BORN IN THE PURPLE.
Usk was late in keeping his dinner engagement with the Steinherzes.
It was not his fault, as he explained eagerly when he arrived; he had
left Llandiarmid at an unearthly hour in the morning, to make sure of
catching the early train from Aberkerran, and had got up to town in
excellent time. It was when he was driving from his rooms to the hotel
that the delay occurred. The Archduke Ferdinand Joachim, cousin to the
Emperor of Pannonia, who had just arrived on a visit to England, was
being conducted in state to Buckingham Palace, and the British public
had turned out in full force to welcome him. The royal carriages and
liveries, and the fact that a popular Prince had gone to meet the
traveller, made it evident that this was an occasion for cheering, and
accordingly dense crowds lined the route, to the dire interruption of
the traffic at all the cross-roads, in one of which Usk sat fuming in
his hansom.
“Well, you must have had a pretty good view of the royalties, any
way,” said Maimie Logan.
“Oh yes, but I had no particular yearning for that. I have seen the
Prince so often, you know, and I didn’t care about the other chap. But
I wished you and Miss Steinherz had been there. It’s a chance you
don’t often get at this time of year.”
“What is the Archduke like, now?” asked Mr Steinherz suddenly. “You
would be able to see him distinctly?”
“Quite.” Usk turned to his host with ready deference. “A fair-sized
man, I should say--looks as though he had been born in uniform, as all
those Germans do. Hair brushed straight back, rather _à la_
scrubbing-brush, as far as I could see, big pince-nez, a sort of
nondescript brown moustache, with the points turned up fiercely. I
think that must have been dyed, though, for his hair was grey behind.”
“Yes,” said Mr Steinherz meditatively, “he is pretty well along--older
than I am. He was in Venetia in the ’Sixties--made his name there. And
it wasn’t a particularly sweet name, either. I guess a good few
Italians have unfulfilled vows of vengeance out against him yet.”
“Say, pappa!” broke in Félicia; “how did you get to know that much
about a no-account German prince?”
“Well, daughter, I don’t see but I must have heard it from the Italian
clerk I had once,” was the leisurely reply, which silenced Félicia
for the time, since she knew well enough that the clerk in question
had been dismissed for falling in love with his employer’s daughter.
Maimie, always watchful on her friend’s behalf, changed the subject,
and it was not until the meal was over that her efforts to keep the
peace failed. Usk had been anxious to escort the ladies this evening
to a concert at which some bright particular star was announced to
appear, but Mr Steinherz vetoed the proposal rather summarily,
regardless of his daughter’s rebellious looks. Most unjustly Félicia
made Usk suffer for her disappointment, sitting bored and silent all
evening, and sweeping Maimie off to bed at a ridiculously early hour,
on the plea of a headache. Maimie offered no objection to the
imperious summons, but took occasion to drop her handkerchief just
outside the sitting-room door. Returning to fetch it as soon as
Félicia was safe in her own room, she heard Usk taking his leave.
“May I call upon you in the morning?” he asked of Mr Steinherz. “I
should like---- There is---- I want to ask you something.”
“State it right now,” was the unexpected answer. “I am having a
vacation this evening, thanks to Félicia’s nervous attack.”
