SERIAL STORY

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LII, Issue 374, 27 April 1910, Page 6

SERIAL STORY

A ROYAL WARD.

j Bv PERCY BREBNER. !

! (Published by arrangement with Oassail find Company, Ltd., publishers, «f London and Melbourne, the proj prietors of the copyright). CHATTER XXIU. (continued). I Standing in a doorway, as alert m if ' his vigil hud only lasted minutes instead of hours, the beggarly-looking fel- | low found liiin. "lis all right/' he said in a low I voice as lu> passed, -follow me out of the street." j Baxter's faith in the man was evi- ' dent by the unquestioning manner in , which he left his post, and followed him ' across liungerford MarKet. | "Your friend is aB, Bury Street, under the name of C'oonway,-' the man. "lie's been to Almucks' to-uighi, I t there was no carelessness about i him. lie got in without my seeing him, I and it was more luck than anything else ! that I spotted him coming out. 1 followed hini and gave him your message. He asked me a lot of straight questions, and then said it would be bettor for you to go to Bury Street ilian for him to go to Shoe Lane." I "Good. lam not particular where it is so long as 1 lind him." j "But that not all by a lot," said the ' mail. ''After seeing your friend—l had j to follow him some little way before 1 | could speak to him without attracting j notice—l went back past Ahnacks', and there was the same officer I had seen come out of your lodgings. Evcrtsen, his name is. ile was too late to get in, but a man coming out called him by I that name. I heard this Evcrtsen ask 1 whether a Lady Betty Walmisley had left. The other man said no. I've heard you mention this lady, Mr. Baxter, so J thought it was worth keeping my ears open. ' "It was. What else did you hear?" "Nothing from them. This Mr. Evertsen seined satisfied, and walked lip the gstreet with his friend —pretty confideni tial they looked, too. I was just wonJ dering -whether I should follow them, j when .a eoach drove up. They were I horses, and the driver wasn't holding j the ribbons for the first time by a good j' many, I warrant. A flunkey jumped oil i the box, and the driver said: 'Ask for j Lady Betty Walmisley, and deliver the | message.' He went in, and I waited. There was a woman in the coach, sitting back so T couldn't see her face well, and ! somebody said the coach belonged to | the Duchess of Petersham. "It's verv likely, said Baxter, ''she would probably be at Almacks'." "If she was, her coach went away without her. the man answered. "The flunkey came out again, and. after telling the woman in the coach that her , ladyship was coming, went and spoke ; to the driver. 'Alright,' he said, 'she's ; coming at once.' 'Hood, we'll be in Uxhridge before they realise that they're not on the road: to Richmond.' Then her ladyship came out. T Jieard her call the woman insme Mary " "Mary!" exclaimed Baxter. "Yes. and then they drove away. It was Lady Betty Walmisley right enough, because T heard some men say so. She thinks she's going to Richmond, but she's at Uxbridge by this with them horses and that driver."

' "And Mary, too!" said Baxter. "Here ■ are a couple of guineas on account. Not a word of this; 8 Bury Street, you say? T have no time to waste." Perhaps it was an hour aud a-]slf later when Finley Baxter demanded and obtained admittance to a hostelry in the neighborhood of Tyburn Turnpike. The landlord was anything but complacent in appearance, but seemed to take pleasure in putting himself to trouble on Mr. Baxter's account. Two horses, declared to be fresh and full of metal,'wore quickly-being saddled in the yard. There was the chink of money as the arrangements were completed. "Payment for the horses and silence." [ said Baxter. | "I understand," was the answer, and : if the landlord doubted whether Bax- | tor's companion was a servant he asked j no questions. | "And to-morrow early send this note 1 to Petersham House, in Piccadilly. Here ! is for the messenger." i "Tt shall be there before the house- ! hold is well out of bed." was the pro- ! raise. ! So Baxter and Dulmisson rode out of i the yard intent on covering the road | to Uxbridge as soon as possible. j CHAPTER XXIV. ) A TjOXG JOURXEY. | Lady Betty leaned back in the corner ■ of the coach apparently listening to ; Mary Kowarth's story, but in reality catching- only a word of it here and there. She was totally absorbed in ■; what had happened that night. She was livins' over again that dance at Almacks , seeing once more the envious eyes and ; the determined face of the partner who 1 was braving so much for her sake. ! Again she ivas in the dimly-lighted room | off the vestibule, listening to this man's ' tale of the foul .plot against her, so j hideous a tale, yet so gently, told; and ' then the sweetest moment of all, the i confession of love. How strange that the Duchess' warning should follow so soon! The coach had been provided so unexpectedly, the first part of a promise spoken in jest had been fulfilled; surely

