Copyright Story. The Lady in the Blue Dress.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXI, Issue III, 18 July 1903, Page 205

Copyright Story. The Lady in the Blue Dress.

By

“‘How London Wakes’; that's the title!” said Mamie Collingwood to herself, as she stepped from the door of her lodgings in a street near the Marble Arch. She could not remember that ever in her life had she been up and out so early. But then, it was her very first day in England: and she was so excited that she had hardly slept all night, in spite of being tired after the long, tedious Journey she had made from Paris the day before.

It was not yet six o’clock, and a policeman who passed, staring to see a pretty, well-dressed girl out so early, was yawning; but Mamie did not yawn. She was very happy and alert, thinking of the article which was to be her first journalistic attempt, for a New York paper. It was very nice of the editor to offer her the work, when she was coming abroad for a rest (for Mamie was a very popular and charming young actress, who had lately indulged in the fashionable nervous ■‘prostration), and she wanted to show him that she could be as elever in journalism as she was considered on the stage.

She had been asked to “dash off” little sketches, when she felt like it, on out of the way subjects; and since her adventurous spirit had urged her to this early expedition, she meant to utilise it for the paper.

“How London Wakes,” struck her as being a taking title. She could see it in

(Authors of “The Barn Stormers,” ete.)

C. N. and A. M. WILLIAMSON.

big head-lines at the top of a column, and was pleased with the idea. She was pleased with the fun of the thing; pleased at having stolen off while her elderly aunt still slept; and pleased with her appearance, which, if not quite suited to the occasion, was certainly charming. She had honoured London by putting on a frock which had not only a style of its own, but a history—such a fascinating, dark blue cloth, made as only French fingers could luakc it, which would have been an ideal travelling frock for a bride.

When she was being extravagant at Madame Bonvallot’s (most exclusive of Parisian dressmakers), she had seen a water-colour sketch of the gown, with a completely desirable hat to match, lying on the table, and had instantly ordeied them to be copied for herself. Madame had demurred; the costume had just been made for an important client; in fact, no less a personage than Mdlle. Gerolstein, the confidential companion of Amalia, Queen of Rouvia; and she might be annoyed were she to meet another lady dressed exactly like herself. But then, Mdlle. Gerolstein was not going to England; perhaps, after all, as Mdlle. Gerolstein need never be troubled by knowing, there would be no objection, in this one instance, to copying the design. >So Miss Mamie Collingwood had had the dress, to say nothing of the hat; and she enjoyed wearing it for the first time.

She did not much care where she walked in the grey dawn; and after she had seen the Marble Arch darkly silhouetted against a ruddy sky. she chose the direction which looked most interesting. By and bye, she came to Oxford Circus, and turned down Regent-street. She could see her own pretty figure reflected in one or two uncovered windows of plate glass, and from thinking of Mdlle. Gerolstein (whom Madame Bonvallot had said that Mamie,oddly enough, very strikingly resembled in style and colouring, she fell to reflecting on Queen Amalia, that beautiful, unhappy woman, doing her utmost to oppose the designs of her venal husband and his corrupt minister, Orloff, supposed by many to be plotting with Russia for the betrayal of Rouvia and its people. Miss Collingwood was too much occupied, however, with her first sight of London to let her mind dwell on things so irrelevant as the Balkan States. Continuing down Waterloo Place, she strolled on to Charing Cross. Cabs were rattling out of the station yard. It occurred to her that the boat train from Dover had just arrived, and she entered the station to amuse herself by looking at the people. There was the usual crowd of sleepy passengers, most of them pressing round the barriers where the luggage was to be examined. Mamie Collingwood wondered what had brought them all to London, trying to guess if any of the men loitering near were detectives on the watch for criminals, when she was conscious that she herself was being closely observed by a tall, foreign-look-ing man, with very dark eyes, a broad nose and thick lips, which seemed to proclaim him a Slav. Like all pretty girls. Mamie Collingwood was accustomed to receiving the random admiration of the streets, nor did she object to one. or perhaps two respectful glances; but she resented a stare. Turning on her heel to walk away, she found herself confronted by a man of a very different type, young, handsome, essentially English. His bronzed face brightened as their eyes met, and the next moment he was standing before her, his hat in one

hand, the other extended for a greeting.

