Blood Royal

by Yates, Dornford

  George looked at me over the rim of his glass.

  “Sister Anne, what do you see?”

  “The palace guard,” said I, “must be changed.”

  “That,” said Sully, “is impossible.”

  “Then the Prince must be moved.”

  “The physicians are against it,” said Sully, “and the Prince himself would refuse.”

  “Then,” said I, “the Prince must contrive to live until August the first.”

  “And I’ll back the lady,” said George. “Duke Paul must be dummy, and the Grand Duchess play the hands. Out and about the place from morning to night. The theatre, polo, shopping. But he must be in the picture.”

  Sully seemed to wince.

  “He is very difficult,” he said. “Grieg’s attempt has sorely shaken his nerve.”

  “Naturally,” said George quietly. And then, “You mean he keeps house?”

  “Yes.”

  “The police?”

  “The police are wolves in sheep’s clothing, so far as he is concerned.”

  “I see,” said George, frowning. “If he felt safe, would he go when and where he was told?”

  “Not always,” said Sully.

  “Then he must have reason to think that, when he is out with her Highness, he is safer than anywhere else.”

  Sully sat back in his chair.

  “Bring that about,” he said warmly, “and you add five years to my life.”

  “Easy enough,” said George, and turned to me. “Duke Paul trusts Bell and Rowley, and we’re not using the Rolls. Put the three at her disposal – not his.”

  “With the greatest pleasure,” said I.

  George returned to Sully.

  “The Duchess had a nice Rolls-Royce,

  With chauffeurs white as snow,

  And everywhere the Duchess went,

  The Duke was sure to go.”

  Sully rose to his feet, with shining eyes.

  “Kingmaker,” he said.

  A gramophone was playing in the salon, and Caruso’s Pagliacci was floating into the night, but, when the song was over, the Grand Duchess called for light music and Sully changed the records while the rest of us danced.

  “So I am to have your car,” said the Grand Duchess over my shoulder.

  “It was Hanbury’s brain-wave,” said I.

  “And to play the fine lady, while you and he—”

  “You are the fine lady,” said I.

  “For my sins,” she said shortly.

  With that, she stopped dancing and led the way to a terrace that gave upon a garden shrouded with trees.

  “I am very much depressed,” she said quietly. “Paul sulks in his cabin, and Johann has seized the bridge. My strutting on the promenade-deck can’t balance matters like that.”

  “Tomorrow,” said I, “I very much hope that Duke Paul will go out and about.”

  “Perhaps – thanks to you. But Paul is not Prince Charming. He does not inspire a loyalty which will weather a coup d’état.”

  I could not bear to see her troubled, but I could think of no comfort that I could give.

  Sully and George seemed to bend their eyes on the people, but I could see no further than the palace and the sentries about its gates. Already Johann as good as possessed the throne, and someone has said that possession is nine points of the law. To be sure, the Prince still lived, but the danger was imminent. Council-chamber, throne room, post-office – all were in Johann’s hands. At a nod from Johann, admission could and would be denied to Sully himself. As for Duke Paul…

  “I am slow,” I said suddenly. “I cannot see the way out. But I will try to find it, for I know it is there.”

  “This is not Barabbas,” said she.

  “I know. That was very easy.”

  “You made it seem so,” she said. She pulled a rose from a pillar and put it up to her lips. “What is your plan this time?”

  “I have none,” I cried. “I tell you, I—”

  “Try to think of one now.”

  Desperately I covered my eyes. But I could think of nothing but the beautiful thing beside me with the pretty flower to her mouth.

  As I lifted my head—

  “Shall I leave you?” said the Grand Duchess.

  I thought that she was smiling, but, because we stood in the shadows, I could not be sure.

  “If I am to think of others, I fear your Highness must go.”

  The Grand Duchess stood very still.

  “You must not call me ‘Your Highness,’” she said quietly. “It – it does not suit you.”

  “I will not do it again.”

  With a sudden movement she put the rose to my lips.

  “Marya has the sweetest roses,” she said. “Their perfume is like a message that cannot be put into words.”

  I could only nod.

  She took back the blossom and, after a moment, pinned it against her dress.

  “Let us go back and dance,” she said.

  George and I walked to our flat, for the night was lovely and we were glad of the stroll.

  By one consent we had said nothing of Grieg, for, except that we knew where he dwelt, we had nothing to say, and the Grand Duchess would have been troubled to think that he and we were now living cheek by jowl.

  The man had returned that evening, not long before we went out – to judge from the slam of his door, in an ugly mood. What he would do, when he learned that we were his neighbours, I should have been glad to know, for I could not make up my mind whether it was good or evil for each of such enemies to have the other under his eye.

  My wish was granted before the hour was out.

  Bell had admitted us, and we had just told him the new duty which he and Rowley were to do, when we heard a car in the drive.

  In a flash we were at a window commanding that side of the house, to see a taxi at rest at the foot of the steps.

  No one alighted, but after a moment or two we heard the slam of Grieg’s door.

