Jennie Baxter, Journalist by Robert Barr

R >> Robert Barr >> Jennie Baxter, Journalist

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

"Or a more lovely hostess?" said the girl, looking at her visitor with
undisguised admiration and quite ignoring the landscape.

The Princess laughed, and as they now stood together on the balcony she
put out her hands, pushed Jennie gently into the rocking-chair again,
seating herself jauntily on its broad arm, and thus the two looked like
a pair of mischievous schoolgirls, home at vacation time, thoroughly
enjoying their liberty.

"There! You are now my prisoner, about to be punished for flattery,"
cried the Princess. "I saw by the motion of the chair that you had just
jumped up from it when I disturbed you, so there you are, back in it
again. What were you thinking about? A rocking-chair lends itself
deliciously to meditation, and we always dream of someone very
particular as we rock."

"I am no exception to the rule," sighed Jennie; "I was thinking of you,
Princess."

"How nice of you to say that; and as one good turn deserves another,
here is proof that a certain young lady has been in my thoughts."

As she spoke, the Princess took from her pocket an embossed case of
Russian leather, opened it and displayed a string of diamonds, lustrous
as drops of liquid light.

"I want you to wear these stones in remembrance of our diamond
mystery--that is why I chose diamonds--and also, I confess, because I
want you to think of me every time you put them on. See how conceited I
am! One does not like to be forgotten."

Jennie took the string, her own eyes for a moment rivalling in
brilliancy the sparkle of the gems; then the moisture obscured her
vision and she automatically poured the stones from one hand to the
other, as if their scintillating glitter hypnotized her. She tried once
or twice to speak, but could not be sure of her voice, so remained
silent. The Princess, noticing her agitation, gently lifted the necklace
and clasped it round the girl's white throat, chattering all the while
with nervous haste.

"There! you can wear diamonds, and there are so many to whom they are
unbecoming. I also look well in diamonds--at least, so I've been told
over and over again, and I've come to believe it at last. I suppose the
young men have not concealed from you the fact that you are a strikingly
good-looking girl, Jennie. Indeed, and this is brag if you like, we two
resemble one another enough to be sisters, nearly the same height, the
same colour of eyes and hair. Come to the mirror, Miss Handsomeness, and
admire yourself."

She dragged Jennie to her feet and drew her into the room, placing
her triumphantly before the great looking-glass that reflected back a
full-length portrait.

"Now confess that you never saw a prettier girl," cried the Princess
gleefully.

"I don't think I ever did," admitted Jennie, but she was looking at the
image of the Princess and not at her own. The Princess laughed, but Miss
Baxter seemed too much affected by the unexpected present to join in the
merriment. She regarded herself solemnly in the glass for a few moments,
then slowly undid the clasp, and, slipping the string of brilliants from
her neck, handed them back to the Princess. "You are very, very kind,
but I cannot accept so costly a present."

"Cannot? Why? Have I offended you by anything I have said since you
came?"

"Oh, no, no. It isn't that."

"What, then? Don't you like me, after all?"

"Like you? I _love_ you, Princess!" cried the girl impulsively, throwing
her arms round the other's neck.

The Princess tried to laugh as she pressed Jennie closely to her, but
there was a tremour of tears in the laughter.

"You must take this little gift as a souvenir of your visit with me. I
was really--very unhappy when you came, and now--well, you smoothed away
some misunderstandings--I'm more than grateful. And it isn't natural for
a woman to refuse diamonds, Jennie."

"I know it isn't; and I won't quite refuse them. I'll postpone. It is
possible that something I shall do before long may seriously offend you.
If it does--then good-bye to the necklace! If it doesn't, when I have
told you all about my misdeed--I shall confess courageously--you will
give me the diamonds."

"Dear me, Jennie, what terrible crime are you about to commit? Why not
tell me now? You have no idea how you have aroused my curiosity."

"I dare not tell you, Princess; not until my project proves a success or
a failure. We women--some have our way made for us--others have our own
way to make. I am among the others, and I hope you will remember that,
if you are ever angry with me."

"Is it a new kind of speculation? A fortune made in a day? Gambling?"

"Something of that sort. I am going to stake a good deal on the turn of
a card; so please pray that luck will not be against me."

"If pluck will make you win, I am sure you will carry it through, but
if at first you don't succeed, try, try again; and if you haven't the
money, I'll supply the capital. I know I should like to gamble. Anyhow,
you have my best wishes for your success."