the rest would hnp-pen t|iiic?kiy and as she '\vou!:l have it. The danger that threatened her must be growing less with every yard they travelled —they were travelling fast, very fast—and since it was well with her, she cour! not believe that harm could hai:;>' ;i to her lover. Send to him soon! indeed, she would do that. She would no! sleep to-night until she had told the Duchess everything. Victor should scarce be awake to-morrow before her messenger came to him. "And that is all T know, my lady,''' saiu Mary, concluding her story, wondering rather at tin; silence of her mistress. As a rule. Udy Hetty was so full of quick questions, that she arrived at the end of the story before one had had the satisfaction of telling it completely. "I am afraid 1 have not been paying much attention, .Mary," said Betty. "but; I shall hear it all from the Duchess in a few minutes. We shall be at Petersham House directly." "Petersham House, my lady! We are not going there, but to her Graces house at Richmond." ''lndeed, then I can hardly have understood your story at all," said Betty, leaning forward eagerly, as she realised that they might not be leaving the danger behind so effectually as she had imagined. "Toll me again, Mary, everything from the beginning." "I was astonished at, the footman coming at fo late an hour." Mary said. "He asked me. and I went to his quickly, anxious to know what had happened. I .knew the man 'well, of course, having seen him so often when he brought messages to you. He was evidently rather nervous* and T think knows more of the danger than he told me, although he declared that he had told me everything. He was instructed by her Grace to call for me. I was only to stay and pack the things absolutely necessary to you for a few hours' absence from home —night things and a dress for to-mor-row, as the man put it—and time was of great importance. The Duchess had <lis-. covered some plot against you, which made the house at Pall Mall unsafe for you during tile next few hours. The coach was Waiting: we wore to drive to Almacks'. and then go straight to Richmond, where the Duchess is waiting. for you." "When did she go?" , "I asked the same question, my lady, and the man told me that she was dressed for the journey when she gave him his instructions. He supposed that his mistress did not think it wise to call for you at Almaeks' herself. He knew nothing about the plot or the danger." "Is that all?" "Yes, my lady. I should have consulted Miss Cowper, but she had gone to bed early with a headache. I left a massage to be. given her in the morning. I hope I did what was right, my lady ?" "Of course, Mary. I understood something of this plot, although exrtctly why mv own house is not a safe retreat for me T do not know. Our •coachman drives furiously." "Yes, my lady, almost as if " "Well?" said Betty, as her maid paused, leaving the sentence unfinished. "As if he knew that someone was following us.' Mary said, the excitement of the idea cati-ing her to drop her voice to a whisper. "He may be afraid of it and leaves nothing to c-hnnce." Betty answered, "and there are lonely pieces of road oetween London and Richmond which it is well not crawl along at night time." "What is your danger? Why should anyone follow you to-night?" Mary asked. She was not a woman to be afraid, but she was anxious on her mistress', account. "Love or hate," Betty answered. "One passion or the other holds the sovereign power over the lives of most of us."

"Surely in your case " "Probably hatred, Mary, although it may call itself love. I have enemies, bitter enemies, enemies of the worst kind that can cross a woman's path. Only to-night I learnt the depth of their infamy. As I listened scarlet shame must have covered me from head to foot, but that the tale was gently told, told by a man it is true, yet as a woman might tell it. almost as a mother might have told it to her daughter."'. "My lady!"

