Her Royal Highness Part 39

At eleven o'clock Waldron stood before the long cheval gla.s.s arranging his tight uniform collar. Then he placed his decorations exactly at the right angle, settled the hang of his pearl-handled diplomatic sword, and took his white gloves from Peters' hand.

His face was dark and clouded. On the one hand he had no desire to meet the corrupt Minister who was bringing disaster and defeat upon his country, while on the other he knew that his Chief expected him to turn up there and be on show, as is the duty of those attached to the Emba.s.sies.

His Majesty, too, would be there. What, in face of those words of his concerning His Excellency, could he think? Truly, the head upon which lies a crown must, indeed, be very weary. How little does the general public know of that narrow, glittering, fevered world which, in every capital, surrounds a throne--that world where place-seekers intrigue, where money brings power, where morality is so often scoffed at as antiquated and out-of-date, and where the true, honest love of man and woman is forbidden because of rank and blood.

How little do the readers of our daily Press ever dream of the many bitter romances of love that are to-day being enacted beneath the shadows of the thrones of Europe, for the social columns tell nothing save what those mentioned desire that the world shall know, while the scandals which find their way into print are only the sordid ones. How little, indeed, do the public dream of the hearts which lie broken near the thrones of Europe, of the mad pa.s.sion, of the steel fetters of royalty, or of the true, honest affection of those beyond the pale. It is only when there is a morganatic marriage, or when a Prince or Princess of the blood-royal renounces their royal rights that that public pause for a second to reflect. And then, alas! they too often put it down to mental derangement.

But the public are in ignorance of the world behind the walls of the royal palace, the pomp, the splendour, the officialdom, and, alas! the constant intrigue.

Only those in the immediate entourage of the Sovereign and the diplomat know the truth. And, after all, it is that little fevered world of its own which rules the greater world outside. And so the Powers of Europe struggle on, one against the other, for wealth and supremacy.

At eleven o'clock Hubert Waldron's taxi drove into the great courtyard of the Ministry of War, that huge, handsome building at the other end of the Via Venti Settembre to where the British Emba.s.sy was situated.

As he descended, the sentries, noticing his uniform, saluted, and returning their salute, he entered the great vestibule, threw his cloak to one of the gorgeously dressed flunkeys, and with his c.o.c.ked hat tucked beneath his arm made his way up the great red-carpeted staircase to the first floor where the reception was being held.

As he went up he could hear the tuneful strains of dance music being played above by one of the military bands, bright military uniforms were everywhere, the place, usually so dark and sombre, had been adorned by flowers and palms, and was now brilliantly lit by festoons of coloured electric lamps.

Italy, _par excellence_ the country of the British tourist, has its charm even in its officialdom.

At the top of the staircase stood the Minister himself, His Excellency General Cataldi, resplendent in his brilliant, gold-laced uniform, glittering with decorations, saluting as he received his guests.

Hubert smiled bitterly within himself. He recollected that last occasion when, after travelling many miles, he had seen him driving to the Univers at Tours, and remembered the subsequent conversation when he had accepted the bribe to place brown-paper boots upon the feet of the Italian Army.

He saw that His Excellency wished to behave with great cordiality as he pa.s.sed. But he merely drew himself up, saluted, and pa.s.sed on along the corridor.

A second later he found himself face to face with the detective, Pucci, who, in plain evening-clothes as a waiter, came up and bowed, and then, with darkly knit brows, motioned that he desired most anxiously to speak with him.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

REVEALS AN INTRIGUE.

Hubert Waldron, a smart figure in his diplomatic uniform, strolled along the corridor, followed at a respectable distance by the neatly-dressed waiter until, at a convenient point, the diplomat halted at the junction of two corridors, as though in doubt. Pucci was at his side in an instant.

"I learnt only half an hour ago, signore, that there is a plot against you!" he said. "Signor Ghelardi is your enemy. You were attacked by the two a.s.sa.s.sins whom he bribed, but the conspiracy failed. Be careful. Exercise the greatest caution, signore--I beg of you."

"This is not news to me, Pucci," replied the diplomat, pretending to b.u.t.ton his white glove. "I am keeping observation upon His Excellency the Minister, so be near me to-night, and keep a sharp look-out. It is in the personal interests of His Majesty. Is he here?"

"_Si, signore_. He arrived a quarter of an hour ago. I saluted him and he recognised me--even in this garb. His Majesty never forgets the faces of those whose duty it is to be his personal guardians."

"All right, Pucci. Be near in case I require you--I trust you."

"_Bene, signore_. I shall be there if you want me, never fear," was the reply; of the faithful police agent.

And then the British diplomat strolled up the corridor, leaving the waiter to bustle along in the opposite direction.

Pucci was full of resource. He had been attracted to Hubert Waldron because he had seen that he was a fine, strong character, a man of high ideals, of dogged courage, and of British bull-dog perseverance.