Maimie shook with silent laughter, for she guessed that Usk found some
difficulty in unfolding his request now that the opportunity was thus
suddenly thrust upon him. He muttered something about “Very
important,” to which Mr Steinherz responded by a cordial invitation to
discuss the matter in his office, where they would be safe from
interruption. The room was a small one, with one door from the
corridor into which all the apartments of the Steinherzes’ suite
opened, and another from the sitting-room, and in it Mr Steinherz
spent most of his time, and received all his business visitors, in an
atmosphere of smoke. Maimie reviewed the position swiftly, as she
heard the door between the study and the sitting-room close with a
decisive slam. Félicia was fortunately in the hands of her maid by
this time, and the brushing of her hair alone might be relied upon to
keep her occupied for an hour at least, but it was out of the question
to listen at the door in the corridor, for the hotel servants were
constantly passing. Moreover, if the discussion were to be conducted
in lower tones, it would be very difficult to hear it through the
door. The only hope was the balcony, upon which the windows of both
rooms looked, and Maimie opened the sitting-room door very softly,
leaving it slightly ajar so as to afford a way of escape, and crossing
the room on tiptoe, put her head out cautiously. As she had expected,
the warmth and beauty of the night had tempted the two men to sit at
the open window of the office, and she could see the tip of one of Mr
Steinherz’s shoes. The odour of his cigar reached her as she sat
crouched inside her own window, leaning forward as far as she dared,
and she heard him chaffing Usk upon the length of time it took an
Englishman to strike a match. Apparently the match refused to strike
at all, and Usk laid down his cigar in despair, for presently Mr
Steinherz said “Well?” in a half-authoritative, half-humorous tone
which rejoiced the listener exceedingly.
“Mr Steinherz,” returned Usk with a sudden burst of frankness, “I love
your daughter. May I ask her to marry me?”
Maimie thought she could imagine the quizzical glance under which the
unhappy suitor would be writhing, but she was electrified by the words
which answered him.
“Stop right there!” said Mr Steinherz decisively. “We will take those
words as unsaid, if you please. I was not expecting them until a later
stage of the proceedings, and there are some circumstances with which
I guess you ought to get acquainted before you utter them.”
Maimie held her breath. Her only idea had been to observe Mr
Steinherz’s treatment of this new suitor, and especially to see
whether he really favoured him, as it had struck her he did. But was
she unintentionally, and all in a moment, on the point of dispelling
the mystery upon which she and Félicia had touched in their
confidential talk? She heard Mr Steinherz rise and unlock a
table-drawer, then return, apparently with something in his hand.
“Do you seem to know any of those faces?” she heard him ask.
“I don’t think so,” said Usk. “Wait a minute, though. It’s an old
photograph of the Emperor of Pannonia, isn’t it?--and his brothers, I
suppose?”
“No; his cousins, the Archduke Ferdinand Joachim and--myself.”
From her own sensations, Maimie could imagine the bewilderment on
Usk’s face as he gazed blankly at the speaker.
“You don’t see the likeness?” Mr Steinherz went on; “but the folks
used often mistake us three for one another. Look right in my face; I
just brush my hair back some; I turn up my moustache and hide my
beard, showing the Hohenstaufen mouth. Now do you perceive no likeness
to the Archduke as you saw him three hours back?”
“I see! I see!” cried Usk. “But,” he added, rising and walking round
his host, “from behind you need no alteration at all. If you were in
uniform I should take you for him.”
“Is that so?” said Mr Steinherz. “Well, you will excuse me if I resume
my usual appearance? I apprehend that if it got around there was a
double of the Archduke staying at the Hotel Bloomsbury, it might cause
some inconvenience. And now, do you incline to hear the circumstances,
or not?”
“There’s nothing I should like better. I don’t know whether I’m
standing on my head or my heels.”
Maimie could picture Mr Steinherz’s grim smile. “Did you ever hear of
Prince Joseph of Arragon?” he asked.
“I seem to know the name,” said Usk meditatively. “Yes, wasn’t it the
man who ran off with an--a lady and was lost at sea, twenty or thirty
years ago?”
“Who was supposed to have been lost at sea,” corrected Mr Steinherz
impressively. “As a matter of fact, he is sitting opposite you now.”
“Oh--er--I beg your pardon,” stammered Usk.
“Your remark was natural. There is now only one other person besides
yourself who knows the truth. In the Schlosskirche at Vindobona I
understand there is a cenotaph to the memory of José Maria Beltran,
Prince of Arragon, drowned off the Australian coast in the wreck of
his yacht, the Claudine, but Joseph Bertram Steinherz could give the
lie to that statement if he chose.”
“You escaped from the wreck, I suppose, and took advantage of the
general belief to disappear--sir?” hazarded Usk.
