Produced by Al Haines
Cover art]
[Frontispiece: Princess Galva]
THE
PRINCESS GALVA
_A ROMANCE_
BY
DAVID WHITELAW
AUTHOR OF "THE GANG," "MOON OF VALLEYS," ETC.
"Romance is what is round the next bend of the road and across thehorizon. Yesterday is romantic and so is to-morrow."--_ProfessorRaleigh, at the London Institution_.
TORONTO
THE COPP CLARKE CO. LIMITED
1911
TO
WILLIAM LE QUEUX
IN FRIENDSHIP
_Brighton, 1910._
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
MOON OF VALLEYS
"A novel of absorbing interest."--_Truth_.
"A live story."--_Sportsman_.
"A thrilling story."--_Daily Mirror_.
"Emphatically a lively book."--_Glasgow News_.
THE GANG
"It is remarkable that with so many incidents packed into the book theauthor has managed to keep his head."--_Daily Telegraph_.
"Breaks new ground in fiction."--_Standard_.
"Essentially readable."--_Winning Post_.
"A merry tale ... amazing fertility of invention."--_Daily Express_.
"Deserves the encouragement of a large success."--_Morning Leader_.
MAC STODGER'S AFFINITY
"Thoroughly and genuinely funny."--_Sporting Life_.
"An exceedingly amusing story."--_Dundee Advertiser_.
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I TOO OLD AT FORTY II AT NO. 8, BELITHA VILLAS III BORROWED PLUMAGE IV A LETTER FROM NEW YORK V AN ECHO OF A TRAGEDY AND THE DRAINAGE OF A COTTAGE VI AT THE UNION HOTEL, PENZANCE VII TREMOOR VIII THE PANIC OF A CARPET MANUFACTURER IX DUCAL ATTENTIONS X THREE HANDS AT POKER XI THE LIEUTENANT HONOURS GALVA XII IN THE CATHEDRAL AT CORBO XIII THE PLOT XIV AT CASA LUZO XV EDWARD SHOOTS AN ARROW INTO THE AIR XVI THE GENTLEMAN IN THE TWEED SUIT XVII MR. JASPER JARMAN RELIEVES HIS MIND XVIII THE CAPTIVE XIX TERESA XX THE BOAT FROM THE MAINLAND XXI EDWARD SEES COMPLICATIONS XXII THE HEART OF GALVA XXIII THE PASSING GUN XXIV A BULLET IN THE GROUNDS XXV IN THE DEATH CHAMBER XXVI THE FUGITIVE XXVII THE IMPOSTOR XXVIII EDWARD DEPARTS XXIX BLOOMSBURY XXX REVENGE XXXI A FINAL NOTE BY EDWARD POVEY
THE PRINCESS GALVA
CHAPTER I
TOO OLD AT FORTY
The waning light of an October evening shone on the reflectors outsidethe windows of the basement counting-house, and the clerk at the cornerdesk could barely discern that the clock on the green painted dustywall pointed to a quarter to six.
In fifteen minutes Edward Povey's twenty-two years of devoted servicein the interests of Messrs. Kyser, Schultz & Company would come to anend, and the desk in the corner to which he had been promoted fifteenyears ago would by the immutable law of evolution pass into thepossession of his junior. Edward noticed this junior now and theglances which that young man cast at the scratched and ink-stained slabof mahogany that was to constitute his kingdom of the morrow. Edwardwondered dully whether the young man was as full of hope as he himselfhad been. Perhaps he was waiting to be married even as he, Edward, hadwaited fifteen years ago. In those days the era of the Young Man hadnot been so pronounced as it is to-day, and it had been death that hadremoved his predecessor.
Even now he could remember the chastened sorrow with which he mountedthe high stool of his desire. He had propped open the desk andcollected together the belongings of the deceased clerk, and postedthem with a little note of sympathy to his widow. Some had seemed tootrivial to send, and of these a few still remained, a batteredsoap-box, a small square of unframed looking-glass, its red backscratched and scored. These, together with the great ebony ruler, hadnow outlasted his own reign and would pass to the new-comer.
