CHAPTER XII
MOLLY BECOMES AN ALLY
Guy sat in his chair, and for a moment surveyed the admirably kept garden of Goodman's Rest with a thoughtful frown. Then his gaze travelled back to Tony and Isabel.
"We are in an extraordinary situation," he observed slowly.
It was just at half-past ten in the morning, and they were all of them sitting on the lawn at the back of the house, in a pleasant blaze of spring sunshine which streamed down out of a cloudless blue sky. Tony, who was smoking a cigar, had just finished giving his cousin a full and spirited description of his interview with Congosta and Saltero, for by the time he had returned to the house on the previous evening, Guy, who had been suffering from a slight headache, had already gone to bed.
"I don't see anything so very extraordinary about it," said Tony placidly. "Everybody seems to me to be behaving in a most natural and reasonable manner. In fact I am just a bit disappointed. I always thought that people who went in for revolutions and that kind of thing were much more mysterious and exciting."
"Well, I don't know what you want!" retorted Guy. "You appear to have got both the Royalists and the Franciscans on your track, and as far as sticking at trifles goes, I shouldn't imagine there was much to choose between any of the parties in Livadia."
"You must remember that you are speaking of Isabel's native land," protested Tony reprovingly.
"Oh, he can say what he likes about Livadia," said Isabel. "It's all true."
"And anyhow," went on Guy, "if we mean to get out of this business safely and successfully we must look at things exactly as they are and not as they ought to be. As far as I can see the whole affair is more like a cheap melodrama than anything else, but that doesn't mean there isn't a very real danger for people who choose to mix themselves up in it." He paused. "What was your final understanding with these—these people?"
"Oh, we parted the best of friends," said Tony cheerfully. "At least Congosta and I did. The Colonel was a little bit stuffy at not being allowed to see Isabel, but I put that down to his military training. A good soldier never likes to be baulked in his object."
"Yes, yes; but what are they going to do?" persisted Guy. "You must have come to some sort of an arrangement."
"We came to a very good arrangement," said Tony. "I am to continue looking after Isabel and keeping her away from the fascinations of Peter, while they go on with the job of getting the throne ready for her. The Colonel is on his way back to Livadia already."
"And what about the other man—Congosta?"
"Congosta is staying on in England for the present. I have got his address at Richmond. He says it's necessary that someone should be here in order to keep an eye on Peter and Da Freitas. I don't suppose he altogether trusts me either."
"I daresay he doesn't," observed Guy drily.
"He probably agreed to the arrangement because he hadn't any immediate choice in the matter. I shouldn't imagine that we could depend on him in the least."
"I don't know," said Tony. "He seems to have a great faith in the virtue and nobility of the English aristocracy. I think he must be a reader of Charles Garvice."
"Have you made any plans yourself?" asked Guy.
Tony took a thoughtful pull at his cigar. "Well, I have got one or two ideas that I was talking over with Isabel last night. In the first place I think I shall tell Aunt Fanny all about it. It's just the sort of thing that would appeal to her thoroughly; and then she would be an excellent chaperone if we happened to want one."
Guy pondered over the suggestion for a moment. "I think you are right," he admitted half reluctantly. "We certainly ought to have someone for—for Isabel's sake," (it was the first time he had dropped the more formal Miss Francis) "and I suppose Aunt Fanny is the only possible person. All the same the fewer people who know anything about it the better."
"I don't propose to tell any one else," said Tony, "except Molly. Oh, it's all right," he added, as Guy directed an embarrassed glance towards their companion; "I told Isabel all about Molly last night. She has survived the shock splendidly."
"I am not a child, Cousin Guy," said Isabel with dignity.
"But is it necessary to bring this—this young woman in?" objected Guy.
"Of course it is," said Tony, "and I wish you wouldn't refer to her in that dreadful way. It sounds as if she wore black cotton gloves. Molly's our Chief Intelligence Department. It's only through her that we can get any idea of what's going on at Richmond, and apart from that she is the best friend we could possibly have. She regards Peter as her private property—a poor thing, but her own—and she doesn't mean to lose him without a good scrap. She's got grit and nerve, Molly has; otherwise she wouldn't be playing lead at the Gaiety."
"Very well," said Guy resignedly. "I suppose that if one goes in for this sort of thing one must get help where one can. When do you propose to see her?"
