CHAPTER IX. JENNIE REALIZES THAT GREAT EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEHIND.
Jennie Baxter reached her hotel as quickly as a fast pair of horsescould take her. She had succeeded; yet a few rebellious tears ofdisappointment trickled down her cheeks now that she was alone in thesemi-darkness of the carriage. She thought of the eager young man leftstanding disconsolately on the kerb, with her glove dangling in hishand, and she bitterly regretted that unkind fortune had made itpossible for her to meet him only under false pretences. One consolationwas that he had no clue to her identity, and she was resolved never,never to see him again; yet, such is the contrariness of human nature,no sooner was she refreshed by this determination than her tears flowedmore freely than ever.
She knew that she was as capable of enjoying scenes like the functionshe had just left as any who were there; as fitted for them byeducation, by personal appearance, or by natural gifts of the mind, asthe most welcome of the Duchess's guests; yet she was barred out fromthem as effectually as was the lost Peri at the closed gate. Why hadcapricious fate selected two girls of probably equal merit, and made onea princess, while the other had to work hard night and day for the mereright to live? Nothing is so ineffectual as the little word "why"; itasks, but never answers.
With a deep sigh Jennie dried her tears as the carriage pulled up atthe portal of the hotel. The sigh dismissed all frivolities, all futile"whys"; the girl was now face to face with the realities of life, andthe events she had so recently taken part in would soon blend themselvesinto a dream.
Dismissing the carriage, and walking briskly through the hall, she saidto the night porter,--
"Have a hansom at the door for me in fifteen minutes."
"A hansom, my lady?" gasped the astonished man.
"Yes." She slipped a sovereign into his hand and ran lightly up thestairs. The porter was well accustomed to the vagaries of great ladies,although a hansom at midnight was rather beyond his experience. But ifall womankind tipped so generously, they might order an omnibus, andwelcome; so the hansom was speedily at the door.
Jennie roused the drowsy maid who was sitting up for her.
"Come," she said, "you must get everything packed at once. Lay out myordinary dress and help me off with this."
"Where is your other glove, my lady?" asked the maid, busily unhooking,and untying.
"Lost. Don't trouble about it. When everything is packed, get somesleep, and leave word to be called in time for the eight o'clock expressfor Paris. Here is money to pay the bill and your fare. It is likely Ishall join you at the station; but if I do not, go to our hotel in Parisand wait for me there. Say nothing of our destination to anyone, andanswer no questions regarding me, should inquiries be made. Are you sureyou understand?"
"Yes, my lady." A few moments later Jennie was in the cab, drivingthrough the nearly deserted streets. She dismissed her vehicle atCharing Cross, walked down the Strand until she got another, thenproceeded direct to the office of the _Daily Bugle_, whose upper windowsformed a row of lights, all the more brilliant because of the intensedarkness below.
She found the shorthand writers waiting for her. The editor met her atthe door of the room reserved for her, and said, with visible anxiety onhis brow, "Well, what success?"
"Complete success," she answered shortly.
"Good!" he replied emphatically. "Now I propose to read the typewrittensheets as they come from the machine, correct them for obvious clericalerrors, and send them right away to the compositors. You can, perhaps,glance over the final proofs, which will be ready almost as soon as youhave finished."
"Very well. Look closely to the spelling of proper names and verifytitles. There won't be much time for me to go carefully over the lastproofs."
"All right. You furnish the material, and I'll see that it's used to thebest advantage."
Jennie entered the room, and there at a desk sat the waitingstenographer; over his head hung the bulb of an electric light, itsgreen circular shade throwing the white rays directly down on his opennotebook. The girl was once more in the working world, and its bracingair acted as a tonic to her overwrought nerves. All longings and regretshad been put off with the Paris-made gown which the maid at that momentwas carefully packing away. The order of nature seemed reversed; thebutterfly had abandoned its gorgeous wings of gauze, and was habited inthe sombre working garb of the grub. With her hands clasped behind her,the girl paced up and down the room, pouring forth words, two hundred tothe minute, and sometimes more. Silently one stenographer, tiptoeing in,replaced another, who as silently departed; and from the adjoining room,the subdued, nervous, rapid click, click, click of the typewritingmachine invaded, without disturbing, her consciousness. Towards threeo'clock the low drone of the rotaries in the cellar made itself feltrather than heard; the early edition for the country was being run off.Time was flying--danced away by nimble feet in the West End, worked awayby nimble fingers in Fleet Street (well-named thoroughfare); play andwork, work and play, each supplementing the other; the acts of thefrivolous recorded by the industrious.
When a little more than three hours' dictating was finished, the voiceof the girl, now as hoarse as formerly it had been musical, ceased; shedropped into a chair and rested her tired head on the deserted desk,closing her wearied eyes. She knew she had spoken between 15,000 and20,000 words, a number almost equal in quantity to that contained inmany a book which had made an author's fame and fortune. And all for theephemeral reading of a day--of a forenoon, more likely--to be forgottenwhen the evening journals came out!