Mamie was aware that with the particular class of cad that annoys ladies when they are alone, it is a common device to pretend an acquaintanceship when none exists. A glance at this young man, however, convinced her that he was not of that class; indeed, there was something so attractive about him. and he was so clearly “good form.” that for an instant Mamie felt a mischievous impulse to put her hand in his, and claim him for a friend. Yet this would have been too unconventional even for an American girl. She suppressed a smile of goodwill, and surveyed the young man with the cold eye of a stranger.

“You are mistaken,” she said; “we have not met before.” The young man instantly made room for her to pass, and a pang went through her when she saw the sudden change that struck the greeting from his face and left instead a look of pained surprise. “Oh. dear!” she thought; “he’s so good looking! What a pity I had to snub him!”

It was now about seven o’clock, and it seemed like an anti-climax to go home conventionally to breakfast. She turned along the Strand, and attracted by a line of market carts, drifted towards Covent Garden. “More good ‘copy,’ ” she said to herself. In the famous market she made mental notes of everything, and came out with an armful of arum lilies. She began to fee! rather tired, as well as hungry, and as she reached Bowstreet her pace slackened. She thought that she would like to drive home in one of those London cabs which her American friends had so often praised for their smartness and cheapness. She looked about wistfully, when suddenly the liveried driver of a smart brougham which she had taken for a private carriage, inquiringly held up his whip. She would have preferred a hansom, but this was so delightful a conveyance that she thought herself lucky to secure it. What charming things London cabs were, to be sure! Rather different from those of New York, or even of Paris! She

nodded as-ent. The brougham drew up at the pavement. With her arms full of lilies, she was finding a difficulty in opening the door, when a man moved quickly forward, turned the handle, and politely stood aside for her to enter. During her recent month’s stay in Paris. Miss Collingwood had spoken nothing but French, and now. by force of habit, she unconsciously addre-sed the driver in that tongue, bidding him take her to Clif-ford-street. Marble Arch. Then, as she stepped into the vehicle, she turned with a polite “merci’’ to the man who had opened the door. To her amazement and vexation, she aw that this was the foreign-looking p'rson in the fur lined coat who h d s'.ared at her in Charing Cross s ation. Her irritation changed to anger when sh? found that he intended to follow her into the cab. He had al.ei’dy one foot on the step, wfien Mamie seized the door to elose it, at the same time demanding in her angriest French how he dared to so annoy a lady. Th- man instantly retired with an air of submission, and the vehicle drove away. A little excited by this encounter, Miss Collingwood leaned back upon the springy leather cush’ons. her mind divided b tween surpris ■ a the luxury of the vehic’e aid anger at the audacity of the fo ei ner. Suddenly it flashed into her head that she had addressed the driver in French, and that he, as well as the man in the fur-Tned coat, had understood that language. Her heart gave a bound. Surely, she thought, the e is something very strange about that! What if. b some mistake, she had got into a private carriage belonging to the foreigner? But why did the driver raise his whip to h r if he were not plying for hire? At any rate. Mamie reflected, it is an adventure: and what a snlendid thing I can make of it for my New York paper! Presently the carriage slackened speed, whisked round a corner, drove down a narrow road which opened into a mews, and before Mamie could lower the window and call to the driver, h? had drawn up before a discreet-looking door. Hardly had. the cab stopped, when another'vehicle came to a stnndsHl’ behind it; the door of the hous- opened to reveal a grave, clean-shaven man, with the air of a soldier in undress; and before Mamie had time to demand an explanation. someone hurried before the servant to offer his assistance. A glance showed Miss Collingwood that it was again the persistent foreigner. “Will Mademoiselle b pleased to enter?” he said, speaking in French with a curious accent. “No, sir. I W'll not in’or.’’ replied Mamie, indignantly, in English: “and I shall be obliged for an explanation of all this mystery.” The smile of subservience died out of the man’s eves., which flashed a menace. Before Mamie could r all e wh.’t was happening, the foreigner had seized her by one arm. and clapped a strong hand over her mouth. The man who had opened the door sprang forward, grasped her by the other arm and waist, and she was livi'i-d toward-- the house. Mamie could n t scream, but she did not mean to submit without a struggle t<> Shell indignity. She dropped her li’ios. which fell in A fragrant he ;p on the ground, and desperately fongh' for freedom. But she might ns we’l h-i i . o beaten her hand against a rock, She was dragged along, and was almost on the threshold, when, with a sudden sharp cry of pain and rage, the man in the furlined coat relensed his hold. At the same instant, with all her force Mamie dashed two li'tle cbn 'ed fists full in the face of the kidnapper’s assistant. Instinctively ti e fellow loosened his grasp with the impulse of self-defence, and the girl twisted herself free just in time to see the handsome young man who had bowed to her at the station plant a terriflle left-hander fall on the foreigner’s i'W. Tne fellow staggered reeled and -tumbled against his companion. bearing him back so that both pitched through the open door of the house.

