THE GREAT COURT BALL
“I will point out some of the notables,” said General Mainwarren to the
Professor and Kearns; “they will no doubt interest you, especially such
as are descendants of those known to you in your time.”
The scene was the great Court ball, held in the magnificent _salons_
of the Summer Palace, ablaze with light and beauty. The sumptuous
decorations, the masses of flowers, the resplendent uniforms, the
glittering crosses and orders upon the breasts of many of the men, the
Court dresses, the blaze of jewels--composed a scene of the utmost
brilliancy and splendor.
And the women! American women have ever been famed for their grace,
their ineffable _chic_ and their beauty, and certainly the race, as
viewed from this ball-room floor, seemed by no means to have declined.
Kearns, who had been a regular attendant at the opera in the old days,
considered himself quite a judge of feminine loveliness. He remembered
to have heard it urged by captious foreigners that the American woman’s
weakest points were her walk and her voice. These defects seemed to
have received attention, for in the noble bearing of the heads of these
women, the graceful sweep of their walk, their sweet vocal intonations,
there was no ground left for the most captious critic to stand upon.
Decidedly, thought Kearns, both the walk and the voice had been
cultivated to perfection under the _regime_ of royalty.
“The notables,” he said in answer to General Mainwarren’s words. “Ah,
yes! By the way,” he added with sudden animation, “could you point out
to me the--the--distinguished Baron Gold.”
“Baron Gold--Baron Gold,” repeated General Mainwarren, “let me see if I
can discover him for you.”
He glanced about the ball-room.
“There he is!” he exclaimed, after a brief search.
Kearns and the Professor followed the direction of the General’s glance
and saw an old man, with gray eyes, sunken cheeks and high forehead,
engaged in conversation with a white-moustached gentleman, in the
uniform of the diplomatic corps, who sat at his side.
“So that is Baron Gold?” said Kearns.
“Yes,” answered General Mainwarren, “that is Baron Gold, one of the
great Trust magnates and at one time Chancellor of the Exchequer.
His country seat is Gorgan Court and his arms are an eagle with beak
elevated and talons outspread, and the motto: ‘I dare and I do.’ That’s
correct, I believe, Colonel?”
“Quite,” answered Colonel Cuming.
“‘I dare and I do,’ eh?” said Kearns reflectively. “Very appropriate!”
“Ah,” exclaimed General Mainwarren, “see the party passing opposite
to us. He with the white hair, slightly in advance of the rest,
with the Star of the Empire upon his breast, is His Grace, the Duke
of Marquanna, Chancellor of the Realm, often styled the American
‘Warwick,’ since he lent such powerful hand in the establishment and
formation of the Empire. He takes his title from his beautiful country
seat, bearing the family name of Marquanna. His arms are a gerfalcon,
rising over an argent field, with the motto: ‘Gold is tried by Fire,
but Men are tried by Gold.’”
“An excellent motto, too!” commented Kearns. “‘Men are tried by gold!’
eh? Well; the handsome and able ancestor of this particular Duke could
certainly have left behind some striking illustrations of that fact had
he been pleased to do so.”
“The Duke,” continued General Mainwarren, “is growing somewhat old and
infirm and, while he yields not one jot of his power and authority,
certain of the more arduous routine duties of his office of Chancellor
he delegates to the Vice-Chancellor, Lord Ashley, who is there on his
left hand. You are already acquainted with him.”
“What manner of man is Lord Ashley?” questioned Kearns. “He interests
me.”
“Lord Ashley, Vice-Chancellor and Master of the Imperial Household,”
replied General Mainwarren, “is a soldier who earned a reputation for
daring and dash during the early part of the late war with Russia. He
was severely wounded at the battle of Pedrofski and retired during
the rest of the campaign. His actual military rank is Captain of the
Imperial Guards--a position which carries with it the brevet rank of
Lieutenant-Colonel.”
“Who are these Guards?” asked Kearns.
“They are His Majesty’s body-guard, and consist of three regiments,”
said the General. “They are attached to the different imperial palaces.
The men are all picked for their splendid physique, and the uniforms
are magnificent.”
“So I see,” assented Kearns, his eyes still following the Duke of
Marquanna’s party. “And who are the four persons behind the Duke?”