  That the fellow had ordered the taxi was now very plain, and I had little doubt that he had made some appointment which was better not kept by day. It seemed a pity, if we could, not to hear the address…

  The engine of the taxi was running, and the car was facing away from where we stood.

  George opened the window swiftly, and I was out in an instant and lying flat in the flowerbed which flanked the steps. As I took a deep breath, Grieg came out of the house.

  “The Square of Carpet,” he said thickly, and entered the car.

  George had a directory ready before I was back in the flat.

  “The Square of Carpet,” said I. “I guess it’s a kind of night-club, but we may as well see.”

  “Temple or pot-house,” said George, “I’ll bet it contains Johann. Grieg’s taken the knock pretty badly and he wants to be sure that his principal’s not getting cold. I don’t suppose Johann wants to see him, but Grieg’s not the sort of ladder that you can kick down. And, as Grieg can’t go to the palace and Johann daren’t come here, they meet in some market to which everyone can go.”

  The Square of Carpet was a café not very far from the cathedral, and less than half an hour’s walk from where we stood: since it was dark, however, we took the Rolls and, alighting by the cathedral, told Bell to drive her home and, when he had put her away, to go to bed.

  The streets were poorly lighted, and we could not make out their names, but a policeman whom we accosted pointed to the mouth of an alley and bade us turn to the left. We did as he said, and as we turned the corner, we heard a faint sound of music and saw ahead a cluster of red and yellow lights.

  We were now in a street of great age. It was so narrow that no big car could have used it, and as if that were not enough, the houses on either hand had been built out above the pavement and were in some places so near that a man leaning out of a window could have handed a basket to another on the opposite side.

  A man was ahead of us, wrapped in a voluminous cloak, and we saw him tu
rn under an archway above which the lights I have mentioned were making a paltry show. We therefore quickened our steps and reached the archway in time to see him enter a pretentious but shabby hall, a place of high lights and dirty paintwork, with a gorgeous crimson carpet which had been trodden into holes. A seedy attendant in livery offered to take his cloak, but, when the man ignored him, another swung open a door whose mirror was cracked, and the man passed in.

  We followed immediately.

  The place was very much bigger than I had supposed.

  A dancing floor was ringed by a promenade, and this was surrounded by boxes of which there were two tiers. A band was playing lustily, and the floor was full, but the women were wearing their day clothes and, while there were plenty of uniforms, I only saw one man wearing evening dress.

  Almost at once some official was bowing before us and proposing to assign us a box, and, since it seemed best to take one, we told him to lead the way.

  A vile, dark flight of stairs brought us up to the second tier, at the back of which lay a passage some three feet wide. Along this we passed for so long that I was about to protest when our guide flung open a door and ushered us into a box which was almost facing the entrance from which we had come. Then he shut the door and left us without a word.

  “That means champagne,” said George.

  Sure enough a waiter arrived before we had had time to look round and opened a bottle of wine with a great deal of fuss.

  We paid what he asked and told him to bring some beer. At this he seemed astonished and stared at the wine, but, when we repeated our order, he shrugged his shoulders and went.

  A glance around suggested that we were wasting our time.

  Grieg was not on the floor or the promenade, and since the boxes were dark, he had only to draw back his chair to be out of view. Most of them, indeed, appeared empty, till the sparkle of a glass being raised betrayed an occupant, and I reflected rather dismally that, if we had paused to consider, we might have known what to expect. Still, the fellow was there somewhere, and so, I was sure, was Johann, and we felt that to go would be foolish, when by staying we might see something which we could turn to our use another day. So we hung up our coats and sat down and wished for the beer.

  The heat was awful, and the air was most thick and foul. There can have been no vent-holes and there were certainly no fans. A dense haze of tobacco smoke filled every corner like a fog.

  “What we need,” said George, “is a guide – some wallah that frequents this place and cadges his drinks.”

  As he spoke, the door of the box was opened, and a girl put in her head.

  “Talk of the devil,” said George, and called her in.

  She entered with her companion – as pitiful a thing as herself, and George began to entertain them, whilst I poured out some champagne.

  One was French, so I was presently able to do my share, and George played up to the other in a masterly way.

  Very soon he asked them to point out to us Duke Paul, but at once they said that he was not there that night and that, when his fiancée was in Vigil, she would not let him go out.

  “Who is his fiancée?” said George.

  “Leonie,” was the answer. “She hates the sight of him.”

  “Nonsense,” said George.

  “Of course she does,” said the girl. “When he’s kissed her hand she washes it in Lysol within the hour.”

  “Then why does she keep him at home?”

  “For her pride,” said the girl. “Leonie’s proud as heaven. You ought to try to see her. She’s like the queens they put in a picture-book.”

  “Well, she’ll be one one day,” said George.

  The girl shrugged her shoulders.

  “Some say Paul wants to renounce. If he did, it’d let in his cousin. He’s here tonight, but he never comes out of his box.”

  “Which is his box?” said George.

