A Queen's Error Part 13

At any rate the little twinge of rheumatism in my shoulder which had brought me there was all gone. I think possibly the shocks of electricity combined with my agitation of mind had cured it.

St. Nivel and Lady Ethel, being tired of the "rough" shooting for the time being, and perhaps having a sneaking liking for their cousin, decided to come in to Bath and take up their quarters with me at the big hotel in the town. However, at the end of three days, being thoroughly rested, and nothing whatever having been heard of Saumarez, I decided, finally, on account of the sensation I was creating in the hotel, which was becoming an annoyance, to accept St. Nivel's invitation to put in a fortnight's shooting with him at his place in Norfolk. I had the very pleasantest recollections of it, though I had not been there for two shooting seasons.

"If you behave yourself and are very good," explained Ethel, "perhaps we may take you to one of the big shoots at Sandringham. Jack is going to one, and they are always glad to have an extra gun if he happens to be such a good shot as you are."

I bowed my acknowledgments to my pretty cousin with much mock humility, but in my heart I felt very proud of the prospective honour. I had never yet occupied one of those much-coveted places in a royal shooting party. Besides, I knew that the Sandringham preserves were simply _chock-full_ of pheasants and were, in fact, simply a sportsman's elysium.

"You'll be able to put in five days' shooting a week with us, Bill, if you like," St. Nivel said, "before we go over to Sandringham. My invitation is for next Thursday week, so you'll be able to get your hand in."

This gave a much-needed change to my ideas, but before I packed up to leave Bath I went down and had another look at 190 Monmouth Street.

I rang the bell and a woman opened the door with a baby in her arms.

"I'm the sergeant's wife, please sir," she said in reply to my inquiry.

"We was put in here by Inspector Bull."

"Then nothing has been heard of the old lady?" I asked.

"No, sir," she replied, "nothing. The neighbours hardly knew she was here, she showed herself so seldom; but the woman that used to come in and do odd jobs for her says she's been living here ten year."

"Ten years!" I repeated in astonishment. "How on earth did she pa.s.s her time?"

"The woman says, sir, she was always writing, writing all day."

"How was she fed?" I asked anxiously. "I suppose no tradesmen called?"

"No, sir," the sergeant's wife replied, "the woman I am speaking of, who lives in the country, used to come three times a week and clean up for her, and each time she would bring her a supply of simple food, eggs and milk and such-like, to last her till she came again."

I put my hand in my pocket and gave her half a crown.

"I suppose you don't mind my looking round the house," I suggested. "I should like to see it once more before I leave Bath."

"Well," she said hesitatingly, "I'm afraid it's against orders, but----"

The woman who hesitates is lost; she let me in.

I went with her straight down to the sitting-room. It was locked, but she had the key for cleaning purposes, and let me in.

"It looks very dreary now, don't it, sir," she queried, "in spite of all the china and finery and that?"

Yes, she was right, the room by daylight looked very dismal; the broken looking-gla.s.s over the mantelpiece did not improve its appearance.

I would have given a good deal to have been able to open the safe again if I had had the key with me and to see if it contained any further secrets, but this, for the present, was out of the question.

I had, however, the satisfaction of knowing that the place was well guarded, and was not likely to be interfered with perhaps for years. I went into the other rooms--the sergeant and his wife were occupying the kitchens--and found nothing there but dust. One or two were locked up, but it was perfectly impossible to see what was in them. An inspection of the keyholes revealed only darkness. I came down from the top storey with a sigh at its desolation.

I left the old place and walked rather sadly down the long street back to my hotel.

I wondered as I went what had become of the poor wounded old lady; whether she had died and her body was thrust away somewhere in hiding without Christian burial, or did she by some miracle still live? But this latter suggestion seemed an utter impossibility from the state in which I had left her. So I packed up, and on the next morning, with my two cousins, left the tower of Bath Abbey behind and started _en route_ for Bannington Hall, the Mid Norfolk mansion of Lord St. Nivel.

The Vanboroughs were relatives of my mother's; she was one of that n.o.ble family, and the present peer's aunt. Dear soul, she had long since gone to her rest, following my father, the Chancery Judge, in about a year after his own demise.