“Not just exactly; but I will tell you all of the story. But, first,
remember that you are on your honour not to breathe a word of what I
tell you to any living creature, especially to my daughter; and again,
don’t make a prince of me. I have turned my back on all of that for
ever.”
Usk bowed uneasily, as Maimie could just distinguish from where she
crouched. She was completely shielded from the sight of Mr Steinherz,
although she had ventured to creep out on the balcony, and was now
close to them, her black gown indistinguishable in the darkness. Even
if Usk should chance to turn his head, she believed that she was quite
safe, and could retreat into her own window in a moment.
“You will know,” said Mr Steinherz, “that my father, King Paul X. of
Cantabria, was driven from his throne in ’48. When I was born he was
already an exile at the Court of Vindobona. His mother was a Pannonian
archduchess, and the two houses had always been united by the closest
bonds. He received at the hands of his cousin the Emperor the honours
due to a reigning monarch, and on his death it was only at Vindobona
and the Vatican that my brother Ramon was recognised as titular King
of Cantabria. Ramon is a man of science and a philosopher, however,
and in daily life he contents himself with the older and undisputed
title of Prince of Arragon. My mother was a princess of Weldart--an
aunt of the lady who has already linked your family and mine by
marrying your uncle Count Mortimer.” Maimie saw Usk move
uncomfortably, and guessed that he was trying, in a dazed kind of way,
to discover whether the connection thus disclosed between himself and
Félicia need be any bar to their marriage. The same idea had come to
herself with a thrill of hope, but she saw its absurdity in a moment.
Mr Steinherz had risen from his chair and was walking about.
“I cannot speak calmly when I think of my mother,” he went on. “For
political reasons, which means, in plain English, her brother’s need
of money, she was married to my father as a child of seventeen, after
being summarily converted for the purpose. Needless to say, her
consent was not asked to either process. She made him an excellent
wife, and if he had taken her advice, it would, I believe, have
averted the revolution which cost him his throne; but on account of
her German and Protestant upbringing she was always looked upon with
distrust, and my father himself shared it. So strongly did she
disapprove of the perpetual intrigues by which he sought to regain his
kingdom after losing it, that soon after my birth an amicable
separation was arranged, without giving rise to any scandal. My mother
retired with me to an estate on the Adriatic, where my father and
brothers visited us occasionally, and I was sometimes conducted, much
against my will, to Vindobona, which my mother, on the plea of
ill-health, always avoided, and from which I always returned to her
with increasing joy. As I grew older her one fear was that I might be
taken from her, and to escape this she proposed that I should be
entered as a student at the naval academy of the great dockyard and
arsenal which lay not far from us. Though all my training hitherto had
been military, it was the sea to which my own heart turned, and I
don’t know whether my mother or I was the more rejoiced when I was
allowed to follow my bent. For several happy years I worked hard at
the mysteries of shipbuilding--much harder than suited my superiors
and companions, who would have preferred to see me placed in some post
of nominal authority, where I should not trouble them. Several times
it was suggested that I should be appointed to a sea-going ship, and
sent on a long cruise, but my mother’s piteous entreaties--she humbled
herself to my father and the Emperor in her agony at the thought of
losing me--and my own absorption in my work, which seemed likely to be
productive of great advantage to the navy in future, gained me a
respite. One of the complaints against me was that I withdrew myself
from the society of companions of my own age. It did not occur to my
accusers that in my leisure hours I had the constant society of a
woman who had read widely, thought deeply, and suffered much, and that
this had quite spoiled me for the company of the class of men I met
every day. I always look back to my twenty-third year as the period of
my greatest happiness--perhaps in contrast with the dark time which
followed. A legacy had come to me from a godfather when I was
twenty-one, and I spent the greater part of it in building a large
steam-yacht from my own designs. Some of my relations looked askance
at such waste of money, but the Emperor, finding that the yacht was
intended to test various inventions of my own in naval matters, was
pleased with my interest in my profession, and encouraged me. I called
the yacht the Claudine, after my mother, and spared no pains to make
her the smartest and most seaworthy craft of her size afloat. When she
was finished we tested her in all weathers. I had a crew enrolled from
among the fishermen with whom I had made friends as a boy, and my
mother was always my passenger. Only one of her ladies cared for the
sea, and she made her her constant companion on these trips. Aline von
Hartenweg was young, beautiful, enthusiastic, devoted to my mother,
devoted to the sea--is it any wonder that an attachment sprang up
between us? We were so happy, so thoroughly contented with our life,
that we did not ourselves perceive the chief cause of our happiness.
