--I feel that the seven or eightmonths between us will see my finish, so while there is yet time Iwrite to you, my old friend, to act for me in this matter._

  "_The Princess, I have named her Galva, after a carn in the vicinity ofher house, is at present living with her nurse at Tremoor, a few milesfrom Penzance._

  "_Mr. Nixon will give you, on your expressing your willingness toundertake the mission, two or three objects which will prove beyonddoubt the claim of the dear girl to the throne of San Pietro. You willgo to her and tell her everything; I would not feel I had done my dutywere I to keep her in ignorance, although it might be kinder to do so._

  "_If, after hearing you out, she elects to remain in her quiet peacefullife, she shall do so. If, on the other hand, she decides on followingup her high destiny you will take her with her nurse to Corbo,travelling as independent English tourists, and seek out Senor Luazo,or his heir, at_ 66, _Calle Mendaro, and hand him a letter which Mr.Nixon will give you. After that I can safely leave you in his keeping._

  "_My fortune, I have divided equally between the man who undertakesthis mission and Galva herself, with the exception of an annuity toSenora Paluda, the nurse who has done so much and been so much tolittle Galva._

  "_I can easily throw my mind back to that day in the forest, and thesmiling babe holding up her little arms is a picture that will alwaysbe with me even at the end. Tell Galva that I will die thinking of herand of all she has been to a lonely old bachelor._

  "_When the end comes, too, I will think of you and of what you aredoing for me, and will bless you for it._

  "_And now, my old friend, good-bye._

  "_Yours ever,_ _HUBERT BAXENDALE._"

  Edward Povey folded up the letter carefully and placed it in hispocket. Then, leaning his head in his hand, gazed out at the flyinglandscape and tried to think things out. It took him some little timeto appreciate who he really was.

  He had felt, ever since Mr. Nixon had mentioned the financial aspect ofthe undertaking, that he would be more than foolish to let slip such aprovidential way out of his sea of difficulties. The moral side to thequestion he was able to smooth over to his satisfaction. He knew Mr.Kyser, and Mr. Kyser's ways, and told himself that that gentleman wouldnot welcome, at his time of life, an adventure such as the one that thesolicitor had put before him that afternoon. Again, he told himselfthat it was not possible for him to communicate with Mr. Kyser untilthe eighteenth birthday of the princess had passed. He said it wouldbe wrong and unkind to let the poor lonely girl think that she wasforgotten.

  Further self-discussion on the matter was taken out of his hands by awatching Fate who suggested something refreshing as he breasted thefirst part of the straggling hill that led from the railway station upto Bushey Heath. He paused at the Merry Month of May, then decided topush on to a little hostelry that he had noticed on the way down thatmorning.

  He entered the door of the White Hart and turned to the right throughthe tiny bar into the smoke-room. Two tweed-clad artists from thenear-by studios lounged in more or less elegant poses at thered-clothed table, they looked up and nodded as Edward entered, thenreturned to the perusal of the evening papers which had evidently justarrived.

  The host of the inn came from the bar and attended to the new-comer'swants, and Edward took from his pocket an _Evening News_ that he hadbought in town. He read it listlessly for some minutes, then the twobored-looking youths looked up suddenly as the man gave a gasp. Theystared at him so curiously that he felt an explanation was necessary.

  "Went the wrong way--gentlemen," he said, pointing to his glass ofbeer--"windpipe, I think."

  The elder of the two youths grunted and leaning back lit a cigarette.He watched Edward, at first carelessly, but as he saw the man take outa penknife and cut from the paper a paragraph, he grew more interested.In a few moments Edward gulped down his beer, and, without a word, madehis way outside.

  "Bertie," it was the elder artist who was speaking, "that chap sawsomething in the paper that upset him a little--is that the _News_you're reading?"

  "Yes--why?"

  "Look at page five, will you, the third paragraph from the bottom oncolumn two. Read it out loud if you don't mind."

  The paper rustled as the other young man turned to the desired portion,then in a blase voice read:--

  "MYSTERIOUS DEATH IN PARIS.

  "A gentleman who arrived at the Hotel Meurice from London two days agohas met with a fate such as is becoming more and more frequent in thestreets of Paris. A gendarme passing down the Rue des Batignolles lastevening about ten o'clock, came upon the body of the unfortunate manhuddled into an angle of a doorway. Assistance was forthcoming, butwas too late to be of any service to the victim, who had sufferedterrible injuries to the head, and to which he succumbed within an hourafter his admission to the hospital. The outrage points undoubtedly tobeing the work of the dreaded Apaches. The deceased gentleman, who wasabout fifty years of age, had registered under the name of SydneyKyser, but it has been impossible to trace among his belongings anyclue to his home address. The French police, however, are incommunication with Scotland Yard, and are in the mean time activelyengaged in searching for the perpetrators of the outrage."

  "Bet you tha
t chap knew this Kyser, or whoever it is----" a yawn--"noneof our business, what! See you in Peter's studio, there's a game ofbridge on, I think. Ta-ta."

