MURDERED FAITH.
“We really ought to buy something at the refreshment-stall,” said
the Grand-Duchess; “but what is one to do with cakes in a hotel?”
“We might have tea here instead,” said Queen Ernestine. “Usk, perhaps
you can find us a table in a quiet corner?”
A bazaar was being held on behalf of some object connected with the
English church, and the Queen, escorted by Usk, had met the
Grand-Duchess of Schwarzwald-Molzau and her daughter making the round
of the stalls. One of the lady members of the committee, who was
hovering at the Queen’s heels with the view of directing her attention
to the most desirable, and expensive, articles on each stall, heard
the remark about tea, and appeared suddenly in front of the party, her
whole aspect eloquent of a desire to be addressed.
“Perhaps you can help us, Miss Waverley?” said the Queen, with a
smile. “We should like to find a table a little more private than this
one.”
“I can show you the very place, Ma’am,” replied Miss Waverley
breathlessly. “There is a little nook here where your Majesty can see
all that goes on without being seen, if your--if the gentleman will
just help me to move this table.”
“Which of us is anxious to see all that is to be seen?” asked the
Queen, as Miss Waverley hurried away to order the tea. “I think it
must be you, Helene. Sit here, dear, where you can watch the people.
Do put those parcels on the floor, Usk, and sit down.”
“I’m trying to decide whether Miss Waverley takes me for your equerry
or your footman,” said Usk. “In either case she will be very much
scandalised if she catches me sitting down. I think I had better
receive the things from her and present them. Does your Majesty wish
to be served on the knee?”
“I wish you to sit down in the place that is left for you, and to
amuse the Princess Helene while her mother and I have a talk.”
“Ma’am, I obey,” and Usk took the seat pointed out to him. “How will
your Grand-Ducal Highness please to be amused?” he asked of Helene.
“Why are you talking in this way? It is not at all like you,” she said
wearily, and he noticed that the pale little face looked thinner, and
that the eyes were heavy. “Why should you make this pretence?”
“Because the world is full of pretence, and we can’t get away from
it,” he answered, bitterly enough. Her eyes sought his face in a
moment.
“Oh, I am sorry,” she said quickly. “I ought to have known that there
was something wrong. I see it in your eyes.”
“I had rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind. But I might say
the same thing to you. Something has gone wrong, hasn’t it?”
“Ivan Petrovitch has found out that I call him the Tartar, and papa is
so angry. He made me apologise to him.”
“And how did he take it?”
“Oh, as one would expect. He only said smoothly, ‘I hope the Princess
Helene will think better of me when she has more opportunity of
judging,’ but his voice made me shiver. What did he mean?”
“Well, you know,” said Usk, as her eyes met his again with that look
of horror in them, “I told you----”
“Don’t say you told me it was a foolish thing to do. I know it, but I
am quite unhappy enough without that.” She sat looking out between the
draperies which shaded their corner, but her eyes seemed to see
nothing of the gay room and the busy people. Then she turned suddenly
to Usk again. “I am very rude and absent of mind,” she said. “You must
forgive me, please. I wanted to tell you that I saw your beautiful
lady yesterday.”
“Miss Steinherz?” growled Usk.
“Who else could it be? She is very, very beautiful, and her beauty is
uncommon--original--how shall I say it?--witchlike?--oh no, that has a
bad meaning in English, has it not? Spirit-like? ah, that is it. She
is an Undine--before she had found her soul, of course.”
“Why do you say ‘of course’?” asked Usk. Helene started.
“Oh, I beg your pardon. What could I have been thinking of? Please
forgive me, I ought not to have said such a thing. It was merely a
silly thought of mine. Do forget it, please.”
“I think it was the truth,” said Usk bitterly. “At least, if she has a
soul, I have not found it, but I don’t think she has.”
“Oh, don’t say that. She is so beautiful.”
“Judge for yourself. I have fought against it a long time, but now it
is forced upon me. She does not love me, and only tolerates me near
her to make another man jealous.”
“Oh no, no!” Her tone was sharp with pain. “You love her, and yet you
can say this to me--almost a stranger!”
“I have not dared to say it to myself before, but it’s better to face
it,” was the stubborn reply. “I oughtn’t to sadden you with it, I
know, but I can’t talk to my uncle and aunt about it.”
