CAROLINE.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVII, Issue 21, 22 May 1912, Page 52

CAROLINE.

By

William Freeman.

IN the Table of Precedence, as exemplified in the household of His Grace the Duke of Kingston, Knight of the Garter, Privy Councillor, and Heaven knows what besides, Caroline, I think, would have found a place very near the bottom. The bootboy ranked below her, and the odd men who hung about the garage in the (capacity of chauffeur’s labourers, but they were all. For her work, although Appertaining to the kitchen, was unskilled, and of neglible value, and such mental gifls as she possessed -were not thought worthy of testing. His Graee And his beautiful, languid Duchess, Caroline knew by sight, as one may recognise the fixed stars, and her intimacy with them was upon the same level. Monsieur Tardet, the chef, she regarded with an awe which reduced her to incoherency in his presence. Mrs Blain, the housekeeper, whose husband had been a curate, and whose father was rumoured to have lost a fabulous fortune on the Stock Exchange, was inimitably above Caroline and all Caroline’s concerns. The superior servants she called “Sir” and “Miss,” and to the inferior ones proffered a humble friendship with to very great success. For Caroline was pale of face and wispy of figure, and endowed with auburn hair too plentiful to be always under control. Further she was painfully shy and addicted to attacks of stammering, and her accent was of the purest, richest Cockney. None but an optimist of the deepest dye, or a man very much in love with her, would have predicted a brilliant future for Ca roline. And yet within three months of her routing to Kingston House romance, undisguised and triumphant, entered into her life. The beginning dated from her first whole day’s holiday. Caroline’s purse had been left behind, and a threepenny fare was due, and the motor-bus conductor inclined to be insolent. It was then that the clean-shaven young man who had been watching her from the opposite seat came to her rescue. And it may here be mentioned that Caroline's only relatives consisted of a brother and sister-in-law, who kept a little greengrocer’s shop in the Edge-‘ware-road, and two small nephews, and that it was one of the nephews, recovering from pleurisy at St. Christopher s Hospital, whom Caroline was on tier way to see. To encounter a friend when one is very much in need is delightful. To find that same friend awaiting one when there is a return journey to be made is, to pay the least of it, flattering. Caroline’s foolish little heart was palpitating absurdly when Mr. Francis Wygram. of 1 pper Norwood < he had introduced himself on the motor-bus), came forward to meet her at the hospital doors. *’l ve been waiting for the past twenty minutes.” he said, lifting his hat, “but I would have waited twice as many hours rather than have missed you.” “Met * cried Caroline, blushing furiously. “W ho else? And if I might l*e granted the boon of a few moments conversation in private . ... ” HU tones would have done credit to the finest love acene in the weekly novelettes which were her staple literary food. t aroline, her head whirling and her talood a-tingle under the combined infiuen es of youth an 1 spring, nodded a saute permission. The day was an April on». with a mild sun and a sky bluer than one had any right to expect in the heart of the Metropolis. She had a Hear half hour to spare, and Mr. Francis Wygram, paring devotedly at her side, made the most of it. What his manner lacked in aristocratic repose it made up in fervour. He had, it appeared, seen Caroline from afar many times before. He had loved her almost from the first. Not until now had he dared to make his love known. His future hung upon her answer. < aniline. her blushes coming and going, stood looking down at her new glaee ■hoes, and trying to eope with this unique ■itwation. “All tliat may be right enough," she «»id, twisting her gloves until they were

mere attenuated wisps, “b but I don’t know nothin abaht yer, nor you abaht me, reely. Give me time ter ” “A lifetime,” said Mr. Wygram, passionately- (they were now within the romantic purlieus of Westbourne Park Station), “would be little enough to sacrifice in your sen-ice!” The upshot of which was that Caroline permitted him to imprint one reverential kiss upon her cheek, and agreed, weather and other things permitting, to meet him by- the Marble Arch on the following Sunday afternoon. I doubt if she slept for twenty consecutive minutes that night. Never before, you must remember, had anyone thought it worth while to make love to Her. N ever before had she been treated with a beautiful and deferential courtesy, nor been given to understand that to exist in her society was an honour in itself. Mr. Francis Wygram had not only done all these things, but he was handsome, and of manly bearing. His garments were obviously made-to-measure, 'his accent, to Caroline’s ear, flawless. Caroline, staring up at the

