Part 12

Prue burst into tears. "Oh! you are cruel, cruel," she sobbed. "I do not want freedom—that way."

"I believe it," he said, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips. "Do not grieve, my hunted life is not worth one of those tears—"

"But hasten," she interrupted, listening attentively and holding up her hand to silence him. "I know who you are and that you are concerned in Jacobite plots. Soldiers will surround the house and you will be arrested and taken to the Tower as a traitor. You have very little time to escape—"

He glanced at some papers on the table and began to gather them up and conceal them about him. In doing this, he uncovered a jewel-case of purple velvet embroidered in gold with the royal arms.

Prue uttered a faint shriek and covered her eyes, as if to shut out the sight that confirmed her worst fears.

"Oh! Robin!" she gasped. "The queen’s necklace—!"

"Was it the queen’s?" he replied carelessly. "Well, now it is yours, if you care to have it." He opened the case and displayed the diamonds flashing like a string of fire. "’My faith! the gems are gorgeous; they will look well on the peerless neck of my beautiful Prue."

"_I_ wear the queen’s diamonds! You must be mad! What possessed you to take them? Oh, I hoped so that it was a mistake and that you were innocent of this."

"Innocent of what? Do you really think I stole the necklace? My dear Lady Prudence, I am a highwayman when occasion serves, but I am not a thief. Last night, on the king’s business, I waylaid the wrong man, and all I got for my pains was this fine casket, which I never opened until now. Evidently I robbed the thief, confound him! and the papers I was commanded to secure are God knows where!"

"Oh! Robin, I am so glad!" she cried. "They said Robin the highwayman was at his tricks again, and had stolen the queen’s necklace from Marlborough House, and oh, I was so ashamed to think such a thing could be said of—-_my husband_!"

She half turned away, murmuring the last words so softly that only the ears of love could have caught them.

"Oh! Prue—angel—is it really possible that you think of me as your husband? Oh! I know there has been an empty ceremony which meant nothing to you, and to me only vain longing and a mad dream of unattainable happiness; but what a fool I am! Of course I ought to have understood that you fear to be brought to shame if it should be suspected that the thief of the queen’s necklace is your—"

Prue’s eyes flashed and her little high-heeled shoe tapped angrily on the floor.

"You are indeed a fool!" she exclaimed. "I do not know why I have any patience at all with you. Will you begone from here at once, sir, and not offend me by tarrying when I have risked so much to save your life?"

He started and flushed guiltily. "Selfish brute that I am! I forgot the danger to you. A thousand thanks, dear Lady Prudence, for your warning. I will profit by it when I have conducted you to safety."

"You will do nothing of the sort," she retorted imperiously. "When I arrived you were preparing to depart; do so at once, for if you wait for the house to be surrounded by the soldiers it will be too late. Even now, if you leave it alive, you may fall into an ambush. Is there no exit except into the street?"

"Yes; this room opens on a terrace overlooking the river, and although I believed myself safe in London for a few days, I have a boat in readiness in case I should be forced to leave in a hurry," said Robin. "There are hiding-places in Southwark and Lambeth where the queen’s whole army might hunt a week for me in vain."

"Be cautious then, for that may be known to your enemies; and, above all, be speedy—"

While she was speaking, the door was flung open abruptly and Steve Larkyn—his face blazing with fury—darted in.

"You are betrayed, Captain!" he ejaculated. "This woman has brought the soldiers with her. For the love of God, do not stop to listen to her, but escape while there is time—"

"You hear?" cried Prue, in a frenzy. "Go—go instantly! I command you!"

"What, go away and leave you here to meet the soldiers alone? Never!" said Robin, with a calmness that contrasted strongly with the excitement of the others.

"Then I will remain with you, and when the soldiers come I will declare that I helped you enter Marlborough House, and show the diamonds to prove that I was your accomplice; nay, I will say that my familiarity with the duchess’ apartments gave me access where you could not have entered and that _I_ stole the diamonds and gave them to you!"

"You will do this?" he gasped, utterly stupefied.

"I will; and if necessary I will proclaim myself your wife and let them think I have had my share in whatever you are accused of."

