France.”
“In that case…” said Dolph hopefully.
“But we shall continue our search. Perhaps a little farther out.” Lord Arthur began to pull away from the cliffs with powerful strokes.
Lord Arthur was the youngest son of the Duke of Pentshire. He was very rich. All of which, thought Dolph queasily, should have made the noble lord remember what was due his position. He should have hired men to search and men to row.
“There's something white in the water,” shouted Lord Arthur suddenly, making Dolph jump. “Over on the port side.”
Dolph looked over to his left and saw a white shape bobbing on the water. “Oh, dear,” he moaned.
“Get the grappling iron,” ordered Lord Arthur, shipping the oars.
Dolph closed his eyes while Lord Arthur fished in the water. When he opened them again, Lord Arthur was standing in the rocking boat, looking thoughtfully at a sopping white dress on the end of the iron. “More clothes,” he murmured.
He took the dress off the iron and then sat down in the boat, shook it, and held it up. It had been a pretty little dress with a flounced yoke and a flounced hem.
“How tall would you say Miss Channing was?” asked Lord Arthur.
“Little under my height,” said Dolph, surprised. “'Bout five foot four inches, I would guess.”
Lord Arthur studied the dress again, and then looked thoughtfully at the cliff.
“You know what puzzles me, Dolph,” he said. “Clothes have been found. But you would have expected trinkets to have been lying down the cliff, or floating about-fans and ribbons, shoes and laces.” He picked up the oars and began to row powerfully back in the direction of the little harbor below the village.
“Where are we going?” asked Dolph.
“Back to Tregarthan Castle. I want a look at that trunk that was recovered.”
“Why?”
“Oh, just an idea.”
When they got to the castle, it was to find that the portcullis was indeed a working one, for it was firmly down at the end of the drawbridge.
“Mr. Palfrey must be frightened of a hanging,” said Lord Arthur.
There was a bell beside the portcullis of the same size as the one beside the front door. He gave it an energetic peal and waited until a servant ran out to answer its summons.
“I was to let no one through, my lord,” said the servant, “and Mr. Palfrey is lying down, having taken a sleeping draft.”
“I merely want to examine the trunk of clothes that was found yesterday,” said Lord Arthur. “Raise this silly contraption immediately.”
He and Dolph waited while the servant ran to fetch three of his fellows, and it took the combined efforts of the four to winch up the portcullis.
Anderson, on hearing their strange request, turned them over to the housekeeper, Mrs. Jessop, who took them up to Felicity's bedchamber.
“I had not the heart to take the clothes out and wash them,” said Mrs. Jessop, beginning to cry.
“Do not distress yourself,” said Lord Arthur. “Leave us for a little. We shall take our leave shortly.”
Watched by Dolph, Lord Arthur carefully took items out of the trunk and studied them. Two strangely small dresses, an old pair of shoes, an ugly tartan scarf, four old bonnets-not the sort of styles one would expect the modish Miss Channing to wear.
A slow smile curled Lord Arthur's lips. Then he began to laugh.
Dolph looked at his friend in shock and outrage.
“Have you gone mad?” he cried.
“No, no, my friend,” said Lord Arthur. “I fear the tragedy has overset my nerves.” He put the clothes back in the trunk, slammed down the lid and left the room, with Dolph trotting at his heels. Grief took people in very strange ways, thought Dolph.
Princess Felicity of Brasnia made a triumphal exit from the town of Falmouth. The mayor bowed and a military band played a brisk march. Felicity waved graciously until the people and the town were left behind.
“Thank goodness that is over,” said Felicity, leaning back with her head against the squabs. “It is amazing, this business of being a princess. No one will let us pay for anything. I feel such a fraud.”
“They all enjoyed themselves,” said Miss Chubb. “But the one thing now troubling me is our lack of servants. It will look odd if we do not hire some. You have only John. And, oh, how difficult it will be with a retinue of servants. We shall have to play our parts even in our sleep.
“Perhaps our John will think of something,” continued Miss Chubb. “He is proving to be amazingly clever.”
“Well, at least I can take this heavy tiara and collar off for a little,” sighed Felicity. “Do you really think Mr. Palfrey will believe us dead?”
“Bound to,” said Miss Chubb bracingly. “It all went off splendidly.”
Felicity frowned. “I am a little worried about the things we left in that trunk that went over the cliff. I put in some of my gowns that I had not worn since I was about thirteen. But I could not bear to throw away my lovely new clothes-you know, the ones Mr. Palfrey ordered from London to make me look attractive to the baron.”
“But you did sacrifice the nicest one, the blue one that John tore a piece from and left on that rock.”
“So I did,” said Felicity cheerfully, “and no one would think for a moment that I would deliberately destroy such a lovely gown as that.
“As far as Mr. Palfrey is concerned, I must be as dead as mutton. I am glad I wrote to my sisters from Falmouth to tell them the truth-only not the bit about my going to London as a princess-only that I am alive and will soon be in touch with them. They will not betray me to Mr. Palfrey.”
Now it was Miss Chubb's turn to look worried. “Even when they do not find the bodies, there will be some sort of service, and your sisters, bless them, are none of them actresses. Mr. Palfrey may notice their lack of grief.”
“Not he,” said Felicity. “He will be so busy covering up his own lack of grief that he will not notice how anyone else is behaving!”
Chapter Six
They were waiting in the wings, waiting to go on stage, waiting for the Season to begin.
London's curiosity about this new princess had not yet been satisfied. Princess Felicity's servants had announced to all callers that Her Majesty had no intention of meeting any social engagements until the start of the Season.
Felicity wanted to be well prepared and to have her servants thoroughly coached. For very few of them were real servants. On their journey to London, John Tremayne had sought out the local candidates for the “royal” household. All, except the butler, had been found guilty of minor crimes, usually caused by near-starvation. The promise of a good home, wages, and an escape from prison had bound them all to secrecy. But they had to be trained. Housemaids and chambermaids were easily dealt with. The cook, a motherly widow whose only crime had been to steal a loaf of bread, had to have time to learn to produce large banquets, and she, in turn, had to train the kitchen staff. The butler, an ex-burglar turned religious maniac, had been chosen by John, who had found him emerging from prison after having served his sentence. That he had not been hanged was a miracle. It was his appearance that had struck John immediately. He was fat and pompous and had a cold and quelling eye. Apart from the fact that the new butler, Mr. Spinks, was apt to treat John Tremayne as if he were an angel specially sent down from heaven to rescue him, Spinks studied his new duties assiduously and soon showed a talent for running the household. He was apt to fall to his knees and pray loudly when upset, but so very little upset him these days that Felicity felt they could well put up with this little eccentricity.
They had been very lucky. They had not even had to search for a town house. On their journey toward London, a lord who had heard of their arrival in his area had promptly offered them the hospitality of his country mansion, and, on their departure, had insisted they take the keys to his town house in Chesterfield Gardens, Mayfair, saying