“The taller one of the first two,” answered General Mainwarren, “is
the Earl of Vandergilt, one of the heads of the great Transportation
Trust, and the smaller, stouter man at his side, with the white side
whiskers, the rubicund countenance and nose like the beak of the eagle
is Sir Mancey Carew, a great legal light, raconteur, and right-hand man
of the Earl. See how his eyes twinkle and his lips purse; he is about
to tell a story!”
“And the other two?”
“The nearest one to us,” answered General Mainwarren, “is Sir Keypoint
Horgan; the person at his side I do not know. Do you, Colonel?”
“Yes,” replied Colonel Cuming. “He’s a comparative new-comer at
the Court. He’s an Englishman, with important financial interests
here. Failing to attain distinction in his native land, it is said,
he decided to become a naturalized American subject. The King has
recently created him a Baronet and he now rejoices in the title of Sir
Walder-Asta.”
“There seem to be many notables present,” remarked Kearns.
“Yes,” replied General Mainwarren. “The nobility from all parts of
the land are here. See the group over there to our right. There is
Sir Marlington Blackhouse, the famous cotillon leader, and Lady Terry
Montbel and Lady Olive Harrifellow, each noted as a beauty and a
sportswoman; Sir Hatmeadow-Hatmeadow Nailer, Lady Phillippe Shield and
Lady Dotter Dalmer, all three from the middle country; Sir Charles De
Olde, from the West, and Lady Jacques Jardinier, from the city which, I
believe, you were wont to term the ‘Athens of America.’”
Further conversation was temporarily interrupted by a stir, a buzz and
a general rising as the King and Queen, accompanied by their suites,
made their entrance and crossed the floor to a raised dais at the
further end of the ball-room where two magnificently draped throne
chairs were reserved for them. The band burst forth with the National
Anthem, once known as “My Country, ’Tis of Thee,” now styled “God Save
the King.” The King and Queen took their seats and the ball was resumed.
In appearance the Queen was tall and slight of figure almost to the
point of girlishness, with pale, regular features and well-poised head.
The face reflected an amiable disposition, joined to a certain pride
and determination, but it suggested more of sorrow and resignation
than of contentment and happiness. As she sat under the full light of
the brilliant ball-room, her regal jewels a-glitter, her noble profile
sharply outlined, she looked graceful, beautiful, every inch a queen,
yet unhappy.
The Professor and Kearns gazed upon her with mingled admiration and
interest.
“The Queen,” whispered the latter to General Mainwarren; “what of her?”
“Is she not gracious and beautiful!” answered the General in lowered
tones. “Who is she? She was, before her marriage to the King, an
Archduchess of Austria--the youngest daughter of the Austrian monarch.”
“She is popular and happy?”
“Popular, yes--with her sweet and gracious ways she has crept into the
hearts of the people and for that reason is regarded by many as one of
the strongest bulwarks of the throne. But happy; alas, no!”
“And why not?”
“Never did any mediæval monarch cling more strongly to the maxim that
‘The King can do no wrong,’ or more fully demand the liberties and
immunities claimed by kingcraft, than this King who sits upon the
American throne. His profligacy and licentiousness, his all too many
and too flagrant intrigues, have deeply shocked the Queen, who is
naturally possessed of strong religious and moral sentiments. There
is an estrangement of long standing between them. They are together
only when some public function demands and she maintains a surrounding
of her own, entirely apart from the King’s, devoting her attention
largely to the education of the two young princes. Ah, there is little
Beatrice!”
All looked as General Mainwarren spoke and saw approaching in their
direction Beatrice Cuming in company with four other ladies. The
members of the party seated themselves a slight distance away.
“Who is that beautiful girl taking her place beside your daughter?”
asked the Professor of Colonel Cuming.
“Ah!” exclaimed Kearns explosively; “so the man of science has an eye
for feminine beauty, eh! Look out, Professor, that in spite of your
hundred odd years, you don’t get enmeshed. Let me see this beauty.
Whew! But the man is right. Beautiful! Why, she’s a dream--a lovely
dream! What eyes--what teeth!”
“Who is she?” repeated the Professor.