Others saw it before we did, notably the chaplain at the Castle, whom
my mother always suspected of being placed as a spy upon her.
Presently a furious letter from my father announced that he was coming
to put an end to this foolishness, and to send me off on a three
years’ cruise. My mother had long been suffering from a mortal
disease, but I shall never believe that she might not have lived for
years, if she had been left in peace. As it was, the shock, and the
realisation of the truth, were too much for her, and when the King
arrived he found her on her deathbed. She had poured out her soul to
me on the subject of Aline, assuring me that the marriage would never
be allowed, that our attachment could only cause misery and
contention, and adjuring me to go abroad as my father wished, unless I
felt that my life’s happiness was bound up in Aline. I assured her
that it was, and her last words to my father, who could not in decency
refuse to hear them, were a petition that we might be allowed to
marry. Then she died.”
Mr Steinherz came to a standstill at the window, and stood looking
with unseeing eyes at the starry sky overhead, the rustling black
plane-trees in the square far below, surrounded by their ring of
lamps, the low dark houses beyond. Maimie hid her face lest its
whiteness should betray her.
“My father was less angry than his letter had prepared me to expect,”
Mr Steinherz went on. “He could not but disapprove most strongly of my
choice, he said, and would promise nothing as to the future, but if I
would consent to make a voyage round the world at once, giving my word
not to hold any communication with the Countess Aline while I was
away, he would see what could be done on my return. I murmured at the
harshness of the stipulation, reminding him that my brother Florian
had been permitted to marry Princess Erzsebet Mohacsy, who was not of
royal blood; to which he replied, with the cynical brutality he
sometimes affected, that she brought a princedom as the price of the
alliance, whereas my poor Aline’s father could barely give her a
dress-allowance. I yielded. My mother’s entreaties to me not to come
to an open breach with my father were still in my ears, and I could
not see anything better to do. I was appointed to one of the largest
Pannonian men-of-war, and I did not dislike the cruise. When I had
been away two years, the news of my brother Florian’s death recalled
me hastily to Vindobona, and I found Aline--married. What pressure
they had brought to bear on her, what lies they had told her about me,
I do not know and did not ask; but she was married to a rough fellow
called Baron Radniky--a noble, it is true, but the very type of a
churlish, bigoted reactionary. I had a terrible scene with my father
when I learned the truth, and I swore I would remain in Pannonia no
longer. I would cast aside my rank, as I had intended to do if I
married Aline, and go out into the world a free man. He laughed in my
face when I said this, and as soon as I was outside the room I found
myself under arrest. For weeks I was a State prisoner inside the
palace,--I, who was accustomed to freedom and an active life,--and at
the end of that time my relations thought they could deal with me. The
Emperor patched up a reconciliation with my father, and I was allowed
my personal liberty, but forbidden to leave Vindobona. All the people
round me were spies--my cousins the Archdukes, the servants, the gay
young men who were set on to divert my mind. I saw there was no hope
of escape at present, and I allowed myself to seem resigned. Aline
lived far away in the country. She had passed out of my life, and for
that I was thankful. But the vicious idleness of my surroundings I
could not endure, and at last I obtained leave to set up a laboratory
in my father’s gardens, at a safe distance from the palace, in order
to continue my scientific experiments. Here again the Emperor stood my
friend, and even allowed me to send for my foster-brother, Martin
Richter, and install him as my assistant. It was supposed that he did
all the menial work of the laboratory; but my relations would indeed
have been astonished if they had seen prince and peasant labouring
together, for he knew as much of the theoretical part of the work as I
did, and in the practical part we relieved one another.”