“Quick! My cab! Trust me!” panted her rescuer in French, and in the fraction of a second she was being helped into a hansom standing behind the carriage in which she had arrived. A lash of the whip and the horse was whirling them out of the quiet mews into the open streets. Breathless and astonished as she was, Mamie’s first action, nevertheless, was to turn to the mirror in the cab, •traighten her new Paris hat, and bring

into the'r proper places some rebellions curls which had been loosened in the struggle. Then she turned to her companion; but he was signalling to the driver with his stick, and next moment the eab stopped at Hyde Park Corner. The young man jumped out, offering a hand to assist the girl. Silently she obeyed. The astonished cabman was paid and dismissed. “Let us walk into the park,” said her cornu; m a e girly, still syeakmg in French. “We ean talk there in safety.” Mamie Collingwood was now in a high state of excitement. It was clear that she was involved in some extraordinary mystery, and she remembered only the personal part of it now, not a chance for newspaper “copy.” She determined to play her cards carefully with the view of finding out as much as possible; and as she had been addressed in French, she spoke in that langugage (of which she was a mistress), though she felt sure that her companion was an Englishman. “A thousand thanks,” she said, “for rescuing me from those ruffians.” The handsome young man looked at her dubiously. “It was your wish?” he questioned. “Undoubtedly! Do you think I wanted to be kidnapped?” “I don't know what to think,” he answered. “You went freely in his carriage, yet you drew back on the doorstep! It looks like trying to run with the hare and hunt with the hounds. But perhaps you will kindly explain.” .Mamie Collingwood was thoroughly puzzled, yet thoroughly happy. It was interesting (now that she was safe) to have an adventure, but doubly interesting with so delightful a person in the part of hero. She answered diplomatically, a smile robbing the words of their sting: “Are you sure that you have a right to ask me for explanations?” “I think I have,” he said in a puzzled way; “if not on my own authority, on that of others. You ean understand how 1 feel to see you with the other side. I was afraid that there was something wrong the moment I saw that ugly Russian brute waiting at the station. Then your conduct! You cut me dead; you wander away to a rendezvous with our enemy; you enter his carriage; you drive to the back entrance of the embassy—to the door they always use when there is dirty work on hand; then at the last instant you draw back and resist. I appear to help you; you come willingly with me; yet you ask me if I have the right to an explanation!” “Is it possible you have followed me all the way from the station?” gasped Mamie.

“What else did you expect? Did you think that I was going to lose sight of vou ?”

