with a very unruly subject, and one who will not countenance the assault
on Lotzen Castle. Neither Her Highness nor myself could stand before the
Nobles and affirm on honor and unreservedly that the Duke has the Book,
though we think we identified it. But more vital still is the fact that I
will not consent to any measures which would drive the Duke to destroy
the Book. I am determined to establish my right to the Throne by the Laws
of the Dalbergs, and not to owe it to the vote of any man nor set of men.
Frankly, my lord, I care so lightly for it, that, but for this little
woman here, and to make her the Queen which by birth she ought to be, I
would not lift a finger nor move tongue to gain the Crown. And if we are
to have it—she and I—it must be with all its ancient rights and
authority, unsmirched and unimpaired by the politics and obligations of
an election.”
The old Count raised his thin, white hand—his lean face flushed, the fine
fire of a hotspur youth glowing in his eyes.
“Go, Sire!” he said, “go; and win your crown as a Dalberg should—and
would I were young enough to go with you—as it is, I will hold things
stanch for you here.”
XIX
LA DUCHESSE
Madeline Spencer, lying in a languorous coil among the cushions in the
deep embrasure of an east window, was gazing in dreamy abstraction across
the valley to the mountain spur, five miles away as the bird flies, ten
as the road runs, where, silhouetted against the blue of the cloudless
sky, rose the huge, gray Castle of Dalberg.
For the last hour, she had been training a field glass on it at short
intervals, and presently she levelled it again, and this time she saw
what she was waiting for—from the highest tower of the keep the royal
standard of Valeria was floating.
For a little while she watched the Golden Lion couchant on its crimson
field—lashing its tail in anger with every undulation of the fresh west
wind, as though impatient to spring into the valley and ravage and harass
it, much as the fierce first Dalberg himself had doubtless done—then she
slowly uncoiled herself, and gliding from the ledge swished lightly
across to the far door, that led into the Duke of Lotzen’s library.
“Ferdinand,” she said, “they have——” he was not there, though she had
heard him a moment ago singing softly, as was his wont when in
particularly good spirits.
She went to his desk and sat down to wait, her eyes straying
indifferently over the familiar papers that covered it, until they
chanced upon a slender portfolio, she had never before seen, and which,
to her surprise, contained only a sheet of blotting paper, about a foot
square, folded down the center. Curious, she opened it, to find, on the
inside, the stamp of the royal arms, and the marks of a dozen lines of
heavy writing, most of it clear and distinct, and made, seemingly, by two
impressions, one at each end of the sheet.
What was it doing here?—and why so carefully preserved?—She looked at the
writing more attentively—and suddenly one word stood out plain, even if
inverted, and under it a date.
Instantly blotter and portfolio were replaced, and she hurried to her
boudoir for a mirror. Laying it face upward on the desk, she held the
writing over it. A single glance proved her surmise true. Here and there
words and letters were missing or were very indistinct, but there could
be no doubt that this was the blotter used by King Frederick when he
wrote the decree the night before his death. Her hasty reading had found
nothing to show the purport of the Law—indeed, it seemed to be only a few
lines of the beginning and of the end, including the signature and
date—but possibly a closer inspection would reveal more; and so she was
about to copy it exactly, when she heard the Duke’s voice in the
adjoining room and had time only to hide the mirror and to get the
blotter to its place until he came in.
His cold face warmed, as it always did for her, and as it never had done
for another woman, and he bowed to her in pleasant mockery.
“Good morning, Duchess,” he said; “what are your orders for the day?—you
occupy the seat of authority.”
She got up. “Having no right to the title,” she said, giving him her most
winning smile, “I vacate the seat—do you think I look like a duchess?”
“Like a duchess!” he exclaimed, handing her into the chair and leaning
over the back, his head close to hers, “like a duchess! you are a duchess
in everything but birth.”
“And title,” she added, with a bit of a shrug.
He stroked her soft black hair, with easy fingers.
“The title will be yours when Ferdinand of Lotzen reigns in Dornlitz,” he
said.
She bent back her head and smiled into his eyes. It was the first time he
had held out any promise as to her place in event of his becoming king,
though she had tried repeatedly to draw him to it.
“Would you do that, dear?” she asked, “do you really care enough for me
to do that—to acknowledge me so before the world?”