“And this was all a blind?” Usk ventured to ask, as a smile, called up
by his recollections, crept over Mr Steinherz’s face.
“It was all done with a purpose, and when by-and-by I was allowed to
run down to the Adriatic for more important experiments on board the
Claudine, though the limit of my stay was strictly fixed, I knew my
time was at hand. But before it arrived something happened which
changed the whole character of my flight. In her lifetime my mother
had befriended a young girl, the last descendant of a noble, but
poverty-stricken, family of Weldart. As a child, Konstantia von
Lilienkranz had shown extraordinary talent in several directions, and
her own intense desire was to go upon the stage. My mother dissuaded
her from this, but sent her, at her own expense, to a famous
conservatorium, where her musical gifts might be cultivated, intending
to find her a post as Court pianist when she grew up. Her death left
the poor girl friendless, for she knew too well the light in which her
patroness had been regarded by the members of the Imperial family to
seek help from them. The variety of her talents had created quite a
sensation at the conservatorium, and admiring professors and
fellow-students had done so much to spread her fame that she was
actually offered an engagement to play _ingénue_ parts at a leading
Vindobona theatre, while a great _maestro_ volunteered to train her to
sing in grand opera. Remembering the wishes of her patroness, she
refused both offers, and had the courage to strike out for herself in
a new line--as a society entertainer, you would call it, I suppose.
She gave a series of concerts at which she herself, either as singer,
reciter, or instrumentalist, supplied all the items, and the idea was
so new and daring that she was the sensation of the moment in the
capital. This was soon after I had been allowed a little more freedom.
I was anxious to show an interest in my mother’s _protégée_, and
went to hear her play several times. I sent her bouquets, and asked to
be presented to her, the girl receiving the attentions, as they were
offered, purely as marks of kindness from the son of her patroness.
But the censorious world thought otherwise, as I ought to have
remembered would be only too likely in the case of a woman in her
position. My cousins met me with meaning looks, and congratulated me
on my conquest. ‘The stony-hearted Stanzerl,’ as the gilded youth of
Vindobona called her, had stepped down from her pedestal, so they
hinted. The cessation of my attentions might have ended the scandal as
regarded myself, but the whispers had reached her. One day the old
woman, half-attendant, half-duenna, who lived with her, came to me
privately to beg me not to show any further interest in her charge,
who was in the deepest distress owing to the reports spread concerning
her. I was horrified and disgusted. That I should have brought this
anguish upon my mother’s favourite! Impulsively I wrote off to my
brother Florian’s widow, whom I knew to have the kindest heart in the
world, telling her what I had reason to belief was the case, that
Fräulein von Lilienkranz found the strain and publicity of her life
very trying, and would be most thankful to exchange it for a more
sheltered one. Would not my sister-in-law find room for her in her
household, even if only as instructor in music to her year-old
daughter? I waited impatiently for the answer. Princess Florian wrote
in evident distress of mind. She would have been delighted to befriend
any one in whom my mother had been interested, but in this case she
had been _warned_--deeply underlined--that it would be _wiser_ not to
take any step, and she _could_ not disregard the warning. I was
perplexed and disappointed, but I could not give up my plan so easily.