Mamie Collingwood was enjoying enormously this game of cross purposes, bat now she wondered if it were fair to her rescuer to let it go any further. Evidently he mistook her for someone else, and it seemed mean to take advantage of him. perhaps to learn some secret which he would blame himself for imparting to n stranger. They were walking slowly along the broad path which leads from Hyde Park Corner to the Marble Arch. It was not yet eight o’clock, and the Park was almost deserted. Mamie sat down on a seat and motioned her companion to hbr side. He was certainly very handsome, and she was amused at the air of dignity which he assumed with her. She determined to give him a surprise, and fixing her charming eyes on his suspicious ones she spoke in English for the first time. “I think there is a misunderstanding,” she said, wickedly. “Do, please, tell me who you are and who you imagine me to be.” “By Jove!” exlaimed the young man, his face expressing frank consternation. He sprang to his feet, stood undecided, staving at the girl blankly, then sat down again. “Is it possible that there is any mistake? I—you must know who I am, since you came to London to meet me! Yet I was told you understood no English. and you speak it perfectly, though like an American!” He paused, embarassed; then he blurted out: “I am Lord Gordon Desmond, and you—surely you are Mdlle. Gerolstein?” “Mdlle. Gerolstein! Certainly not! I am Miss Mamie Collingwood, of New York, and I almost think that I’m a journalist.” “Miss Collingwood—from New York!” he stammered. “Then how on earth -did you find out? I see! You got wind of our secret! You have personated her to deceive us! You mean to write

it all up in your miserable paper!” He stopped, flushing, for a mettlesome spark had lit in the girl’s hazel eyes. "I beg your pardon,” he said, quickly. “I said what I had no right to say. Forgive me! I know you’re a lady, and would take no unfair advantage of—” “Of the mistake,” interrupted Mamie, appeased. “Certainly not. It shall be my secret, too. Though really, for your comfort. I assure you I know very little of it. Nothing at all but my own part.” He thanked her with his eyes, and pulling a photograph from his pocket, looked from it to her.

“Extraordinary!” he murmured, half to himself. “But the dress!” he said aloud. “.May I ask how it comes that you are wearing this dress —blue cloth, five gilt buttons slant-ways down the bodice, a hat to match, with three dark blue, gold-spa ogled quills?” He repeated the description like a lesson he had by heart.

In a few words Mamie rapidly explained the history of the costume. “I see! ”he exclaimed. “I’ve never met Mdlle. Gerolstein; I had only this photograph to go by, and the description of the dress she would wear. See—it is like you, isn’t it? Only not half so charming, if you don't mind my saying

Mamie blushed as she took the photograph, and had to admit that there was a strong resemblance to herself. “By Jove, Miss Collingwood!” cried Lord Gordon, impetuously, after he had studied the girl’s face a moment. "I’m hanged if I won’t tell you everything, and you may help me even yet—if you’ll be so good! I know I can trust you. Aly brother is the Duke of Dartmoor—a splendid fellow, for whom I’d cut off my hand if he needed it. Years ago, when he was a military attache, he fell in love, at her father’s court in Germany, with the Princess Amalia, now Queen of Rouvia. Her family would not hear of the match, and she was forced to marry Alexander of Rouvia; but my brother has never ceased to love her. You know how things are in that country. Her husband is a sot; his chief minister a traitor; they are plotting to hand the country over to Russia; Amalia heads the popular party which stands for the independence of the State. Aldlle. Gerolstein is Amalia’s confidante; we hope she is her friend also; but we have been warned that even she has been bought by Russia, and is ready to betray her

mistress. After what I saw just now at the station, I am prepared to believe it; for it is clear that that Russian came to meet her, and quite expected that she would go to the embassy with him. Well, my brother has long helped the Queen by acting as her unofficial agent in London, and up to now Mdlle. Gerolstein has been their go-between. To-day she was to have come to London to meet me, not my brother. He is well-known to the Russian spies; he dare not be seen with her for fear it should reach the jealous ears of the King that his wife is in communication with her former lover. Such a scoundrel is Alexander, that if he got hold of that, he would not hesitate to use it even against his own wife to discredit her with the people. Now do you see why I felt so angry when you went off in the Russian agent’s carriage; how astonished when at the last moment you appeared to change your mind, and refused to enter the embassy?” “The Russian agent’s carriage!” exclaimed Mamie. “Why, I thought it was a public cab! I only came to London last night,” she explained, in answer to Lord Gordon’s look of surprise. “I was just seeing life a little when I went into Charing Choss Station in this fatal dress.”