“Yes, Madeline, I think I do,” he said, after a pause, that seemed to her
perilously long. “It appears rather retributive that you, who came here,
at my instance, to play the wife for the American, should thus have been
put, by my own act, into a position where our friendship must be
maintained sub rosa. You are quite too clear headed not to appreciate
that now, at least, I may not openly parade our relations; to do so would
be to end whatever chance I have with the Nobles. But once on the Throne
and the power firm in my hand, and they all may go to the devil, and a
duchess shall you be—if,”—pinching her cheek—“you will promise to stay
away from Paris and the Rue Royale, except when I am with you.”
She wound her lithe arms around his neck, and drew his face close to
hers.
“I promise,” she said presently, “I promise.... But what if you should
miss the Crown?—you could not make me duchess then.”
“Why not, ma belle?” he asked, holding her arms close around his neck. “I
shall still be a Duke, and you—la Duchesse de la main gauche.”
She could not suppress the start—though she had played for just such an
answer, yet never thinking it would come—and Lotzen felt it, and
understood.
“Did that surprise you, little one?” he laughed. “Well, don’t forget, if
I miss the Throne, and live, I shan’t be urged to stay in Valeria—in
fact, whatever urging there is, will likely be the other way.”
“Banished?” she asked.
He nodded. “Practically that.”
“Paris?”—with a sly smile upward.
He filched a kiss. “Anywhere you like, my dear; but no one place too
long.”
She was thinking rapidly—“duchess of the left hand”;—never his duchess in
name—never anything but a morganatic wife to whom no title passed; but
what mattered the title, if she got the settlements, and all the rest.
And Ferdinand was easy enough to manage now, and would be, so long as the
infatuation held him; afterward—at least the settlements and the jewels
would remain.
Truly she had won far more than she had sought or even dreamed of—and won
it, whether Lotzen got the Crown or exile. The only risk she ran was his
dying, and it must be for her to keep him out of danger—away from the
Archduke and his friends, where, she knew, death was in leash, straining
to be free and at him. Hitherto she had thought her only sure reward lay
in Ferdinand as king; in his generosity for a little while; and so she
had been very willing to stake him for success. Now she must reverse her
method—no more spurring him to seek out the Archduke and dare all on a
single fight; instead, prudence, discretion, let others do the open work
and face the hazards.
She gave a satisfied little sigh and drew him close.
“May be you doubt it, dear,” she said, “but I can be very docile and
contented—and I shall prove it, whether as duchess of the right hand or
the left.”
He laughed, and shook his head.
“You, docile and contented! never in this world; nor do I want you so—I
prefer you as you are; you may lose me, if you change.”
“Then I’ll not change, dear,” she whispered, and kissed him lightly and
arose.
He reached out quickly to draw her back, but she eluded him.
“Nay, nay, my lord,” she smiled; “I must not change, you said.”
“Don’t go away,” he insisted; “stay with me a little longer.”
She sat down across the desk from him.
“I almost forgot what I came for,” she said. “Do you know they have
come?—the flag went up a little while ago.”
He nodded. “Yes, I know—a whole train load and half the Household:—the
Regent, the American, Moore, Bernheim, De Coursey, Marsov, the scheming
Courtney, damn him, and a lot of women, including, of course, the Radnor
girl. For a pursuit with deadly intent, it’s the most amazing in the
annals of war. Under all the rules, the American and a few tried swords
should have stolen into Dalberg Castle, with every precaution against our
knowing they had come; instead, they arrive with the ostentation of a
royal progress, and fling out the Golden Lion from the highest tower.”
“What are you going to do first?” she asked.
“Nothing—it’s their move. They have come for the Book, and they must seek
it here.”
She was idly snapping the scissors through a sheet of paper and simply
smiled her answer.
“Give me a cigarette, dear,” she said, after a pause, “I’ve left mine in
my room.”
He searched his pockets for his case; then tumbled the papers on the
desk, she aiding and very careful to leave exposed the portfolio that
contained the blotter.
“Oh, there it is,” she exclaimed, “on the table, yonder;” and when he
went for it she drew out the blotter and feigned to be examining it.
“Here, little one,” he said, tossing her the case—then he saw what she
had, and for the shadow of an instant, which she detected, he
hesitated—“fix one for me,” he ended, and sat down, seemingly in entire
unconcern.
“Bring me a match,” she ordered, eyes still on the blotter, as she opened
the case and took out a cigarette.... “There, I spoil you.” She laid down
the sheet and lit another Nestor for herself. “Ferdinand,” said she,
turning half around in her chair and looking up at him, “just where is
this wonderful Book of Laws?”