“It will not sadden me, if I can help you. See, you have misunderstood
Miss Steinherz, have you not? She conceals her love, perhaps, she is
shy and proud? Perhaps even she coquets with you; she shows kindness
to another suitor for the sake of teasing you? That is foolish, it is
even wrong; but the heart is there, and loves you. You do not
understand women very much, perhaps? So often they think it
undignified, unwise, to let the love they truly have be seen. That is
it, is it not? not--not what you say. A good woman could not act in
that way, and she must be a good woman if you have chosen her to love
out of all the world.”
“I wish I could think so!” said Usk, in a tone of such misery that
Helene’s eyes filled with tears.
“Oh, if only I could help you!” she said. “I can only pray--pray that
the good God will show you her heart full of love for you, that you
may learn how you have misjudged her. Think how you will be obliged to
humble yourself before her when you discover the truth!”
“I shouldn’t mind that,” said Usk, with the ghost of a smile.
“I’m afraid our tea-party won’t add very largely to the profits of the
refreshment-stall,” said the Grand-Duchess. “I think we have eaten one
cake of five centimes between us. Lenchen, darling, you are
over-tired. Eat one of these cream-cakes, to please me.”
“I can’t, mamma. I am not hungry.”
“I can give them a five-franc piece, if you like, madame,” suggested
Usk, “and ask them to add the change to their profits.”
“Ah, that is a good idea. And if you see our _chasseur_, Lord Usk,
perhaps you will kindly tell him to call up the carriage.”
Neither Queen Ernestine nor Usk spoke much as they returned to the
hotel, for both were thinking of the conversation at the tea-table;
but as soon as Usk had put down his parcels, and betaken himself to
Nicholson’s rooms, the Queen turned impulsively to her husband.
“Oh, Cyril,” she said, “they are going to sacrifice that poor child!”
“Little Helene? Is it all settled?”
“They have not told her yet, but I can’t help thinking that she begins
to perceive the truth. There is a look in her eyes----”
“But why doesn’t the Grand-Duchess break it to her, and let her have
time to get accustomed to the idea?”
“She is afraid. The child has such a horror of Ivan Petrovitch that
Adelheid thinks it would nearly kill her. She has always been so
delicate, you know.”
“But it will be much worse, surely, if it comes upon her suddenly?”
“So I should think, but I can see that Adelheid is afraid both of Ivan
Petrovitch and her husband. Ludwig is bent upon the marriage. He has
never cared very much for Helene; she has always been her mother’s
child. And he thinks he sees the romantic strain coming out in her.”
“No doubt of that, I should say. It is really curious how it reappears
once or twice in a generation.”
“Yes; and Ludwig can never forget his cousin Ernest Albrecht, who died
long ago. He was originally intended to marry Adelheid, you know, but
they allowed him, after years of waiting, to resign his rank and
betroth himself to dear Sister Chriemhild at Brutli. Ludwig is
determined never to allow anything of the kind while he is head of the
family.”
“Still, he might find the girl a more attractive husband of her own
rank than that unspeakable Scythian. Has the Grand-Duchess pointed
that out to him?”
“Ah, but Ivan Petrovitch is also determined upon the match. I hope I
don’t misjudge him, Cyril--or rather I hope I do, for Helene’s
sake--but it seems to me that he sees the child’s horror of him, and
enjoys it. It gives him actual pleasure to play upon her sensitive
nature, and watch the torture it inflicts upon her.”
“Pah! it makes one sick!” said Cyril, rising hastily, and walking up
and down the room. “But what can we do, Ernestine? We can’t interfere
to prevent a marriage which the girl’s own parents have arranged.”
“I thought you might be able to think of something.”
“Nothing would be any good, except to provide a more eligible suitor,
and where is he to be found? You could hardly wish me to make definite
proposals on Usk’s behalf when he has no eyes for any one but
Félicia?”
“No, certainly not. Besides, Ludwig would not think him at all
eligible. I only wish he might. It is wonderful how Helene has taken
to him. She seems to open out like a flower in the sunshine. Adelheid
was quite delighted at first, but to-day she asked me to arrange that
they should not meet much. She is afraid that Ludwig might think they
were falling in love.”
“Really these complications seem hopeless. I suppose Usk will see
before long that Félicia is simply fooling him, but I don’t in the
least think he will turn to Helene for consolation. He will be very
hard hit.”
“And the woman who treats him in this way will marry Michael!”
“Well, if she jilts Usk for him, we must infer that she loves
Michael,” said Cyril drily.
