THE BURDEN OF A SECRET.
Presently Mr Steinherz went on with his story, and Usk noticed a
subtle change in his manner of speech. Hitherto, he had spoken
“fluently and without accent,” as he had said himself, but with a
certain precision of phrase that betrayed the man to whom English was
not his native tongue; now he became by degrees the American once
more.
“I knew Bradcross well enough to feel sure that the old parts of the
town, which had been the goal of my former rambles, were not likely to
afford any decent lodging for the girls, and as we reached the street,
I turned to the right, intending to try our fortune in the newer and
more respectable portion. But almost next door to the station there
was a lecture-room or mechanics’ institute of some sort, and a placard
on the notice-board caught my eye. It was the announcement of a
Protestant lecture the following week, the chair to be taken by the
Rev. Mr Cotton, Vicar of St Mary Windicotes. I knew the church well
and had visited it often--it was the oldest in Bradcross--and this
active controversialist promised to be the very man I needed, any way.
We retraced our steps, Konstantia and the maid following
uncomplainingly where I led, though it was evident they shrank from
the narrow squalid streets through which we had to pass to reach the
church. I knew where the clerk lived, and requested his wife to show
the ladies the building while I called on the Vicar. The good man was
at home, but at first I thought I had backed the wrong horse. He grew
stiffer and stonier at every word as I explained my position. I
learned afterwards that he had been victimised time and time again by
persons representing themselves as Catholics desirous of embracing
Protestantism, and deprived, naturally, of their former means of
livelihood. But I persevered. I was a Catholic, I told him, and had
married a Protestant against the wishes of my relations, who were
certain to have the marriage declared invalid in order to separate us.
Would he recommend us suitable lodgings, and give us his countenance
until we could be married afresh according to English law? It makes me
laugh yet when I remember how suspicious that good man was, and yet
how completely I hoodwinked him. He was clearly relieved when he
discovered that I was not in need of money, for I had been careful to
furnish myself with several hundred pounds in English gold and notes;
but he cross-questioned me most severely in order to ascertain whether
there was any other impediment to our marriage than that of religion.
Since the real state of affairs never occurred to him, naturally
enough, I was able to satisfy him, but he had the prudence to consult
his wife before surrendering finally, and she assured him that he was
being had once more. However, they concluded to interview Konstantia,
and we adjourned to the church, where we found the two poor girls,
both of them tired clean out, sitting in one of the pews while the
clerk’s wife related in a loud whisper the history of the place--of
which, as she told it, they could hardly understand a word. Our story
sounded suspicious, no doubt, but the Vicar’s wife forgot all of her
suspicions the moment she saw Konstantia. The girl looked so very
young and tired that the excellent lady was convinced of her
truthfulness on the spot, and she hadn’t talked to her but a few
minutes before she astonished us by insisting that she and Julie
should take up their quarters at the Vicarage, while a lodging would
be found for me elsewhere. Pursuit was to be baffled by the simple
device of anglicising our names, so that Konstantia became Miss
Constance Lily Garland, and I Mr Joseph Bertram (Mr Cotton advised me
unhesitatingly to drop the ‘Maria’ as a badge of Popery, and I did so
right away). There was more kindness yet in store for us. Mrs Cotton
did not think it well for betrothed people to see too much of one
another, and her husband, after inquiring into my tastes, got me a
temporary post as foreign correspondence clerk to a great shipbuilding
firm in the parish. Here I gave so much satisfaction that the firm
were good enough to offer me a permanent appointment, and when I
declined that, gave me a letter of recommendation to their
correspondents in America, which I never presented. That three weeks
at Bradcross was quite idyllic. After my day’s work, I would drop in,
evenings, at the Vicarage, which lies back of the church. You approach
it by a green gate in a high wall, and inside there is a little patch
of grass and two or three lilac-bushes. Konstantia used to be waiting
for me on the lawn, and there we would sit, never minding the smuts.