Shortly after the typewriter gave its final click the editor came in.
"I didn't like to disturb you while you were at work, and so I kept atmy own task, which was no light one, and thus I appreciate the enormousstrain that has rested on you. Your account is magnificent, Miss Baxter;just what I wanted, and never hoped to get."
"I am glad you liked it," said the girl, laughing somewhat dismally atthe croaking sound of her own voice.
"I need not ask you if you were there, for no person but one who waspresent, and one who knew how to describe, could have produced such avivid account of it all. How did you get in?"
"In where?" murmured Jennie drowsily. She found difficulty in keepingher mind on what he was saying.
"To the Duchess of Chiselhurst's ball."
"Oh, getting in was easy enough; it was the getting out that was thetrouble."
"Like prison, eh?" suggested the editor. "Now, will you have a littlewine, or something stronger?"
"No, no. All I need is rest."
"Then let me call a cab; I will see you home, if you will permit me."
"I am too tired to go home; I shall remain here until morning."
"Nonsense. You must go home and sleep for a week if you want to. Rouseup; I believe you are talking in your sleep now."
"I understand perfectly what you are saying and what I am doing. I havework that must be attended to at eight. Please leave orders that someoneis to call me at seven and bring a cup of coffee and biscuits, or rolls,or anything that is to be had at that hour. And please don't troublefurther. I am very thankful to you, but will express myself better lateron."
With this the editor had to be content, and was shortly on his way tohis own well-earned rest. To Jennie it seemed but a moment after he hadgone, that the porter placed coffee and rolls on the desk beside hersaying, "Seven o'clock, miss!"
The coffee refreshed the girl, and as she passed through the editorialrooms she noted their forlorn, dishevelled appearance, which all placesshow when seen at an unaccustomed hour, their time of activity andbustle past. The rooms were littered with torn papers; waste-basketsoverflowing; looking silent, scrappy, and abandoned in the grey morninglight which seemed intrusive, usurping the place of the usual artificialillumination, and betraying a bareness which the other concealed. Jennierecognized a relationship between her own up-all-night feeling and thespirit of the deserted rooms.
At the railway station she found her maid waiting for her, surro
unded byluggage.
"Have you got your ticket?"
"Yes, my lady."
"I have changed my mind, and will not go to Paris just now. Ask a porterto put those trunks in the left-luggage office, and bring me the keysand the receipt."
When this was done and money matters had been adjusted between them,Jennie gave the girl five pounds more than was due to her, and sawher into the railway carriage, well pleased with the reward. A hansombrought Jennie to her flat, and so ended the exhausting episode of theDuchess of Chiselhurst's ball.
Yet an event, like a malady, leaves numerous consequences in its train,extending, who shall say, how far into the future? The first symptom ofthese consequences was a correspondence, and, as there is no readingmore dreary than a series of letters, merely their substance is givenhere. When Jennie was herself again, she wrote a long letter tothe Princess von Steinheimer, detailing the particulars of herimpersonation, and begging pardon for what she had done, while givingher reasons for doing it; but, perhaps because it did not occur to her,she made not the slightest reference to Lord Donal Stirling. Two answerscame to this--one a registered packet containing the diamonds which thePrincess had previously offered to her; the other a letter from thePrincess's own hand. The glitter of the diamonds showed Jennie that shehad been speedily forgiven, and the letter corroborated this. In fact,the Princess upbraided her for not letting her into the secret earlier."It is just the jolly kind of thing I should have delighted in," wroteher Highness. "And then, if I had known, I should not have sent thatunlucky telegram. It serves you right for not taking me into yourconfidence, and I am glad you had a fright. Think of it coming in atthat inopportune moment, just as telegrams do at a play! But, Jennie,are you sure you told me everything? A letter came from London the daybefore yours arrived, and it bewildered me dreadfully at first. DonStirling, whom I used to know at Washington (a conceited young fellow hewas then--I hope he has improved since), wrote to say that he had met agirl at the Duchess of Chiselhurst's ball who had a letter inviting thePrincess von Steinheimer to the festivity. He thought at first she wasthe Princess (which is very complimentary to each of us), but foundlater that she wasn't. Now he wants to know, you know, and thinks, quitereasonably, that I must have some inkling who that girl was, and he begsme, by our old friendship, etc., etc., etc. He is a nice young man, if atrifle confident (these young diplomatists think they hold the reins ofthe universe in their hands), and I should like to oblige him, but Ithought first I would hear what you had to say about it. I am to addresshim care of the Embassy at St. Petersburg; so I suppose he's stationedthere now. By the way, how did he get your glove, or is that merely bragon his part? He says that it is the only clue he has, and he is going totrace you from that, it seems, if I do not tell him who you are andsend him your address. Now, what am _I_ to say when I write to St.Petersburg?"
In reply to this, Jennie sent a somewhat incoherent letter, verydifferent from her usual style of writing. She had not mentioned theyoung man in her former communication, she said, because she had beentrying to forget the incident in which he was the central figure. In nocircumstances could she meet him again, and she implored the Princessnot to disclose her identity to him even by a hint. She explained theglove episode exactly as it happened; she was compelled to sacrificethe glove to release her hand. He had been very kind in helping her toescape from a false position, but it would be too humiliating for herever to see him or speak with him again.
