Part 10

Polly: “They’ve never been entirely shut. I only winked occasionally.”

These journal notes I am sending you with my love, care of the State Department, Washington.

* * * * *

A. D. TO POLLY

_En Route, May._

Goodbye, Rome! I’m on the train at last, speeding away from the Eternal City.

When I came home to dress for my farewell Roman dinner last evening, there was a note on the table from the Doyen of the Ambassadors stating that the King would receive at twenty-one hours and thirty minutes. I hurriedly calculated this would be half-past ten, so calmly went off to dine with some of my old pals, a sort of goodbye party, thinking there would be plenty of time. Suddenly I had a lucid moment and realized that twenty-one thirty meant half-past nine! I looked at my watch--just twenty-eight minutes past. Whew, but I flew--took a cab and galloped at full speed to the Quirinal, rushed up the great staircase past the astonished lackeys, through the guard room into the State Reception Rooms, got there, terribly out of breath, but--on the minute!

It was a pretty sight, the Royal Circle in the Salon of the Mirrors. We stood in a row,--“we few, we happy few, we band of brothers”--while the King and Queen went as usual to each and talked. When he came to me, I told him I was going home to be married, and got so enthusiastic in telling how happy I was, how anxious and eager, how it was the only thing which made me willing to leave His Majesty’s Court that he got roused, too, and said really very pleasant things, and shook me by the hand with a hearty good wish and good-bye, and strutted away most amicably. To the Queen, also, I insisted on talking of my felicity, and she said she had heard of it and wished us well. So! A Royal Pair approves our wedding, if not an Aunt. You might point that out to your title-loving guardian; perhaps she will think a little more kindly of me.

Today before I left the Embassy, my successor arrived, and to him I handed all the lire that were left, and papers and so forth. The office had been thoroughly cleaned and dusted, a new carpet put down, and new window-curtains put up. I showed him everything I could think of, shook him by the hand, and just caught my train.

Now we are climbing the Italian Alps, which are wonderfully beautiful in the afternoon sun, and in a little while we shall pass through the tunnel of Mt. Cenis and out of Italy. Every day will bring me nearer to you, dear Polly, and twenty thousand times more happy. Dearest, a few weeks more, and we shall begin the first of our married life, and you--my wife!

A telegram was handed me on the train just now which quite takes my breath away, though its news does not surprise me as much as it will you. Peppi and his little divorcée, gray eyes, Mona Lisa smile, and all, were married today in Rome, with only Gonzaga, Pan, and Jonkheer Jan at the wedding!

My dear, I am going to tell you something. The lady came to my rooms quite unexpectedly the other day, and asked for tea, which Gilet made for her, and then she just sat and looked at me with her inscrutable smile and her mysterious eyes. Finally she got up and went over and looked at your photograph for a long while, then turned and said, “Your little Polly is very sweet, even if she doesn’t like me. Is it true that you return for your wedding soon?”

“Quite true,” I replied.

“We’ve been very good friends, you and I,” she went on, “and I am sorry to have you go. Goodbye.” She gave me her hand which I kissed, for there were tears on her lashes, and I followed her down to put her in the cab. She said with that usual cryptic look of hers, “I’ve made up my mind to something this afternoon. Don’t be surprised when you get word of it. Farewell.”

The man cracked his whip and off she went.

But still, there remains some mystery about her and about Peppi to be unravelled yet. The two are married, so far, so good, but where does the Prince come in? Surely he and she were conspiring about something. She evidently wanted you to marry him, and she may have thought then that I could be more devoted to her, who knows? Then, too, there were those paintings, the copies of old masters, all packed and addressed to Boris in New York. Peppi I trust, Lisa I pity, but your Muscovite I believe is a rascal. Won’t we have a lot to talk over? And think, too, dear, from now on I’ll be traveling every hour toward you.

* * * * *

A. D. TO POLLY

_London, May._

This is the last way station, dearest, on my journey to New York and you. I delight in these stages, the jump from Rome to Paris--Paris to London--and London to Home!