If I haven’t said much about Konstantia, don’t think it’s because
there’s nothing to say. She adored me in a real whole-hearted way,
much more than was good for me, I am sure, and never so much as looked
back regretfully at what she had given up for my sake. As for me, I
was desperately in love yet with my own magnanimity in giving up so
much for her, and her devotion pleased me. We really were perfectly
happy those evenings, until Mrs Cotton called Konstantia in, and her
husband came out to talk theology with me. I had to be stiffened up in
my new Protestant principles, you see, and if I met that good man
again, I would make him happy by assuring him that since those days I
have never entered a Catholic church, any way. Well, the three weeks
came to an end, and we were married in our English names, Julie
signing the register as Julia Slazenger, but at the Vicar’s suggestion
we all wrote our original names on the inside of the cover at the end
of the book, with a reference to the proper page, and he pasted a
piece of paper over them, so that it might be removed if there was
ever any question as to our identity. I have been sorry all the time
since that prudence obliged me to break off all relations with these
good people as soon as we left Bradcross. You see, any accident would
have enabled my family to trace us that far, so it was necessary to
start a fresh trail, and I took our passages for New York in the name
of Mr and Mrs Steinherz, without telling the Cottons of the change.
Moreover, that we might be thoroughly _demokratisch_, as suited the
country to which we were going, Julie became my wife’s friend, not her
maid. We met with no difficulty in our second journey, and I expected
none, for at my Bradcross employer’s I had read in a Pannonian paper
the interesting news that ‘Prince Joseph of Arragon has sailed in his
yacht Claudine on a foreign cruise. A vessel of the Imperial Navy has
been detailed to escort his Royal Highness.’ That meant, I knew, that
Martin Richter had done his work so well that I was believed to be on
board the yacht, and a man-of-war had been sent in chase of her. On
our voyage I fell in with a man named Logan, a shipbuilder in a small
way in Rhode Island. Community of tastes drew us together, and I
agreed to put in a week or two in his neighbourhood before settling
down elsewhere. The truth was, I was waiting for Richter, with whom I
had arranged a method of communication. As soon as I let him know
where I was, he was to dispose of the yacht, either by firing her or
running her ashore, and join me, bringing Konstantia’s old nurse with
him. But instead of Martin came the news that the yacht was really
lost with all hands. He had handled her with the most consummate
skill, baffling the pursuing warship half round the world, but through
some accident she got him cornered inside a reef in the Australian
seas, with a gale coming on. He was staunch to the end, and actually
tried to take the ship out by a passage that was practicable only for
the native canoes, and that in fine weather. She struck, of course,
and was beaten to pieces in the surf, and not a soul escaped. Our
safety was secured--at that price. For days I could settle to nothing.
In all my dreams Martin and I had worked together, and I could not
feel able to do without him. Then my wife suggested that I should pay
some attention to the hints Logan was continually throwing out. He
wanted to have me join him in the business, for he was smart enough to
see that I knew where I was when ships were in question. Besides, he
wanted to marry Julie--she was a good-looking woman, and had picked up
a lot from Konstantia--and he thought it would be pleasant if I bought
the next lot to his, and built a house on it, that our wives might not
be separated. The comicality of the idea took my fancy, and I went
into business with him. I made things hum in that shipyard, and poor
old Logan got frightened. I would go ahead in spite of all his
forebodings, and at last, at his desire, I bought him out. We were
just as friendly as ever. He was free of the yard yet, and loafed
around all day, prophesying that my ships would go to the bottom as
soon as they were off the slips; but they didn’t, and when he died he
left me his daughter’s guardian. His wife had died before that, and
Maimie became our child ’most the same as Félicia. I went on
inventing and improving, and making a pile--not because I wanted it,
but because the thing just happened. We had a boy, and he died, and
when Félicia was six years old my wife died, and I have gone on
making money and fighting to keep out of society. And now I guess I’m
through,” and Mr Steinherz laughed to see Usk’s start of surprise at
this complete and startling return to his ordinary mode of speech.
“Then your family have actually no idea that you are alive?”
“Not the slightest. They advertised their undying grief at my loss,
and boomed that shipwreck all it was worth, for it cleared off a
scandal in the most satisfactory way. The surprise wedding was buried
in oblivion, and when a whisper of the truth got around, it was
promptly silenced. Naturally, you couldn’t expect them allude to it on
the tablet at Vindobona, though all of the other remarks proper to the
occasion are there.”
“And no one in America ever penetrated the secret?”