"Now," said Tony; "if she's out of bed. I am going to motor down there right away." He got up from his chair. "You will be careful while I am away, won't you, Isabel?" he added. "Bugg is on duty all right, but I think it would be safer for you to stop in the garden unless you want to go back to the house. One doesn't know what Da Freitas may be up to."
"Isabel will be quite safe," said Guy with some spirit. "I will remain with her myself if she will allow me to."
"That will be very nice," said Isabel graciously.
Tony tossed away the stump of his cigar. "I believe that Guy will end by being the most reckless adventurer of the lot of us," he said gravely. "It's generally the way when people take up a fresh hobby late in life."
Isabel gave one of her little rippling laughs, and before Guy could think of an adequate retort, Tony had sauntered off up the path in the direction of the garage.
Amongst the hobbies of Miss Molly Monk that of early rising—as Tony knew—occupied a comparatively modest place, and he was accordingly not surprised on reaching her flat to learn from Claudine, the French maid, that her mistress was still in bed.
"Is she awake?" he inquired.
"Mais oui, M'sieur," replied Claudine. "She 'ave 'er morning chocolate. I just take it in to 'er."
"Well, will you go and give her my love," said Tony, "and tell her I should like to see her as soon as it could be happily managed."
Claudine conducted Tony to the little drawing-room, and then tripped demurely away down the passage to deliver her message. She was not absent for long, as thirty seconds could hardly have elapsed before she re-entered the apartment.
"If M'sieur will follow me," she announced. "Madem'selle will receive him."
She led the way to Molly's bedroom, and pushing open the door which was already ajar, ushered Tony into a charming atmosphere of cream walls, apple green hangings, and a huge brass bedstead.
In the bedstead was Molly. She was sitting up against a little mountain of white pillows, with a Japanese kimona thrown lightly round her gossamer nightdress, and her red hair streaming loose over her shoulders. She was sipping chocolate, and looked very cool and attractive.
"Hello, Tony," she said. "I hope you don't mind being received in this shameless fashion. It's your own fault you know for coming so early."
She extended a slim white hand and wrist, and Tony having implanted a kiss on the latter, seated himself comfortably on the end of the bed.
"I am not seriously annoyed, Molly," he replied. "I find that my naturally Calvinistic principles are becoming broader as I get older." He looked at her with an approving glance. "Besides," he went on, "at one time it was all the fashion to receive distinguished visitors in bed. Madame du Barry—a very highly connected French lady—made a hobby of it."
"Did she—the saucy puss!" said Molly. She pushed across a tortoise shell cigarette case that was lying on the silk coverlet in front of her. "You can light up if you like," she added. "I am going to have one myself in a minute."
Tony took advantage of her permission, and leaning back against the brass rail blew out a little spiral of grey smoke.
"I came at this indelicate hour," he observed, "because I promised I would look round directly I had anything to tell you."
Molly sat up in bed. "Oh," she exclaimed eagerly, "have you heard from that friend of yours—the one in Portriga?"
Tony shook his head. "Not yet; there hasn't been time." He paused. "I don't know that it's altogether necessary to go to Portriga for news though. One seems to be able to pick up a certain amount of Livadian gossip in London."
Molly put down her cup of chocolate on the tray beside her. "Tony," she said, "what have you heard?"
"It's a long and poignant story," said Tony. "Are you in any hurry to get up?"
"Do I look like it?" She reached across the bed for the cigarette case. "Wait a moment till I've got a light; then I shan't interrupt you."
She struck a match, and drawing in a mouthful of smoke, leaned back against the pillows.
"That's better," she observed contentedly. "Now fire ahead."
The art of telling a long story well is a regrettably rare one, especially amongst people who are chiefly addicted to the habit. Tony, however, undoubtedly possessed it to a certain extent, and in the present case he enjoyed the additional advantage of having already practised upon Guy. Starting from his meeting with Isabel in Long Acre, he recounted in that pleasantly unhurried fashion of his the whole of the spirited events which had led up to his present visit. He concealed nothing—not even his deception of Isabel in connection with the pawning of her brooch, for if Molly was to be accepted as an active ally, it was obviously necessary that there should be no half measures about the matter. Besides, Tony, who preferred his own judgment to any one else's, considered Molly to be one of the most trustworthy people he had ever met.
She was at all events an irreproachable listener. Lying back against the pillows, her hands clasped behind her head, she followed his narrative with an absorbed interest that showed itself plainly in her eyes. She made no attempt to interrupt him or to ask questions—indeed with the exception of occasionally knocking off the ash of her cigarette into the breakfast tray, she remained as motionless and silent as a Kirchner picture.