“That,” answered Colonel Cuming, “is the lady to whom you heard
Beatrice refer--Miss Dorothy Brandon, a distant cousin of Beatrice and
one of the maids of honor to Her Majesty, the Queen.”
“And are the other three ladies also maids of honor?” asked Kearns,
with a sly glance at General Mainwarren.
“No,” answered the General, smiling; “not exactly maids of honor,
although each holds position at the Court. The tall brunette, with the
bold dark eyes, and the tiara of diamonds flashing above her dark hair,
is the Countess Brooke, one of the most handsome women and, I might
perhaps add, credited with being one of the most dangerous intrigantes
of the Court. She has a clever and a dangerous tongue and is sometimes
styled ‘the Babbling Brooke,’ after a certain famous beauty of one of
the old-time English Courts, whom this lady in many respects strongly
resembles. You see, history repeats itself.”
“And the other two ladies?”
“The shorter brunette, with the heavy dark brows, the brilliant red
lips and the big brown eyes is the Baroness Maquehaye, a great leader
of fashion and a wonderful entertainer. Her garden-party of last Spring
is still talked about. The tall, rather plump blonde lady, on the other
side of the Countess, is Lady Hadley-Barton, famed for her social
ambitions. Ah, I see there is going to be an addition to the party.”
As the General spoke two army officers, each clad in the dashing
uniform of the Imperial Guard, advanced and greeted the ladies. One of
them was a man of magnificent physique, tall, and lithe, with clear,
flashing blue eyes and a sweeping blond moustache; the other was
shorter, dark, with kindly brown eyes and of sinewy, well-knit figure.
“A pair of remarkably clean-cut, fine-looking men,” commented Kearns,
“although I have no doubt that uniform helps matters along a good deal.
Who are they?”
“You see in them,” answered General Mainwarren, “two of the bravest and
most dashing young officers of the army. Both of them performed deeds
of daring in the late war with Russia which made their names ring
throughout the country and made them the objects of the usual popular
idolatry which the American people have ever been wont to lavish, for a
short time at least, upon their heroes. See that peculiar-shaped star
which each wears among the decorations on his breast. It’s the Star
of Columbia, the most coveted decoration of all the many decorations
which this Court boasts. It’s the decoration which is conferred only
for special valor in actual face of the enemy. Both these men wear it
and both have earned it. They’ve been recently ordered to Court to join
the Imperial Guard. Here they’re show-pieces. Shame to it that gallant
soldiers should not be put to better uses! The taller of the two is
Captain Stanley Mortimer; the other, Captain Ralph Swords.”
The two officers talked for some time in lively strain with the ladies
of the party, the brunt of the conversation being borne by the Countess
Brooke, who leveled several witching glances at the tall guardsman.
Then Captain Mortimer offered his arm to Dorothy and, followed by
Captain Swords escorting Beatrice, he led the way to the dancing-floor.
From the orchestra came the opening strains of a waltz.
Although the dancers were already taking their positions upon the
floor, Beatrice insisted upon stopping as they passed her father’s
party and, following her usual impetuous methods, hurried general
presentations ensued. Miss Brandon smiled upon the Professor and
murmured a few pleasant words; and Captain Mortimer extended a frank,
soldierly invitation to Kearns to visit him at his quarters next day.
Then the two couples passed on to mingle a moment later in the maze of
waltzers.
More bewitching grew the sensuous strains of the waltz, faster and
faster flew the steps of the dancers, as Captain Stanley Mortimer,
holding Dorothy lightly clasped, circled the floor. He had caught her
step to a nicety and they whirled in perfect rhythmic unison. Her
breath was upon his cheek, a loosened strand of her hair touched his
lips, her form nestled more closely in his arms. As the last bars
of the music died away, her eyes met his in one fleeting, upward
glance--half coy, half enraptured--and he slowly bent his head in a
motion that was almost a caress.
But as they danced, a pair of black eyes, flashing under heavy dark
brows, had watched with unfriendly glances, and the dainty lace
handkerchief between the jeweled fingers of the Countess Brooke was
defaced by two jagged rents.
Captain Mortimer led Dorothy back to her seat.
“The fourth waltz is to be mine?” he murmured.
“As you will,” she whispered back.