“Just one man, and I was in deadly fear when I found it out. It was
our mutual friend Hicks. He got it in his head that I was a Hamburg
shipping clerk that the police were watching out for, who had forged
his employer’s name and eloped with his daughter, and he set to work
to trace my movements right back to my starting-point. Pretty soon he
found he was on the wrong track, and then a chance word from a friend
in Vindobona sent him flying along. The scandal, the rumoured
marriage, the escaped Prince--there it all was, and if a mysterious
hint in his paper hadn’t suddenly shown me what he was aiming at, so
that I took Konstantia along, and we just threw ourselves on his
mercy, he would have made his own fortune and the ‘Crier’s’ by
revealing all of the story. He took pity upon us and kept his mouth
shut, and he and I have been friends ever since. I have appointed him
Félicia’s trustee in case of my death.”
“And you don’t intend to be reconciled to your family?”
“Why should I? They are all thoroughly happy, believing me dead, and
enjoying my property. If my son had lived--well, I don’t know, but I
guess I would have laid things before him when he came of age, and
given him his choice. Florian left only a daughter behind him, and
Ramon has three, and no sons. There seems a fate against us Albrets.
If he had concluded to claim such rights as will be mine on Ramon’s
death, I daresay we could have fixed it. With the pile I can show,
there wouldn’t be much difficulty in having them recognise my
marriage. The Emperor could do it, with Ramon’s consent, and if I
greased the wheels a bit, Félicia would pretty soon be a Princess of
Arragon.”
Maimie drew in her breath sharply. Usk spoke with some hesitation.
“Please don’t think me officious, sir--it’s quite against myself, you
know--but do you think it is fair to keep her in ignorance--the
Princess, I mean?”
“Miss Félicia Steinherz, you mean,” corrected Félicia’s father. “I
think it so far fair that if the Emperor, and my brother Ramon, and
all of my family, were to kneel to me to-morrow, and entreat me to
come along back, I would refuse, and forbid them to mention the
subject to her.”
“Then you feel that your experiment was a success?”
“I don’t pretend that I never felt the difference between the gayest
and most polite society in Europe and that of a one-horse American
coast-town, and the smart people in New York who would have liked to
welcome me with open arms as a multi-millionaire haven’t compensated
me much. But I made a determined break out of that elegant prison of
mine, just to lead my own life,--a better life, I may fairly say, than
that old one,--and if it was to do, I would do it again. A succession
of such marriages as mine might yet save the great houses with which I
have the honour to be connected; but they won’t see it so. I am glad
to have cut myself off from them.”
“But should not Miss Steinherz know the truth?”
“No, sir, she should not.” The words came crisply. “If I told Félicia
in the morning all of what I have told you, by the evening, prompted
by that little firebrand Maimie, she would have cabled to Vindobona,
‘What price full recognition?’ I did my best to make her as democratic
as we thought ourselves, sent her to the most typical American school
and college I could find, and she comes back with the most consuming
ambition for social distinction that I ever saw in a woman. It comes
partly from the way girls are brought up in the States--but if that
was all, it might expend itself in trampling under foot every male
creature that comes near her. It is mostly the Hohenstaufen blood
coming out. She would a million times rather be a poor relation in
Ramon’s priest-ridden household than an American heiress of no
particular birth--or so she thinks now. With so many needy archdukes
to be provided for, it would be easy enough to fix her up with a
husband, and she would be plunged back in the life from which I broke
away.”
“But if she preferred it?”
“I don’t take any stock in her preferences. When I concluded to
Americanise my family, Lord Usk, I guess I began a generation too
late. I should have taken myself in hand first, for I have never
acquired that subservience to my womenfolk which the true American
glories in. The neighbours set my wife down as a domestic martyr, I
believe; and I am free to confess that if she had thought less of the
honour I had done her, we might both of us have been happier. But
Félicia has grown up in full knowledge of her rights as an American
woman, and a pretty strong determination to see that she gets them;
and I will acknowledge to you that when we fall out the forces on
either side are more evenly balanced than I care about. I give my
orders and stick to them, and gain the victory that way; but the
peace-offerings afterwards come expensive. Can you wonder that I have
no particular use for a storm over this?”
“But supposing that she should ever find out----?”
“How’d she do it? But I have watched out for that. When she marries,
her fortune will remain in the hands of trustees, though settled
strictly on herself. If any other person, either her husband or any
member of my family, claims to get control of the money by virtue of
any family or state law, I have fixed it that all but the merest
pittance will go to the Mayor of New York for the time being in trust
for the beautifying of the city. I guess Tammany won’t have such a
chance go by, and my noble relations must just climb down.”
“I think you are very wise,” said Usk slowly.