The crossing from Paris was wretched, a great gale blowing up the channel, but at least we were able to make it, which wasn’t the case every day this week. England hasn’t changed much since my last visit. I am always amused on landing to find everything exactly the same--the same weather, the same incomprehensible accent and manner of talking, the same points of view, the newspapers harping on the same subjects, the same items in the society columns--everything so conventional.

We were landed in the same old uncomfortable manner at Folkestone, while the same crowds of mannish-looking women with great buns of hair stood in line and stared, and men in knickerbockers and mackintoshes stood sturdily in the wet gale and smoked bull-dog pipes, just as pictures in “Punch” show they did a generation ago. Then in the same cold compartment carriages we came speeding across the same country, past the same roof tops, into the same Charing Cross station. And behold, the atmosphere was made up of the same smoke and fog I learned to know so well, and the lights burned dimly as of old.

The change from gay, well-lighted Paris, all en fête, to London, sombre, melancholy, was just as great as ever, and just as complete. And how small great but little Rome seems beside these huge, up-to-date cities! I feel lost in them, and am terrified at the crossings of the streets, and, like an elderly country woman, I pass most of my time on the “Islands” in Piccadilly.

I have visited many of my former haunts, gone to the Embassy, seen many old friends, and feel quite jollied up. I even went to a tea yesterday, where some men and women stood around unintroduced, in the delightfully awkward way which Du Maurier, alas, will no longer draw. The evening found me dining at Prince’s Restaurant and later going on to the Palace Varieties, where again I saw the pretty circus rider, and although a certain person thought much of the performance, yet he thought a great deal more of--you!

This morning I walked out--the London haze was pearly gray and opalescent and a lozenge sun was in the sky, a beautiful day for London--and I went down to the foot of Curzon Street and through Lansdowne passage, and there, yes, there was my old friend the cock-eyed sweeper, standing by his little pile of dust. I gave him a shilling in my delight at seeing him again, and with his broom. Have you kept my broom, I wonder?

It is still cold in London, and I try to keep warm with a foolish little fire in a tiny grate. It is dismal enough, too, for candle light. The British are afraid of “over heating,” as they call it--which means really that they are careful of their coal. But then, one is “stoking up” all day long in this climate, a heavy breakfast, a heavier luncheon, the heaviest of dinners, with tea and toast and muffins in the afternoon, and a supper at night.

Last night I had a dream which, although there wasn’t anybody to tell it to before breakfast and so make it come true, I hope may be realized. The only one to confide in, for Gilet was out on business, was the fluffy-haired footman who wasn’t sufficiently sympathetic for me to commune with. But indeed I am not superstitious, and the dream was pleasant enough for me to think over to myself--because it was about you!

Although this letter may go by the same steamer that I sail on, yet I can’t help writing and sending you my love.

* * * * *

POLLY TO A. D.

_En route, May._

A. D., dearest, how exciting it must be for you about now, sighting from the steamer deck that low-lying Long Island shore, Sandy Hook, the channel, and beyond them, the beautiful bay. I can imagine your father going to meet you on the busy, snubnosed, important little tug,--but then, I think of so many things happening, for while we were camping and your letters stopped, “thinks” were all I had to live on.

We are flying at sixty miles an hour, nearer and nearer to you. After days of silence I found your two wonderful letters waiting for me when we got back to civilization. The clerk at the hotel said Aunt had given orders to hold them. I wonder if she did this on purpose, for surely they could have been sent in to us by a guide. The Prince was with me when I made my inquiries; I saw him trying to suppress a smile. But he does not like my ignoring him and he is getting a bit ugly. When I broke the news of Peppi’s marriage to Mona Lisa, both he and Aunt seemed disturbed, and Boris acted quite upset, and as if he had lost an ally. I left them talking it over. He certainly has Aunt hypnotized. My twin wagered he would try for her hand next.

Checkers and Sybil spend their time on the train shamelessly making love and telling me I must begin to inform Aunt about the wedding. I screwed up my courage an hour ago and began, “The Rector says he’ll perform the ceremony, Aunt--” but she broke in with “Whose ceremony?”