"And that," observed Tony in conclusion, "is as far as we've got to at present. At least it's all I know for certain. Of course I may get back to find that Guy and Isabel have been murdered in the garden." He rose from the bed, and crossing to the fireplace tossed away the stump of his cigarette, which he had allowed to go out. "Well, what do you say, Molly?" he added cheerfully. "Are you prepared to come in with us, and do your bit in saving Peter from bigamy?"
Molly sat up in bed, her blue eyes gleaming with a brisk and businesslike determination.
"I should think I was," she observed crisply. "If any one imagines I've taken all the trouble of training and educating Peter for nothing, they're making a fat mistake." She shook back her hair with a resolute gesture that spoke volumes for her sincerity. "Tony," she said, "you're a brick. I really don't know how to thank you."
"There's nothing to thank me for," said Tony. "I have taken up the case in the interests of European morals. I don't approve of a young man marrying, when he already has a wife in the sight of Heaven."
"Not only in the sight of Heaven," returned Molly with spirit. "In the sight of the Registrar of Chelmsford as well."
There was a brief pause. "Good Lord!" said Tony slowly. "Is that a fact?"
Molly half jumped up in bed, and then sitting down again, pulled up the counterpane.
"I can't get out," she said, "this nightdress isn't respectable. Just go to the dressing-table, Tony—there's a dear—and open that top drawer on the right. You'll find a jewel-case inside—a brown one."
Tony did as he was commanded, and took out a small Russia leather box, with Molly's initials in gold stamped upon the lid.
"Here you are," she said, holding out her hand. "Now give me that little bunch of keys by the brush."
She opened the box, and rummaging inside extracted a slip of paper, which she unfolded and glanced through before handing it to Tony.
"How about that?" she inquired with a sort of dispassionate triumph.
Tony took the document, and sitting down again on the foot of the bed, spread it out in front of him. It was the ordinary registrar's form of marriage certificate, dated at Chelmsford six months previously, and it set out in the restrained but convincing style adopted by such authors, that on the date in question Mary Monk, daughter of John Monk, game-keeper, and Pedro da Talles, son of Pedro da Talles, gentleman, had seen fit to enter into the bonds of Holy Matrimony.
Tony read it through with an interest that he seldom devoted to current literature, and then looked up with an expression of deep admiration.
"You're a wonderful person, Molly," he said.
She shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, I'm not under any mistaken ideas about its value," she replied coolly. "I know it wouldn't cut any ice in Livadia—and I expect it's about equally useless here. You see in the first place Pedro isn't allowed to marry any one except a Royalty, and then of course this paper's all out of order. You see we had to keep it dark who Peter really was, or of course the news would have been all over the shop. Fortunately no ordinary person in England knows his family name, so there wasn't much chance of anybody spotting the entry. The only thing was we couldn't describe his father as a king—that would have busted the show hopelessly—so we had to put him down as a gentleman. I expect that's enough to make it illegal by itself."
"I should think so," said Tony. "It's certainly a very misleading description, judging by popular rumour." He paused. "What made you do it, Molly, and how did you manage to bring it off?"
"Oh, it was easy enough," replied Molly a little contemptuously. "I believe I could make Peter do almost anything. He's frightfully fond of me in his way." She leaned forward and picked up the paper. "I don't really know why I bothered about it," she added thoughtfully. "I think it was partly just to show myself I could, and partly—" she stopped and laughed—"well, Granddad used to be a churchwarden at Helbeck, you know, and right underneath everything I think I've got some secret strain of lower middle-class respectability."
"I am glad it hasn't hampered your taste in nightdresses," said Tony. "That would have been a tragedy." He helped himself to another cigarette. "Well, you're going to come in with us and battle for your rights, then?" he added.
"Every time," observed Molly with decision.
"I know where I am now, and that will make all the difference. Up till to-day I have sort of been fighting in the dark."
"Have you seen Peter again?" inquired Tony.
Molly nodded. "He was here yesterday. He wouldn't tell me anything, but I could see he was nearly worried out of his life. I don't believe it's entirely about this girl—I am sure from the way he spoke that things are coming to a head out in Livadia."
"I expect they are," said Tony. "You can't work up a revolution and then postpone it like a mothers' meeting. Isabel's disappearance must have made Da Freitas as mad as a wet hen. It's come just at the wrong moment."
