The Tin Princess

  "Right, listen," Jim whispered. "My friend's going to stop strangling you as soon as you nod."

  The man's head jerked frenziedly, and Liam loosened the muffler.

  "What do you want?" came a hoarse gasp.

  "That paper the maid's just given you. Turn him over, lads."

  They rolled him over on to his back, and Jim felt in his pockets. As Jim searched, the feeling of something not right deepened suddenly into a strange suspicion. He hesitated, and the man's eyes - large, dark, expressive eyes - flashed in the gloom. Then Jim found the paper, in the waistcoat pocket, and tucked it in his own before sitting back on his haunches.

  Liam stood up and slipped the muffler back around his neck. The other boys let go. The spy got up slowly, crouched like a cat, with a sleek, feral grace. And then something glittered in his hand.

  Jim had time to spring backwards, but not quite time enough to avoid the slashing knife-blade. It caught him across the knuckles of his right hand: a heavy, dull pain that turned almost at once into a blazing sharpness. He cursed and rolled sideways as the other leapt at him, and then sprang up again, whipping his right arm out of his jacket and bundling it around the left automatically, you always did against a knife: but he had no weapon.

  Liam swung his muffler again. The spy dodged out range, and then Jim heard several things at once: hooves and carriage wheels from the road, a window flying open above him; and the spy turned and darted out of the garden.

  "After him, boys!" Jim shouted. "Follow him as far as he goes!"

  Liam yelled across to the others in the hideout, and Jim reached the gate to see the man fleeing down the road, pursued by a line of small boys whooping their Lambeth war-cries.

  And then he realized that the Prince was standing beside him. He'd just got out of the carriage, and he was in full fig: white tie, tails, glittering decorations around his neck, and a face that looked ravaged.

  "What has happened?" he said. "Is she safe?"

  "It was a spy. Yes, she's safe - so far. But we've got to talk, you and I."

  "You are bleeding," said the Prince, and Jim found that blood was pouring thickly from the cut over his knuckles. It was hurting damnably.

  "I thought you were at the Brazilian Embassy, sir?" he said, wrapping a handkerchief around his hand.

  "I was - but something has happened - and a spy as well? Ach, this is too much -"

  "Let's go inside," Jim said, and then, to the coachman goggling from the box, "Go and find a policeman, and hurry."

  The man cracked his whip and set off. As soon as they were in the house, Jim took the Prince into the parlour and sent for the maid. She was frightened, but she looked from one to the other with a narrow, calculating flick of the eyes. Jim took her measure at once.

  "You're a thief," he said to her, "and a copper's coming to take you away in a minute. But how long you spend in gaol depends on whether you tell us the truth now. Who was that person you were speaking to?"

  "I dunno," she said, with a lift of her chin. "They won't send me to gaol."

  "Maybe not. This is treason, after all, and that usually means the rope. You fancy standing in the dock when the judge puts the black cap on? Eh?"

  Bluff, but it worked. Her eyes widened, and she gave a little gasp of dismay. "I - I dunno who he is - he gave me five sovereigns, but I never meant no harm - I thought it wouldn't matter..."

  She wasn't honest, but she had little else to tell. Jim locked her in the scullery, and went back to find the Prince pacing nervously, chewing a fingernail.

  "What did she steal?" he said.

  "This," said Jim, taking out the marriage certificate.

  The Prince put his hands to his head. He looked wild-eyed with despair - but then, thought Jim, the poor mooncalf had looked like that when he came in; something else was up.

  "Why didn't you tell me, sir?" he said. "Why keep me in the dark? I'm working for you, remember?"

  The Prince stood there in his evening finery, with the Cross of St This and the Order of the Golden That twinkling in the lamplight, and looked overwhelmed. It was all too much for him. And then he told Jim why he'd come home early.

  "I had to leave the soiree. There was a message - terrible news. My brother the Crown Prince and his wife Princess Anna - both shot. He is dead and she is not expected to live. I must return at once. I came here to ... warn my wife... I have asked the Ambassador and his wife to be here in twenty minutes. They do not know why."

  At that moment the door opened, and Adelaide came in. Jim felt a shock at his heart, as if his soul were leaping from his body to fly to her. Those great dark eyes, that slender figure, that vivid face alert with speculation and mischief and underpinned with melancholy or apprehension... He knew that very second that wherever this game led, he'd be in it all the way. His spirit soared and then plunged downward at once, as he remembered that she was married, that she was a princess, that he was her husband's man.