"Thank you, Princess. I can hardly fail after that."

The time had come when the two friends must part. The carriage was
waiting to take Miss Baxter to the station, and the girl bade good-bye
to her hostess with an uneasy feeling that she was acting disloyally to
one who had befriended her. In her handbag was the invitation to the
ball, and also the letter she had written in the Princess's name
accepting it, which latter she posted in Meran. In due course she
reached London, and presented herself to the editor of the _Daily
Bugle_.

"Well, Miss Baxter," he said, "you have been extraordinarily successful
in solving the diamond mystery, and I congratulate you. My letter
reached you, I suppose. Have you given any thought to the problem
that now confronts us? Can you get us a full report of the Duchess of
Chiselhurst's ball, written so convincingly that all the guests who read
it will know that the writer was present?"

"It is entirely a question of money, Mr. Hardwick."

"Most things are. Well, we are prepared to spend money to get just what
we want."

"How much?"

"Whatever is necessary."

"That's vague. Put it into figures."

"Five hundred pounds; seven hundred; a thousand if need be."

"It will not cost you a thousand, and it may come to more than five
hundred. Place the thousand to my credit, and I shall return what is
left. I must go at once to Paris and carry out my plans from that city."

"Then you have thought out a scheme. What is it?"

"I have not only thought it out, but most of the arrangements are
already made. I cannot say more about it. You will have to trust wholly
to me."

"There is a good deal of money at stake, Miss Baxter, and our reputation
as a newspaper as well. I think I should know what you propose to do."

"Certainly. I propose to obtain for you an accurate description of the
ball, written by one who was present."

The editor gave utterance to a sort of interjection that always served
him in place of a laugh.

"In other words, you want neither interference nor advice."

"Exactly, Mr. Hardwick. You know from experience that little good comes
of talking too much of a secret project not yet completed."

The editor drummed with his fingers on the table for a few moments
thoughtfully.

"Very well, then, it shall be as you say. I should have been very glad
to share the responsibility of failure with you; but if you prefer to
take the whole risk yourself, there is nothing more to be said. The
thousand pounds shall be placed to your credit at once. What next?"

"On the night of the ball I should like you to have three or four expert
shorthand writers here; I don't know how many will be necessary--you
understand more about that than I do; but it is my intention to dictate
the report right along as fast as I can talk until it is finished, and
I don't wish to be stopped or interrupted, so I want the best
stenographers you have; they are to relieve one another just as if
they were taking down a parliamentary speech. The men had better be in
readiness at midnight; I shall be here as soon after that as possible.
If you will kindly run over their type-written MS. before it goes to
the compositors, I will glance at the proofs when I have finished
dictating."

"Then you hope to attend the ball yourself."

"Perhaps."

"You have just returned from the Tyrol, and I fear you don't quite
appreciate the difficulties that are in the way. This is no ordinary
society function, and if you think even a thousand pounds will gain
admittance to an uninvited guest, you will find yourself mistaken."

"So I understood from your letter."

Again the editorial interjection did duty for a laugh.

"You are very sanguine, Miss Baxter. I wish I felt as confident;
however, we will hope for the best, and if we cannot command success, we
will at least endeavour to deserve it."

Jennie, with the thousand pounds at her disposal, went to Paris, took
rooms at the most aristocratic hotel, engaged a maid, and set about the
construction of a ball dress that would be a dream of beauty. Luckily,
she knew exactly the gown-making resources of Paris, and the craftsmen
to whom she gave her orders were not the less anxious to please her when
they knew that the question of cost was not to be considered. From
Paris she telegraphed in the name of the Princess von Steinheimer to
Claridge's Hotel for an apartment on the night of the ball, and asked
that a suitable equipage be provided to convey her to and from that
festival.

Arriving at Claridge's, she was well aware her first danger was that
someone who knew the Princess von Steinheimer would call upon her; but
on the valid plea of fatigue from her journey she proclaimed that in no
circumstances could she see any visitor, and thus shipwreck was avoided
at the outset. It was unlikely that the Princess von Steinheimer was
personally known to many who would attend the ball; in fact, the
Princess had given to Jennie as her main reason for refusing the
invitation the excuse that she knew no one in London. She had been
invited merely because of the social position of the Prince in
Vienna, and was unknown by sight even to her hostess, the Duchess of
Chiselhurst. Critically, she compared the chances of success with the
chances of failure, and often it seemed that disaster was inevitable,
unversed as she knew herself to be in the customs of grand society at
one of its high functions, but nevertheless she was undaunted by the
odds against her, and resolved to stake a career on the fortunes of a
night.