I ran down to my sister-in-law’s estates on a visit--having duly
obtained leave--and asked her point-blank why she would not help
Fräulein von Lilienkranz. With the utmost difficulty I extracted from
her that in view of the rumours connecting the young lady’s name with
mine, she could not admit her into her household. In vain I pointed
out to her that if I had unwittingly compromised the girl, my
relations might at least do what they could to clear her name, but she
was afraid of offending my father, and would do nothing. Then I saw
that there was method in what had been done. I was to be entangled in
an ordinary vulgar scandal, to keep me from rushing into an unequal
marriage. There and then I determined to turn the tables upon my
friends, and I waylaid the old duenna the next day, and with all
possible frankness took her into my confidence. I told her it was my
desire to marry Fräulein von Lilienkranz, and intrusted her with a
letter asking for an interview. The adventure pleased me; there was
something chivalrous in the idea that made me half in love with the
girl already, and when I saw her, her resistance to the notion
determined me to persist in it. She was horrified at the thought of
injuring the son of her patroness, but she was lonely and troubled,
and had learnt that a public life is not the easiest one in the world
for a good woman. I told her that I was resolved upon escaping from
Pannonia, and that if she would give up her career for my sake, we
would make a home together in the New World. I had not foreseen her
adoring gratitude, and it made me ashamed, but she consented, and I
laid my plans--quickly, you may guess, for whether I attended her
concerts or stayed away from them, tongues wagged afresh, and
Konstantia suffered a new martyrdom. I needn’t waste time in telling
you of the different failures and disappointments I had to face; let
us go on to the decisive moment. It was a cold spring evening. I had
ordered a special train to be in readiness to take me southwards at
eleven o’clock, and I had also invited a number of friends to supper
at ten, on the understanding that we were to make a night of it. You
observe that the arrangements sound slightly inconsistent?”
“I was just thinking so,” said Usk.
“Precisely; but then my friends knew nothing about the train, you see.
I had hinted to one of them when I invited him that after supper ‘das
Stanzerl’ would recite, and they had all got to know of it. The
meeting-place was my laboratory, suitably decorated, of course, for
the occasion, and my friends enjoyed themselves thoroughly. I was one
of themselves now, they all assured me. Even my old enemy the
chaplain, who I had insisted should be present, smiled benignantly
upon me. Konstantia, her maid, and myself were alone ill at ease, all
knowing what was at hand. When the servants had left, Konstantia gave
the promised recitation. It was a scene from some classical drama, but
I can’t tell you what it was, for I never heard a word of it. The
girl’s nerve was magnificent. She did not falter once, and at the
close I advanced towards her with the usual compliments, as if to lead
her to a seat. She placed her hand in mine, we turned and faced the
company--the priest was exactly opposite us. ‘Father,’ I said, ‘in
your presence and that of these witnesses I take this woman to be my
wife.’ All sprang up. I silenced them with a gesture, and Konstantia
repeated clearly and without hurry, ‘Before God and these witnesses, I
take this man to be my husband.’ We exchanged rings before they could
stop us, then, ‘Gentlemen,’ I said, ‘the Princess wishes to retire.’
As I made no attempt to reach the door, they did not prevent
Konstantia and the maid from leaving the room. Furious at having been
tricked into acting as witnesses of a marriage ceremony, my cousins
and the rest stormed at me. They vowed they would keep me prisoner
until I swore that the whole thing was a joke; they even threatened to
kill me there and then. As for the priest, he menaced me with the
direst wrath of the Church, both here and hereafter. I listened to all
that they had to say, then silently revealed to them that my hand was
upon an electric button. ‘You may not be aware, gentlemen,’ I said,
‘that the vaults under this building are packed with explosives. Here
is an electric wire,’ I traced its course along the wall towards the
door, ‘communicating with them.’ There was an instantaneous, almost
mechanical movement from the neighbourhood of the door as I approached
it. ‘I am a desperate man,’ I said, with my hand on the door, ‘and if
I am interfered with, I set the current in motion. The result you can
probably imagine. Any attempt to force the door from within will
explode the mine. I wish you a very good night,’ and I was outside,
and making the door fast, before any of them had recovered from their
surprise.”
“But was it true about the dynamite and the wire?” asked Usk.
“There were certainly explosives in the cellar, and there was an
electric light wire which led down to it. There was also a slight
tincture of what I have since learnt to call bluff.” Mr Steinherz
smiled genially.
“You must have been an awfully cool hand!”
