There Were Three Princes

by Joyce Dingwell

  A hesitancy at the other end, which, if it had not been Bart Prince, Verity would have put down to a wish to prolong the conversation.

  "Well, if there's nothing —" Bart said.

  "Nothing."

  "Then goodnight, Miss Tyler."

  "Goodnight, Mr. Prince." The receiver went down. "Goodnight from me, too, V . . . and V, thank you, my dear." Matthew kissed her lightly and left.

  Verity went soon after, went home to the worry of Robin again. She had thought that the prospect of telling Matthew about it in the near future, of asking his advice, might have helped her, but she found it hadn't. She sat at the window again, trying to find a way out, finding nothing but the same despair. She knew she could go to Adele, state the case, tell her it was up to her now to raise enough out of the jewellery that Robin had bought her to see Robin through. But Adele was not that kind, Adele would not part with any possession .

  except Robin. So the worry still had to belong solely to Verity.

  The several days left to the long week-end went too quickly for Verity. If she had been honest with herself, she would have admitted that she would have liked to have slowed up the hours, delayed the minutes. For though she was looking forward to talking to Matthew, and in those long hours on the road there would be plenty of opportunity, she found herself thinking instead of Bart . . seeing Bart's hard face, for hard and bitter it would be if he ever knew.

  On the morning of the day prior to the brief vacation, she put a few things in an overnight bag. Though they would be travelling all night, and she intended, after she saw Cassandra and Matthew settled together . . . or so she prayed . . . to fly back at once, sometimes there could be delays.

  Where the other days had flown, today seemed to drag. Now that it had come to the end, Verity wanted to get it over.

  She was not busy . . . invariably the day before a holiday, she remembered from Chelsea, is like that . . . but at the last moment there was a customer who took her time.

  Always patient, tonight Verity felt impatient. She could see a car drawn up at the kerb, and knew that Matthew was waiting.

  But at last the woman went, and calling out to the car, "Don't come in, I won't be long," Verity pulled off her overall, took up her overnight bag, snapped off the lights, closed up, then ran out.

  The car door was open for her, she got promptly in, and at once they started off. "You are in a hurry, Matthew !" she laughed.

  "Why not?" came the answer . . . only not in Matthew's voice.

  Calmly, but not reducing his speed, Bart took the first corner, then with an open stretch in front of him,' and no traffic to impede him, he put his foot down.

  Bart . . . not Matthew.

  "Surprise, surprise," he said laconically as they caught the first green light and did not need to stop or reduce their speed.

  "Yes," agreed Verity with a composure that she secretly marvelled at, though possibly she was beyond emotion, probably she was numbed. "I didn't expect you."

  "That," he said, "must be the understatement of the year."

  They both were silent after that, they had encountered an outer city traffic snarl, and it was no time, Verity accepted, to start a heated discussion. A thought struck her when, for the third time, the car was obliged to stop. She made no movement, unless her glance had gone to the door, but at once he said, "Oh, no, you don't, but just to make certain . .." He leaned over and locked the door.

  This was going too far, but Verity decided to restrain herself until they reached the suburbs with their greater possibilities. For after the suburbs they would be in the rural regions, long stretches of empty road only punctuated by towns much too far, as far as Verity was concerned, from the refuge of the city.

  "Where are you going?" she asked at length.

  "Where were you?"

  "That was not my question."

  "It was mine."

  "Melbourne," she said uncaringly . . . what was there left to care about now? She knew it must sound ridiculous ... she knew it must seem the end of the world at this moment. Much too far for a contemplated non-stop journey. She heard his low laugh, and was aware that he was thinking so, too. She knew he disbelieved her.

  "We were driving right through," she defended herself. "I was going to relieve Matthew."

  "Not very cosy," he commented slyly, and she rankled. "Well, that was our plan." She barely contained herself. "And the ultimate goal?"

  "You know already."

  As he still waited, she said, "I told you — Melbourne."

