‘You are very good,’ returned Tom, who, however, did not add that he knew the telegram in question had been sent, and that he was perfectly aware of its contents. The words were: ‘I send down Checkstone for secretary. Easy to manage. Perfectly innocent and harmless.’ Nor did Tom explain that he, and not Fegan, was the real donor of the cigars.
‘Oh, it is merely a matter of business,’ rejoined M‘Dum. ‘I fancy that we should get on together. But, since if you obtain the post you will obtain it through my good offices, and since I naturally desire to have some guarantee that the Princess’s confidence in you will not be misplaced, you must excuse my asking whether you are prepared to—well—to make some small—what shall we say—some small deposit, some trifling payment as a security, you know?’
‘Nothing could be more reasonable, Mr M‘Dum,’ said Tom.
‘I imagine,’ continued the Steward, who was much encouraged by Tom’s words, ‘that a premium, say, of two years’ salary would not, under the circumstances, be excessive; for the post would practically be a permanency. Two years’ salary would be eight hundred pounds.’
‘Yes; I think that eight hundred pounds would not be excessive,’ said Tom. ‘I am ready to agree to pay that sum.’
‘That’s good! Then I will introduce you to the Princess.’ And placing his unfinished cigar in an ash-tray upon the table, Mr M‘Dum arose, and led the way through some long and cheerless stone passages into a more pretentious and better furnished part of the huge building. Leaving Tom in a panelled anteroom, he went forward to announce him; and returning, conducted the new secretary into the presence.
In a large armchair in a long low drawing-room sat the Princess Henrietta Maria. Tom bowed low as soon as he saw her, and then—acting upon directions which had been supplied to him by Mr Fegan—advanced and respectfully kissed the tips of her outstretched fingers.
‘Mr M‘Dum tells me,’ said the Princess, ‘that you are in all respects competent to act as our private secretary. We particularly need the services of an amanuensis just now, because we are drawing up some memoirs of our family. The documents are here in the castle; but our health does not permit of sufficient progress with the work. Are you prepared to undertake the duties?’
‘I am, your Royal Highness,’ assented Tom meekly, as he stood before the majestic old lady.
‘That is well. And when can you begin those duties, Mr Checkstone?’