CHAPTER XXVII
THE IMPOSTOR
The sun newly sunk behind the Yeldo Hills had stained the sky with roseand amber, and it was very peaceful in the darkening grounds of thePalace of Corbo.
The woods were alive with the evening songs of the birds, and a lightwind that blew in from the sea brought with it the chimes from theCathedral belfry. The shrubberies loomed big in the violet twilightand afar out the sea lay placid, steel-blue and mysterious.
Edward Povey, surveying the scene from the comfort of a bath-chair, wasputting to himself a few pertinent and very necessary questions. Somelines which he had heard years back came into his mind, he couldn'tremember them exactly, but they had to do with what the devil would dowhen he was sick.
Amongst other thoughts which crowded into the brain of Mr. Povey werethe warm feelings he had experienced towards Charlotte when, as hethought, he lay dying in Enrico's death chamber, and he told himselfthat they were very right thoughts to have.
He remembered also the events of the past few months, Galva'sunremitting care and tenderness to him during the period of hisconvalescence. The thought that the time had now come when his part inher affairs was done was a very bitter one, but as day followed day thefeeling that he was an impostor grew stronger. He had long thoughtthat he must get away from it all. Every kind word, every smile was astab to him. To explain matters now would do no good, spoiling as itwould Galva's happiness. He hated, too, to think of her eyes regardinghim in any other way but with admiration, the thought of the disgustthat might show in her face unnerved him. He felt very thankful thathis fears of death had been premature, and that he had been spared towitness the reception by the Corbians of their new Queen, but, at thesame time, the grim visitor would at least have put him out of hispredicament.
His recovery had not been rapid enough to allow of his attending thefestivities of the Coronation, which had taken place with much pomp andcircumstance a few weeks after Enrico had been laid in the Cathedral.The kindly doctor, however, had permitted the invalid's couch to bewheeled out on to one of the balconies of his room.
From there he had seen the procession leave the palace, had noted theenthusiasm of the holiday crowd, and, best of all, had seen Galva turnin her carriage and wave her bouquet of orchids at his balcony. Thenthe cavalcade, winding like a gaily coloured stream of ribbon, had beenswallowed up in the twistings and turnings of the old town, and Povey,lying there in the genial afternoon sunshine, had been left to imaginethe rest.
By the aid of his field glasses he had seen the bunting and bannersfluttering bravely on the buildings in the town, which lay spread outbeneath him shining like a jeweller's tray of gems in the sun-rays. Hehad seen the yachts in the bay gay with little flags. He had heard,too, the bells pealing joyously from the tall belfry of the Cathedral,the firing of the guns on the fort, and the distant murmur of thepeople cheering their Queen.
He had said a little prayer for everybody and had fallen asleep thereon the flower-decked balcony. When he awoke he was again in his roomand the candles were being lit.
The Queen of San Pietro stood there before him flushed with herhappiness and resplendent in her finery of state. Her little head wasthrown slightly back and she appeared taller than she really was in thesweeping mantle of crimson and ermine which fell from her shoulders andspread out on the carpet behind her. As she noted the wonderingadmiration on Edward's face she gave him a delightful little smile.
"A right down, regular, Royal Queen," she quoted gaily as she droppedan elegant curtsey. "Oh, guardy dear, it's been splendid--justsplendid--nothing but sun and cheers and flowers--and joy."
She turned to her husband who was standing a little behind her, for theceremonies in the Cathedral had been twofold that day, and theArchbishop who had placed the crown on the little head, had, in thelittle private chapel, placed a circlet of gold also on the Queen'sfinger.
"I didn't see a single house, Armand," she ran on, "that was not flyinga flag. And to think that we owe all this to guardy here. If he haddied, and we really thought he was going to, didn't we? there wouldhave been no joy, then, only----"
She had leant over and kissed him and Armand had taken his hand andgripped it hard. Was it any wonder that the explanation that hadhovered so long on Edward's lips retired from the unequal contest?
And now as he sat in his bath-chair he remembered all these things, andsighed regretfully as he told himself that there was only one way leftfor him in honour to take. It was time for him to leave the stage, totake off the motley, for he had no part in the next act of the drama.
The attendant, who in the gorgeous Estrato livery was slowly propellingthe chair, pulled up rather suddenly, as, turning into one of thealley-ways which led back to the palace he came in sight of the figureof a woman. Anna Paluda turned at the sound of the wheels on thegravel, and Edward saw that she thrust a paper hurriedly into the blacksilk reticule hanging by a cord from her waist. Her manner, too, asshe came towards him, was, he thought, a little strained. EvidentlyMadame Anna Paluda had been taken somewhat unawares.
For a little while, after greeting Edward, she walked on beside thebath-chair, speaking of commonplaces, on subjects ranging from thepolitics (such as they were) of San Pietro to the evening light shiningin the western windows of the palace. Then a sudden thought came tothe man in the chair and he turned to the lady by his side.