There was a little catch in Betty'.? voice, like a sob born but r.n die immediately, and Mary was full of sympathy. She was still young herself, hut she was married and the motherhood in her unsatisfied. Something akin to mother love was in the love she lavished upon the beautiful irirl she called her mis ; tress. Perhaps Betty understood for the first time that the woman beside her was something more than her maid. "It'is a relief to speak of it," she said, laying her liand on Mary's arm for an instant. "If there is danger. I am glad to know the nature of it," Mary returned. "I wonder where—where Mr. Dubuisson is?" "What made you think of him just now?"

"The events of to-day, and of tonight. Forgive me. my lady, but have I not reason to know his courage and his gentleness? [ would he were with us"; and if in her heart she would have 'welcomed the, coming of Finlev Baxter, too, might it not merely have been necause two cavaliers in the hour of danger would be belter than one? "It was Mr. Dubuisson who told me, Mary. He came to see me at Almacks' to-night." "Last night now. my lady," Mary returned. a joyful little ring in her voice; "the morning is cold aiul you are thinly clad; let me wrap your eloak closer round you." She understood what her mistress meant and was glad. Had she ■been her equal, merely another woman,

she would have taken her in her arms and ki-'ed her; as it w.i- her sympathy found expression in touching her and folding the cloak More warmly about It was dark, no sign of the coming dawn yet, and very cold. For a little while Lady Betty'leaned back in her corner, and thinking how impossible it would be for her messenger to reach Victor before he was well awake; and this thought presently made her realise how long they were in reaching Richmond considering the pace at which the\- travelled. She had driven to Richmond 011 two or three occasions with the Duchess and she sat forward now, peering out of the window in an attempt to recognise something familiar in the darkness. The task was a hopeless one, and she was about to communicate to Mary the doubts which had suddenly come' into her mind when there was'the iisjht of a waving lantern by the roadside and the carriage stopped. ■•Quick with those other horses," said the driver, in a grill! voice. Four horses were being harnessed to the coach when Betty let down the window and called to the footman. "Yes, my lady; changing horses, my lady," he said, coming to the door. "But why? Are we not close to Richmond?" "Not very close yet, my lady. \\c had very particular instructions which road to take. The cross-country road is likely to be bad, that's why we have four horses on."

"1 don't understand it at all," said Bettv. "Nor I, my lady. Her Grace probably thought there would be danger along the direct road." The driver called out impatiently, the coach began to move, and Lady Betty was jerked back into her seat. Mary closed the window again.For a time the road was very bad; a less experienced driver might have upset the coach, but presently it became better again, and once more the pace was rapid. Why had the Duchess instructed her servants to take such a roundabout journey? This was the problem Lady Betty tried to solve, and in the process fell asleep. Mary wrapped the cloak and rugs closer round her mistress, and then nodded herself in intervals of uneasy unconsciousness. She had expected the end of the journey long before this. When Betty awoke it was morning, clear with a glint of sunlight in it, cold with a suggestion of frost. The road they were travelling was narrow, hedgebound fields on either side, hi London Betty had become fashionable and kept late hours; there had been no morning gallops over grass fresh with dew, in a world newly awake with perfume and the song of birds, as there had been at Abbots Chase. With this fresh new da.y about her she realised how much she had missed in exchanging the country for the town, and a sudden home sickness for far off Devon seized her. For a few moments she thought only of the morning, and then she looked out on either side wondering where Richmond lay. "We must have come a roundabout road," she said, turning to Mary. "Indeed, my lady. I begin to doubt whether we are going towards Richmond at all," Mary answered. "Hush! not so loud," said Betty. "If we are the victims of deeention, we must not let these men think we are afraid of them; we must make them afraid of us." (To bo continued on Saturday).