The Vagrant Duke Part 72

She stared at Peter in awe and a kind of fear of this new element in their relations.

"And--and you----? You're----?"

"I'm just Peter Nichols----," he said with a laugh.

"But over there----"

"I'm nothing. They chucked us all out, the Bolsheviki--every last one of us that had a handle to his name."

"A handle----?"

"Yes. I used to be Grand Duke Peter Nicholaevitch of Zukovo and Galitzin----"

"G-Grand Duke Peter!" she whispered in a daze. And then, "Oh--how--how _could_ you?" she gasped.

Peter laughed.

"I couldn't help it, Beth. I was born that--way. But you _will_ forgive me, won't you?"

"Forgive----? Oh--it--it makes such a difference to find--you're not _you_--but somebody else----"

"No. I _am_--_me_. I'm not anybody else. But I had to tell you--sometime. You don't think any the less of me, do you, Beth?"

"I--I don't know _what_ to think. I'm so--you're so----"

"What?"

"Grand--and I'm----"

Peter caught her hands and made her look at him.

"You're the only woman in the world I've ever wanted--the only one--and you've promised me you'd marry me--you've promised, Beth."

Her fingers moved gently in his and her gaze, wide-eyed, sought his.

"And it won't make any difference----?"

"No, Beth. Why should you think that?"

"I--I was afraid--it might," she gasped. And then for a while Peter held her hands, whispering, while Beth, still abashed, answered in monosyllables, nodding from time to time.

Later the nurse entered, her glance on her wrist-watch.

"Time's up," she said. And Beth rose as one in a dream and moved slowly around the foot of the bed to the door.

Jonathan K. McGuire had been as much astonished as Beth at the revelation of Peter's ident.i.ty, and the service that Peter had rendered him made him more than anxious to show his appreciation by doing everything he could for the wounded man's comfort and happiness. He visited the bedside daily and told Peter of his conversation with Beth, and of the plans that he was making for her future--which now, it seemed, was Peter's future also. Peter told him something of his own history and how he had met Jim Coast on the _Bermudian_. Then McGuire related the story of the suppression of the outbreak at the lumber camp by the Sheriff and men from May's Landing, and the arrest of Flynn and Jacobi on charges of a.s.sault and incendiarism. Some of the men were to be deported as dangerous "Reds." Brierly had been temporarily put in charge at the Mills and Jesse Brown, now much chastened, was helping McGuire to restore order. Shad Wells was technically under arrest, for the coroner had "viewed" the body of the Russian Committeeman before it had been removed by his friends and buried, and taken the testimony. But McGuire had given bail and arranged for a hearing both as to the shooting of and the death of Hawk Kennedy, when Peter was well enough to go to May's Landing.

The death of Hawk had produced a remarkable change in the character and personality of the owner of the Black Rock Reserve. His back was straighter, his look more direct, and he entered with avidity into the business of bringing order out of the chaos that had resulted from the riot. His word carried some weight, his money more, and with the completion of his arrangements with Beth Cameron, he drew again the breath of a free man.

But of all this he had said nothing to Peggy, his daughter. He had neither written to her nor telephoned, for he had no desire that she should know more than the obvious facts as to the death of Hawk Kennedy, for conflicting reports would lead to questions. Since she had suspected nothing, it was needless to bring that horror to her notice, now that the threat had pa.s.sed. McGuire was a little afraid of his colorful daughter. She talked too much and it had been decided that n.o.body, except the lawyer, Peter, Beth and Mrs. Bergen should know the source of Beth's sudden and unexpected inheritance. The girl had merely fallen heir to the estate of her father, who had died many years before, not leaving any record of this daughter, who had at last been found. All of which was the truth, so far as it went, and was enough of a story to tell Peggy when he should see her.

But Jonathan McGuire found himself somewhat disturbed when he learned one morning over the telephone that Peggy McGuire and a guest were on their way to Black Rock House for the week-end. The message came from the clerk of the hotel, and since Peggy and her friend had already started from New York, he knew of no way to intercept them. There was nothing to do but make the best of the situation. Peter had the best guest room, but Beth had decided the day before to return to the cottage, which was greatly in need of her attention. And so McGuire informed Mrs. Bergen of the impending visit and gave orders that Miss Peggy's room and a room in the wing should be prepared for the newcomers.

Beth had no wish to meet Peggy McGuire in this house after the scene with Peter in the Cabin, when the young lady had last visited Black Rock, for that encounter had given Beth glimpses of the kind of thoughts beneath the pretty toques and _cerise_ veils that had once been the apple of her admiring eyes. But as luck would have it, as Beth finished her afternoon's visit to Peter's bedside and hurried down to get away to the village before the visitors arrived, Miss Peggy's low runabout roared up to the portico. Beth's first impulse was to draw back and go out through the kitchen, but the glances of the two girls met, Peggy's in instant recognition. And so Beth tilted her chin and walked down the steps just beside the machine, aware of an elegantly attired lady with a doll-like prettiness who sat beside Peggy, oblivious of the sharp invisible daggers which shot from eye to eye.