CHAPTER VIII.

JENNIE MIXES WITH THE ELITE OF EARTH.

It is said that a woman magnificently robed is superior to all earthly
tribulations. Such was the case with Jennie as she left her carriage,
walked along the strip of carpet which lay across the pavement under a
canopy, and entered the great hall of the Duke of Chiselhurst's town
house, one of the huge palaces of Western London. Nothing so resplendent
had she ever witnessed, or even imagined, as the scene which met her eye
when she found herself about to ascend the broad stairway at the top of
which the hostess stood to receive her distinguished guests. Early as
she was, the stairway and the rooms beyond seemed already thronged.
Splendid menials in gorgeous livery, crimson the predominant colour,
stood on each step at either side of the stair. Uniforms of every
pattern, from the dazzling oriental raiment of Indian princes and
eastern potentates, to the more sober, but scarcely less rich apparel of
the diplomatic corps, ministers of the Empire, and officers, naval
and military, gave the final note of magnificence and picturesque
decoration. Like tropical flowers in this garden of colour were the
ladies, who, with easy grace, moved to and fro, bestowing a smile here
and a whisper there; and yet, despite her agitation, a hurried, furtive
glance around brought to Jennie the conviction that she was, perhaps,
the best-gowned woman in that assemblage of well-dressed people, which
recognition somewhat calmed her palpitating heart. The whole environment
seemed unreal to her, and she walked forward as if in a dream. She
heard someone cry, "The Princess von Steinheimer," and at first had a
difficulty in realizing that the title, for the moment, pertained
to herself. The next instant her hand was in that of the Duchess of
Chiselhurst, and Jennie heard the lady murmur that it was good of her
to come so far to grace the occasion. The girl made some sort of reply
which she found herself unable afterwards to recall, but the rapid
incoming of other guests led her to hope that, if she had used any
unsuitable phrase, it was either unheard or forgotten in the tension of
the time. She stood aside and formed one of the brilliant group at the
head of the stairs, thankful that this first ordeal was well done with.
Her rapidly beating heart had now opportunity to lessen its pulsations,
and as she soon realized that she was practically unnoticed, her natural
calmness began to return to her. She remembered why she was there,
and her discerning eye enabled her to stamp on a retentive memory
the various particulars of so unaccustomed a spectacle whose very
unfamiliarity made the greater impression upon the girl's mind. She
moved away from the group, determined to saunter through the numerous
rooms thrown open for the occasion, and thus, as it were, get her
bearings. In a short time all fear of discovery left her, and she began
to feel very much at home in the lofty, crowded salons, pausing even
to enjoy a selection which a military band, partly concealed in the
foliage, was rendering in masterly manner, led by the most famous
_impressario_ of the day. The remote probability of meeting anyone here
who knew the Princess reassured her, and there speedily came over her
a sense of delight in all the kaleidoscopic bewilderment of this great
entertainment. She saw that each one there had interest in someone
else, and, to her great relief, found herself left entirely alone with
reasonable assurance that this remoteness would continue to befriend her
until the final gauntlet of leave-taking had to be run; a trial still to
be encountered, the thought of which she resolutely put away from her,
trusting to the luck that had hitherto not deserted her.

Jennie was in this complaisant frame of mind when she was suddenly
startled by a voice at her side.

"Ah, Princess, I have been searching everywhere for you, catching
glimpses of you now and then, only to lose you, as, alas, has been my
fate on more serious occasion. May I flatter myself with the belief that
you also remember?"

There was no recognition in the large frightened eyes that were turned
upon him. They saw a young man bowing low over the unresisting hand he
had taken. His face was clear-cut and unmistakably English. Jennie saw
his closely-cropped auburn head, and, as it raised until it overtopped
her own, the girl, terrified as she was, could not but admire the
sweeping blonde moustache that overshadowed a smile, half-wistful,
half-humorous, which lighted up his handsome face. The ribbon of some
order was worn athwart his breast; otherwise he wore court dress, which
well became his stalwart frame.