moon, which illuminated her room —the smallest and most draughty- in the house so exquisite a dream came to an end. She said nothing to Emily and Janet, her immediate superiors in the household. Emily was a feather-headed gossip with no sense of the dignity and fitness of things, and Janet had once had an affair with a second-footman, which ended in a breach-of-promise action, and left her permanently embittered. And there was no one else in the house to whom she could unbosom herself. The arrival of Sunday- found Caroline’s mind in a whirl of confusion and dread and exultation, which betrayed itself in the smashing of three dishes and a gravyboat, and the singeing beyond repair of her best apron. “Bah, leedle donkey!” cried Monsieur Tardet, shaking an exasperated forefinger, “you haf the —the moonshine madness!” “N-n-no, sir!” gasped Caroline. ‘Zhen you are in lof!” And Caroline’s cheeks instantly flamed an affirmative crimson, which set the kitchen in a roar. But she forgot every- humiliation at the sight of Mr. Wygram, spruce with a flower in his buttonhole, immaculate gloves, and a silver mounted cane swinging on the sleeve of his well-cut coat, awaiting her at The Arch. “P-p-pleased to s-see yer.” murmured Caroline as he bent over her hand, and for the rest of that golden afternoon moved in realms of romantic splendour •which she did not entirely leave behind her until long after dusk had fallen, the holiday ended, and she was back again in the big grim house under the hlaeknatined supervision of Mrs. Blain. At their parting Wygram—the fascinating, gallant Mr. Wygram —kissed her once, twice, thrice, full upon the lips’, and the simple heart of Caroline went out to

him as it never could again, no matter who the wooer. A big tear of pure happniess brimmed up as she turned away. He felt it fall with a warm spla.-S on his hand. The long-planned fancy-dress ball which was to supply gossip for two continents was to take place at the end of the month. People not even remotely connected with His Graee of Kingston found matter for pride in the description of the great ball-room, in the list of guests who were to be present, in the fabulous cost of the decorations, and felt that while sueh things existed the glory and honour of social England could suffer no eclipse. The daily papers had a vast amount to say on the subject, and did their best to interview anybody and everybody of consequence in the household of his Grace. But no one thought of interviewing Caroline, although. in common with the other servants. she shared in some faint reflection of the event. Mr. Wygram knew—who didn’t? — about the preparations. He discussed them with her in detail during an afternoon they spent together in Kew Gardens. “There’s a R’yal ’lghness cornin',” said Caroline. “They say ’e’s a relation of the Book’s.” “Which reminds me,” said Wygram, “that there’s one thing which I think you ought to know. I ” He came to an abrupt halt. “Beg parding?” said Caroline.

“Have you heard the story of Hord William?” he asked in a low tone. “Not ‘art!” said Caroline. During her very first week in the 'house she had been told of this one black sheep in an otherwise 'blameless family—the ne'er-do-well, who had been shipped off to somewhere in the Bush, and had there kept a store, married a quite impossible person whose only- virtue was that she was not an aborigine, and a little later, to the unfeigned relief of his noble relatives, had contracted a fever and died. “I,” said Wygram, his eyes intent upon Caroline’s, “am his son.” “Ooh-er!” gasped Caroline, and dropped her bright new sunshade upon the gravel with a crash. “Within the last week,’’ he continued, “I have obtained unofficial recognition. The ball is to witness my- public return to the bosom of my father’s family.” There was a long pause. He became aware that Caroline’s face was growing paler and paler. “W'ieh means.” she said, “that you w-won’t be able to keep coinp'ny wiv me no more, an’ that we can’t never git married!” “My dearest girl, it means nothing of the sort. I’d spurn the dukedom itself amder such conditions! Our chance of having a home of our own will be infinitely greater.” Caroline faced him, passionate admiration shining in her eyes. Her voice shook when she spoke. “Reely?" “Really and truly. I mention the natter liecau.se you were bound to know, and because you might l>e surprised at seeing me in the house. The whole thing must, of course, be kept secret for the present.”