And now the desk was propped open again, and it was his own belongingsthat he was collecting into a heap. The well-known odour of the woodcame to his nostrils and he sighed a little. From shadowy and dustycorners he got together the little trifles that had been part andparcel of his life and arranged them in a neat pile beside him.
"If there's anything I can do for you----" began the junior, brushinghis hair in front of a little mirror and settling his purple tienervously.
"No, Joynings; nothing, I thank you. I'm leaving you old Brown'slooking-glass and soap-box--they're fixtures, and go with the position."
The junior tittered a little at this and pulled down the front of hisfancy waistcoat, lit a cigarette, and took a pair of roller-skates fromthe drawer of his desk. He came over and held out his hand.
"Right, then I'll be popping along--good luck, old man, and all that.You'll drop into something soon. If I hear of anything----"
"Oh, I'll be all right," said Edward Povey.
There is always a certain fascination in change and elation in abnormalconditions, even if those conditions constitute a misfortune. EdwardPovey was surprised at his inner feelings as he left the portals ofMessrs. Kyser, Schultz & Company's offices. In his own mind he knewthat he ought to be feeling depressed; but the fact remained that hewas feeling nothing of the kind, indeed he felt happier than he haddone for the past twenty-two years, except perhaps on that one eveningfifteen years ago. Then he had been hurrying out to a small house in amean street in Barnsbury, to a little woman who was waiting for thenews that would enable her to become the wife of the man who broughtit. Now he was going to another little house in a mean street, inClapham this time, to the same woman, but with how different tidingsand how differently they would be received. Fifteen years ago thefuture had looked very bright to the limited vision of Mr. EdwardPovey. He had left the office after his marriage with a light step andhurried across the bridge that would lead him to the villa he hadtaken. As the years passed, the light step had become a sedate walk,and now it was hard to recognize in the little bowed figure thatshuffled each evening across London Bridge the Edward Povey of otherdays.
But to-night, curiously enough, the step was not shuffling and thelittle iron-grey head was more erect. The blow that had fallen whenMr. Schultz had given him the buff envelope which contained his salaryand his _conge_ had been deadening, and the feeling had numbed him forthe whole day. Then had come the inevitable reaction, the need formovement, for effort, and the heart of Edward Povey was respondingnobly to the call, the heart that had lain dormant since the early daysof his marriage.
For Charlotte Povey, estimable woman, cherished fondly the idea thatfor fifteen years she had been moulding the life, the destinies, andthe character of her husband, and he, for the sake of peace, had givenhimself unresistingly to the potter's thumb. Charlotte's method,however, left much to be desired. With the laudable object of rousingthe soul of Edward to further action and endeavour, she let not a daypass without comparing, much to his disparagement, his actions and evenhis appearance with other men of their acquaintance.
But instead of this having the desired effect, Edward had graduallycome to believe it all; it had been so consistently impressed upon himthat he was a poor sort of a chap anyway, and the inevitable resultwas--the envelope presented to him that morning by Mr. Schultz.
And now, on this calm autumn evening the chains of fifteen years fellfrom him and the spirit of Edward Povey underwent a change. He beganto think that it was a good, full world--a world in which there weremore things and higher possibilities than the evil-smellingcounting-house of Kyser, Schultz & Company. He told himself that hehad wasted nearly a quarter of a century.
The city was settling to quietude under a pall of smoky opal. Thewarehouses and buildin
gs stood out gaunt and grey. The river flowingunder the railway arches up-stream was splashed with the glory of thesetting sun, little elusive reflections showing blood-red on the muddywater. Edward had crossed London Bridge for many years, but he did notremember ever having seen a sunset there.
Clapham! The world was bigger than Clapham.--Forty years of age! Why,it was the prime of a man's life, rather before the prime, in fact.Edward stopped, there was no hurry to-night, and leant over the parapetof the bridge. Below him, on the wharf, they were unloading a trampsteamer of boxes of fruit. The men swarming like ants up the longgangways were carrying on their backs light crates. One of these boxeshad come apart and lay on the grimy deck shedding a little pool ofgolden oranges. The clatter of winches, the jangling of cranes, allserved to make up a picture of life and movement that appealed stronglyto the man who was leaning over the stone balustrade. He could readthe name on the stern of the boat, "_Isabella--Barcelona_."