"I am disconsolate to see that I am indeed forgotten, Princess, and so
another cherished delusion fades away from me."

Her fan concealed the lower part of the girl's face, and she looked at
him over its fleecy semicircle.

"Put not your trust in princesses," she murmured, a sparkle of latent
mischief lighting up her eyes.

The young man laughed. "Indeed," he said, "had I served my country as
faithfully as I have been true to my remembrance of you, Princess, I
would have been an ambassador long ere this, covered with decorations.
Have you then lost all recollection of that winter in Washington five
years ago; that whirlwind of gaiety which ended by wafting you away to a
foreign country, and thus the eventful season clings to my memory as
if it were a disastrous western cyclone? Is it possible that I must
re-introduce myself as Donal Stirling?"

"Not Lord Donal Stirling?" asked Jennie, dimly remembering that she had
heard this name in connection with something diplomatic, and her guess
that he was in that service was strengthened by his previous remark
about being an ambassador.

"Yes, Lord Donal, if you will cruelly insist on calling me so; but this
cannot take from me the consolation that once, in the conservatory
of the White House, under the very shadow of the President, you
condescended to call me Don."

"You cannot expect one to remember what happened in Washington five
years ago. You know the administration itself changes every four years,
and memories seldom carry back even so far as that."

"I had hoped that my most outspoken adoration would have left
reminiscence which might outlast an administration. I have not found
forgetting so easy."

"Are you quite sure of that, Lord Donal?" asked the girl archly, closing
her fan and giving him for the first time a full view of her face.

The young man seemed for a moment perplexed, but she went on, giving him
little time for reflection. "Have your diplomatic duties taken you away
from Washington?"

"Yes, to the other end of the earth. I am now in St. Petersburg, with
ultimate hopes of Vienna, Princess. I happened to be in London this
week, and hearing you were to be here, I moved heaven and earth for an
invitation."

"Which you obtained, only to find yourself forgotten. How hollow this
world is, isn't it?"

"Alas, yes. A man in my profession sees a good deal of the seamy side of
life, and I fully believe that my rapidly lessening dependence on human
veracity will be shattered by my superiors sending me to Constantinople.
But let me find you a seat out of this crowd where we may talk of old
times."

"I don't care so much about the past as I do about the present. Let
us go up into that gallery, where you shall point out to me the
celebrities. I suppose you know them all, while I am an entire stranger
to London Society."

"That is a capital idea," cried the young man enthusiastically. "Yes, I
think I know most of the people here, at least by name. Ah, here comes
the Royal party; we shall just be in time to have a good look at them."

The band played the National Anthem, and Lord Donal got two chairs,
which he placed at the edge of the gallery, well hidden from the
promenaders by spreading tropical plants.

"Oh, this _is_ jolly," cried Jennie, quite forgetting the dignity of a
Princess. "You told me why you came to the ball. Do you know why I am
here?"

"On the remote chance of meeting me whom you pretended to have
forgotten," replied the young man audaciously.

"Of course," laughed Jennie; "but aside from that, I came to see the
costumes. You know, we women are libellously said to dress for each
other. Away from the world, in the Tyrol, I have little opportunity
of seeing anything fine in the way of dress, and so I accepted the
invitation of the Duchess."

"Have you the invitation of the Duchess with you?"

"Yes, I am going to make some notes on the back of it. Would you like to
see it?" She handed him the letter and then leaned back in her chair,
regarding him closely. The puzzled expression on his face deepened as
he glanced over the invitation, and saw that it was exactly what it
purported to be. He gave the letter back to her, saying,--

"So you are here to see the fashions. It is a subject I know little
about; but, judging by effect, I should say that the Princess von
Steinheimer has nothing to learn from anyone present. If I may touch on
a topic so personal, your costume is what they call a creation, is it
not, Princess?"

"It isn't bad," said the girl, looking down at her gown and then
glancing up at him with merriment dancing in her eyes. The diplomat had
his elbow resting on the balustrade, his head leaning on his hand, and,
quite oblivious to everything else, was gazing at her with such absorbed
intentness that the girl blushed and cast down her eyes. The intense
admiration in his look was undisguised. "Still," she rattled on somewhat
breathlessly, "one gets many hints from others, and the creation of
to-day is merely the old clothes of to-morrow. Invention has no vacation
so far as ladies' apparel is concerned. 'Take no thought of the morrow,
wherewithal ye shall be clothed,' may have been a good motto for the
court of Solomon, but it has little relation with that of Victoria."