  “I don’t know,” said the girl. “I don’t know what he comes for. I’ve never had a drink off him yet.”

  “I think he’s gone,” said the other, regarding her empty glass. “Don’t you two like champagne?”

  “Not very much,” said I, and filled her glass.

  “Why don’t they bring that beer?” said George. “If I don’t have something to drink, my lungs’ll seize.”

  “There’s a bell somewhere,” said the French girl, stifling a yawn.

  I found the bell and rang it with all my might. Conversation began to wane. We tried to steer it back to the royal house, but our guests seemed weary of the subject and every approach to it was greeted listlessly.

  “Who’s that?” said George suddenly. “Going out by the door?”

  His informant pulled off her hat and shook back her hair.

  “What? Where?” she said casually, leaning forward. “Oh, that’s Johann. Seems to be rowing someone. Oh, my word, it’s the Bear.”

  Cautiously we peered from our cover, to see a tall man in blue, with a lean and hungry look and a close-clipped moustache. His air was imperious, and his collar and cuffs, like Duke Paul’s, were laced with gold. Grieg stood before him, lowering, and the other was rating him sharply for all to see. As we watched, his chin went up in a final toss, and, leaving Grieg standing silent, he swaggered out of the place.

  It was a theatrical exit, and I was sure that the scene had been planned between them to demolish any rumour that they were at one. It certainly created a sensation, for the dancing was almost at a standstill, and people were crowding to the doorway and standing up in the boxes and craning their necks. About Grieg himself the press was especially thick, but he seemed to take no notice, and though two officers were asking him something or other, he made no answer but only looked very black.

  Here something fell against me, and when I looked round I found a girl’s head on my shoulder, heavy as lead.

  I was not in the mood for advances of such a kind, but I did not want to be churlish, so I made some jest or other and asked her to have some more wine.

  To my surprise she neither moved nor answered, and an instant later I found that she was asleep.

  I immediately turned to the other to call her attention to her friend; but her head was down on the table and she was sleeping like the dead.

  I looked up to see George staring.

  Presently he moistened his lips.

  “What price the champagne?” he said softly.

  And with his words every light in the place went out.

  The tune the band was playing came to a discordant stop, and sounds of confusion arose upon every side. Tables were overturned and women cried out, and all the noise of a general hasty movement came to our ears. Here and there matches were struck, and the transient light they shed showed that everyone was for leaving with inconvenient speed. Men and women were scrambling from boxes into the promenade, and those in the promenade were climbing over the barrier on to the floor, and even the orchestra was feverishly deserting its pitch – all this, of course, to no purpose, for the exit was very small and, to judge from the cries and curses, was already pretty well blocked.

  Such commotion seemed to me curious, for to stand or sit still until the lamps were relighted was common sense. Then it came to my mind that the regular patrons of the café were probably wiser than I and knew that The Square of Carpet was not the place to frequent when the lights had gone out.

  And that was as far as I saw until I had made my way to the door of the box.

  This was fast, and when I sought for the handle, there was none to be found.

  For a moment I groped vainly: then the whole truth of the matter stood out clear as day.

  Grieg’s game had been very simple, but quite good enough for us.

  He had waited for us to come home and let us hear where he was going that we might come too. He was known at The Square of Carpet, which was doubtless an infamous place and was clearly very well suited for the commission of crime. A stranger went there at his peril. Drugged wine and darkness
to order were part of its stock-in-trade. We had, of course, been expected: we had been led to our box by a roundabout way, and the beer which we had ordered had been withheld.

  When I told George that there was no handle, I heard him draw in his breath.

  “Time to be going,” he said. “Can we break down the door?”

  That this was out of the question I very soon found. The door was stoutly built and opened inwards, and the back of the box itself was reinforced.

  There was nothing to do but enter one of the boxes which stood on our right and left: this, of course, from the front, and, though such a movement was simple, the darkness made it a more unpleasant business than I ever would have believed.

  We were now uncertain whether to use the passage or stay where we were, for our way by the passage was long and very narrow and those who were coming to seek us were probably on their way. To wait, however, seemed idle, for we were unarmed, and our only chance of avoiding a brush of some sort was to gain the exit before the crowd was gone.

  We therefore opened the door and started along the passage as best we could, encountering no one, but quite unable to listen to any purpose for the uproar which filled the place.

  Our progress was the most wretched I ever made.

  We seemed to be stumbling forever round the wall of the bottomless pit. Grope as we would, we could not find the stairway up which we had come, and though more than once we entered boxes to try to get an idea of where we were, the darkness and the smoke and the noise were so confounding that Grieg himself could not have wished us more perplexed. Add to this that we were half stifled and were streaming with sweat, for now we were wearing our coats and the atmosphere of the passage was as thick and foul again as that of the box.

  At last George touched my shoulder.

  “I must drink or faint,” said he. “My head’s going round.”

  There was plainly no time to be lost.

  George could endure like a lion. When he confessed that he was failing the end was at hand.