“Here, in this drawer,” opening one beside her, showing the same package
wrapped in black cloth that Armand and Dehra had seen in Ferida Palace.
“I don’t mean that one,” said she. “I mean the real Book.”
He sent a cloud of smoke between them.
“I wish I knew,” he said; “but the American won’t tell me.”
She scattered the smoke with a wave of her handkerchief.
“Are you quite sure he could tell you?” she asked.—“In fact, my dear boy,
do you need to be told?”
He looked at her with a puzzled frown; and for answer she tapped the open
blotter, and smiled.
“Even though inverted, a few words are very plain:—a King’s name and a
date.... And the King died the next day.”
“And what is your inference?” he asked.
“It’s rather more than an inference, isn’t it?” she laughed; “I should
call it a sequitur:—that he who has the Book’s blotter, has the Book.”
She had expected either cool ridicule or angry denial; instead, he
laughed, too, and coming around to her, gave her an admiring little
caress.
“You’re quite too clever, Madeline,” he said; “it is a sequitur, but
unfortunately it’s not the fact—now. I haven’t the Book; I did have it,
and I know where it is, but I can’t get it.”
“You had it—and let it get away?” she marveled.
“Yes.”
“And know where it is, and yet can’t get it?”
“Yes, again.”
“Surely! surely! it can’t be that I am listening to the Duke of
Lotzen!... But, of course, you know what the decree is.”
And now he lied, and so easily and promptly that even she did not
suspect.
“No,” said he, “I don’t; I lost the Book before I had a chance to open
it. All I know is what that blotter tells. Damn it, why couldn’t it have
had the middle of the decree instead of both ends!” and in marvellously
assumed indignation he seized the soft sheet, and tore it into tiny bits.
He had no mind that even she should have the chance to copy it, and delve
into all that the words and blurred lines might imply.
“May I know where the Book is, dear?” she said, after a pause; “may be I
could help you.”
An hour ago he would have balked at this question; but now her interests
had become so bound up with his that he could trust her.
“Know, little one? of course you may know,” he said instantly; “I shall
be glad for a confidant. The Book is exactly where it belongs:—in the
box, and it is in the vault of the King’s library at the Summer Palace.”
She laughed merrily.
“Ferdinand, dear Ferdinand!” she cried, “I’m ashamed of you—to tell me
such a clumsy lie.”
“It isn’t a lie—that’s the pity.”
“Then why all this bother as to the Succession, and search for the Book?”
she asked incredulously.
“Because, my dear, I’m the only one who knows it’s there—listen, and I’ll
tell you how it happened.”
At last! at last! she was to know—and she nestled close to him and
waited. Truly, this was her day. And he told all, not even omitting the
killing of the valet.
Her first question was typical of her mind, it went straight to the crux
of the whole matter.
“But why can’t you get the Book?” she asked.
“Because I can’t get at it. The infernal American has put a cordon of
troops around the Palace, so that it’s impossible to pass at night
without declaring myself; Moore occupies the library; and finally the
combination on the vault has been changed.”
“Isn’t it absurd?” said she; “the Book actually in its place and yet
lost.”—She sat up sharply. “Do you really want it, Ferdinand?—because, if
you do, may be I can help you.”
“Assuredly I want it. If the decree is against me, we will destroy the
Book and go on with our game.”
“Then, dear, let us go after it—and now, now! The Regent is absent, hence
less vigilance in the Palace; Moore is with her, hence the library is
deserted; it should be easy for you to get us in it by day and
unsuspected.”
“And having blown open the vault, be caught in the act,” he smiled.
“That is where I come in, dear; I will engage to open it, noiselessly,
and in less than fifteen minutes, too.”
“Is it possible that you are one of those wonder workers who can feel a
combination?”
“Yes,” said she, “though I’ve not tried it for years.”
“Come, come, try it now!” indicating a small iron safe in the far corner.
She went to it, and sinking to the floor with sinuous grace, she put her
ear close to the dial plate and fell to manipulating the knob with light
fingers; turning it back and forth very slowly and with extreme care.
And the Duke, leaning against the safe, watched her with eager eyes—could
she do it?—if she could——
Mrs. Spencer sprang up.
“That was easy,” she said.
Lotzen reached over and seized the handle; the bolts snapped back and the
door swung open.
With the first burst of impulse she had ever seen him display, he whirled
and caught her in his arms.