“Loves his crown, perhaps. But that is uncharitable. Still, what hope
can there be of her exercising a good influence over him? Oh, Cyril,
isn’t it terrible to see everything going wrong around one, and not to
be able to put it right?”
“I thought you believed that, after all, things were better managed
than you could arrange them yourself?”
“I know. I am wrong to be so faithless. But one cannot see how all
this is to end.”
Usk walked away from the Villa Bougainvillea with bent head and
compressed lips, and crossing the Avénue de la Gare, took the
direction of the Cornice Road. Félicia had befooled him once more. It
was arranged that he should come to the Villa at a certain time in the
afternoon, as he had done each day since their reconciliation, more
with the object of asserting his rights than because he felt any
special pleasure in Félicia’s society. To-day, as he approached the
house, he had caught a distant glimpse of a motor-car dashing off in
the opposite direction, and it was hardly with surprise that he heard
the servant say that madame and mademoiselle were not at home. There
was a meaning look in the man’s eyes, and for a moment Usk thought of
asking him where the ladies were. But he rejected with disgust the
idea of bribing a servant to spy upon Félicia, and moreover, there in
the drive were the marks of the wheels of the automobile, conclusive
evidence. Conscious that the man was watching his face with malicious
interest, he remarked merely that he would look in again later, and
walked slowly down the steps with head erect. But when he was out of
sight of the door, he gave up the pretence, and his pace quickened
insensibly. He must walk on and on until he was away from every one,
and could think over this last treachery and all that it implied.
Crowded streets and close-set houses, villas in gardens, desolate
building-land with straggling beginnings of avenues and terraces here
and there--they were all passed at last, and he was breasting the
slope of the mountain. Past the Observatory, up a farther ascent, and
he came upon a quiet spot enough, though four roads met there. He left
the road and plunged into the wilderness of low scented bushes, hating
the perfume they gave out as he crashed through them. Mounting a
hillock, he found a spot bare of bushes, and flung himself on the
turf, invisible to any one passing along the road. For a time he could
only lie there writhing in impotent passion, digging his feet into the
ground, and tearing up handfuls of grass and tiny flowers and flinging
them away. The instinct of destruction was strong upon him. He loathed
the beauties round him and the beauty outspread in front--the long
slopes clad in every shade of green, grey-green of olives, light-green
of carob, dark-green of orange and lemon-trees, bright-green of
pistachio, stretching down to the almost painful blue of the sea, from
which the eye sought relief gladly in the white of the town opposite
and the grey of the castle crowning the hill above the harbour. It
gave him no pleasure, even when the breeze ruffled the olives suddenly
into silver, and revealed gleams of gold among the orange-groves. He
hated the whole prospect for its very beauty. It was like Félicia,
beautiful, changeful, cruel.
After a time the keenness of the pain which possessed him became a
little dulled, and he found himself resolving upon his future course.
To depart at once from Nice, leaving a scathing letter of farewell for
Félicia, was the plan which suggested itself first, but it was
obviously incomplete. He had realised now that he had nothing to hope
for from her in the way either of justice or tenderness, and it would
be a mistake to allow her to declare that he had gone away in a fit of
jealousy without giving her a chance of explaining matters. No, he
must see her again, distasteful as the thought was. She would try, no
doubt, to entangle him again in her sophistries, to wind him round
with that net of cajolery into which he had walked with his eyes open,
but this time it would be in vain. Never in his life had he felt so
miserable, so degraded, as during the past week, when Félicia had
been everything that was tender and affectionate. He had deteriorated
morally since he had condoned her faithlessness for the sake of her
beauty and her fascinations, but he was not the man to regard such
deterioration with equanimity. He would free himself from the toils
and turn his back upon Félicia for ever, returning to England wiser,
if poorer, robbed, as it seemed, of one whole side of his life. He had
no doubt as to his own course, but he must make it clear to Félicia
that he was leaving her finally--must place the issues before her so
plainly that she could not evade them or wriggle out of her
responsibility.
How this was to be done was the question. The moral agony through
which he had passed seemed to have blunted his mental powers. His
reasonings ended abruptly, as though he had come suddenly to a blank
wall or fallen from a height; and though he struggled with himself, he
could not arrive at any decision. He was still lying on the turf,
utterly spent, his hands gripping the clods he had torn up, when a
voice behind him said, “Lord Usk!”