Caroline nodded speechlessly Her hand sought his. “But I ain’t worf it!” she whispered when presently he kissed her good-bye. He would never know how ehe loved him, or how romance was colouring and irradiating the drab fabric of her life. Thenceforth every stage of the preparations had its own double significance to her. Her official concern with the ball was practically nil. At the most she could but hope for occasional glimpses of the guests as they arrived. But in her dreams she saw over and over again, the magnificent culmination of it all, when her man should meet a prince of the blood royal, as a relative and equal. Wygram was going, he told her, as a gondolier. “Meanin’ to say?” she inquired with a puzzled frown. “As one of the fellows who paddle people about in a queer-shaped boat, in a place called Venice, where the streets are always covered with water.” “H’m, always a-bustin’, I suppose,” said Caroline contemptuously, and Mr. Wygram, without disputing so ingenious a theory, went on to supply her with details of his costume. Red-brown, it was to be, with a plumed cap. His face was to be darkened slightly, and he was to wear a fierce, upturned moustache. Caroline's sensation of existing as a character in a dream became intensified. The day arrived. Strange workmen, florists’ assistants, electric-light fitters, refreshment-caterers, and what-not, who had invaded the house in irregular levies during the past week, gathered up their tools and belongings and went. The last insatiable reporter and the last photographic enthusiasts departed with notes and films. Caroline went about her work in a state of inspired fervour which was attributed solely to the general excitement of the occasion. Janet admitted that she could be slippy on her feet. Mrs. Blain unbent sufficiently to favour her with a nod of approval. Caroline, as a rule abnormally sensitive to praise or blame, was scarcely conscious of either. Nightfall brought the first of the group of onlookers, who hung about the great stucco entrance until the early hours of the morning. Carriages and cars, whose panels could have filled a volume on heraldry in themselves, drew up in swift succession. The servants not on duty crowded about a window on the first floor, from which they could see all. But Caroline was consumed with a restlessness which made it impossible for her to stay long in one place. At the height of the excitement she wandered downstairs to a point from which one could get a glimpse of the grand staircase. Even as she stood there a tall figure in a red-brown dress and plumed hat slipped past the footmen and mingled with the gorgeous crowd. A door banged noisily. It was one leading from the white-tiled kitchen to the entranee at the side. She went down, and stood for a moment steadying her nerves and breathing the mild night air. A pleasant-faced, middle-aged man stepped very quietly out of the shadow and touched her on the arm. “Been down here long, miss?" “'Bout five minutes.” “H’m!” The middle-aged man produced a card. On it was written: JAMES WINCH, New Scotland Yard. “No wish to startle you, but the fact is you’ve been seen a good deal in the company of a tall, clean-shaven young man that we’re rather interested in.” “Yes?” said Caroline. “Know who he is?” “Wot if I do?” The middle-aged man shook his head in slow disapproval. “You’ve nothing to gain by that attitude, my girl! And I venture to doubt if you're as wise as you think yon are. What name he’s going by is no concern of ours. What’s more to the point is that his real name’s Martin, and that he was given eighteen months for burglary in ’ought-four. We were told that he’d lieen running straight since then, but from information received—a woman, as usual—we know that he’s trying bis luck again, here and to-night, and— Steady, there, steady!” Caroline, by a superhuman effort, sue-cr-eded in reaching a chair. Her ear caught dully the sound of a shrill cheer. His Royal Highness had arrived. The detective proffered a brandy flask, but she waved it away. “Feel better? Sorry if I’ve upaet you, but business is business. And time's short. We’re morally certain that our man gained admission, and that he’s in