There were other boats too, and barges, huddling together as though forwarmth like little chickens in an incubator. The bascules of the TowerBridge, showing dimly in the haze, were being raised to let awhite-funneled steamer that was cautiously sidling out into mid-streamslip down to the sea. Two men were working vigorously with long poles,guiding a barge laden with straw out of her way. Edward Povey watchedher, telling himself that in a few hours she would be making her waydown Channel or breasting the waves in the North Sea. Later she wouldbe in some palm-fringed Southern port, or perhaps amid the romanticislands and fjords of the North.
He wished that he, too, could go abroad, that he too could slide out ofLondon on the dingy bosom of Father Thames. He longed to breathe thelarge airs of the ocean, to feel the sting of the salt spray, and toreach the places blazoned so bravely forth in gold letters upon thesterns below him. Barcelona, for instance, spoke of sunny skies andindolence and romance, and he felt a great pity for the surging massesof which he had so lately been one, who pushed past him with never aglance for the river or the sunset, or for the _Isabella_ fromBarcelona.
A light tap on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie, to see thegenial face of Mr. Kyser, the other partner of the firm to whom he hadbeen correspondence clerk for so many years. Edward had never had muchto do with the junior partner, but what small relations they had hadseemed to be touched with more humanity than was the case with Mr.Schultz.
"----and so you are leaving us, Mr. Povey?" Kyser was saying.
"Yes, sir, I----"
"Well, Povey, I'm sorry, yes, I'm sorry; but there, I can't interferewith what Mr. Schultz does, it's his department, you know, but I didn'twant to pass you without a handshake. Let me see, you live at Clapham,don't you?"
Edward Povey nodded.
"We'll get a taxi, then--or, better still, come and have a chop withme--I want a word with you."
Edward was delighted. Surely things were far better than they had beenfor a quarter of a century. Yesterday this same man would have passedhim with perhaps a nod, perhaps not even that.
The change that had come over Edward since his release from bondage wasevidently being sustained by events. For fifteen years he had passedthe spacious grill-room in Gracechurch Street, with its noble array ofchops and parsley in the window, in which he now found himself, on hisway to the little eating-house up the court where he had taken hismodest midday meal of sandwiches and stout. There was a sense ofwell-being about his present surroundings that gave him a feeling asthough he had set foot in a new world and that he meant to remain init. The snowy linen, the silver and glass, the little green-curtainedalcoves, the obsequious waiters, the flickering and hissing of thegrill at the further end of the room, presided over by the white-cladchef, all played their part in the awakening of Edward Povey.
"It's not much that I wanted to speak to you about, Povey, but Ithought you might help me. You'll be looking round for another place,I suppose, but if you can find time to run out to Bushey now and again,you'll be obliging me--personally."
Edward Povey expressed his willingness to do all that lay in his power.
"It's only to have a look at my little cottage there, Povey; I've beenliving there on and off, and now I'm off to Switzerland. My man goeswith me, so I want you to run out and see that things are all right.I'll give you the key. Any letters that come you can keep for me untilmy return. I've got a few decent pictures at the cottage and some oldsilver that I'm anxious not to leave altogether unattended. Can Icount on you?"
Edward repeated his assurances, but a sense of disappointment had comeover him as Kyser had been speaking. The adventure was not panning outas he had hoped. At the same time, he told himself that he would bepaid for his services, perhaps liberally, and it might prevent himhaving to touch the little nest-egg in the Post Office Savings Bank.
When Edward parted with his late employer and left the grill-room itwas with the key of Adderbury Cottage, Bushey Heath, in his pocket, andrather a feeling of resentment against Mr. Kyser and his firm, who didnot hesitate to use a servant of twenty-two years' standing as a merecaretaker.
And resentment was a dangerous thing in the brain of the new EdwardPovey.