"But why? In the name of God, what is the meaning of this madness?"

She stretched out her arms to him with a gesture of utter self-abandonment. "It means that I love you, Robin. I love you, and would rather die with you than live without you!"

He caught her in his arms and strained her to his breast with all the pent-up passion of his being in that fervid embrace.

"Leave you—now, my darling, my heart’s heart—"

She tore herself from his arms. "More than ever now," she pleaded. "If you hope ever to possess me, fly, and I swear that I will come to you—if not on earth, in Heaven. Stay, I have an idea." She snatched up a sheet of paper and thrust a pen into his hand. "Write," she commanded, and he wrote at her dictation.

"MISTRESS BROOKE:

"Follow the bearer and you will find the queen’s diamond necklace."

"There," she exclaimed, laughing and crying together, "leave the rest to me, and go—if you do not wish to destroy us both. Hark! the soldiers are already at the gate," she flung the window open—"trust to my woman’s wit," she cried, "I shall not only be safe but covered with glory and honor."

He pressed a burning kiss upon her willing lips and sprang through the window. "Follow your master," she said to Larkyn, who stood by, an effigy of astonishment. He obeyed without demur, and she shut the window, closing and fastening the shutter and half-drawing the faded curtain.

Then she resumed her mantle and veil and looked around for any sign of Robin’s late occupancy. He had secured all his papers and on the table nothing was left except the purple velvet case and some writing materials, which she thrust into a drawer. In doing so she came upon a packet addressed:

"To Mistress Larkyn, "In care of Mine Hostess of "The Fox and Grapes."

She took it up and recognized Robin’s writing. The angry blood glowed in her veins. "The insolent varlet!" she muttered. "He has been writing to a woman—’Mistress Larkyn,’ indeed!—Mine Hostess of the ’Fox and Grapes,’ forsooth! ’Tis some low intrigue, and I thought him my true lover and loyal husband. I will see how he addresses this creature." She was about to tear open the packet, when a crash below stairs and the sound of hurried footsteps warned her that the soldiers had broken into the house. She hurriedly thrust it into her bosom and waited.

A voice shouted harshly, "In the queen’s name!" and the door was opened without ceremony. Half-a-dozen soldiers with drawn swords rushed in, and at sight of the little cloaked figure, came to a halt in some confusion.

But Prue, without waiting to be interrogated, threw back her veil, exclaiming, "Soldiers!" in accents of well-feigned joy and relief. "Oh! I am so glad! I was afraid, when I heard the noise, that I had fallen into a den of robbers, who would, perhaps, kill me for the sake of the queen’s necklace."

"The queen’s necklace!" exclaimed the officer in command. "Who are you, and what do you know about the queen’s necklace?"

"I am the Viscountess Brooke," she replied, in her loftiest tone, "and this message will explain why I am here, and what I know about the queen’s necklace."

She landed the paper to him and watched anxiously to see its effect. He read it dubiously and turned it over and over, evidently at a loss how to deal with a matter outside of his instructions.

"You see the necklace," she went on after a pause, taking up the emblazoned casket and opening it. "The person who brought me here disappeared when the noise began at the gate." She looked round in every direction but the window. "I think there must be a secret panel somewhere in the room, for while my attention was distracted by the noise, she disappeared."

"_She!_" cried the officer. "Did a woman bring you here? What kind of person was it? Could it not have been a man, disguised?"

"A man!" she exclaimed; "oh, no"—then the advantage of prolonging this cross-examination struck her and she continued slowly, as if pondering over the suggestion—"at least, that never occurred to me. Her voice was loud and rough ’tis true—"

"Was she—or he—tall and broad?" demanded the officer, glancing at a document in his hand and reading from it—"swarthy complexion, black eyes, black hair, without powder, worn—"

She interrupted him with a laugh. "Surely not, the woman was old, bent, no taller than myself; a toothless, blear-eyed beldame—"

"And she disappeared, you say? Sergeant, examine the room thoroughly and break in anything that seems like a secret panel. I fear, Madam," the officer said, again addressing Prue, "that I shall be compelled to arrest you if we can not find the person we are seeking."