“We will win now, my duchess!” he exclaimed, “we will win sure. No
burglarious entry—no explosion—no flight; instead, the Duke of Lotzen and
his Aide will go openly to the library, and then in a trice will we have
the Book and be gone.... And I shall owe it all to you, dear—ma chérie
duchesse.”
She closed her eyes; truly, this was her day!
“Let us go to Dornlitz this very night,” she said.
He shook his head. “We must wait a day, little one; until our friends
across the valley have assured themselves that I am here. But to-morrow
night we will steal away to the Capital, and get the Book; and then, if
necessary, we will come back, and send our dear cousin to the devil where
he belongs.”
XX
THE PRINCESS TURNS STRATEGIST
The Archduke put up his field glasses and, turning to the Princess, waved
his hand toward the open country, and around to the Castle behind them.
“So, dear,” he said, “this is home—the Dalberg aerie and its feeding
grounds. I like them well. And particularly do I like the way the nest
itself has been kept up to the time in comforts and appointments.”
“Do be serious, Armand,” she protested; “haven’t you any sentiment! Look
at the wonderful blue of the Voragian mountains; and the shifting shadows
on the foot-hills; and this spur, and Lotzen’s yonder, trailing out from
them like tendrils of a vine; and the emerald valley, streaked through
the center by the sparkling Dreer; and the fair lands to the south, as
far as eye can carry, and yet farther, league upon league to the
sea—yours, my lord, all yours—the heritage of your House—the Kingdom of
your Fathers.”
“You have forgot the loveliest thing in all the landscape,” said he, “the
one thing that makes the rest worth while.”
She sprang from him. “No, sir, not here on the wall in view of the bailey
and every window; confine your sentiment at present to the inanimate
portion of the landscape.”
He went over and leaned on the parapet beside her.
“I fear I have quite too much sentiment,” he said; “I have already
expended far more than you would believe—on the Castle, and the
mountains, and the valley, and all the rest. Now I’m done with it, except
for animate objects; the business we have in hand promises to be
sufficiently occupying. Yonder is the Book; and how to get it, and
quickly.” He leveled his glasses at Lotzen Castle and studied it a long
time.... “A pretty hard proposition,” he remarked. “Have you ever been in
it?”
“Unfortunately, no; but Major Meux has been Constable here for two years,
and surely must have been there often—yonder he is now, by the gate
tower.”
The Archduke caught Meux’s glance and motioned for him.
“Major,” said he, “can you give us an idea of the plan of Lotzen Castle?”
“I can do better than that, Your Highness, I can show you a plan, drawn
to scale and most complete. I came upon it in the library only last week.
It’s more than a hundred years old, but I think it is still in effect
accurate.”
“I wonder how it happens to be here?” said the Princess, with the
peculiar curiosity of a woman as to non-essentials.
“At the time it was made Lotzen was also a Royal Castle,” the Constable
explained; “it was very natural to deposit the draft here with the King’s
own records.”
As they crossed the main hall, they chanced upon Colonel Moore, and,
taking him with them, they went into the library—a great, high-ceilinged
room, on the second floor of the keep, the walls hidden by massive, black
oak cases, filled with books and folios, in bindings of leather stamped
with the Dalberg Lion—and from a shelf in a dark corner the Constable
brought a small portfolio, made to resemble a book, in which the draft
was folded.
“This is admirable,” the Archduke remarked, examining it with the trained
eye and instant comprehension of the engineer officer; “it could not be
done better now.... See, Dehra, it is the whole fortification, as plain
as though we were on the high tower, here—” indicating on the draft.
“I suppose so,” she smiled; “but to me it looks only like a lot of black
lines, flung down at random and with varying degrees of force; sort of an
embroidery pattern, you know.”
Armand, bending over the sheet, did not hear her.
“What did you make out of this, Major?” he asked; “there seems to be
nothing on the key to explain it—might it be intended to indicate a
secret passage from the second floor of the keep to the postern?”
“That puzzled me also,” said Meux, “but your explanation, sir, seems very
likely.—Possibly old Jessac might know something; he has been here for
more than seventy years, as a boy, and upper servant, and steward, and
now as sort of steward emeritus and general reminiscer; and he has the
legends and history of this castle at his tongue’s end.”
“Yes,” said the Princess, “if anyone know, it’s Jessac, and I think he
served for a time in Lotzen Castle—have him here, Major, if you please.”
The old man came, tall, slender, shrivelled of face, white and thin of
hair, yet erect and vigorous, despite his almost four and a half score
years. They raised men, and kept them long, in the tingling, snapping,
life-giving air of the Voragian mountains.