“Well, what’s become of the real Mdlle. Gerolstein—whether she came disguised, and so I missed her, or whether she didn’t come at all—l don't know. It's a comfort that the Russian’s are as much off the scent as I am, any way. We intended to test her loyalty to-day in this manner: Some of Orloff’s agents are in London, in touch with the Russian*embassy. We have been watching them for weeks. We were going to send Mdlle. Gerolstein to them (she pretending to be on their side, you understand) to try and get from them a document, which we believe they have just received from the Russians—a paper proving conclusively that Orloff, ay, and the King himself, are in the pay of Russia. She was to offer them in return a letter from the Queen to my brother, which they’d be very eager to get hold of. This appointment has been made by her, in arrangement with us, by telegram from Paris. Now, if Mdlle. Gerolstein were true to the Queen, as we hoped, she would most likely succeed in this mission; if she were false we should discover that also by the way she behaved. Now the question iss Will you continue your role of Mdlle.

Gerolstein, and carry out the scheme we meant her to execute? I can’t disguise that 'if you do, you’ll run a risk.” “I’ll help you in any way in my power I” cried Mamie promptly, with sparkling eyes. “AU my life I have admired Queen Amalia—l know some of her poetry by heart. I would do anything to help her, and upset that horrid Alexander.” She did not add that the pleading brown eyes of her companion had had their effect in making up her mind, and spurring her to undertake the adventure. If she was glad to help the woman, she was not reluctant to please the man. “That’s splendid!” ejaculated Lord Gordon. “Let us walk, and I’ll tell you the whole plan on the way. There’s not an instant to lose, for who knows when the real woman may turn up, and upset all our calculations?”

Poor Mamie had begun to feel terribly hungry, and thought that she would feel much braver if she could have some breakfast, but she kept her feelings to herself, and soon, listening eagerly to the instructions she was receiving, she forgot everything else in the excitement of the game she had to play. Half an hour later Miss Collingwood stepped out of a hansom cab at the garden gate of a quiet, semi-detached house near Regent’s Park. With a quickening breath she rang the bell and waited. A small trap in the door was drawn back, and a pair of black eyes, set in a swarthy face, were scrutinising her suspiciously. “Mdlle. Gerolstein is expected,” she said, haughtily, in French. “Admit me.” The door was opened, and she crossed a small lawn by a gravel path and entered the house, the man who had admitted her first fastening the gate, then following to show her into a drawing-room which faced the garden. Left alone, she sat listening to the beating of her heart, that hammered against her side; and it was only by a strong effort of the will that she steadied her nerves when she heard approaching steps in the passage. The door opened to admit two men—one of middle age, the other younger—both dark, keen of eye, and with hair longer than Englishmen affect. As they entered, they looked at her with a sharp scrutiny, and bowed, as the girl thought with a touch of irony in the salute. Then they stood silent and alert, waiting for her to speak. “You had a telegram to say that Mdlle. Gerolstein would be with you,” began Mamie in her best French, with all the coolness she could command. “Well, you see I have kept the appointment.” The conspirators exchanged a quick glance. “We certainly did expect the lady you mention,” said the elder man coldly; “but not until to-morrow. We have this morning heard that she is detained unexpectedly in Paris.” Both men were watching her narrowly. Mamie’s heart thumped, but she made a haughty gesture to cover her confusion. “Can you not understand,” she said quickly, “that I am compelled to change my plans almost from moment to moment? I run a great risk in coming here at all; I am watched wherever I go; even my correspondence, my telegams, are liable to be tampered with. The telegram from Paris was a blind; you see I am here, and I have only a few minutes to stay. Now listen: There shall be no confidence whatever on my side unless I receive others from you. I have the letter

you want”—the men’s eyes lightened “but not with me here. Surely you did not think I should have brought it, and so put myself in your power?” “Mdlle. Gerolstein,” said the elder man suavely, "deserves her reputation for cleverness; but we should be glad to be informed what proof of our confidence she demands.”