the house. If his Grace had availed himself of the help we suggested such a thing couldn't have happened. If Martin went in you must have seen something of hinj.” “Not me!” Her brain, emerging through the thick haze of a fainting attack, worked swiftly. A dozen plans were formulated and dismissed in the interval which passed before Wineh spoke again. “Think it over for a minute.” “I tell yer 1” “Ah, but we’re all liable to make mistakes —'specially when excited! The truth will be known for certain in an hour or so. It'll save a heap of trouble, and keep your own name out of the affair, if you help us now.” Caroline feigned to hesitate. “You’d b-b-better see the housekeeper," she said at last, and rose to lead the way to Mrs. Blain’s room. At the door she paused to peer in, and in that moment found time to shift the key from the inner to the outer side. “This way !” she said briskly, and as W inch instinctively stepped forward, slammed the door behind him and locked it. A second door shut off the passage, and that also she locked. The only window in the room was below ground level, and barred. Mr Wineh might make a good deal of noise before the rest of the house were aware of his imprisonment. Caroline raced upstairs to her room. Janet, passing her on the way down, noted her brilliant colour. “Goin’ to meet that feller of yours ?” she sneered. “Yuss !” said Caroline, and sped past her into the passage which gave access to the-hall. The main staircase itself was almost deserted. In the friendly shadow of a curtain she stopped to adjust a roughlyfashioned mask over her face, and then ran nimbly up into the most wonderful ball-room in London. She had seen the place before, of course but only by daylight. Now its brilliance smote her eyes like a blow. The room was one ijast kaleidoscope of colour. Music, etherealised by the distance, came softly from the great gallery at the other end. Swaying, whirling couples, among whom a million pin-points of jewel-light flashed and vanished* and flashed again, passed and repassed her. Caroline shrank back overwhelmed. A tow-headed young man, wearing the costume of a Knight of Malta, approached* her. “You were expected before,” he said banteringly. “We all know you'd do somethin’ to sustain the Carlingford reputation, but this—” he touched the cheap, badly-fitting skirt —“ is the absolute limit! Twentieth century scullerymaid, I presume?” Caroline nodded. Clearly he was mistaking her for someone with a character for eccentricity and the abilty to sustain it. “Rippin’! Is Lord Teddy with you?” “ I ain’t s-s-seen ’im since I come in,” said Caroline. “Accent and all! Gad, but you ought to ” But Caroline slipped away. Her search could brook anything but delay. The music came to an end. Before it’ began again she had twice circled the room. Its size and the extent of tho crowd which filled it were her salvation. The Duke and Duchess who were talking with the Prince, she evaded carefully. There were a number of small discreetly shaded alcoves opening out to the right and left, and into each of these she plunged in turn with a sublime disregard for the amazed occupants. Odd rumours began to circulate, and unfriendly eyes to follow her movements. Caroline was very near the end of her tether, when at last she came upon her man. He was standing within a curtained doorway, talking to a tall blonde woman dressed in shimmering blue. Caroline ignored her absolutely. “I wants to speak to yer,” she said. He eyed her with a steady insolence which betrayed no sign of recognition. “Naow!” said Caroline. The blonde woman shut her fan with a snap. “Your original young friend is to bo congratulated upon having an accent strictly in keeping with her costume,” she said, and moved away. “I ain't much to say,” pursued Caroline, “nor much time to say it in. But

they know you’re here. There’s a m ?rom Scotland Yard waitin’ below. ’Ook it!” He spoke for the first time, in a voice which was a mere, urgent whisper. “Since you know so much, you must know that they’ve no chance of identifying me if you hold your tongue. How much will you take to help me through with the job?” “Nothin’!" sa:J Caroline, an 1 li d an imperative hand on bis arm. The man’s nerves were un-teadied, ani he was bewildered and furious at the failure of a plot which had been

inworth every risk, and which stood upon the very brink of success. Else, 1 think, he would never have been mad enough to have struck her a stinging blow in the face with his open hand. And at that something in Carolines brain snapped. With the mark showing livid on her white cheek, and her eyes blazing, she flung herself upon him. The strings of the mask broke, and it dropped at her feet as he struck her again. High above the hum of conversation and the swirl of draperies and the low cadences of the music rang a girl’s scream. Men crowded to the alcove.