“Don’t kneel, Jessac,” the Regent exclaimed, giving him her hand.
He bent and kissed it with the most intense devotion.
“My little Princess! my little Princess!” he repeated; “God is good to
have let old Jessac see you once more before he dies.” Then he
straightened, and, turning sharply toward the Archduke, scanned him with
an intentness almost savage. Suddenly his hand rose in salute. “Yes,
you’re a man, and a Dalberg, too—the finest Dalberg these old eyes ever
saw.”
And Armand understood, and went to him, and took his hand, and held it.
“Every one loves her, Jessac,” he said, “but none quite as you and I.”
Then he drew him over to the table. “Do you know the interior of Lotzen
Castle?” he asked.
“As I know this one, my lord—I lived in it for twenty years in my young
days; even now I could go blindfolded from gate to highest turret.”
“Is this plan accurate now? See, here is the gateway, and this is the
keep.”
“I understand, sir.”—He studied it for a little while, following the
lines with his finger, and muttering brokenly to himself, under his
breath. “Yes, Your Highness, it’s about the same, except that here is an
outer building for servants, and here a storehouse; and the arrangement
of the rooms in the main part is some different, particularly on the
second floor, where several have been made out of one; but the stairway
and hall are still as they always were. Indeed, sir, there has been small
change or improvement since long before the present lord’s father died.
Duke Ferdinand had never visited it for more than a score of years, until
a few weeks ago, just a little while before our gracious master was
called——”
The old man was garrulous; so far, age had not missed him; and here the
Archduke interrupted.
“Jessac,” he said kindly, “you have made all that very clear; now can you
tell us if there is any secret passage in the castle?”
“One, sir,” was the prompt answer; “leastwise, I know one, there may be
others.”
“And it?”
“From the library to the postern gate, near the west tower—this is it,
sir,” indicating the line on the plan; “many is the time I’ve used it,
his lordship being absent, when I wanted to get out at night; indeed,
sir, there is a key to the postern still here, as well as duplicates to
almost every door. They were not surrendered when King Henry gave the
place to the late Duke—all the locks had been changed shortly before
that. Would Your Highness care to see the keys?—they are in the armory.”
“Bring them here,” said the Constable quickly.... “I know by experience,
sir, that if Jessac get you into the armory, you won’t escape for hours;
he has a story for every piece in it, and wants to tell them all.”
The old man came back, a dozen large keys jangling; and laid them on the
table.
“This is to the postern,” he said; “it’s smaller than the others, so it
could be carried more easily, you know, sir—these brass tags, sir, show
where they belong.”
The Archduke looked them over.
“I don’t see the key from the library to the secret passage,” he said.
“There is none, sir; the big stone in the middle of the side wall of the
library, and the one on the right just inside the postern arch, revolve
when pushed at the upper edge—this way, Your Highness,” and he
demonstrated, using a book as the stone.
“Thank you, Jessac,” said Armand, with a smile and a nod of dismissal;
“we may want you again to-morrow. I’ll keep the keys,” and he swept them
into a drawer of the desk.
Then the Constable withdrew, and for a while Armand and Moore studied the
plan, and went over the problem confronting them; and which, though
greatly simplified now, was still difficult and delicate beyond anything
either had ever been obliged to solve. Perilous it was, too—but that
neither regarded for himself; and Moore would gladly have assumed it
alone could he have insured thereby the Archduke’s safety.
Through it all the Princess watched them, harkening carefully to what was
said, and saying a few things herself, mainly in the shape of questions
which showed that, even if to her the draft did resemble an embroidery
pattern, she was astonishingly apt at following the discussion. But when
Armand remarked that he would make the attempt that very night, she
interposed promptly.
“Wait until to-morrow,” she urged; “take at least one night’s rest; you
need it; and the extra day may disclose something as to the situation in
Lotzen Castle.”
“To-night is the proper time,” said the Archduke; “we may not be expected
then; we shall be most assuredly to-morrow; it’s our one chance for a
surprise.”
“And with our dear cousin that chance is no chance, as you are very well
aware,” said she; “he knows you are here, and why you are here, and he is
ready for you this instant. No, no, dear, it’s simply your natural
impetuosity, which I came along to moderate; and here is my first veto:
not to-night.” She put her hand on his arm. “Please, Armand, please;
don’t you understand—I want to be sure of you a little longer; the day
you enter Lotzen Castle may be our last.”