  "I asked the ultimate goal. Matthew, who recently proved himself to be a very clever fellow when it comes to degrees, also proved himself years ago to be a very simple one. In short, as a boy he would always blab his intentions. He did again this time, but only the fact that you and he were using the long week-end to hit south. Not the ultimate goal." Again he waited.

  "The goal," Verity said stiffly, "was Cassandra. I've seen something of Matthew this week, and I've convinced him that he's been going the wrong way with her."

  "They must have been very interesting lessons." A pause as a light came up. "Practical, of course."

  "Mr. Prince, what is this?" she demanded.

  "Not what it looks. It looks like a kidnap, doesn't it? But it's not."

  "I want to get out ! " she snapped.

  "You would have a long hike, we're halfway between . ." He was silent while he estimated, then he told her. The towns made no sense to Verity, so far her Australian geography only embraced the eastern capitals.

  "You're no wiser," he nodded, "then accept the fact that you'd find yourself bushed. You could hitch a lift perhaps, but out here that could be risky. A much more prudent move would be to stay where you are."

  "With you?"

  "Is it that awful? After all, you were going with Matthew." "I wasn't. I mean —" She lapsed into silence. What could she say to this man?

  "Not to worry," he tossed carelessly. "I believe you ... or should I say I don't believe Matthew would ever think of anyone but Cassie." A pause that was more a probe, but Verity did not speak.

  "But of all the fool schemes," Bart went on presently, "to take you along with him to state his case. No woman would ever respond to that. As a woman yourself you must have known it. But perhaps" . . . thinly ... "you weren't thinking of Matthew and Cassandra but —"

  "Or Peter," she came in quickly. "Also, you have the wrong idea. I was going with Matthew just to —" Her voice trailed off. It did seem ridiculous now.

  She wondered what he would say if she added her other reason, that reason of talking with Matthew about Robin. For she could never talk to the man beside her, the man whom Adele, Robin's wife, had known . . . to use her words ... "very well."

  "All right," Bart was saying, "the subject is closed. Matthew is on his way to Melbourne . . . unaccompanied. I can't say how it will be on his way back, but I can hope. I suppose I should thank you, Miss Tyler, for giving my brother the general idea, though I cannot commend the manner in which you meant him to carry it out."

  "It was not my thought."

  "I well believe that, it's typical of the silly thing Matthew would do. All those years in university make a man so unworldly it's a laughing matter to someone on the outside." For all his scorn there was a note of envy in Bart's voice. It was not there, however, when he spoke again. "We've dealt with Matthew, with Peter. Only one Prince left. Aren't there any questions, Miss Tyler?"

  "Yes. Where are you going?"

  "Where are we going," he corrected.

  "Where are we going ?" she conceded thinly.

  "To the first restaurant that's open so I can eat. I don't know what Matthew's arrangements were, but picking you up tonight made me miss my dinner." He half-glanced at her. "You would have been pushed, too. Have you dined ?"

  "I'm not hungry."

  "All the same I want you to eat first."

  "First?"

  "Before I say what I have to say."

  Angrily she asked him, "Hasn't
it all been said ?"

  "No. As far as I'm concerned nothing has been said, I mean nothing of real importance. For marriage is important, isn't it?

  "Matthew's ?"

  "I said that Matthew had been dealt with. Ah, lights at last." He swept the car from the road round a semi-circular drive leading to a small diner. As he pulled up he said quite unemotionally, "No, your marriage, Miss Tyler."

  Then : "With me."

  CHAPTER VIII

  IT WAS an hour afterwards, and coffee had been brought. Bart Prince had eaten a good meal, and during it he had spoken of everything, it seemed, but the subject he had exploded, for an explosion it had been, as he had stopped the car. Her marriage. To him.

  Several times during the meal she had tried to break through, but he had stopped her.

  "First things first."

  "My marriage would be my first thing."

  "Good. I'm glad to hear that. I trust, too, it will be a lasting thing."

  "Mr. Prince, this is a very poor joke," she snapped.

  "It is not a joke, Miss Tyler; believe me, I've never been more serious in my life."

  "I would never marry you Verity declared.