They spread the incredible news that a guest wearing the costume of a Venetian gondolier was struggling in the grip of a tousle-headed little servant girl; that Lady Whiston's pearls and the DeVries diamonds lay scattered on the floor between them; that the Duke himself was doing his best to separate the combatants, and finding the matter next to impossible. And in the meantime Detective Winch, in the housekeeper’s room below, had hammered and yelled, until chane? brought Janet and his release. He wasted no time in expdanations which could very well wait, but made a dasn for the ballroom. The interest of the entire company was focussed upon th? alcove, and no one hindered him when he ruthlessly elbowed his way through the crowd, to find the two chief actors standing sullen and panting, and ths Duke between them. With a deft twist Winch jerked off the dark moustache and wig. “Nick Brady!" he gasped, and instinctively glanced over his shoulder towards Caroline. Caroline caught the words. But she was not looking at Winch, but at the face of the tall, slim man who wore the costume of a gondolier, but who was not him she had known a- Fran.:- Wygram. She stared at him with wide-opened, terrified eyes, and then, with an old. sobbing cry. fell forward. The Duke himself caught her. There were explanations—of a sort —- later. Caroline and Mr. Winch spoke, and the Duke anl Mr. Brady listened. The latter, having long ago learnt the value of silence at such times, exhibited the mute philosophy of a stoic. Winch himself was bewildered, but non-com-mittal. For the life of him he cotil 1 not fathom Caroline’s course of action. On the other hand. l:e had made a far more important capture than he had bargained lor. He realised his debt to Caroline, and bore no malice. the Duke thought him a strenuous but rather incoherent man. Caroline was glad to accept the day’s holiday, which, with a cheque that took her breath away. Mrs. Blain was instructed to offer her. From Winch she obtained Wygram’s address, and went there to see him. It was a mean, untidy little room on the first floor, with a cracked windowpane and frowsy curtains. CVygram. who had been going rapidly through a pile of papers when she entered, looked up with a start. " ’Clio!” said Caroline. The stairs were steep, and her breath came quickly. “You? Have you come to make me exhibit myself as the scamp I am?” “Tile lilae in the Park’s a-lookin’ a fair treat.’’ said Caroline. "Isn’t it plain enough that 1 b gm the love-making business with an eye to robbing the place later?” “I see a bloke neely run over just now. Starin' at the sky an' tbe trees, ’e was. and tryin’ to cross the road at the same time. I lay ’e thought 'e was in the country,” said Caroline. "But I didn’t go through with the job. You —you’ve spoilt me for that sort of thing, for always! Brady put me up to it. same as he did the first one. anl when he heard he cursed me for a snivelling coward, and took over the risk, himself. And now I hear they’ve got him.” Caroline abruptly abandoned ! er appreciation of the charms of Natttra. "Not ’arf!” she said with enthu-iasm. Wygram moved suddenly towards her, scattering the papers, and gripped her hands. “I’ve had the offer of a berth in Rhodesia. It’s a rough district, with r.o other folk for Clod knows how far. but a man with pluek and a little capital can make a success of his life there.” “I’ve fifty pounds,” said Carolina. “You’ll ’ave that, anyway. And”—her voice dropped a little, but did not filter —“you can ’ave me too. if I’m worth fakin' ” His face flushed. “I found how much I needed you—cared for you—weeks ago. It kept me straight, and knowing that you must hear the truth in the end was my punishment. But I didn’t dream of—this! You’ll be making a poor sore of bargain. but if you’re willing to take the risk, dear, I’ll try to make some sort of amends.” He eaught and held her in his arms, and she leaned Lack a little, and. smileo happily up at him. "What abaht a day at the Crystal Tallis to begin wiv?” said Caroline.