"Arrest _me_!" cried Prue. "Why, you will make yourself the laughing-stock of London if you arrest Lady Prudence Brooke. As to myself, I should enjoy it amazingly; I have never been arrested, and it would be something quite new for me in the way of an adventure, but I have found the queen’s necklace"—she clasped it in her arms with an air of defiance—"and you must first take me either to Marlborough House, where it was lost, or to Kensington Palace, where you will easily find out whether or no to arrest one of Her Majesty’s ladies-in-waiting."

She threw off her veil and smiled up at him with all the alluring archness at her command. It was not thrown away, although the young soldier made a brave effort to resist her captivating arts, by ordering his men to leave no loophole of escape for the object of their search or any one who might be his accomplice. They roughly tested the walls with blows and kicks, and finding at last a hollow-sounding panel, knocked it in without delay and found, not a secret passage, but a closet containing some weapons, a saddle and a couple of cloaks. These they made into a bundle and were about to search farther, when the sounds of shouts and shots from the river drew their attention that way.

"By Heaven, they have caught him on the river!" cried the officer, hurrying to the window. He unclasped the shutter and dashing the window open, sprang out on the terrace, followed by Prue. The night was intensely dark and a drizzling rain falling, but at a short distance the blaze of torches stained the fog a dull crimson, that looked to her excited imagination like a haze of blood. She stood shivering on the terrace beside the officer, as he shouted himself hoarse in his efforts to get into communication with the crew of the boat which had intercepted Robin’s flight, but the lights drifted farther away and the shouting ceased, and, at last, she ventured to lay her hand lightly on the officer’s arm.

"Who is being pursued?" she asked, "and what is all the disturbance about?"

"Don’t you know that this is the hiding-place of the notorious highwayman, Robin Freemantle, who is also suspected of being an active agent of the Jacobite plotters in Scotland? It is strange that you should be alone here, Madam, and yet know nothing of this man’s escape! My orders are to arrest him and all persons found in his company; therefore you must consider yourself under arrest."

"Arrest me if you will," she replied, "but if you refuse to take me to the Duchess of Marlborough or the queen, the consequences be on your own head. Rest assured that there will be honors and promotion for the gallant soldier who protects one of the ladies of the court and brings her and the treasure she has recovered to safety. But to thrust one of my condition"—her eyes flashed and she raised her head with indignant pride—"into prison, will certainly bring disgrace or worse upon you. I have influence with the duchess and through her, with the duke."

The officer was young and not altogether insensible either to the sweet, imperious voice, or the arguments it propounded. He hesitated, and meeting the earnest eyes raised to his, began to waver. This was evidently a great lady. Her elegant dress and haughty manner abashed him, and he began to think that if he took her to the Tower in place of Robin Freemantle, she might prove a dangerous substitute.

"Come, come, Sir Officer," Prue went on, reading the changes of his expression with an experienced eye, "do not be so hard to convince." She smiled up at him now with a bewitching petulance and laid her slender hand on his arm. "’Tis but a step to Marlborough House and I am in a fever to see the duchess. I was, perhaps, indiscreet in coming to this strange place alone, but the hope of finding the jewels turned my foolish head and put all other considerations out of it. I fear I ran a desperate risk; I might have been attacked by robbers, instead of rescued by soldiers! I shall never forget that I owe my safety, perhaps my life, to you!"

By this time the lieutenant was in complete subjection. "I am most fortunate, Madam, in being of some service to you!" he said gallantly. "When I came here to take a prisoner, I little expected to become a captive myself."

Prue finished him off with a glance of irresistible archness. "Oh! I am quite reconciled to my arrest now," she protested. "Indeed, I should claim your escort, if I did not feel sure that you would wish to see the queen’s necklace safely through its adventures. Fortunate man! there is not an officer in the duke’s army, who would not envy your good luck."

"I can well believe it!" he cried, with an ardent glance. "I would not change places with a general!"

"The duchess appreciates devotion as much as her husband does courage," said Prue, with tantalizing demureness.