  Meanwhile Edward Povey was walking up Clay Hill in a ferment ofthought. It seemed ten years rather than one week since he had been onhis stool in the dingy Eastcheap counting-house. He had hoped for alittle excitement to enter into his life, and he was getting excitementto the full. He had not looked upon the borrowing of Adderbury Cottageas a crime; the advent of Uncle Jasper and Aunt Eliza was nothing morethan a farce--but now tragedy was playing a hand in the game in theshape of a Parisian murder.

  He stopped suddenly as a thought struck him. It could not be longbefore Mr. Kyser's business friends heard of his death, when visitswould be paid to his houses, to Grosvenor Square and to AdderburyCottage. It was easy enough quietly to leave the place himself and totake Charlotte; with Uncle and Aunt it was different. Various schemesentered into his head for effecting their departure, schemes that madepoor Edward think that given opportunities he would have made afirst-class criminal.

  The ruse upon which he finally decided was an inspiration. He laughedto himself as the absurd simplicity of it all came home to him.

  He retraced his steps to the village, this time choosing the Red Lion,and engaged a fly to carry him down into Watford, where he entered thesame hotel that he had patronized in the morning. He made straight forthe writing-room where he remembered having seen some headednote-paper. Then he wrote himself a letter, signing himself HenryBirkett, Public Analyst for the County of Herts. In the letter he saidthat the sample of water submitted to him from Adderbury Cottage was ofa very dangerous description. He said that any one living in theafore-mentioned Adderbury Cottage was running a grave risk. The place,he added, must be in a deplorable sanitary condition, and that stepsmust be taken at once to overhaul the drainage.

  With this missive in his pocket, Edward Povey reached Adderbury Cottageabout eight o'clock.

  The party were just sitting down to dinner, and were, with theexception of Charlotte, in a genial mood. Mrs. Povey, poor woman,showed plainly the anxiety and strain of the time she had been through,but Uncle Jasper was in fine form. He had already started operationson the garden, and was full of projects for the morrow. Edward smiledgrimly as he listened to his talk of roses and cucumbers.

  When dinner was over, the two men sat smoking and talking of variousthings, still mostly gardens. Aunt Eliza had gone to her re-arrangedbedroom, whilst Charlotte could be heard in the kitchen, to which placethe poor woman had flown many times in the course of the day as to aharbour of refuge.

  Purposely allowing his pipe to go out, Edward took from his pocket theletter he had written to himself, and tearing off the blank sheet madea spool with which he relit his pipe. Then leaving the rest of theletter on the table, he made some excuse and went from the room. Heleft the door ajar, and watched the reflection of his uncle in themirror of the sideboard. In less than three minutes he found that hisfaith in the inquisitiveness of his uncle had not been misplaced.

  Edward Povey tiptoed to the kitchen, and, hastily warning his wife,awaited developments. They were not long in coming.

  A chair was thrust hastily back and agitated steps left the dining-roomand creaked upstairs. Voices in discussion were heard above. ThenUncle Jasper came down. He was boiling over with wrath as he enteredthe kitchen, and to Edward, who knew the circumstances, the old man'sefforts to disguise his feelings were not without their humour. Theold man felt at that moment that he would have given half his fortuneto tell the pair before him what he thought of them. But for once inhis life Jasper Jarman had met his match. To admit that he had readanother man's letter was not to be thought of. Equally impossible wasit for his wife and himself to remain another night in the pestilentialatmosphere of Adderbury Cottage. He made a gurgling noise in histhroat, then:

  "I'm sorry, Edward, but I had forgotten this is the 3rd. I have to bein Kidderminster by twelve o'clock to-morrow--I--I--it means thousandsto me."

  He glared at them in impotent rage for a moment, then went on.

  "You must get us a cab, Edward--now. There's only one way, and that isto drive into Watford and stay there and catch the early train toBirmingham in the morning."

  "But surely, uncle----" Charlotte began.

  "The only way, Charlotte, my dear, I assure you. Edward, there is acab to be had, I suppose?" The old fellow was clenching andunclenching his hands, his eyes were round with anger.

  "If you must, uncle, you must. I know what business is. Charlotte,give me my boots, I'll get a conveyance here in half-an-hour."

  Charlotte never could tell how she got through that dreadful half-hour.Uncle Jasper, muffled in his coat, was treading the gravel of the pathfuriously. Aunt Eliza, her lips a thin thread, was seated on her boxin the porch. From time to time they addressed a few words to theirhostess, the very forced civility of which was obvious from the waythey were jerked out. Then, at last, a rattling old landau appeared,and the last scene of Uncle Jasper's visit to Adderbury Cottage wasreached.

  As the vehicle rattled away Edward heard the explosion of his uncle'swrath and the restraining _hssh_ of Aunt Eliza.

  At seven the next morning Edward Povey borrowed a farm cart from anadjacent cottager and sent on their things to Harrow Station. It beinga fine morning, they elected to walk.

  At ten-thirty the representatives of the late Mr. Sydney Kyser paid avisit to Adderbury Cottage and made an inventory of the contents ofthat desirable residence.