  "Hello, Jim," she said softly.

  "Little Adelaide," he said, and his voice was shaking. "Where you been all this time?"

  She glanced at the Prince, took in something of his expression, then looked down at Jim's hand.

  "You're hurt," she said, concerned, and stepped forward to look more closely and untie the handkerchief Jim had bound roughly around it. "Let me do this properly - you got to wash it - Rudi, what's going on? What's the matter?"

  While she rang a bell and sent the cook for a bowl of hot water, the Prince told her what had happened in Razkavia.

  "So I am the heir to the throne," he said. "When my father dies I will be king. In a few minutes the Ambassador will be here. I have asked him to bring his wife; they must both know. And then we must go, straight away."

  "To Razkavia?"

  "Of course. I shall not go without you. You must come, Adelaide. So must you, Mr Taylor."

  Adelaide flashed a dark look at Jim, then back at her husband. "I want Becky to come too."

  Everything was happening at once. The cook brought in the water and some clean flannel, and simultaneously there was a rap at the door, and as Jim looked out of the window he saw a policeman standing on the path, and the lights of a carriage pulling up.

  "Come on upstairs," said Adelaide, taking the bowl, and Jim followed, leaving the Prince to tell the policeman the charge against the maidservant and to receive the Ambassador and his wife in the parlour. God knows what they must be thinking, Jim thought; well, they'll find out in a minute...

  Adelaide knelt on the floor, dabbing painfully at his hand and binding it up, while they talked quietly and urgently, like guilty children.

  "What's going to happen, Jim? I can't be a bloody princess -"

  "You are one. Shut up. Where you been? What happened after we lost you? That night when we were running away from Mrs Holland -"

  "On the wharf there - you and Mr Garland fighting the big man -"

  "We killed him. He bloody near killed us, too. What'd you run away for?"

  "Dunno. I was just so scared. Oh, Jim, I been doing terrible things -"

  "How'd you get hitched like this?"

  "He asked me. He's in love with me."

  "I can tell. But how'd you meet him?"

  "I used - I was - I'm ashamed, I can't tell you."

  "This is the only chance you're going to get, Adelaide, because they'll be up here in a minute, and then we'll never be alone together again, you realize that? You been on the game, haven't you?"

  She nodded. Her little face was flushed with sorrow, and he longed to kiss her; and then he swore to himself that while the Prince was alive he'd never let this happen again, never let their hands touch as they were doing now, never get within six feet of her. There was love, and there was honour, and when they clashed, it broke your heart.

  "I got lost, Jim. I didn't know what I was doing. I begged, I stole, I near starved... Finally I ended up in a house in Shepherd Market. You know the sort I mean. This old woman called Mrs Catlett, she had half a dozen girls. Sh
e weren't bad, she had a doctor what called every month to keep us healthy... And one day this German nobleman come in with a party of friends. He was showing them around, like tourists. One of 'em was the Prince. I could tell he was uncomfortable, he didn't want that kind of thing, but he was nice and we just talked, and ... I suppose he fell in love there and then. He ain't had much affection, poor thing. So anyway he paid Mrs Catlett a lot of money, for taking me away, like, and he set me up here. And then we was married. He wouldn't take no for an answer. I ... I used to go up Bloomsbury all the time at first, you know. I used to stand across the road and look at Garlands, at the shop..."

  "Why didn't you come in, you crazy goose? You know we had detectives combing London for you?"

  "I was scared I'd done something wrong. Then later on when I plucked up me courage and I went there, it was all burnt down..."

  "Fred died in the fire."

  "He never... Oh, God... What about Miss Lockhart? And Trembler?"

  "Miss Lockhart's married now. She's Mrs Goldberg. And old Trembler married a rich widow. He keeps a boardinghouse in Islington."

  Then she said again, "Jim, what's going to happen? I can't go and be a princess, I can't do it..."

  "You married him. You got to face it. You can't back out of a thing like that. But I'll be there, and Becky--"

  "Will she come? I won't go without her, I swear it."

  "Yeah, course she'll come," said Jim, privately uncertain. "Here - listen - they're coming up the stairs. Chin up, gal. We been in worse places than this. Remember the Animal Charcoal Works?"