  "But you would have married Matthew . . . Peter?" "No. I mean . . . Oh, I don't know."

  "Then know this." He had leaned across the table. "You will be marrying me," he said.

  "What makes you think that?" She tried to be coolly, contemptuously amused, but she knew she sounded heated and agitated.

  "I know. Or at least I'm so sure of it you could call it knowledge. All the odds are stacked on my side."

  "If you mean I'm with you in a place that I don't know at an hour that is getting rather late, that went out years ago. Oh,

  I know you're a believer in propriety . . . behind closed doors, I think it was you once said . . . but these days I hardly think —" She stopped. He was laughing at her.

  He finished his laugh, then he shook his head. "No, I was not meaning that at all. Brandy?"

  As she declined, he suggested, "It might help you. I have some things to say."

  She decided to accept the drink after all, and when he had poured it, she drank it so quickly that she had to follow it up at once by the coffee. She still felt the brandy burning in her . but it lent her no courage. To make it worse he kept gazing steadily at her, and with that cool amusement that she had been unable to summon up for herself.

  "Ready?" he asked presently.

  "Yes."

  "Then this is it. You will marry me because there is nothing else. No" . . . as she went to object . . . "note that I said 'nothing', not 'no one'. I know you would never lack a number of candidates. But money . . . ah, that's a different thing."

  "Money?" she queried.

  "Which you must have. And in a sufficient degree." "I have it now."

  "For yourself . . . But for your brother ?"

  Verity put down the coffee spoon she had taken up and nervously played with. "I believe I begin to understand," she said. "My brother's wife Adele has asked and received money from you. No doubt in the transaction, if transaction it's called, she's told you that Robin's remittances have not been so satisfactory of late."

  "Yes," he nodded coolly, "I did give Dellie a cheque." "For old times' sake." Verity's voice was pinched.

  He was looking at her closely. He seemed amused again. "Jealous?" he asked.

  "Jealous? Of you?"

  "Why not? But then I forgot. I forgot you've only known me After. Adele knew me Before."

  "Yes, she knew you very well."

  "Perhaps." He shrugged. He was silent a moment. "But it was not Dellie who told me. Perhaps she gave the indication when she asked for a tide-over, but I never thought then that it could come to this."

  "To what?"

  "Our marriage."

  "How could it come to it?"

  He looked at her deliberately. Then he spoke deliberately. "By your inability, at least your solicitor's inability, to squeeze one cent from the Ramsay estate."

  "But how can you know that?" she gasped. "Adele wouldn't know it."

  "No, all she knows is that she'd like more money. But the male mind delves deeper. It wants to know why there is not the same money."

  "When it doesn't concern him?"

  "It concerned me."

  "But — but why ?"

  "We will come to that later. I was up to the male mind. Remember?"

  "Yes," she said in a low voice.

  "After the thing that happened to me," he said a little roughly, "and I got out of Med school, I tried my hand in several avenues — advertising, law. I quite liked law, only I still had that feeling for —" He paused; it was evidently, from his expression, a bitter pause.

  "However," he went on, "if it was not to be that, then I decided it didn't matter what. My mother needed me, so the other avenues went by. I wept no tears over them." He gave a short laugh.

  "But I got sufficiently through law before I tossed it to enable me to get what I wanted from my brother professionals, even though I myself was only a near-professional, in other words had I been a rank outsider I might still be outside my present knowledge. The knowledge that not only is Robin Ramsay dead broke, he's in debt as well."

  "Mr. Carstairs told you that?"

  "No." A smile. "But I wouldn't say that I didn't get it out of him."

  "I didn't think Mr. Carstairs —"

  "To be fair to him I must admit I used certain methods. Like claiming you for a fiancée, for instance."

  ". . . You didn't ! "

  "He was quite delighted," reported Bart Prince, "seemed to think it was time you had a restraining hand."

  "You lied to him," she exclaimed.

  "Call it white-lied. The ultimate purpose deserved that adjective, anyway."