The Vanboroughs were celebrated for their beauty, and my mother had been no exception to the rule. My rather stern, sad features had, I suppose, come from my father, but still I think I had my mother's eyes, and a look of her about the mouth when I smiled.

At least my cousin, Ethel Vanborough, said I had.

There was always something like home about dear old Bannington to me, with a sniff of the sea when you first stepped out of the carriage at the door.

The big comfortable old landau with its pair of strong horses had now, however, given place to a smart motor car, upholstered like a little drawing-room.

My cousin, Lord St. Nivel, was certainly fully up to date, and his sister, Lady Ethel, was, if possible, a little more so. They were twins. Left orphans as children, the two had grown up greatly attached to one another naturally, and being the sole survivors of a very rich family and inheriting all its savings and residues, they had an extremely good time of it together without any great desire to exchange their happy brother and sisterhood for the bonds of matrimony. Still they were very young, being only four-and-twenty.

I spent a very happy ten days with them in the glorious old mansion full of recollections and relics of bygone ages. Its very red brick peacefulness had a soothing effect upon me, and I will defy any one to experience greater comfort than we did coming in tired out after a day's tramp after the partridges--for St. Nivel was an advocate of "rough" shooting--and sitting round the great blazing fire of logs in the hall while Ethel poured out our tea.

I will admit that Ethel and I indulged in a mild flirtation; we always did when we met, especially when we had not seen one another for some time, which was the case in the present instance.

Still it was only a _cousinly_ flirtation and never went beyond a pressure of the hand, or on very rare occasions a kiss, when we met by chance perhaps, in the gloaming of the evening, in one of the long, old world corridors, when no one was about.

Shooting almost every day, I soon got back into my old form again.

"Yes, you'll do," remarked my cousin, when I brought down my seventh "rocketter," in succession the day before the royal shoot. "If you shoot like that to-morrow, Bill, you'll be asked to Sandringham again!"

A few words from my cousin to the courteous old secretary had gained me the invitation I so desired; I was determined to do my very best to keep up my reputation as a good sporting shot. We motored over the next morning; Ethel with us. It was always understood that St. Nivel's invitations included her, in fact, she was a decided favourite in the royal circle, and being an expert photographer, handy with her snapshotter, always had something interesting to talk about when she came across the Greatest Lady.

We found the members of the shooting party lounging about the terrace, for the most part smoking and waiting for their host. Several motor cars were in readiness to carry them off to the various plantations.

Presently our host arrived, and we were complete; I heard him remark to one of the guests as he got into his car--

"There are three more of those lazy fellows to arrive," he said, laughing, "but they must come on by themselves in another car."

Our first shot was on the Wolverton Road about half-way down towards the station, and here the birds were as plentiful as blackberries. I never before had seen such a head of game. The beaters entered the plantations in a row, standing close together, and moved _one step_ at a time, each step sending out perhaps a dozen pheasants, who were, as a rule, quickly disposed of by the guns around.

Of course there were exceptions: there were those who missed their birds both barrels time after time, or still worse sent them away sorely wounded with their poor shattered legs hanging helplessly down.

These were the sort of shots who were not required at Sandringham, and, as a rule, were not asked again. I, however, was fortunate; being in good practice and cool, I brought down my birds one after the other, as St. Nivel remarked afterwards, "like a bit of clockwork," and I had the satisfaction of hearing our host inquire who I was. We had finished one plantation very satisfactorily, as the heaps of dead pheasants testified, and were moving off to the next when I got a shock.

A motor car came rushing on to the road, and stopped quite near to where I was strolling along in conversation with one of the equerries.

"Ah! you lazy fellows!" exclaimed our host, "you are losing all the best of the sport."

A well-known foreign n.o.bleman, a tall, dark, handsome fellow, got out first and advanced full of apologies, hat in hand.

My glance was fixed upon his very prepossessing face and I did not at the moment notice the gentleman who followed him. When I did I started violently and the equerry walking with me asked what was the matter.

"Nothing is the matter particularly," I answered, pa.s.sing my hand before my eyes, "but can you tell me the name of that gentleman who has just got out of the car?"

"You mean the red-faced man with the black imperial?" he suggested.

"Yes," I answered.