“Mine and A. D.’s,” I continued, trying to look determined.

“Humph!” she said, and closed her eyes, pretending to go to sleep.

When she awoke, I tackled her again. “I’ve engaged the church, Aunt,” quoth I.

“What for?” said she.

“For the thirty-first,” I replied blandly while Checkers snickered.

“What are you talking about?” and by now Aunt was truly cross.

“The same thing,” I sighed, “our wedding.”

She muttered something about that ceremony never coming off and departed for the observation car to join the Prince. But she looked worried.

Checkers egged me on to begin again when she re-appeared. “As I was saying, Aunt, when we were interrupted, everything’s all ready, you know. Checkers will give me away. Sybil is to be maid of honor--she’s to wear white lace and carry Lady Battersea roses--and the decorations are to be wine-red azaleas--”

“Not another word!” she snapped, and I drew a long breath and stopped for a few minutes to get ready for the next attack. After a pause, “The thirty-first’s the day, you know,” I observed casually. Aunt blinked.

“The wedding day,” piped up my brother. “Our Polly’s!”

“How about Boris?” she inquired. “You are a little fool not to become a princess.”

I ignored this remark and continued, “Ricci is going to sing and St. Laurent will be at the organ and--” I found I was addressing an empty chair, for my relative had stalked off once more.

The next opportunity another bolt was shot at her. “My wedding dress is ordered, and it’s a beauty! The veil will be four yards--”

“Porter!” shouted Aunt, and as that coffee-colored individual stopped short, she started him on a long explanation of the route ahead of us, while I withdrew, baffled and brooding, to re-read your letters. How am I going to bring my guardian around finally?

Later I began again, “I think the reception at the house after the ceremony should not be very large,” this apropos of nothing, “for by the thirty-first a good many people will have left town, though, of course they’d run up for a wedding like ours,--”

“Are you crazy?” she demanded. “We shan’t be home till the twenty-eighth, and you can’t get your invitations engraved in time, let alone sending them out.”

Checkers and Sybil drew near. “They’re all done and sent!” we chorused.

“I mailed part of them!” proclaimed my brother.

“I, too!” piped up Sybil.

“When was all this?” cried Aunt.

“The day we left New York, so you see, you really can’t do anything about it,” Checkers continued politely.

Aunt turned purple. “I don’t believe a word of it, and I shall not countenance it,” whereupon she stamped her foot. And that’s the situation now, dear.

* * * * *

A. D. TO POLLY

_Washington, May._

Behold me, dear, on my native soil, hungrily awaiting a love letter from you, even though I am a little ahead of my schedule. I didn’t cable, in order to surprise you, but nevertheless I hoped you might guess the steamer from my letters. Father was on hand to greet me but I was disappointed when I dashed up the gang plank not to see you on the wharf and later to learn from your butler at the house you were still hundreds of miles away. Then I came on to Washington at once to report. All, everybody--customs-officers, collectors, bank-cashiers, down to the smallest clerk in the Department, when I told them the news, congratulated me heartily and added good wishes till I was as happy as I could possibly be without you.

As soon as I hear you have arrived I will take the train to New York and go to the Waldorf. Almost a year ago we began to love each other, though the world did not know, and we kept our secret to ourselves. Don’t worry. Everything will be all right. Aunt will have to come round.

* * * * *

POLLY TO A. D.

_En route, May._

Dearest! Hurrah! You have arrived and we have just left Montreal on our way to New York. Apparently Aunt left word for our mail to be forwarded there, for when we got to the hotel, the clerk produced simply a bushel-basketful. Of course you know what they all were,--acceptances for the wedding! It was the last crushing blow. We left her alone with them in her room, heaps in her lap, piles scattered at her feet, and our vanquished relative sitting in their midst like Caius Marius on the ruins of Carthage. A. D., has she definitely succumbed, I wonder?--She remarked I was a stubborn little heathen.