"_You_ here!" said Peggy, with an insulting shrug.

Beth merely went her way. But no feminine adept of the art of give and take could have showed a more perfect example of studied indifference than Beth did. It was quite true that her cheeks burned as she went down the drive and that she wished that Peter were well out of the house so long as Peggy was in it.

But Peggy McGuire could know nothing of Beth's feelings and cared not at all what she thought or felt. Peggy McGuire was too much concerned with the importance of the visitor that she had brought with her, the first live princess that she had succeeded in bringing into captivity. But Anastasie Galitzin had not missed the little by-play and inquired with some amus.e.m.e.nt as to the very pretty girl who had come out of the house.

"Oh--the housekeeper's niece," replied Peggy, in her boarding school French. "I don't like her. I thought she'd gone. She's been having a _pet.i.te affaire_ with our new forester and superintendent."

Anastasie Galitzin, who was in the act of descending from the machine, remained poised for a moment, as it were, in midair, staring at her hostess.

"Ah!" she said. "_Vraiment!_"

By this time the noise of the motor had brought Stryker and the downstairs maid from the house, and in the confusion of carrying the luggage indoors, the conversation terminated. It was not until Peggy's noisy greetings to her father in the hallway were concluded and the introduction of her new guest accomplished that Jonathan McGuire was permitted to tell her in a few words the history of the past week, and of the injury to the superintendent, who lay upstairs in the room of the guest of honor.

"H-m," sniffed Peggy, "I don't see why you had to bring him _here_!"

"It's a long story, Peg," said McGuire calmly. "I'll tell you presently.

Of course the Princess is very welcome, but I couldn't let him be taken anywhere but here, after he'd behaved so fine all through the rioting."

"Well, it seems to me," Peggy began, when the voice of her guest cut in rather sharply.

"_Pierre!_" gasped Anastasie sharply, and then, in her pretty broken English, "You say, Monsieur, it is he--Pe-ter Nichols--who 'as been badly 'urt?"

"Yes, ma'am, pretty bad--shot through the breast----"

"_Sainte Vierge!_"

"But he's getting on all right now. He'll be sitting up in a day or so, the doctor says. Did you know him, ma'am?"

Anastasie Galitzin made no reply, and only stared at her host, breathing with some difficulty. Peggy, who had been watching her startled face, found herself intensely curious. But as she would have questioned, the Princess recovered herself with an effort.

"No--yes, Monsieur. It--it is nothing. But if you please--I should like to go at once to my room."

And Peggy and her father, both of them much mystified, led the way up the stairs and to the room that had been prepared in the wing of the house, Stryker following with the bag and dressing case.

At the door of the room the Princess begged Peggy to excuse her, pleading weariness, and so the astonished and curious hostess was forced to relinquish her latest social conquest and seek her own room, there to meditate upon the extraordinary thing that had happened. Why was Anastasie Galitzin so perturbed at learning of the wounds of Peter Nichols? What did it all mean? Had she known him somewhere in the past--in England--in Russia? What was he to her?

But in a moment Jonathan McGuire joined her and revealed the ident.i.ty of his mysterious forester and superintendent. At first Peggy was incredulous, then listened while her father told a story, half true, half fict.i.tious, which had been carefully planned to answer all the requirements of the situation. And unaware of the cyclonic disturbances he was causing in the breast of his only child, he told her of Beth and Peter, and of the evidences of their devotion each to the other in spite of their difference in station. Peggy's small soul squirmed during the recital, but she only listened and said nothing. She realized that in a situation such as this mere words on her part would be superfluous. The Grand Duke Peter Nicholaevitch! Here at Black Rock! Her pop's superintendent! And she had not known. She had even insulted him. It was hideous!

And the Princess? The deep emotion that she had shown on hearing of the dangerous wound of the convalescent was now explained. But only partly so. The look that Peggy had surprised in Anastasie Galitzin's face meant something more than mere solicitude for the safety of one of Russia's banished Grand Dukes. It was the Princess who had been shocked at the information, but it was the woman who had showed pain. Was there--had there ever been--anything between Anastasie Galitzin and this--this Peter Nichols?

Facts about the early stages of her acquaintanceship with Anastasie Galitzin now loomed up with an unpleasant definiteness. She had been much flattered that so important a personage had shown her such distinguished marks of favor and had rejoiced in the celerity with which the intimacy had been established. The thought that the Princess Galitzin had known all the while that the Grand Duke was living incognito at Black Rock and had merely used Peggy as a means to bring about this visit was not a pleasant one to Peggy. But the fact was now quite obvious. She had been making a convenience of her. And what was now to be the result of this visit? The Princess did not yet know of the engagement of His Highness to the scullery maid. Who was to tell her?