"Solomon--if the saying is his--was hedging. He had many wives, you
know."

"Well, as I was about to say, you must now turn your attention to
the other guests, and tell me who's who. I have already confessed my
ignorance, and you promised to enlighten me."

The young man, with visible reluctance, directed his thoughts from the
one to the many, and named this person and that, while Jennie, with
the pencil attached to her card, made cabalistic notes in shorthand,
economizing thus both space and time. When at last she had all the
information that could be desired, she leaned back in her chair with a
little sigh of supreme content. Whatever might now betide, her mission
was fulfilled, if she once got quietly away. The complete details of the
most important society event of the season were at her fingers' ends.
She closed her eyes for a moment to enjoy the satisfaction which success
leaves in its train, and when she opened them again found Lord Donal in
his old posture, absorbed in the contemplation of her undeniable beauty.

"I see you are determined I shall have no difficulty in remembering you
next time we meet," she said with a smile, at the same time flushing
slightly under his ardent gaze.

"I was just thinking," he replied, shifting his position a little, "that
the five years which have dealt so hardly with me, have left you five
years younger."

"Age has many privileges, Lord Donal," she said to him, laughing
outright; "but I don't think you can yet lay claim to any of them.
The pose of the prematurely old is not in the least borne out by your
appearance, however hardly the girl you met in Washington dealt with
you."

"Ah, Princess, it is very easy for you to treat these serious matters
lightly. He laughs at scars who never felt a wound. Time, being above
all things treacherous, often leaves the face untouched the more
effectually to scar the heart. The hurt concealed is ever the more
dangerous."

"I fancy it has been concealed so effectually that it is not as deep as
you imagined."

"Princess, I will confess to you that the wound at Washington was as
nothing to the one received at London."

"Yes; you told me you had been here for a week."

"The week has nothing to do with it. I have been here for a night--for
two hours--or three; I have lost count of time since I met you."

What reply the girl might have made to this speech, delivered with all
the fervency of a man in thorough earnest, will never be known, for at
that moment their _tête-à-tête_ was interrupted by a messenger, who
said,--

"His Excellency the Austrian Ambassador begs to be permitted to pay his
regards to the Princess von Steinheimer."

Lord Donal Stirling never took his eyes from the face of his companion,
and he saw a quick pallor overspread it. He leaned forward and
whispered,--

"I know the Ambassador; if you do not wish to meet him, I will intercept
him."

Jennie rose slowly to her feet, and, looking at the young man with a
calmness she was far from feeling, said coldly,--

"Why should I not wish to meet the Ambassador of my adopted country?"

"I know of no reason. Quite the contrary, for he must be an old friend
of yours, having been your guest at the Schloss Steinheimer a year ago."

He stepped back as he said this, and Jennie had difficulty in
suppressing the gasp of dismay with which she received his disquieting
disclosure, but she stood her ground without wincing. She was face to
face with the crisis she had foreseen--the coming of one who knew
the Princess. Next instant the aged diplomat was bending over her
outstretched hand, which in courtly fashion the old man raised to his
lips.

"I am delighted to have the privilege of welcoming you to this gloomy
old city, Princess von Steinheimer, which you illumine with your
presence. Do you stay long in London?"

"The period of illumination is short, your Excellency. I leave for Paris
to-morrow."

"So soon? Without even visiting the Embassy? I am distressed to hear
of so speedy a desertion, and yet, knowing the charms of the Schloss
Steinheimer, I can hardly wonder at your wish to return there. The
Prince, I suppose, is as devoted as ever to the chase. I must censure
his Highness, next time we meet, for not coming with you to London; then
I am sure you would have stayed longer with us."

"The Prince is a model husband, your Excellency," said Jennie, with a
sly glance at Lord Donal, whose expression of uncertainty increased
as this colloquy went on, "and he would have come to London without
a murmur had his wife been selfish enough to tear him away from his
beloved Meran."

"A model husband!" said the ancient count, with an unctuous chuckle.
"So few of us excel in that respect; but there is this to be
said in our exculpation, few have been matrimonially so fortunate
as the Prince von Steinheimer. I have never ceased to long for a
repetition of the charming visit I paid to your delightful home."

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16