“But that’s only in case she marries a foreigner. What I should fairly
admire would be to have her marry an Englishman. I thought of an
American first; but where would I find one that wouldn’t lie down and
let Félicia walk over him if there were ructions? Maybe you see now
why I have encouraged you to visit here?”
“Because you think I could be trusted to keep Miss Steinherz in
order?”
“Now don’t get mad. Your feelings were not just exactly a secret, you
know, from the first day you came. The actual fact is that Hicks,
knowing my wishes, brought you along that you might fall in love with
Félicia, and you did, right away.”
“Perhaps Miss Steinherz knows your wishes too?”
“It is my mature opinion, sir, that she does not. If she did, I
incline to think they would not stand much chance of fulfilment. But
you are on a different platform, and I am talking with you as a
business man. I would like to marry my daughter to an Englishman of
sufficiently high position to make my family think twice before they
meddled with him. You seem to me to fill the bill pretty well. So far
as I understand, you are a young man needing money and some one to
shove you along, and in marrying Félicia you would get both. I guess
that tremendous ambition of hers would justify its existence then--she
would see you Premier or die. Think it over.”
“What is there to think about?” demanded Usk hotly. “It’s not as if
you had told me anything that could change my feelings. Félicia is
Félicia, and I can’t say more than that. I should be proud and
thankful to marry her this moment if she would have me. But supposing
the truth ever comes out, how can I face her if she asks me how I
dared to keep her in ignorance, when she might have made a far more
splendid match?”
“How would it ever come out? You won’t tell her, Hicks won’t tell her,
I won’t tell her--and there’s no other person knows the secret. It
would need a series of most improbable coincidences to bring it to
light, any way. As things are now, you are a most suitable match for
her--rank on your side, the dollars on hers. Of course, if you are
afraid to go ahead, just because the unlikely will maybe happen, I
can’t help it.”
“I only want to act fairly by her. If I felt she could justly reproach
me----”
“If she does, just go down town for an hour or so, and bring her along
a bracelet when you come back,” was the unsympathetic reply. “Or it
might even run to a necklace, but you would better reserve that for a
pretty large emergency. Well, go home and think it over.”
“I don’t want to think it over. If you will only give your consent on
condition that I keep silence, what can I do?”
“I don’t see but you’ll have to give in,” smiled Mr Steinherz, “being
the man you are, and in your present state of high emotion.”
“Unless you meant me to consult my father----?”
“Not at all. I have the highest respect for your parents, but I
understand they both look at everything from a lofty moral standpoint.
They would think it my duty to do about forty million things that I
don’t incline to do, and that would tire me. No, my first reason for
telling you all of this was that it seemed playing it pretty low down
to put you in a position in which some extraordinary chance might
spring the family history on you without warning. And, of course, you
might object to mix the Plantagenet blood you Mortimers are all so
proud of with that of Albret and Hohenstaufen. You feel yourselves on
a level with the royal houses of Europe, I believe--even leaving out
of account the Continental adventures of your father and uncle, and
the new lustre they have shed upon your name?”
“May I ask your other reasons?” asked Usk, his blood tingling at the
tone of genial sarcasm. It was clear that Mr Steinherz did not share
Mr Hicks’s enthusiasm over Count Mortimer’s marriage.
“There’s only one, but I won’t tell you that right now. You see this
envelope? I will seal it and direct it to you, and you can open it
this day six months, or at my death. The enclosure will explain
itself.”
Usk put the envelope into his pocket, struck by the change in his
host’s manner, but the momentary gloom passed quickly.
“Think things over to-night, as I said. We will meet at the club
to-morrow at eleven, and you can tell me what you have concluded to
do. I have been frank with you, and I look to you to be frank with me.
And I’ll make just this one exception to your vow of silence. You may
tell all of the circumstances to your uncle, Count Mortimer, if he
should be in Europe any time. Don’t trust them to paper. He is a man
of the world, and will fix you up with the best advice. I say this
because Hicks asked me some time back to nominate him as a second
trustee, if he would consent to act. And one thing yet. If by any
grievous necessity you are forced to have the secret become public
property, face it out boldly. You would rather marry the Yankee
shipbuilder’s daughter than the morganatic daughter of a Prince of
Arragon, wouldn’t you? So I thought. Well, remember that my marriage
was not morganatic. I made it just as legal and binding every way as I
could, and there is to be no half-recognition. If Félicia is not a
Princess of Arragon, she is Miss Steinherz of Rhode Island. I leave
her mother’s name in your care. All of the proofs that you’ll need are
in Hicks’s hands--papers, portraits, little things that belonged to my
mother, the list of witnesses of the Vindobona marriage, my own sworn
and attested statement of the facts--Hicks has everything in charge.”