A few minutes ago, just before we crossed the border, the strangest thing happened. Two officials came on board the train and began to go through it, car by car, asking the names of the passengers, staring into their faces, and making hasty rummages in their luggage. When they came near us, the Prince started violently, then sauntered over and sat down beside me without saying a word. His face was like chalk.

I inquired what the trouble was and if they were looking for anyone in particular. They said a foreigner had been discovered doing a very clever bit of rascality--stealing valuable old Masters from the museums in several large cities, and leaving such admirable imitations in their places that the theft hadn’t been detected for some time, and no one could tell just how he had been operating. But certain letters had helped furnish clues, and they had reason to think the man was on the train.

Aunt called out, “All these people are in my party. We’ve been camping,” and off started the official. As he moved away, he said to his assistant, “No, I don’t believe Kosloff is on this train.” It was my turn to look at the Prince. _Kosloff was the name on his letters!_

After the officials went out, I walked off astounded. Dear A. D., what _should_ I have done? He is even worse than we thought, isn’t he?

* * * * *

TELEGRAM TO A. D.

_Care of the Department of State, Washington, May._

We reach New York the 28th. Plan dinner for wedding party the night of the 30th. Invite ushers. Much love.

POLLY.

* * * * *

PRINCE BORIS TO POLLY

_New York, May._

The last days on the trip you speak little to me.

Yes I have played tricks and upset canoe but my love for you, that is excuse. Why do you refuse to see me? I can to you easily explain the pictures and the name Kosloff. If you intended to--what you call it?--throw me down, why have you and your Aunt so encourage me? I ask you that. Again I shall come to your door and you will grant me yet one conversation. Bah! I am not a fool!

* * * * *

A. D. TO POLLY

_Washington, May._

Your journal notes and letters, my beloved, are before me, and I have alternately boiled with rage at that Russian imposter, and grinned at the thought of your baffled relative. You did exactly right, your judgment was good and my faith in you complete. I am so glad you told me fully about all the suspicious circumstances regarding the Prince, _if_ he is a prince. How abominable of him to lay even a finger on you. I should like to throttle him!

I called at the Russian Embassy and asked a few questions regarding the creature, of course saying nothing that could possibly drag you into the affair. The Ambassador was rather guarded, and said he knew very little about him. The Prince had been in Washington, he had not called at the Embassy, but it was known that he had dined more than once at the German Embassy. The Ambassador’s attitude was curious and left me wondering if Boris might not be in the pay of some country other than Russia. But we shall see.

Something kept me from speaking about the counterfeit old Masters. And it was well, for on returning to the hotel, I found a letter from Peppi, anxiety in every line of it. Boris had taken some work to America to sell for him on commission--as copies, honestly, he assured Peppi, who believed him. But it was to be a secret, lest the Prince be known to have disgraced his noble blood by descending to trade. Now our artist is plainly worried and wants to be assured there is nothing underhanded being done. Mona Lisa has evidently revealed something, for she was intimate enough with Boris and clever enough to see he was up to some rascality. I wrote our poor friend to have no further dealings with the Russian; that was all I felt I could do. Nice friends we have had!

Now you have told me your troubles, you have relieved your mind and heart of all their anxieties, I hope. You can tell me anything in the world, and find me absolutely true, for I love you with every drop of blood in my body, and I would stake my soul on you.

Postscript: Have received your telegram. I will leave for New York tomorrow, the thirtieth. Have sent invitations to ushers. We shall meet at your house for dinner, and then at noon the next day your life will be in my own safe keeping.

* * * * *

POLLY MAKES A LAST ENTRY IN HER JOURNAL

_Early morning, May 31st._

There are only a few hours left before A. D. and I shall be married but I won’t try to write a word about how wonderfully happy I am, for there is so much to put down! Something most extraordinary happened. The Prince has been bothering me since we reached New York, by calling at the door and sending in the most imperative messages. But I refused flatly to see him, though Aunt maintained that he would explain everything to all of us in a perfectly satisfactory manner. Poor Aunt, she’s a dear, silly, old thing. I believe she’s actually been in love with him all the time herself.