  She gave a tight, nervous smile, and Jim's heart wept.

  There was a brief knock and the door opened. Jim stood up as the Prince came in. The elderly man who followed him blinked once or twice in surprise at the young man with the disordered hair and the torn jacket, at the young girl smoothing her skirts, at the bowl of bloody water on the floor; then he clicked his heels and bowed. He was a stout, red-faced, bristle-haired military man with a duelling scar on his cheek, a mighty moustache and a chest full of medals. His wife, massive and icy, glittered like an opera house.

  The Prince closed the door.

  "We shall speak in English," he began. He was pale, and he sounded nervous, but he went on steadily, "This is not the way in which I would have wished to break such news. However, it cannot be helped. Adelaide, this is the Ambassador, Count Thalgau, and Her Grace the Countess."

  Jim noticed that both of them were immediately aware of the way he made the introduction: they were introduced to her, not she to them, so she must be their social superior. There was a bristle of surprise, and then it was his turn.

  "Count Thalgau, this is my trusted secretary and adviser, Mr James Taylor. As you can see, he has been wounded in my service this evening already."

  An approving kind of bristle this time, followed by a click of heels and a nod. Jim couldn't shake hands, but he managed a respectful Prussian-style jerk of the head. Behind all the politeness he could sense a colossal curiosity building up like steam in a boiler.

  The Prince reached for Adelaide's hand, and drew it through his arm.

  "And this is my wife, Adelaide, and your Princess," he said.

  The Count took a step backwards; the Countess's mouth fell open. Then the old man exploded.

  "God in Heaven! Married! Married! Are you mad, sir? Have you lost your wits? The marriage of a prince - now a Crown prince, by God! The heir to a throne! - is not a matter for lovesick adolescents and moonstruck poets, by God! It is a matter for diplomatists and statesmen! Good God! The very future of Razkavia depends on the alliance you contract with your marriage - ach! Mein Gott!"

  "And that is a very good reason," said the Prince, pale but steady under fire, "if I needed any other than my love for her, for justifying my marriage to this lady. Any diplomatic marriage I contracted would be taken as a signal of my political position, and that would be fatal. Now I have the freedom to act in the best way for Razkavia, without being tied up by an alliance which might split the country."

  "Ach! Sancta simplicitas!" moaned the Count. "But - the lady's family - who is she?"

  The Prince looked down at Adelaide, and said, "My wife is of English blood. As far as I can recall, there has been nothing but friendship between the peoples of England and Razkavia. There is nothing now to prevent our marriage."

  "Prevent it, no. Dissolve it, yes. We shall apply to the Vatican at once. The Cardinal-Archbishop will do as--"

  "Never!" said the Prince, and then switched to German. In a high, angry tone he said, "It is not your place, Count Thalgau, to seek to undo the decisions of princes. If I had asked you for advice, I would listen to you with respect - but I have not. I do not seek your advice. I require your loyalty. You have been a faithful friend of my family; do not betray me now. I love this lady as my soul. Nothing will part us but death - certainly not some squalid arrangement patched up by the Vatican. Do you understand?"

  For the first time, Jim saw something royal in the Prince. The Count closed his eyes. Then he rubbed his temples and said, "Well, if it is done, it is done. But of course it will be morganatic. The royal line of the Eschtenburgs will come to an end in you. King August the second--"

  "It cannot be morganatic."

  "Why not?"

  "Because we were married in this country. English law makes no provision for morganatic marriage. My wife has the rank of Princess."

  Only the fact that the Prince was still standing prevented the Ambassador from sinking into a chair. As it was, he tottered, and then Adelaide spoke.

  "Your Excellency," she said in her little cockney voice, "I understand your surprise. I am very glad to meet you; my husband has often told me of his admiration for you and your exploits in battle. I look forward to hearing more about them. Would you and the Countess care to sit down? And perhaps Mr Taylor would be good enough to send for some refreshments?"

  Nicely done, gal, Jim thought, as he took out the bowl of bloody water and went to scout round the kitchen. He found the cook and bootboy fizzing with speculation, and told them to send up a plate of sandwiches and some wine, as quickly as they could.

  When he got back upstairs, they were discussing Becky, so he chipped in.

