Such was the woman whom the Crown Princess Claire had taken into her service.
At the Savoy, where she took up a temporary abode under the title of Baroness Deitel of Frankfort, Leucha quickly exhibited her skill as lady’s maid. Indeed, even Henriette was not so quick or deft as was this dark-eyed young woman who was the spy of a gang of thieves.
While she dressed the Princess’s hair, her Highness explained how her valuable jewels had been stolen, and how her father had so generously restored them to her.
“Guy—Mr Bourne, I mean—has already told me. He is back in London, and is lying low because of the police. They suspect him on account of a little affair up in Edinburgh about three months ago.”
“Where is he?” asked the Princess; “I would so like to see him.”
“He is living in secret over at Hammersmith. He dare not come here, I think.”
“But we might perhaps pay him a visit—eh?”
From the manner in which the girl inadvertently referred to Bourne by his Christian name, her Highness suspected that they were fond of each other. But she said nothing, resolving to remain watchful and observe for herself.
That same evening, after dinner, when Ignatia was sleeping, and they sat together in her Highness’s room overlooking the dark Thames and the long lines of lights of the Embankment, “the Ladybird,” at the Princess’s invitation, related one or two of her adventures, confessing openly to the part she had played as her father’s spy. She would certainly have said nothing had not her Highness declared that she was interested, and urged her to tell her something of her life. Though trained as an assistant to these men ever since she had left the cheap boarding-school at Weymouth, she hated herself for the despicable part she had played, and yet, as she had often told herself, it had been of sheer necessity.
“Yes,” she sighed, “I have had several narrow escapes of being suspected of the thefts. Once, when in Lady Milborne’s service, down at Lyme Regis, I discovered that she kept the Milborne heirlooms, among which were some very fine old rubies—which are just now worth more than diamonds in the market—in a secret cupboard in the wall of her bedroom, behind an old family portrait. My father, with Guy, Kinder, and two others, were in the vicinity of the house ready to make the coup; and I arranged with them that on a certain evening, while her Ladyship was at dinner, I would put the best of the jewels into a wash-leather bag and lower them from the window to where Guy was to be in waiting for them in the park. He was to cut the string and disappear with the bag, while I would draw up the string and put it upon the fire. Her Ladyship seldom went to the secret cupboard, and some days might elapse before the theft was discovered. Well, on the evening in question I slipped up to the bedroom, obtained the rubies and let them out of the window. I felt the string being cut, and hauling it back again quickly burnt it, and then got away to another part of the house, hoping that her Ladyship would not go to her jewels for a day or two. In the meantime I dare not leave her service, or suspicion might fall upon me. Besides, the Honourable George, her eldest son—a fellow with a rather bad reputation for gambling and racing—was about to be married to the daughter of a wealthy landowner in the neighbourhood; a most excellent match for him, as the Milbornes had become poor owing to the depreciation in the value of land.