"And the Lady Prudence Brooke—does she also appreciate devotion?" the young officer murmured hurriedly. "Oh! if I could believe so—"

"You would take me to Marlborough House instead of the Tower?" she interrupted quickly. "Prove your devotion by doing so, and afterward"—she lingered softly on the word—"we will talk about appreciation."

The soldiers, by this time, having ransacked the house without finding anything suspicious, one of them was despatched to fetch a chair for Lady Prudence, and leaving a guard at the house in case of Robin’s return, the lieutenant and the rest of his soldiers escorted the prisoner—and the necklace—to Marlborough House.

*CHAPTER XIX*

*IN THE DUCHESS’ APARTMENTS*

Any doubts that Prue’s escort might have secretly entertained as to the credibility of her strange story, were set at rest the moment she entered the doors of Marlborough House. Her reception was that of the elect; a privileged guest whom all delighted to honor. The obsequious flunkeys bowed before her, and the stately Groom of the Chambers, by whose command the lieutenant was shown into a waiting-room, himself carried the Lady Prue’s request for an audience of the duchess on most pressing business.

The anterooms were thronged with visitors whose curiosity had been whetted by a rumor that the long-expected had happened, and that the queen had gladly availed herself of the loss of her jewels as an excuse for humiliating the tyrannical favorite whose exactions had lately increased in proportion to the waning of her influence. It was whispered that the queen had been most reluctant to attend the masquerade, and that the duchess, fearing that she might repeat the slight of a recent public occasion (when Her Majesty had declined to appear in regal state in compliment to her), had exercised her privilege as Mistress of the Robes, and caused certain jewels to be conveyed to the royal tiring-room in Marlborough House. But the queen, on her arrival, had signalized her disapproval of this audacious proceeding, by refusing to make any alteration in the conspicuously simple costume she wore, and the jewels—among which the necklace was the most important—were left in the tiring-room in care of the attendants.

All this, however, was mere gossip. Those more friendly to the duchess discredited the whole story and claimed to know that no royal jewels had come into the house, except on the queen’s person, and that if any were mislaid, they would certainly be found either at Kensington Palace, where Her Majesty had been residing for some weeks, or St. James’, where she had passed the previous day, in order to incur as little fatigue as possible in attending the masquerade.

Ladies Rialton and Monthemer, with other members of the ducal family and household, flitted from group to group, making light of the rumored estrangement between "_poor, unfortunate, faithful Mrs. Morley_" and her erstwhile inseparable and all-powerful friend, and vowing that nothing kept them apart but the violent illness of the duchess, over whom the physicians were in consultation as to the propriety of bleeding her to avert an attack of fever. But all hints and allusions to the lost necklace were ignored, and those who were hardy enough to put their inquiries into plain words, were met with diplomatic replies that neither affirmed nor denied anything.

With a greeting here and a hand-pressure there, Prue threaded her way through the crowd and hurried up-stairs to the duchess’ private apartments. The way led past the little conservatory where she had sat with Robin last night. It was dark now and the entrance was blocked with tubs containing the orange-trees and shrubs which had adorned the grand stair-case and entrance-hall. Prue’s heart beat a shade faster and a pang of remorse assailed her at the thought that by introducing Robin to this sequestered part of the house she had exceeded her privilege as a guest, and exposed both Robin and herself to a suspicion that only her utmost ingenuity could dissipate.

In the duchess’ dressing-room a little throng of ladies-in-waiting and intimate friends welcomed her warmly. Deep concern sat upon every face as they listened to the hysterical cries and moans, in which the patient in the adjoining bedroom gave expression to her sufferings, and the broken exclamations and fierce invectives by which she called upon her doctors and attendants to bear witness to the ingratitude and perfidy of the queen, and the baseness of her minions.

While Prue hesitated about intruding, the doctor and the apothecary came out. The former hurried away with a red face and air of offended dignity, and his satellite only lingered long enough to assure the ladies that her grace, having refused to be blooded and having ordered the two medicos from her presence under pain of a drenching with their own potions, nothing could be done for her until she could be brought into a more reasonable mood.

