Her Royal Highness: A Romance of the Chancelleries of Europe

by William Le Queux

world which, in everycapital, surrounds a throne--that world where place-seekers intrigue,where money brings power, where morality is so often scoffed at asantiquated and out-of-date, and where the true, honest love of man andwoman is forbidden because of rank and blood.

  How little do the readers of our daily Press ever dream of the manybitter romances of love that are to-day being enacted beneath theshadows of the thrones of Europe, for the social columns tell nothingsave what those mentioned desire that the world shall know, while thescandals which find their way into print are only the sordid ones. Howlittle, indeed, do the public dream of the hearts which lie broken nearthe thrones of Europe, of the mad passion, of the steel fetters ofroyalty, or of the true, honest affection of those beyond the pale. Itis only when there is a morganatic marriage, or when a Prince orPrincess of the blood-royal renounces their royal rights that thatpublic pause for a second to reflect. And then, alas! they too oftenput it down to mental derangement.

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

  Only those in the immediate entourage of the Sovereign and the diplomatknow the truth. And, after all, it is that little fevered world of itsown which rules the greater world outside. And so the Powers of Europestruggle on, one against the other, for wealth and supremacy.

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

  As he descended, the sentries, noticing his uniform, saluted, andreturning their salute, he entered the great vestibule, threw his cloakto one of the gorgeously dressed flunkeys, and with his cocked hattucked beneath his arm made his way up the great red-carpeted staircaseto the first floor where the reception was being held.

  As he went up he could hear the tuneful strains of dance music beingplayed above by one of the military bands, bright military uniforms wereeverywhere, the place, usually so dark and sombre, had been adorned byflowers and palms, and was now brilliantly lit by festoons of colouredelectric lamps.

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

  At the top of the staircase stood the Minister himself, His ExcellencyGeneral 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 lastoccasion when, after travelling many miles, he had seen him driving tothe Univers at Tours, and remembered the subsequent conversation when hehad accepted the bribe to place brown-paper boots upon the feet of theItalian Army.

  He saw that His Excellency wished to behave with great cordiality as hepassed. But he merely drew himself up, saluted, and passed on along thecorridor.

  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 speakwith him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

  REVEALS AN INTRIGUE.

  Hubert Waldron, a smart figure in his diplomatic uniform, strolled alongthe corridor, followed at a respectable distance by the neatly-dressedwaiter until, at a convenient point, the diplomat halted at the junctionof two corridors, as though in doubt. Pucci was at his side in aninstant.

  "I learnt only half an hour ago, signore, that there is a plot againstyou!" he said. "Signor Ghelardi is your enemy. You were attacked bythe two assassins whom he bribed, but the conspiracy failed. Becareful. Exercise the greatest caution, signore--I beg of you."

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

  "_Si, signore_. He arrived a quarter of an hour ago. I saluted him andhe recognised me--even in this garb. His Majesty never forgets thefaces 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 thereply; of the faithful police agent.

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

  Pucci was full of resource. He had been attracted to Hubert Waldronbecause he had seen that he was a fine, strong character, a man of highideals, of dogged courage, and of British bull-dog perseverance.Waldron, of the stock that had made the Empire what it is, commandedrespect. 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. Hisonly fault was that he was too generous towards his friends, or to thosewho were in want. He would give his last half-sovereign to anyone whotold him a tale of poverty.

  In this connection he had often been imposed upon. He knew it, butalways declared that, after all, he might have done one reallycharitable action, though others who had told their stories wereimpostors.

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

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

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

  The assembly was a somewhat mixed one, though mainly military, anduniforms of every description were there, while every second man woredecorations of one kind or another. The ladies were mostly wives ofhigh officers of State, of prefects and of military men. Yet there wasalso the usual sprinkling of wives and daughters of deputies andsenators. Monte Citorio is always much in evidence in every publicfunction in Italy.

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

  Waldron, on entering the Council Chamber, made his bow before HisMajesty, and then, after nodding acquaintance with many persons he knew,crossed to where the Princess Luisa was standing in conversation with astout old General, the commandant on the Alpine frontier. He bowed overher hand, and then all three began to chatter, while a few moments laterthe 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 toHubert:

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

  "Good," he replied. "That is an appointment," and bending over her handhe passed across the great apartment, and was soon laughing merrily withSuderman, secretary of the Swedish Embassy.

  He was rather annoyed that Lola--whom he had come there expressly tomeet--should have ordered him to remain apart from her. What, hewondered, 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, bodyand 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, andthen he saw her accompany the fat old General out into the ante-chamberadjoining.

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

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

  As Waldron stood chatting with a stout woman in black--the wife of oneof the great Hebrew financiers of Genoa, he saw His Excellency enter andtake his stand near the King, smiling serenely and bowing graciously tothose about him--he, the man who was feeding the army upon tinned meatthat had been rejected by the German authorities, and who