He turned angrily and sprang to his feet, enraged that any one should
have observed him in this dark hour. Behind him stood a tall lady very
elaborately dressed in black. Her face, with its strongly marked
features and dark eyes, was handsome, though worn, and her abundant
black hair was still without a thread of grey. Usk knew her well. She
was the Princess Dowager of Dardania, who had shown a good deal of
interest in his sister Philippa and himself two years since at
Ludwigsbad.
“I must apologise for intruding upon you,” said the Princess, as he
stood speechless, “but I saw you from my windows--with a
telescope,”--she pointed to a house just discernible among the trees
on one of the upper slopes,--“and I ventured to follow you. Perhaps
you would not mind coming a little lower down the hill? There is a
spot where we can be quite sheltered from observation, and I should
not like the dear young friend for whose sake I am here to know what I
had done.”
Usk obeyed in silence. Speech seemed to have forsaken him, and he
could only follow the Princess, and sit down on the turf opposite her,
as her gesture invited him to do.
“We need not beat about the bush,” she said. “You, like me, have a
particular interest just now in King Michael of Thracia,--I because
his fickleness is breaking the heart of the dear girl who is my one
comfort, you because he has chosen for the time being to set his
affections upon your _fiancée_.”
Usk bowed, and opened his lips to speak, but the Princess held up her
hand.
“Wait, if you please. I sympathise with you sincerely, but chiefly for
reasons with which you are not at present acquainted. Bad as his
conduct is, Michael is not wholly to blame. He is inspired by others,
who have taken advantage of his weakness of character to serve their
own ends. Don’t interrupt me,” as Usk, who began to see whither this
was tending, raised his head again, “but listen. The whole affair is
the work of your uncle, Count Mortimer. I don’t say that he is working
for his own aggrandisement in any vulgar sense, but with his incurable
instinct of intrigue, he has seen how to reap advantage from Michael’s
inconstancy.”
“Before you go any further, madame,” said Usk firmly, “I may as well
tell you that nothing you can say will make me doubt my uncle’s good
faith.”
An angry shadow crossed the Princess’s face. “Perhaps you will at
least have the politeness to hear what I have to say before you
decline to believe it,” she said. “I am doing Count Mortimer all
possible justice, and distinguishing him absolutely from the common
herd of adventurers, when I say that the prospect of securing Miss
Steinherz’s millions in his own family had no charms for him. It was
much too simple and obvious. But when the preposterous claim which the
young lady has chosen to put forward came to his knowledge, then he
saw an opening for his peculiar talents. You do not need me to tell
you that Miss Steinherz’s claim is utterly hopeless, judged by the
family laws of the houses both of Albret and Hohenstaufen. The
marriage in London is invalid on the face of it, and of the asserted
marriage at Vindobona not a single witness has come forward. Even if
it could be proved to have taken place, it was invalid without the
sanction of the Emperor and the King of Cantabria, as well as of the
Pope. But strange things are sometimes done in the name of expediency,
and your uncle thinks that for the sake of her millions Miss Steinherz
might possibly be admitted into a family which is in chronic want of
money, to settle a difficulty which demands large sums. Here, then, is
the state of the case. Michael, engaged to my dear Sonya, whose dowry
would put an end to all his difficulties, is deliberately exposed to
the charms of Miss Steinherz, who is betrothed to you, and he
succumbs, but cannot marry her since she is not of royal blood. Now
steps in Count Mortimer. To provide Michael with a bride of German
descent, and furnish the needed money without expense to the Three
Powers, will give him a claim on their gratitude, which is just what
he needs for the furtherance of his private ends. Your love, your
interests, have no part in his scheme. He does not broach his idea
until Miss Steinherz’s claim has been definitely rejected by the house
of Albret, and then he approaches the Emperor, his constant patron in
the past. The Grand-Duke of Schwarzwald-Molzau is sent to report on
the affair. You have wondered, perhaps, why King Michael has absented
himself for nearly a week from the Villa Bougainvillea, while you have
been received there. It was simply because the Grand-Duke was sending
his report to Vindobona, and waiting for the answer. To-day it has
arrived, and he is authorised to see Miss Steinherz and find out what
extent of recognition will satisfy her. You have still time, but only
just time, to put an end to the affair. If Miss Steinherz is satisfied
with the acknowledgment that her father was morganatically married,
she will receive no more, naturally, and Michael cannot marry her. If
she stood alone she would not get that; but in view of her betrothal
to you, I think it might be conceded. But the idea is that the
marriage shall be retrospectively recognised as fully legal, and the
girl raised by letters-patent to the status of a Princess of Arragon;
and things have gone so far now that you can only prevent this through
your uncle.”