  "I still don't think Mr. Carstairs should have —"

  "Look, you have more serious things to consider just now than your solicitor's scruples. You have your brother. Where are you finding next week's cheque?"

  "I can't. But" . . . proudly . . . "that doesn't mean that I'd —"

  "Marry to assure it? I'm not so sure about that. You think the world of him, don't you ?"

  "Yes. But if I told him, Robin would understand."

  "But would you tell him?"

  "Yes. I mean —" Suddenly unable to cope, Verity put her face in her hands.

  She was aware of his getting her to her feet, leading her out

  of the restaurant, sheltering her all the way from curious eyes, to the car. His grasp was gentle, considerate, and the gentle consideration, so unexpected, was her undoing. The moment she gained the seclusion and privacy of the parked vehicle, she burst into tears.

  "Robin is dying," she said desperately.

  "I know, Verity." He said her name again, something he had not said for some time.

  "If I tell him, then Adele will find out, possibly leave him." "Yes, quite possibly."

  "You can say that?" For a moment the grief left her; it seemed an odd agreement from a man who had known a woman "very well."

  "Skip it," he said of her surprise. "Get on to facts. Adele would leave him, as you said, and would it matter?"

  "Very much. Whether it's his present condition or whether this time he really cares, I don't know, all I do know is that for the little time left —"

  "He must not know, he must live as he always has lived?" "Yes."

  "Then," he said deliberately, "you have no other choice than marriage with me. Oh" . . . as she went to object . . . "you could have, I suppose. You're certainly attractive enough to marry well. But rich men don't grow on trees, and even if they did, the actual clinching takes time, doesn't it? And time is something you don't have, Verity, but" . . . a significant pause . . . "you have me.

  "I'm rich, and though compared to my brothers I'm no catch physically, I've still seen to it that I'm not . . . physically speaking again . . . a total loss."

  . . . No, not with that deliberate whipcord strength, she thought.

>   "In other words, I'm bad, but I could be worse. Ordinarily

  you'd be a fool even to consider me, but it's extraordinary now, isn't it? Also there's that old enemy time."

  "Mr. Prince" ... she could not say Bart . . . "I can't believe all this."

  "Then believe it," he advised her.

  "But — but even if I do, what do you — what do you —" Her voice stammered to a silence.

  "What do I get out of it? I think that's what you're trying to say."

  "Yes."

  "I can only tell you part, and this is the part : I get a satisfaction. A satisfaction that I'm acquiring something that my two brothers undoubtedly thought about . . . oh, yes, I know Peter, and even though I said what I did of Matthew and Cassandra, I know that Matthew is not that unworldly that he doesn't recognize beauty other than Cassie's. A satisfaction that an ugly wreck like I am can still show them something. A satisfaction —"

  "Stop ! " Verity interrupted at last.

  But when he did all she could say was, "I'm not beautiful." She could not find the words for the disgust she felt.

  "I think you are," he stated. But there was no feeling at all when he said it. "I think you're very beautiful, and I consider I would be very well recompensed."

  "Recompensed?"

  "By what you would give me in return. I would be the cripple with the lovely wife. And for that little thing, that triumph, your brother need never know the truth."

  "It's horrible ! I'm not listening."

  "It's not a charming story, I'll give in, but you are listening, and you'll agree."

  "What about — Priscilla ?" she barely whispered.

  "Well what about her ?" he asked back.

  Verity looked at him incredulously. Did anything matter to this man, anything at all? Because he would score more of a triumph by marrying someone his brother might have thought of ... his own words ... he would pass over Priscilla as though she never existed. And Cilia, she thought, quiet, unassuming Cilia, would never utter a word.

  "It's impossible ! " she said sharply.

  "You're not answering yet, you're sleeping on it. Oh, no, my dear" . . . at her quick look . . . "in your own bed. As so you so triumphantly told me that doesn't matter any more. For which reason I'm taking you home now to do some serious thinking. Think all tonight . . . tomorrow ... the next day. You have the entire week-end. It's happened quite opportunely, actually." He started the engine, and the car completed the half-circle of the drive.