“What has Mr Hicks got in charge?” asked a voice gaily as Mr Steinherz
opened the door leading into the sitting-room. Maimie stood at the
side-table, pouring out a glass of iced water from the jug which was
placed there in compliment to American tastes. Anxious to hear as much
as she could, she had found it quite impossible to escape when the
voices approached the door, and had barely succeeded in reaching the
table.
“What are you doing here this time of night?” asked Mr Steinherz.
“Why, I have been sitting up,” said Maimie glibly, “and I guess my
book wasn’t soothing enough. I don’t feel the least bit like going to
sleep, any way, and the water in my room is just torrid, so I
remembered this pitcher here, and came to get some.”
She faced her guardian boldly, with bright eyes and flushed face. “I
just hope he won’t have me produce the book that proved so
interesting,” she thought, and then became aware that the glass in her
hand was shaking visibly, for the long crouching in a cramped position
had left her deadly cold. “Like must cure like!” she said to herself,
and drank off the water with a smile to Mr Steinherz. “I’d like to
have you tell Félicia that she mustn’t pass along her nerve-attacks
to me,” she added aloud. “What with her headache and that book, I’m so
nervous I could dance.”
“Unless you have a particular wish for Lord Usk as a partner, I would
advise you to go right to your own room, and do it there,” said Mr
Steinherz, and Maimie was thankful to escape. Passing Félicia’s door,
she caught the monotonous tones of the weary maid, who was reading her
mistress to sleep, and heard also a pettish voice say, “What nonsense
you make of it, Pringle! I believe you are going right asleep. I had
just lost myself, and now you have waked me up again.”
“Maybe I ought to go and massage her head,” said Maimie thoughtfully
to herself, “but I guess I’ll have Pringle go on suffering this once.
I want to think. If Félicia only knew! But if I told her now, the
same house wouldn’t hold her and her father. And I can’t tell Lord Usk
about it, because he knows already, nor talk about it with Pappa
Steinherz, because he would know I’d been listening, and it’s no use
thinking of making it public, because he would be fit to deny all of
the story, and I suppose it couldn’t be proved without him. When I
concluded to find out why he was so set on marrying Félicia off to
this lord, I didn’t ever expect this. It’s tremendous.
For--the--land’s--sake!” she spoke slowly and emphatically, “what a
boom I could work up if we were back in New York! But here I don’t see
I can do anything with it any way. I guess I’ll just have to save it
up in case Prince Malasorte should show his face again. I might fix
things then so’s it would fall to him to charge it on Mr Steinherz.
But what am I to say about my listening? I’m not ashamed of it a
cent--though I did feel awfully mean when he talked about his
love-affairs--but some folks would think it cast a doubt on my
evidence. What I want is some queer fact that would be likely to set
my wits to work until I puzzled out the thing for myself. But suppose
there isn’t anything really. Suppose Mr Steinherz dreamed all of the
story--suppose he has lost his mind! Oh, I can’t endure this! There
must be something right away back that I could remember, to give me
the clue I want. St Mary Windicotes! Where have I ever heard that name
before?”
She sat for a while pondering the question, then sprang up, and
throwing open a huge trunk in a corner, plunged her arm to the very
bottom, and brought out a small old-fashioned Prayer-book. She turned
to the fly-leaf. On it were written the words, “Julia Slazenger, from
her sincere friend Marian Cotton. St Mary Windicotes Vicarage, May
18th, 18--.”
“I knew it!” she cried, “and Aunt Connie used to tell Fay and me all
about it evenings when we were babies. We thought it must be a mean
sort of a place, but she seemed real fond of it, and I would know it
anywhere. I’ll go right there, and look up that register for myself.
Charing Cross, Mr Steinherz said--that’s somewhere down town, I
know--and Bradcross is a suburb, so I guess it can’t be far away. I’ll
take that message about Félicia’s shoes to the store myself, instead
of having Pringle go, and then I’ll go way down there without any
other person’s knowing. I _will_ find out whether it’s a dream or
not.”