“Coolness was needed in our circumstances. I calculated that we had
nine hours’ grace at the outside. The laboratory was in a secluded
part of the garden, the servants had been sent to bed, and the walls
and door were strong. The only windows were in the roof. Unless any
accident happened, my friends were safe until they were missed in the
morning, and then it would take some little time to release them, and
organise a pursuit. But, you will say, there was the train, which
could be stopped at any point by telegraph. True, but it was Martin
Richter, disguised in my fur coat and cap, who travelled by the train,
and with him was the old nurse. We had calculated with the greatest
nicety how far he could hope to get before the telegraph was set at
work, and just before that point was reached he was to have the train
stop at a wayside station, where horses were ready. We had arranged
every imaginable expedient for baffling pursuit, and from thence he
and the old woman were to travel by unfrequented routes to a quiet bay
on my own estate, where the yacht was to be lying, having slipped out
of harbour in the night. The train was merely a blind. For Konstantia,
her maid and myself, I had procured English passports and circular
tickets--money can do much--and we joined a large personally conducted
party of returning tourists which was leaving Vindobona that night.
The two girls had gone straight to the station as soon as they left
the laboratory. The conductor was watching out for them, and added
them to his flock without the slightest fuss or mystery. I followed,
after making such changes in my personal appearance as might prevent a
chance recognition--nothing theatrical, merely precautionary touches.
We did not venture to show that we knew one another, and those hours
of terror, which were bound to elapse before the frontier was reached,
we spent in separate compartments. We crossed the frontier safely. So
far my _ruse_ was unsuspected, but I can’t describe to you the
excitement that beset me all through that journey. The approach of an
official gave me a bad half-second, for my dash for freedom might be
brought to an ignominious end at any moment. But we reached Calais,
crossed the Channel, and arrived safely at Charing Cross, without
having exchanged a word since we left Vindobona. I would not trust
even the conductor, who might afterwards put two and two together.
Konstantia knew what she had to do. We took tickets for Bradcross, a
decayed riverside suburb which had once been a great shipbuilding
centre. I knew it well, for I had explored it thoroughly on a former
visit to England--the same visit, by the way, in which I danced with
your friend Mrs Sadleir, whose husband was then in the Government, at
a ball at Trentham House--since to me its historical associations were
even more attractive than the great modern dockyards elsewhere which
had supplanted it. In that train we ventured at last to meet and
speak, to discuss our future. You will ask, perhaps, why I had not
made straight for Hamburg and America. There were two reasons. First,
if the trick with regard to the special train should be discovered,
that would be the route on which we should be looked for; and again, I
was anxious to make assurance doubly sure by being married a second
time. The ceremony in the laboratory, such as it was, though
absolutely irregular, was so far valid that nothing short of an appeal
to Rome could dissolve the marriage; but we had nothing to show for
it, and if all the witnesses conspired to deny it, we were powerless.
Moreover, Konstantia was a Protestant, and I, of course, had been
brought up a Catholic. My idea was to throw ourselves upon the mercy
of some English clergyman, explaining to him as much of our story as
was necessary, no more, and ask his advice. At Bradcross, I thought,
I could find quiet lodgings, where we might lie _perdus_ while the
hunt for us went on, for the three weeks’ residence which I understood
was required by the English law before a marriage could be solemnised.
We had to find a clergyman, a lodging, everything, and all without
exciting suspicion. Fortunately, I spoke English as travelled princes
are wont to do, fluently and without accent, and Konstantia with
readiness, while the maid, Julie Schlesinger, her foster-sister, had
picked up enough of it to find her way about. But we were a very
forlorn trio as we descended the narrow flight of filthy steps that
led down into the street from the Bradcross railroad platform, the
girls carrying their satchels, and I the cloaks of the party.”
Mr Steinherz paused, and the slow smile crept over his face once more
as he thought of that first day of freedom. From far below came the
dull roll of traffic in the side-streets, with an occasional sharp
scraping sound as a horse stumbled on the granite roadway, while in
the square itself the approach of a hansom smote upon the ear like a
dropping fire, becoming more and more insistent, only to be lost again
suddenly in the general rumble. Maimie was listening with the
intensest interest for what was to come. She knew that her mother’s
maiden name had been Julia Slazenger, and she felt she was on the eve
of further discoveries.