Waldron, of the stock that had made the Empire what it is, commanded respect. He was a man of action and of honour. Though clever, far-seeing, and with a keen scent for mystery, yet he was honest, upright, and once he made a friend that friend was his for always. His only fault was that he was too generous towards his friends, or to those who were in want. He would give his last half-sovereign to anyone who told him a tale of poverty.

In this connection he had often been imposed upon. He knew it, but always declared that, after all, he might have done one really charitable action, though others who had told their stories were impostors.

Like most men possessed of keen wits, he had been very badly imposed upon at times. Yet often and often, by his sympathetic feelings, he had spent the greater part of his pay in the relief of real cases of distress.

The Waldrons had ever been charitable, for they were always English gentlemen in the truest sense of the word.

In the great Council Chamber with the huge crystal chandeliers, where the walls were hung with the ancient tapestries brought from the Palazzo Communale at Siena--the chamber in which the sittings of the Council of Defence were held, and where the lost plans had been discussed--the King stood, the brilliant, imposing centre of His Excellency's guests.

The a.s.sembly was a somewhat mixed one, though mainly military, and uniforms of every description were there, while every second man wore decorations of one kind or another. The ladies were mostly wives of high officers of State, of prefects and of military men. Yet there was also the usual sprinkling of wives and daughters of deputies and senators. Monte Citorio is always much in evidence in every public function in Italy.

Twice each year was the great imposing Ministry of War--or at least the public portion of it--thronged with officials from every corner of the kingdom, for His Excellency, General Cataldi, sent invitations broadcast, as he found it a cheap way of returning the hospitality daily offered to him--especially as the entertainment was paid for out of the public purse.

Waldron, on entering the Council Chamber, made his bow before His Majesty, and then, after nodding acquaintance with many persons he knew, crossed to where the Princess Luisa was standing in conversation with a stout old General, the commandant on the Alpine frontier. He bowed over her hand, and then all three began to chatter, while a few moments later the secretary, Lambarini, approached and found the little group.

Presently Lola, who was wearing a beautiful gown of pale carnation pink, and who looked inexpressibly sweet as she smiled, bent and whispered to Hubert:

"We had better not be seen together to-night, I think. Let us meet to-morrow at noon, out at Frascati, as before. I must see you. It is most important."

"Good," he replied. "That is an appointment," and bending over her hand he pa.s.sed across the great apartment, and was soon laughing merrily with Suderman, secretary of the Swedish Emba.s.sy.

He was rather annoyed that Lola--whom he had come there expressly to meet--should have ordered him to remain apart from her. What, he wondered, did she fear?

When in her presence, the world was, to him, full of bright gladness, but when they were apart, he only moped in silence and despair.

Did she know the truth, he wondered. Had she, by her woman's keen, natural intuition, discovered that he loved her--that he was hers, body and soul?

Though he laughed lightly with the tall, fair-haired Swede at his side, his thoughtful eyes were still upon her, full of supreme admiration.

And once she glanced furtively at him, as though in fear, it seemed, and then he saw her accompany the fat old General out into the ante-chamber adjoining.

For half an hour, or more, he remained talking with men and women he knew--the same old weary chatter of which the diplomat serving his country abroad grows so unutterably tired.

Who, of all that gay throng save His Majesty himself, dreamed of the sharp-edged sword of war suspended above them? Who knew of the black peril which threatened the fair land of Italy, or of the carefully prepared plot which her enemies in Vienna had prepared against her.

As Waldron stood chatting with a stout woman in black--the wife of one of the great Hebrew financiers of Genoa, he saw His Excellency enter and take his stand near the King, smiling serenely and bowing graciously to those about him--he, the man who was feeding the army upon tinned meat that had been rejected by the German authorities, and who signed contracts in return for bundles of bank-notes. Ah! what a world is ours!

But alas! is there not corruption in every Ministry of every European Power. What contractor to-day can hope to do a legitimate business without placing apart a sum for palm-oil? Disguise it as you will, business morality is in these days of grab and get-rich-quick, at a very low ebb, for too often, alas! honesty spells bankruptcy.

A pretty young Countess was talking with Hubert as he stood watching His Excellency. Was the General, he wondered, the man who had hired the two ruffians, Merlo and Fiola, to make that murderous attack upon him? Or was it Ghelardi, as the detective, Pucci, had that night declared.

Was it possible that the Chief of Secret Police had now found out the strenuous efforts he was making towards the elucidation of the problem of the stolen plans, and in consequence his jealousy had been aroused.

Of which theory to accept he was utterly undecided.

He was listening to the pretty woman's inane chatter, hardly aware of what she said. His mind was far too full of the grave peril of the international situation.

Suddenly his eyes wandered around to find Lambarini. He was there a few moments before, but he seemed to have left and pa.s.sed into one or other of the ante-rooms. A point had arisen in his mind regarding the plans earlier that evening, and upon it he wished to ask him a question.

The Council Chamber was now hot and stifling, and the mingled odours of the chiffons of the women nauseated him. He would have preferred to be in the quiet comfort of his own rooms, now that Lola had sent him away.

Yet was not his duty to be seen at that official reception?