But yesterday, the thirtieth, Boris got the better of me. The butler announced that Sister Beatrice, a nun whom I had known in Rome, wished to see me. So naturally I told him to admit her, and in walked a black-robed figure. Imagine my surprise and anger when under the veil I saw the blue eyes of the Prince. He looked so like a naughty boy that before I knew it, I laughed.

All of a sudden he became intensely serious and said that he had really come to take me away, that he worshiped me, that he knew deep down I loved him, too, that we must take the steamer that evening--the Carpathia--he had reservations engaged--and that we could be married on the boat, and he had everything arranged.

I showed him at once that he had made a mistake and ordered him to go. An ugly vindictive look came over his face and then I realized how desperate he was. He asked me if I thought he was such a fool as to leave me in possession of certain information about himself; moreover he declared he had to have money, that he was at the end of his rope. I replied that I was sorry but could not help him again, that I might have given him over to the officials on the train. Then he said sneeringly I had better go with him, if I put a value on--life, for instance, that he, a Russian, would stop at nothing. I rang the bell and when the butler appeared, Boris saw that he had failed, and said, “You will regret this hour,” and went out. Aunt met him in the hall and after some whispered conversation, he departed. Later she left the house. Nor did she come back the entire evening. My exasperating relative! She had not planned to be at our dinner party, so I wasn’t alarmed, though anything but jolly. Boris’s uncanny threat was echoing in my ear amid all the joyousness and excitement and flowers, ringing of bells and arrival of telegrams of congratulation. When everybody had gone except A. D. and it was very late--we were sitting together in the parlor near the front door,--I heard footsteps, and thinking it must be Aunt returning, I peered out. There was a dark figure that darted hastily up the front steps, apparently left a package and ran swiftly down the street and out of sight. A premonition told me something was wrong and that we were in danger. A. D. dashed out to investigate.

“What’s this?” he said, picking up a box in the vestibule. Inside was a ticking noise like an alarm clock.

“Maybe something the Prince sent,” I gasped. “He threatened to do something desperate.”

“Run!” A. D. shouted and began to strip off the wrappings. Quick as a flash he rushed into the house, out into the pantry, and dropped the package into a pail of water. “A bomb--I’ve fixed it,” he told me, “and it’s as harmless now as a plain box of gunpowder. But it was a close call, the thing was set for one o’clock.” Just as we looked at each other, the hall clock chimed once. A. D. caught me in his arms. I laughed hysterically, and he asked, “Is it to be shown with the other wedding gifts?”

We both went rather shakily into the parlor, but at that very moment, Checkers came in, his face quite pale and sober. “Look what I found in my room!” he said. It was a note from Aunt, saying that Boris and she were going to elope, that she had always loved him and knew they would be happy. “Scandalous!” he declared, “and what are we going to do about it?”

“He’s a worse scoundrel even than I thought,” said A. D.

“Checkers, it’s up to you to stop her. Take a taxicab to the steamship dock as quick as you can get there. Carpathia!” I shouted.

Checkers hurried out of the house while A. D. stayed on to comfort me and talk over the next step we could take in case Checkers was too late, and what people would say about the whole thing. At two o’clock there was no word, and calling up the dock by telephone, we found that the Carpathia had sailed at exactly one-thirty. Then I made A. D. go, and went sorrowfully up to bed, but not to sleep, hoping that nothing had happened to my twin.

Nor did he come back for hours. Finally, when it was almost daylight, there was a tap at my door and Checkers tiptoed in and began, “I found Aunt but she wouldn’t listen to me when I got to the dock. No go! She wouldn’t budge and Boris was pouring out a torrent of Russian that sounded to me like a bunch of fire crackers. The steamer sailed and I stayed on board, still arguing. Finally I told Boris I’d hand him over to the captain on any one of half a dozen charges that would put him behind the bars till he was ninety. He gave me an ugly look and slunk off,--I don’t know where for we didn’t see him again. Fortunately they had not succeeded in getting a clergyman to marry them. At last Aunt consented to return with me on the pilot boat on condition that neither of us would ever mention Boris’s name to her again.”

“Where is she now?” I asked.