  "Can I suggest, sir, that you go now, with Her Royal Highness and the Countess, to Rebecca's mother, Frau Winter? It's vital that she comes - I agree with Ad - with the Princess - but she's only sixteen, and her mother will need to be reassured of the, er, the -"

  "Die Richtigkeit," said the Countess.

  "Ja. The propriety," agreed the Ambassador. "Very true. Ja."

  They were both still dazed. Jim sympathized, but his hand was beginning to hurt like damnation, and when the gaping bootboy brought up the wine he sank three glasses to dull the pain. Then the Prince stood up to leave with Adelaide and the Countess, to astound Frau Winter, leaving Jim with the Ambassador.

  "Now then, Mr Taylor," he said, fixing Jim with an eye that would have unseated a hussar. "I want you to tell me the truth. How are you involved in this? And who has been spying, that you find yourself shedding blood to keep him away? Be warned, Mr Taylor. I have been shocked this evening, but I love my country, I revere my Prince, and now -" he took a deep breath - "I am the most faithful servant of - of the Princess. There is a great deal in this that I find mysterious. Tell me everything, or you will regret it."

  So Jim began.

  Chapter Four

  THE ALHAMBRA THEATRE

  Becky was hunched up at the table, deep in an Italian grammar. Her book lay at the edge of the pool of light in which her mother's hand was patiently drawing Deadwood Dick in the act of firing two pistols at a huge bearded outlaw six feet away, who was firing two pistols at him. Perhaps the bullets had met in the air between them, because neither had come to any harm. One more dip of the pen, one more curl of the outlaw's beard filled in; and then Mama wiped the nib, put her hands in the small of her back, and stretched.

  "Enough for now," she said, yawning
.

  "Cocoa?" said Becky, putting a marker in the grammar. The kettle was hissing gently on the hob, and the little wooden clock from Elpenbach was about to strike ten.

  But before she could get up, there came a knocking at the outside door. Becky and her mother looked at each other: this lodging-house was a staid, respectable place, where calls were seldom paid after six o'clock in the evening. They listened as Mrs Page the landlady hobbled down the hall and opened the door.

  A murmur of voices; several footsteps; and then a knock at their own sitting-room door.

  Becky ran to open it, her mother standing anxiously behind her. Mrs Page's puzzled old face said, "A gentleman and, er, two ladies - come to see you, dear - I couldn't make out the name," she finished in a whisper.

  Becky's eyes took in Adelaide, in cloak and hat; the Prince; and a lady so grand and cold and monumental that she might have been made of marble.

  "Oh! Ad - the Prince - Your Highness - ma'am -Mama, it's - please come in," she said in utter confusion.

  Mama was puzzled, but anxious to be polite, and simultaneously embarrassed by the shabbiness of everything. Why, they only had four chairs! But Mrs Page had seen, and was bringing in another from the parlour.

  Becky was trying to work out whom she should introduce to whom, and whether she was supposed to know who the Prince was, and whether she should have told her mother, as of course she had; but Adelaide spoke first.

  "Rudolf," she said, "you know Miss Winter, and her mother. Becky, I think your mother knows that Herr Strauss is Prince Rudolf."

  Mama curtsied to the Prince, flushing deep red. Becky curtsied too, rather abruptly, and then Adelaide turned to the other lady.

  "Countess," she said, "may I introduce Frau and - und Fraulein Winter. This is the Countess von Thalgau. She's the wife of the Razkavian Ambassador."

  More curtsies, a frigid handshake. The Countess looked around and closed her eyes in silent eloquence.

  When Mrs Page had come in with the other chair, and when they were all seated, the Prince began to speak. He told them first about the assassination of the Crown Prince, and then about his own marriage. At first he spoke in English, in which he was accurate but not comfortable, but then he turned to Adelaide and said, "Excuse me, my dear; I must speak in German now; I cannot be precise otherwise."

  His dreamer's face pale in the lamplight, he said to Becky's mother, "Frau Winter, when my wife told me that the tutor I had engaged was herself a native of our country, I felt the hand of fate guiding my affairs. Then I learnt who her father was, and I was certain. I once had the privilege of meeting your late husband. He came to the Palace to talk to me about the development of our laws, a visit arranged as part of my education. Believe me, I bitterly regret his death. One of the things I most wish to bring about is a change in our constitution to allow democratic parties to organize in the way your husband wanted to do.