"This chair is quite light, Anna; do you think you could--or betterstill, I will walk the rest of the distance, it isn't far."
"You'll do nothing of the sort. I know you _can_ walk, but you willfind the air chilly after all those rugs." She turned to theattendant, "You can go, Juan--I will attend to Mr. Sydney."
With a bow the man left them, and Anna, taking the handle, leant overto the occupant of the chair.
"You wanted to say something to me?"
A moment's final hesitation, then Edward took the plunge.
"Yes, Anna, I wanted to tell you that I intend leaving Corbo forEngland as soon as the doctor will let me. My business, you know--I'vebeen away from it long enough."
"But you will come back, Mr. Sydney?"
"Oh yes--that is, I----Oh, I'm sure to comeback--yes--sure--to--come--back."
Had Edward been facing Anna as he spoke he would have noticed a curiouslight creep into the black eyes, as though something had occurredsuddenly to her. One hand involuntarily left the handle of the chairand caressed the black silk reticule. As she felt the paper under herfingers she smiled.
"But--some one will have to go with you--you have had an illness--itisn't safe, is it, for you to travel alone?"
"Tut, tut, Anna, I'm fit as a cello. Why, I walked twice round thepalace this morning; besides, I'm not going to-morrow." Now that hisdeparture had been decided on, and he had burnt his boats, he feltdisposed to allow himself the luxury of delay. "It may be a monthbefore I really go," he added.
Again Edward would have seen a look come into Anna'seyes--disappointment this time, unmistakable disappointment at his lastwords.
But the woman said nothing, and before Edward spoke again the chair hadreached the doorway of the palace and footmen were assisting him toalight.
Anna accompanied him up the broad staircase, until he reached thecorridor on which his apartment was situated, then she turned and madeher way swiftly to her own room. Entering, she locked the door andcrossed to the large wardrobe which took up one side of the apartmentwall. From beneath some clothes in a drawer she lifted her leatherjewel case, and carrying it over to the dressing-table lit the candleswhich stood on either side of the draped mirror. She selected a tinykey from the bunch at her waist and, opening the case, took out a box,a little cardboard box, which had once contained chocolates. The lidwas broken here and there, and had been carefully pasted together withscraps of plaster paper. Anna removed the cover carefully andtenderly, and leant her head in her hands and gazed down at what laytherein.
A baby shoe of white kid, soiled and still s
howing the shape of tinytoes, a bunch of faded ribbon, a little armless doll with staring beadyeyes; and, most pathetic of all, two or three of the originalchocolates the box had held--hard and colourless.
The woman raised her head and looked at herself in the mirror. She hadnot been crying, for her eyes were quite dry, but into them had come alook of determination, of a set purpose in which tears had no place andtenderness no part. She looked again at the articles in the box.
"A little while--not long now," she murmured, "then, perhaps I mayweep."
Silently she put away the baby relics back into the wardrobe drawer.Then from the reticule she took the letter she had been reading whenEdward had come upon her in the grounds. She smoothed out the creasesand held it to the light on the dressing-table. It was headed from theoffices of _The Imparcial_, and read--
"_MADAM,_
"_Acting under your instructions, I have caused inquiries to be made bymy correspondents in Paris, London and Vienna. The man Dasso, whodisappeared so suddenly from Corbo, had covered his traces so well thatit was not until now that we have lit upon a clue of any sort._
"_My Paris correspondent in the Rue Scribe, M. Dupine, has beenwatching, as you suggested, the places of entertainment and therestaurants on the boulevards. Your idea that our man would appearsooner or later at one or the other of these was quite correct. M.Dupine came face to face with him in the lounge of the Folies Bergere._
"_Curiously enough, Dasso seemed to scent danger, for he lefthurriedly, but Dupine succeeded in following him. He tells me he(Dupine) was reading a copy of my paper at the time he saw Dasso, andattributes the latter's flight to that fact._
"_Dasso left the Gare St. Lazare the next morning, travelling toDieppe, and so across the Channel._
"_Dupine, being now known by sight to Dasso, wisely refrained fromfollowing him on to the boat, where he would have certainly beenobserved, but wired comprehensively to a confrere in Brighton to motorover to Newhaven and take up the chase._
"_I have heard only this morning that this gentleman has beensuccessful, and that Dasso is now staying in unpretentious lodgings inBloomsbury, No. _9,_ Dorrington Street._
"_Having thus, madam, followed out your wishes, I have only to assureyou that my information will be kept secret until such time as you giveconsent for publication. I thank you for your promise that I shallhave first and exclusive news of eventualities, and beg to assure youof my devoted services._
"_I am, madam,_ "_Yours obediently,_ _ALFONSO PINZATO_ "_(Editor)_."
For a long time the excuse that she would have to make to Galva beforeshe could leave the island had been worrying Anna. She thought ofEdward as she folded the letter and put it away.
"Yes, some one must travel with him--Galva would never let him goalone. Edward Sydney, the sooner you are able to travel the better Ishall be pleased."