"Is this girl really so like me?" asked Molly.
"Wonderfully," said Tony; "considering how rare beauty is. She has got brown eyes instead of blue, but any one who was short-sighted or a little intoxicated might easily mistake her for you. Probably that's why Peter wanted to kiss her that night after dinner."
Molly looked a little sceptical. "Peter will kiss anybody," she said, "especially when he's had a drink or two." She paused. "Still, I don't think I like her being quite so like me," she added thoughtfully.
"It can't be helped," said Tony. "I expect Heaven had some of the material left over, and didn't want to waste it."
"Oh, I'm not worrying really," replied Molly.
"I've become a sort of habit to Peter. He would be absolutely lost without me now. He said as much himself yesterday, and he's not given to making pretty speeches. You see I'm the only girl he has ever known who was really fond of him for his own sake. All the rest have been absolute rotters."
"He doesn't deserve his luck," said Tony severely. "It's incredible that any one could be so stupid as to prefer sitting on a throne in Livadia to stopping in London and making love to you."
"Oh, it's not his fault," protested Molly. "It's all that old pig Da Freitas. Peter knows perfectly well he is not fit to be a king. I have told him so again and again, and in his heart he absolutely agrees with me. He always makes a mess of things if I'm not there to look after him."
Tony got up from the bed. "It's really a work of pure benevolence that we're engaged on," he observed. "We might almost christen ourselves the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Peter, and appeal for a public subscription." He picked up his hat off the chair. "Well anyhow, Molly," he added, "from to-day we shall consider you one of us, and keep you posted up in everything that goes on."
"Right-oh," replied Molly cheerfully, "and the same here. I am quite sure that if Peter is going to do anything very desperate he'll let me know about it in spite of Da Freitas. Anyhow, it won't be my fault if he doesn't."
"I don't suppose it will," said Tony.
He bent down and implanted a kiss just under her chin, which Molly considerately elevated for the purpose, and then, after having bestowed half a sovereign upon Claudine who glided out into the hall to open the front door for him, he clambered back into his car and set off on the return journey.
Having arrived home he drove up to the garage, and leaving the car in the care of Jennings, walked down the path on to the lawn where he had left Guy and Isabel. The chairs they had been sitting on were still there, but there was no sign of their late occupants. Thinking that perhaps another botany lesson was in progress, Tony strolled on round the garden, but except for a white whiskered gentleman who was doing something mysterious with a spade, the place seemed to be deserted. He returned to the house, and entering the morning-room by the open French window rang the bell for Spalding.
"They have gone across to number sixteen, Sir Antony," replied the latter in answer to his inquiry. "Miss Francis wished to return before lunch, and Mr. Guy told me to inform you that he and Bugg had walked across with her. They will be back by one o'clock."
There was a pause.
"I suppose you heard about our little entertainment there yesterday?" said Tony.
Spalding inclined his head. "Mrs. Spalding informed me of the facts, sir. They appear to have made a considerable impression upon her."
"Mrs. Spalding was magnificent," said Tony. "It's quite impossible to frighten her."
"Quite, sir," agreed Spalding. "I have observed that myself, sir."
"I hope you don't object, Spalding," said Tony. "I don't think we did any harm to your property."
"That's perfectly all right, sir," replied the butler. "I trust that you will consider yourself quite at home there. The house is fully insured."
"Thank you, Spalding," said Tony. "You are always very obliging."
Spalding acknowledged the compliment with another grave bow, and picking up the current copy of the Auto Car, which contained a description of the last Brooklands meeting, Tony sauntered out again on to the lawn.
Here he established himself comfortably in a basket-chair, and after lighting a pipe, opened the paper at the article in question. It was enriched with several complimentary references to himself and his driving, and Tony, who liked to hear agreeable sentiments expressed about any one that he was fond of, read it through with appreciative interest. He had just finished, and was lying back in the sunshine in a pleasant state of contentment with the Universe, when the French window opened and Spalding came down on to the lawn, carrying a small silver salver, containing a couple of visiting cards. He advanced to where Tony was sitting.
"Two gentlemen have called, sir, and would like to see you."
Tony took out his pipe and shook off the ash on to the grass.
"What are their names, Spalding?" he inquired.
The butler glanced at the cards as if to refresh his memory.
"They are two foreign gentlemen, Sir Antony. The Marquis da Freitas, and the Count de Sé."