Confessions of a Young Lady Part 27

I stared. The visitor was a small, insignificant, sandy-haired, mild-looking individual of about forty years of age. No wonder the servant had hesitated to call him a "gentleman." He carried "small shopkeeper" on him, written large.

"I don't understand you. I fancy there is some mistake," I said.

The stranger eyed me as though the mere tone of my voice filled him with alarm.

"Perhaps so. But my wife told me that she had the honour of your acquaintance, She mentioned your name in her last letter."

"Your wife? Who is your wife?"

"My wife is Mrs Dowsett."

"Dowsett?" A cold shiver went down my back. I had heard the name before. "Is it possible that you are referring to the Princess Margaretta?"

"The--who?"

"The Princess Margaretta--who, as all the world knows, is staying at the 'Parade Hotel'?"

"I hope not--I do hope not. I hope she's not gone so far as the Princess Margaretta."

The little man wrung his hands together as if he were positively suffering pain.

"The Princess did say that her late husband's name was Dowsett.

Perhaps you are a relation of his?"

"Her late husband! I'm her present husband, if it's Mrs Dowsett. But perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me what kind of party the Princess Margaretta is--I mean to look at."

I told him. I described the Princess's many charms. I spoke of her glorious hair, her great blue eyes, her irresistible smile, her exquisite figure, her bearing of great lady. I did not do her justice--who can do a beautiful woman justice by a mere description?--but I apparently did her sufficient justice to enable him to recognise the picture I had drawn. When I had finished, that little man dropped into a chair with what sounded to me very like a cry of anguish.

"It's Eliza!" That is how he referred to the Princess Margaretta--the, as she had given me to understand, near relation to the Romanoffs, the reigning Russian family. "She's done it again! And worse than ever!--After all she promised!"

When I understood what his broken exclamations might mean, I began to perspire.

"I fear that you and I, sir, are at cross purposes. May I ask you to explain! And, first of all, be so good as to tell me who you are."

"That's me." He took from his pocket a card, a common tradesman's card, on which was printed "James Dowsett. Grocer and General Provision Merchant," with an address at Islington. "That's me," he repeated with an air of positive pride, "that's who I am. And I'll do you as good a tea at one and ten as you'll get anywhere in London, though I say it."

"And do you mean to tell me," I gasped, "that the Princess Margaretta is not a widow, not--not a relation of the Romanoffs, but--but a small grocer's actual wife?"

"Not such a small grocer's as you might think. I could give you a banker's reference which perhaps would startle you. It isn't always them, you know, who carry things off with the biggest air who are the biggest."

"But," I cried, "are you aware, sir, that the person whom you a.s.sert to be your wife, has, here in Beachington, laid claim to Royal rank?"

The little man's air of modest pride disappeared with even comic suddenness.

"Not to Royal rank? Not quite to Royal rank, I hope?"

"But I say yes--I say yes. She told me with her own lips that she was a near relation to the Russian Czar."

Mr Dowsett began again to wring his hands.

"Oh, Eliza, what have you done?"

"If the person you refer to as 'Eliza'--great powers, what a name!--is the person who calls herself the Princess Margaretta, then she has been guilty of the most impudent fraud of which I ever heard, and proved herself to be a swindler of the purest water."

Mr Dowsett stared, or, rather, glared at me. He drew himself to his full height--five foot three inches. He turned pale with rage; he actually shook his fist in my face.

"Don't you call my wife a swindler, you--you old villain!"

I was astounded.

"May I ask, Mr Dowsett, what language you would apply to a person who, being a grocer's wife, calls herself a widow, in possession of a large fortune, a Princess in her own right, and a near relative of the reigning Czar?"

Mr Dowsett looked at me, as if he were at a loss for words. Then, to my surprise and my disgust, he began to cry. Mr Dowsett appeared to be a man of variable moods.

"You sha'n't call her a swindler, you sha'n't! She's no more a swindler than you are. It's all them--them dratted books."

"Dratted books, Mr Dowsett? What do you mean?"

"It's them penny novelettes and the stories in the fashion papers, and that stuff. She gets reading about things, and then she thinks she's the things she reads about. I'll tell you what she said to me not very long ago. 'Jimmy,' she said--I'm Jimmy--'let's pretend that I'm a d.u.c.h.ess. I've been reading about such a beautiful d.u.c.h.ess. Let's pretend I'm her.' So we did, just her and me. I called her 'Your Grace,' and all. We kept it up for nearly a month. Then she said, 'Jimmy, I'm tired of being a d.u.c.h.ess. I've been reading such a lovely story about a lone, lorn orphan. Let's pretend I'm a lone, lorn orphan, whom you picked up out of the streets, for a change.' So we pretended that she was a lone, lorn orphan who'd gone through enough to make your hair go grey. But, there! I don't know what we haven't pretended she was."

That any man could be capable of such childish imbecility seemed to me almost incredible. But then man's capacity of imbecility is incredible. Consider how a man of my standing had been induced to receive a grocer's wife as a Royal Princess!

"May I ask, Mr Dowsett, how you came to allow your wife to come to Beachington unaccompanied by her husband?"

"Well, sir, it was this way. I was more than usually busy this year, and Eliza was anxious for a change, and she begged me to let her go, so I let her go."

"And do you mean to tell me that she has given you no hint of what she has been doing since she came?"

"Lor' bless you, she's written to me every day, regular. The best letters ever you saw--that funny! How I have laughed at them, oh lor'!" Mr Dowsett seemed inclined to laugh even at the recollection.

"But, to tell you the truth, I didn't know what was true in them and what was make-believe. She did say that she told every one that she was a Princess, and that every one took her for one; but I never thought for a moment she was in earnest. Though goodness knows that she's clever enough, and beautiful enough for one, isn't she, sir?" I didn't tell him what I thought; though I felt that in the truth of that lay my excuse. "She wouldn't give me her address. She said it would spoil the fun. So I sent my letters to the post-office."

"Did you, indeed? There appear to be some curious husbands and wives in existence nowadays, but scarcely a more curious couple, I apprehend, Mr Dowsett, than you and the--lady whom I know as the Princess Margaretta. Although you do not know her address, I do. So, with your permission, we will pay an immediate visit to the Princess Margaretta."

When we pulled up in front of the "Parade Hotel," the little man gave a little start.

"My gracious! Is she staying here? She did mention once that she was stopping at the biggest hotel in the place. But I thought that was her fun. Oh, Eliza, what have you done?"

As he went into the hotel Grimshaw was coming out. He seemed to be in a state of considerable agitation. He addressed me almost at the top of his voice.

"Beamish, you will find Crookshanks lying senseless on the landing.

When he comes to, tell him that I shall be perfectly ready to give him the satisfaction of a gentleman."

He went striding off, without giving me a chance to request him to be a little more explicit. We did not find Crookshanks lying senseless on the landing. We met him coming down the stairs, with his handkerchief to his nose. He looked at us askance.

"Is Major Grimshaw downstairs?"

He put the question to me in a sort of anxious whisper.