“A sight of the document you received yesterday from the Russian Embassy,” said Miss Collingwood, “the one you have in your breast pocket,” she added boldly, for she had noticed the elder man start and slightly raise his arm. The pair consulted in whispers. “As Madamoiselle is so well informed of the movements of our friends,” replied the first who had spoken, “there can be no harm in trusting her. But after we have shown the paper, what then?” “You shall both accompany me to my hotel, where my documents are,” was the prompt reply. The elder man drew a paper from his pocket and silently handed it to the girl. Murmuring something about being shortsighted, she walked to the window, put up her veil as if to see better, and at the same time drew aside the curtain to admit more light. Both men watch d her keenly, the younger hovering near, as if to guard the precious paper. It was a critical moment. Mamie tried to absorb the meaning of the document, which was written in French, but her whirling brain refused to understand it. She prolonged her scrutiny as long as she dared. What was to happen now? Both men had come very close *o her. Already they were suspicious. The signal agreed upon with Lord Gordon was her appearance at the window. The adjoining house had stood empty for some time, he had told her, and a few weeks ago he had hired it. As she drove up to one garden gate he and two men in his confidence had gone in at the other; that she had seen. He was to watch for her signal, through a small aperture he had made in the wall between the two gardens, with a short ladder at hand. The next move was to surmount the wall, take by surprise the man guarding the gate, break into the house, come to her rescue, and secure the paper. Now she had been at the window nearly five minutes, yet nothing had happened in the garden. “You have seen the paper, Madamoiselle; we will now trouble you for it again,” said her host drily. At the same instant there came a cry from the garden. Quick as light, the conspirators took alarm, and with a spring made a snatch at the precious document. There was just one way to save it, and if she took that way the question was whether she could afterwards save herself. But the girl’s blood was up. Without a second’s hesitation she dashed the little gloved fist that grasped the paper through the window pane, which smashed with a loud jingle of breaking glass. After that, all was confusion. Mamie knew that someone leaped at her throat like a tiger, and she thought that she screamed before her breath was choked away. Then it seemed to her that she fell, or was flung to the floor, while the sound of rapid footsteps was in her cars. Doors slammed; a revolver shot rang out; at last all was still, and a strange peace fell upon her. It was as if she had waked from a sleep, only disturbed by

troublesome visions, when she opened her eyes to find Lord Gordon’s face bending anxiously above .hers. “I think,” she said dreamily, “that I could have done it all better if I had had my breakfast.” With that, it all came back to her again. There was a little trickle of red on the young man’s forehead, and she sat up, quite herself, to ask if he were hurt. “Only frightened about you,” he said. “Everything else, thanks to your pluck and presence of mind, is all right.” “You have the paper?” “Yes; you threw it out almost at my feet. We were late because someone had filled up the hole in the wall. So we climbed over. There was a little tussle in the garden; we got the best of it, and were in the house the moment after. One of the rascals fired —the shot just grazed my head—-but we have them bound and gagged, and my men are ransacking the house. I don’t know what the police would say, but luckily for us these fellows dare not complain to them. As for you, you’re the bravest girl in the world, and I don’t know how to thank you.” “You can do that by taking me to breakfast,” said Mamie, as he helped her to rise. Lord Gordon laughed out joyously as their eyes met. “Will you breakfast with me and my mother and brother at Portman Square?” he asked. “He’ll be on tenter hooks to know what has happened.” “Yes,” said Mamie. “It’s a little unconventional; but this hasn’t been a conventional morning.” There was an insurrection in Rouvia; but it was against the King and Orloff, whose treachery was made public. Rus-

sia dared not move openly in support of her creatures, and the King fled the country, his young son reigning in his place, with the beautiful Queen as regent.

That article of Mamie Collingwood’s on “How London Wakes,” was never written. Indeed she did not have time to be a journalist at all, she was so busy falling in love. Still, she always said that it was either the dramatic or the journalistic instinct which prompted her to accept Lord Gordon Desmond; for it would have been such a waste of dramatic possibilities not to annex the hero of the most romantic adventures of her life. At all events they were married, and the Duchess approved; and some day Mamie will be Duchess, for the Duke of Dartmoor has declared that he will never marry—the few who know of his hopeless love for the Queen of Rouvia can guess why. The wedding present which—after her husband’s gift—Lady Gordon Desmond valued most was a portrait of Queen Amalia, her lovely, sad face framed in brilliants, and the photograph inscribed: “To my brave young American friend in memory of services to me and Rouvia.”