The Car of Destiny 5A Mystery Concerning a Chauffeur
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Literature · Romance
The Car of Destiny 5
A Mystery Concerning a Chauffeur
WilliamsonEnglish
For many days after this the young King of Spain motored back and forth between San Sebastian and Biarritz to visit the lady of his love; but at last the two Princesses bade good-bye to the Villa Mouriscot, and went to Paris. Lady Vale-Avon and Monica remained; but for the moment the girl was safe from Carmona, for the Duke followed the King to Madrid.
Lovely as Monica was, is, and always will be, and genuinely in love with her as I had no doubt Carmona was, still I began to believe that Dick Waring was right, and that the Duke’s desire to win Princess Ena’s friend was as much for Court favour as for the girl herself. Several weeks passed, and Monica and her mother continued to be tenants of the Villa Esmeralda. They went out little, except to visit the old Duchess of Carmona, who evidently did all she could to advance her son’s interests with invitations to luncheons and dinners; but try as I might I was never able to obtain an interview.
Fortunately for me, Lady Vale-Avon had seen me only in fancy dress; the costume of Romeo, with a ridiculous yellow-brown, wavy wig, upon which the costumier had insisted against my arguments. Now, I blessed him for his obstinacy; for I was able to pass Lady Vale-Avon in the street without being recognized, and once got near enough to slip into Monica’s hand a note I had hastily scribbled on the leaf of a note-book.
“Are you willing that I should try my luck again with your mother?” I had written. “If not, will you consent to a runaway marriage with a man who loves you better than his life?”
Next day came an answer through Mademoiselle de la Mole.
Monica begged that I would not speak to her mother. “She fancies that you have gone away,” the girl wrote. “If you came forward I think she would wire the Duke of Carmona, for she writes to him nearly every day as it is; and she would do everything she could to make me marry him at once. Don’t hate me for being a coward. I’m not, except with mother. I can’t help it with her. She’s different from everyone else. I heard the Duchess saying to her yesterday, that if I were to marry a grandee of Spain, I would be made a lady-in-waiting to the Queen instead of maid of honour; so I know what they’re thinking of always. But while mother hopes you have given me up, and that I’m quite good, they will perhaps let me alone.
“I wish I dared write to the Princess about you; only, you see, on account of your father and that horrid accident which happened, in Barcelona, she might misunderstand you, and things would be worse than before. But if I find that mother means actually to try and force me, then I will go away with you. Otherwise, I would rather wait, for both our sakes.
“When I go back to England, there are some dear cousins of mine who might help us, but it’s no use writing. I would have to see and talk to them myself. Anyway, if I were there they’d manage not to let me be married to a foreigner I hate; and you and I could go on being true to each other for a little while, until everything could be arranged.
“The worst is, mother doesn’t mean to go back to England yet. That’s what I’m afraid of, and that she has some plan about which she doesn’t mean to talk till the last minute. But she hasn’t said anything lately about visiting the Duchess of Carmona in Spain, and I hope she’s giving it up. As soon as I hear anything definite I’ll somehow let you know. I think I can promise that, though it may be difficult, as mother will never let Angèle and me be alone together for a minute if she can help it. The day after the ball we are having a talk in my room when my mother came, and perhaps guessed I had been telling Angèle things. Since then I haven’t been allowed to go to Angèle’s; and though Angèle comes to see me, mother always makes some excuse for being with us.”
After this letter of Monica’s I had at least some idea of how matters stood; and in the circumstances there seemed nothing to do but to be near her, and to wait.
It was not until the latter part of March that the Duke of Carmona came back to his mother’s villa at Biarritz.
His arrival was not announced in the local paper, nevertheless I heard of it; and the day after, Mademoiselle de la Mole sent me another letter from Monica, only a few lines, evidently written in great haste.
They were to pay the visit to the Duchess of Carmona in Seville, and were to arrive there in time for the famous ceremonies of Holy Week; that was all she knew. The time of starting was either not decided, or else it was not considered best that she should know too long beforehand.
“I’m miserable about going,” wrote the girl; “but what can I do? I used to think it would be glorious to see Spain, but now I’m frightened. I have a horrible feeling that I shall never come back. I know it’s too much to ask, and I don’t see how you can do it if I do ask, since I can tell you nothing of our plans; but if only, only, you could keep near me, within call, I should be safe. I suppose it’s useless to hope for that? Anyway, whatever happens, I shall always love you.”
To this I wrote an answer, but Angèle feared she might fail in getting it to her friend. The lease of Lady Vale-Avon’s Biarritz villa had just expired, and the mother and daughter were moving to the Duchess of Carmona’s for a few days. For some reason, the Duchess had not once invited Angèle to come to her house since the ball. She might not be able to see Monica; and it would be very unsafe to trust to the post.
It was on the evening of the day on which I had this news that my chauffeur knocked at the door of our sitting-room at the hotel.
“I thought,” said he, “I’d better tell your lordship something which has just happened. It may be of importance; it may be of none.”
Now I may as well explain that Peter Ropes is no common chauffeur. He is the son of the old coachman who served my father for many years in England; was groom to my first pony; went abroad with me as handy man; was with me through most of my adventures; when I took up motoring, volunteered to go into a factory and thoroughly learn the gentle art of chauffeuring; and at this time understood an automobile, and loved it, as he understood and loved a horse; he is of my age almost to the day; and I suppose will be with me in some capacity or other till one of us dies. He has a brown face, which might have been carved from a piece of oak; the eyes of a soldier; and never utters a word more than he must.
“You said I could go to the pelota this afternoon,” he continued. “When I came back I went to the garage, and found a strange chauffeur examining your Gloria. I stood at a distance, behind the King of England’s car, and watched what he would do. M. Levavasseur, the proprietor of the garage, came in just then, and I inquired in a low voice who the fellow was. He didn’t know; but the man had asked for Mr. Trevenna’s chauffeur, saying, when he heard I was out, that he was a friend of mine. I gave Levavasseur the hint to keep quiet, and got out of the way myself. Presently the chauffeur walked over to Levavasseur, and said, in French, that he wouldn’t wait any longer.”
“Well, what then, Ropes?” I asked.
“He went away, and I went after him. He didn’t see me, and I don’t believe he would have known me from Adam if he had. He stopped at another garage, and I thought best not to go in there. But I waited, and after a while a very dark, tall gentleman, who looked Spanish, walked into the garage. Five minutes later he and the chauffeur came out together. They parted at the entrance, and it was the gentleman I followed this time. He went to a large, handsome villa; and a person I met told me it was the Duchess of Carmona’s house. That is the reason I thought the thing important.”
“But why, exactly?” I persisted, guessing what Ropes would say.
“Because I think the gentleman was the Duke of Carmona.”
“And if he were?”
“I’ve heard gossip that he’s anxious to stand well with the King of Spain. It occurred to me he might have some political interest in trying to learn the real name of Mr. Trevenna, if you pardon my having such a thought. He might have sent his chauffeur to look at your car, and make a report; and if he did, whatever the reason was, it would mean no good to your lordship. I thought you ought to know, and be upon your guard, in case of anything happening.”
“Thank you,” I said. “You’re right to speak, and it may be you’ve done me an invaluable service.”
Ropes beamed; but having said all he had to say, another word would have been a waste of good material, which he was not the man to squander.