"I must see her at once," said Prue, with decision. "I have a cure for her malady far more efficacious than all the court physicians’ nostrums."

"Why, do you come from the queen? Has she found her diamond necklace?" A dozen eager questioners crowded about her, but with a smile of mysterious but encouraging significance, Prue reiterated her demand and at last escaped from further interrogation, by making her way unannounced into the presence of the duchess.

The great lady lay upon her bed, her disordered dress and disheveled hair revealing the ravages of time, which she usually disguised with so much skill. Her tire-women vainly attempted to soothe her by chafing her feet and hands and fanning her flushed and swollen face.

"Who is that?" she screamed, catching sight of Prue. "Go away—I can not see any one—I am very ill—I am dying! Make haste to pay your court to Masham—Masham! the creature I raised out of the mire—the kitchen-wench, who will queen it to-morrow when I am dead! Oh! oh! oh!" And the hysterics were resumed with wilder frenzy than ever.

"Leave her to me," said Prue to the women. "I can cure her, but I must have her to myself for a few minutes." They looked from one to the other with bewildered eyes, wondering at Prue’s audacity, yet unable to resist her calm tone of authority.

When they had withdrawn to the farther end of the room, she bent over the shrieking, raving duchess, and said, in a quiet, penetrating voice, "The necklace is not lost, it is quite safe."

The cries ceased with almost ludicrous suddenness. "What do you say?" gasped the patient.

"I will tell you all about it as soon as you are able to lie still and listen," said Prue, who had laid her plans on her way from Essex Street, and had her story all ready. The duchess quieted down and turned her face partly toward her.

"Is that Prudence Brooke?" she asked. "If you know anything about that accursed necklace, tell me quickly, before it is the death of me."

"I have news of it," said Prue, passing a cool, soothing hand over the hot brow and brushing away the heavy, straggling masses of hair, once the pride of Sarah Churchill and the envy of rival beauties. "If the necklace is returned what reward will you give the finder?"

"Reward? Oh! he shall be well rewarded; the finder need not be afraid to ask his own price," cried the duchess. "And yet the thing is worthless to any one, child—worse than worthless—it is deadly! No one would steal it except to injure me! But they shall swing for it, no matter who is at the bottom of it. It is a conspiracy of those who hate me—"

"It is a mistake," interrupted Prue; "the necklace was not stolen, it was taken by—by accident."

"Accident! Oh, I know what kind of accident it was; it was a conspiracy, I tell you!" the duchess reiterated.

"It was a mistake," Prue urged. "I am sure I can prove it."

"Prove it a conspiracy, Prudence Brooke—prove it so that I can get my revenge upon these wretches and you may ask what reward you will. Honors and emoluments shall be heaped upon you—"

"I want neither!" cried Prue vehemently. "That is, the finder would not accept money or anything of that kind." She began to feel uneasy at the threatening tone the duchess took, and her nimble wit jumped for shelter. "For myself," she said, in her most cajoling way, "I would ask a favor—not now, but later—and I want you to promise that you will grant it, no matter how strange and unreasonable it may seem."

The duchess, who was now quite collected, sat up and looked searchingly into the guileless blue eyes, bent so eagerly upon her. "_You_ would not ask anything that would injure _me_?" she said slowly. "My enemies are so many and so wily, I fear to trust—even you. Is it something you want for yourself? If so, I promise."

"A thousand thanks," cried Prue. "I may never ask for anything; certainly never for anything that would hurt my dear benefactress to grant. ’Twas but a fancy. And such strange things happen—one never knows what one may be led into. I have had the strangest adventure to-night—"

"Another time, dear Prue," the duchess interrupted; "I can think of nothing now but the necklace."

"Yet you will own," persisted Prue, "when you have heard it to the end, that it is worth listening to. ’Twas thus—as soon as I heard of your grace’s troubles, I set out to offer my heartfelt condolences. Scarce a hundred yards from home, the chair was stopped and a rough hand thrust a paper through the curtains. Here it is; shall I fetch a lamp for you to read it by?"

"No, read it to me. I have wept myself purblind," replied the duchess, without attempting to disguise her impatience and lack of interest.