The Great Court Scandal Part 14

She took two large silk handkerchiefs from a drawer, and made two bundles of the precious gems. Then she hid them away until the morrow, and reclosing the safe, locked it; and taking the key off the bunch, placed it in the drawer of her little escritoire.

Thus she had taken the first step towards her emanc.i.p.ation.

Her eye caught the Madonna, with its silver lamp, and she halted before it, her head bowed, her lips moving in silent prayer as she sought help, protection, and guidance in the act of renunciation she was about to commit.

Then, after ten minutes or so, she again moved slowly across the room, opening the great inlaid wardrobe where hung a few of her many dresses.

She looked upon them in silence. All must be left behind, she decided.

She could only take what she could carry in her hand. She would leave her personal belongings to be divided up by that crowd of human wolves who hungered to destroy her. The Trauttenberg might have them as her perquisites--in payment for her treachery.

By that hour to-morrow she would have left Treysa for ever. She would begin a new life--a life of simplicity and of freedom, with her darling child.

Presently she slept again, but it was a restless, fevered sleep.

Constantly she wondered whether it would be possible for her to pa.s.s those palace guards with little Ignatia. If they recognised the child they might stop her, for only Allen herself was permitted to take her outside the palace.

Yet she must risk it; her only means of escape was that upon which she had decided.

Next day pa.s.sed very slowly. The hours dragged by as she tried to occupy herself in her boudoir, first with playing with the child, and afterwards attending to her correspondence. She wrote no letter of farewell, as she deemed it wiser to take her leave without a word. Yet even in those last hours of her dignity as Crown Princess her thoughts were with the many charitable inst.i.tutions of which she was patroness, and of how best she could benefit them by writing orders to the royal treasurer to give them handsome donations in her name.

She saw nothing of her husband. For aught she knew, those three grave-faced doctors might have already consulted with Veltman; they might have already declared her insane.

The afternoon pa.s.sed, and alone she took her tea in English fas.h.i.+on, little Ignatia being brought to her for half an hour, as was the rule when she was without visitors. She had already been to Henriette's room in secret, and had secured a black-stuff dress and packet, a long black travelling-coat and a felt canotte, all of which she had taken to her own room and hidden in her wardrobe.

When Allen took the child's hand in order to lead her out, her mother glanced anxiously at the clock, and saw that it was half-past five.

"You can leave Ignatia here while you go to dinner," she said in English; "she will be company for me. Tell the servants that I am not to be disturbed, even by the Countess de Trauttenberg."

"Very well, your Highness," was the Englishwoman's answer, as bowing she left the room.

For another quarter of an hour she laughed and played with the child, then said,--

"Come, darling, let us go along to my room." And taking her tiny hand, led her gently along the corridor to her own chamber. Once within she locked the door, and quickly throwing off her own things, a.s.sumed those of the maid which she took from the wardrobe. Then upon Ignatia she put a cheap dark coat of grey material and a dark-blue woollen cap which at once concealed the child's golden curls. This concluded, she a.s.sumed a thick black lace veil, which well concealed her features, and around her throat she twisted a silken scarf. The collar of her coat, turned up, hid the colour of her hair, and her appearance was in a few moments well transformed. Indeed, she presented the exact prototype of her maid Henriette.

The jewels were in a cheap leather hand-bag, also the maid's property.

This she placed in her dressing-bag, and with it in her hand she took up little Ignatia, saying,--

"Hush, darling! don't speak a word. You'll promise mother, won't you?"

The child, surprised at all this preparation, gave her promise, but still remained inquisitive.

Then the Crown Princess Claire gave a final glance around the room, the scene of so much of her bitter domestic unhappiness. Sighing heavily, she crossed herself before the Madonna, uttered a few low words in prayer, and unlocking the door stole out into the long, empty corridor.

Those were exciting moments--the most exciting in all her life.

With her heart beating quickly she sped onward to the head of the great marble gilt staircase. Along one of the side corridors a royal valet was approaching, and the man nodded to her familiarly, believing her to be Henriette.

At the head of the staircase she looked down, but saw n.o.body. It was the hour when all the servants were at their evening meal. Therefore, descending quickly, she pa.s.sed through the great winter garden, a beautiful place where, among the palms and flowers, were cunningly placed tiny electric lamps. Across a large courtyard she went--as it was a short cut from that wing of the palace in which her apartments were situated--and at last she reached the main entrance, where stood the head concierge in his c.o.c.ked hat and scarlet livery, and where idled an agent of police in plain clothes, reading the evening paper.