When this letter reached the Schloss at Meran, the Princess telegraphedto London, "Send me the other glove," and Jennie sent it. A few dayslater came a further communication from the Princess.
"I have puzzled our young man quite effectually, I think, clever ashe imagines himself to be. I wrote him a semi-indignant letter to St.Petersburg, and said I thought all along he had not really recognizedme at the ball, in spite of his protestations at first. Then I saw howeasily he was deluded into the belief that I was some other woman, andso the temptation to cozen him further was irresistible. Am I not a goodactress? I asked him. I went on to say, with some show of anger, that aquiet flirtation in the gallery was all very well in its way, but whenit came to a young man rushing in a frenzy bare-headed into the streetafter a respectable married woman who had just got into her carriage andwas about to drive away, it was too much altogether, and thus he cameinto possession of the glove. As the remaining glove was of no use tome, I had great pleasure in sending it to him, but warned him that ifthe story of the gloves ever came to the ears of my husband, I shoulddeny having either owned or worn them. I should like to see Don's amazedlook when the other glove drops out of my letter, which was a bulkypackage and cost ever so much in postage. I think the sending of theglove was an inspiration. I fancy his lordship will be now completelydeluded, and that you need have no further fear of his finding you."
Jennie read this letter over once or twice, and in spite of her friendlyfeeling for the Princess, there was something in the epistle that jarredon her. Nevertheless she wrote and thanked the Princess for what she haddone, and then she tried to forget all about everything pertaining tothe ball. However, she was not allowed to erase all thought of LordDonal from her mind, even if she could have accomplished this taskunimpeded. There shortly arrived a brief note from the Princessenclosing a letter the young diplomatist at St. Petersburg had written.
"DEAR PRINCESS" (it ran),--"I am very much obliged to you for thecompanion glove, as I am thus enabled to keep one and use the other as aclue. I see you not only know who the mysterious young lady is, but thatyou have since met her, or at least have been in correspondence withher. If the glove does not lead me to the hand, I shall pay a visit toyou in the hope that you will atone for your present cruelty by tellingme where to find the owner of both glove and hand."
With regard to this note the Princess had written, "Don is not such afool as I took him to be. He must have improved during the last fewyears. I wish you would write and tell me exactly what he said to youthat evening."
But with this wish Jennie did not comply. She merely again urged thePrincess never to divulge the secret.
For many days Jennie heard nothing more from any of the actors in thelittle comedy, and the episode began to take on in her thoughts that airof unreality which remote events seem to gather round them. She wenton with her daily work to the satisfaction of her employers and theaugmentation of her own banking account, although no experience worthyof record occurred in her routine for several weeks. But a lull in anewspaper office is seldom of long duration.
One afternoon Mr. Hardwick came to the desk at which Jennie was at work,and said to her,--
"Cadbury Taylor called here yesterday, and was very anxious to see you.Has he been in again this afternoon?"
"You mean the detective? No, I haven't seen him since that day at theSchloss Steinheimer. What did he want with me?"
"As far as I was able to understand, he has a very important caseon hand--a sort of romance in high life; and I think he wants yourassistance to unravel it; it seems to be baffling him."
"It is not very difficult to baffle Mr. Cadbury Taylor," said the girl,looking up at her employer with a merry twinkle in her eye.
"Well, he appears to be in a fog now, and he expressed himself to meas being very much taken with the neat way in which you unravelled thediamond mystery at Meran, so he thinks you may be of great assistanceto him in his present difficulty, and is willing to pay in cash or inkind."
"Cash payment I understand," said the girl, "but what does he mean bypayment in kind?"
"Oh, he is willing that you should make a sensational article out of theepisode. It deals entirely, he says, with persons in high life--titledpersons--and so it might make an interesting column or two for thepaper."
"I see--providing, of course, that the tangled skein was unravelled bythe transcendent genius of Mr. Cadbury Taylor," said the girl cynically.
"I don't think he wants his name mentioned," continued the editor; "infact, he said that it wouldn't do to refer t
o him at all, for if peoplediscovered that he made public any of the cases intrusted to him, hewould lose his business. He has been working on this problem for severalweeks, and I believe has made little progress towards its solution. Hisclient is growing impatient, so it occurred to the detective that youmight consent to help him. He said, with a good deal of complacency,that he did not know you were connected with the _Bugle_, but he put hiswits at work and has traced you to this office."
"How clever he is!" said Jennie, laughing; "I am sure I made no secretof the fact that I work for the _Daily Bugle_."
"I think Mr. Taylor will have no hesitation in agreeing with you thathe is clever; nevertheless, it might be worth while to see him and toassist him if you can, because nothing so takes the public as a romancein high life. Here is his address; would you mind calling on him?"
"Not at all," replied the young woman, copying the street and number inher note-book.