At her approach they both glanced at her.

She held her breath. What if they stopped her on account of the child?

But summoning all her courage she went forward, compelled to pa.s.s them quite closely.

Then as she advanced she nodded familiarly to the gold-laced janitor, who to her relief wished her good-evening, and she pa.s.sed out into the park.

She had successfully pa.s.sed through one peril, but there was yet a second--those carefully-guarded gilded gates which gave entrance to the royal demesne. Day and night they were watched by palace servants and the agents of police entrusted with his Majesty's personal safety.

She sped on down the broad gravelled drive, scarce daring to breathe, and on arrival at the gatehouse pa.s.sed in it, compelled to make her exit through the small iron turnstile where sat two men, the faithful white-bearded old gatekeeper, who had been fifty years in the royal service, and a dark-faced brigadier of police. Recognition would mean her incarceration in an asylum as insane.

Both men looked up as she entered. It was the supreme moment of her peril. She saw that the detective was puzzled by her veil. But she boldly pa.s.sed by them, saying in French, in a voice in imitation of Henriette's,--

"_Bon soir, messieurs_!"

The old gatekeeper, in his low, gruff German, wished her good-night unsuspiciously, drew the lever which released the turnstile, and next moment the Crown Princess Claire stepped out into the world beyond--a free woman.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

DOOM OR DESTINY.

With quickened footsteps she clasped the child to her, and hurrying on in the falling gloom, skirted the long, high walls of the royal park, where at equal distances stood the sentries.

More than one, believing her to be Mademoiselle, saluted her.

She was free, it is true; but she had yet to face many perils, the greatest of them all being that of recognition by the police at the station, or by any of the people, to whom her countenance was so well known.

Presently she gained the broad Klosterstra.s.se, where the big electric lamps were already s.h.i.+ning; and finding a fiacre at the stand, entered it and drove to a small outfitter's shop, where she purchased two travelling-rugs and a shawl for little Ignatia. Thence she went to a pastrycook's and bought some cakes, and then drove up the wide Wolbeckerstra.s.se to the central railway station.

The streets were alive with life, for most of the shops were closed, the main thoroughfares were illuminated, and all Treysa was out at the cafes or restaurants, or promenading the streets, for the day was a national festival. The national colours were displayed everywhere, and the band of the 116th Regiment was playing a selection from "La Boheme" as she crossed the great Domplatz.

Hers was indeed a strange position.

Unknown and unrecognised, she drove in the open cab, with the tiny, wondering Princess at her side, through the great crowds of holiday-makers--those people who had they known of her unhappiness would in all probability have risen in a body and revolted.

She remembered that she had been "their Claire," yet after that night she would be theirs no longer. It was a sad and silent leave-taking.

She had renounced her crown and imperial privileges for ever.

Many men and women stared at her as she pa.s.sed under the bright electric street lamps, and once or twice she half feared that they might have penetrated her disguise. Yet no cheer was raised; none rushed forward to kiss her hand.

She gave the cabman orders to drive up and down several of the princ.i.p.al thoroughfares, for there was still plenty of time for the train; and, reluctant to take leave of the people of Treysa whom she loved so well, and who were her only friends, she gazed upon them from behind her veil and sighed.

At the busy, echoing station she arrived ten minutes before the express was due, and took her tickets; but when she went to the _wagon-lit_ office, the official, not recognising her, sharply replied that the places had all been taken by an American tourist party. Therefore she was compelled to enter an ordinary first-cla.s.s compartment. The train was crowded, and all the corner seats were taken. Fearing to call a porter to her a.s.sistance lest she should be recognised--when the royal saloon would at once be attached to the train for her--she was compelled to elbow her way through the crowd and take an uncomfortable seat in the centre of a compartment, where all through the night she tried to sleep, but in vain.

Little Ignatia soon closed her eyes and was asleep, but Claire, full of regrets at being compelled to renounce husband, crown, everything, as she had done, and in wonder of what the future had in store for her, sat silent, nursing her child through the long night hours. Her fellow-travellers, two fat Germans of Jewish cast, and three women, slept heavily, the men snoring.

The grey dawn showed at last over the low green hills. Had her absence been discovered? Most certainly it had, but they had now pa.s.sed the confines of the kingdom, and she was certain that the people at the palace would not telegraph news of her disappearance for fear of creating undue scandal.

At last she had frustrated their dastardly plot to incarcerate her in an asylum. She sat there, a figure of sweet loveliness combined with exceeding delicacy and even fragility--one of the most refined elegance and the most exquisite modesty.