“And how is that to be worked, madame?”
“Go straight to Count Mortimer, and tell him”--her nostrils dilated,
and there was something tigerish about her mouth--“that every detail
of his plot for establishing himself in Palestine is in my hands. I
know of everything, down to the penny subscription among the poorest
of those he has deluded to purchase a crown and royal robes for the
‘Prince of the Captivity,’ as they call him. The whole proceedings at
every meeting of the conspirators are reported to me, their agents are
known and followed everywhere. If he renounces this marriage project
of his I will take no further steps. When Michael marries Sonya I can
afford to laugh at Count Mortimer and his puny tricks in the East. But
if he goes on I will hand over all my information immediately to
Prince Soudaroff, and he may guess how much hope he has of success,
even of safety, after that. There is my message, which will restore
happiness to you, and also to the poor girl who is breaking her heart
for Michael. Will you deliver it?”
“I will deliver it to Count Mortimer, madame.”
“You exhibit no superabundant gratitude, Lord Usk. Surely if I restore
you your bride and her fortune, and also give you the opportunity of
saving your uncle from the consequences of his own imprudence, I
deserve thanks, at least?”
Usk smiled involuntarily. It did not seem to strike the Princess that
he could have any hesitation in marrying Félicia, although Félicia
was moving heaven and earth to enable her to marry King Michael.
Probably her fortune was expected to obviate any distaste he might
feel.
“Surely, madame, success and the applause of your own conscience would
be reward enough?”
“Your uncle has been speaking against me!” she cried angrily.
“Indeed, madame, I have never heard him express anything but the
highest possible admiration for your talents.”
“You are too polite. It would be well not to imitate your uncle too
closely in his cleverness, lest you should do so also in his fate. Is
it allowable to ask what you intend to do about Miss Steinherz?”
“I have not made up my mind, madame. But I shall not forget to deliver
your message. May I have the honour of escorting you home?”
She declined the offer with a gesture, and, descending into the road,
walked slowly towards the house in the trees, while Usk turned his
steps again towards Nice. This new information gave him the crowning
test of which he had vaguely felt the need. After all, it was just
possible that Félicia might even now care for him enough to decide in
his favour rather than lose him altogether, and she should determine
matters for herself. The hour of struggle on the hill-top had not been
wasted, for he had made his decision. He would not be her slave any
longer.
Félicia gave a little scream when he was suddenly announced at the
Villa. She was in a small upstairs sitting-room, which was sacred to
her and Maimie, and she was wearing a black gown with white ruffles,
which gave her a most incongruously Puritan look. Usk’s lip curled in
spite of himself as he saw that her hair was dressed to correspond
with the gown, for it was evident that she was ready to receive the
Grand-Duke. Maimie, no doubt, had suggested the pose, so well carried
out, of the daughter only lately bereaved, turning wistfully for
consolation to her dead father’s family. Usk himself knew too much to
be anything but an intruder at this moment.
“I wasn’t just expecting you,” Félicia gasped.
“I won’t stay unless you wish it,” he returned. “If you will just tell
me whether you intend to marry King Michael or me, I shall know
whether to go or not.”
“But I can’t tell you right now,” objected Félicia, taken aback,
“because--why----”
“Because you don’t know. You’ll marry Michael if you can get him, and
if not, then you’ll put up with me. But I don’t care for being put up
with, and if you mean to think of Michael still, I will go.”
“Well, then, you’re just horrid!” cried Félicia angrily. “I guess
I’ve told you ’most a dozen times that I like you best, but if I’m a
princess I must marry according to my rank.”
“Won’t do, Fay. If you stick to me I’ll stick to you, princess or no
princess; but if not, I prefer to depart now rather than later.”
There were genuine tears in Félicia’s eyes. “You won’t understand,
Usk,” she said, “and I don’t see but it must seem strange to you. I
don’t pretend to be romantic--American girls aren’t generally that, I
guess--but I like you, really. If they reject my claim after all, I’ll
just settle down real happily with you, and you’ll forget all of
this.”
“And if they acknowledge it, you’ll settle down happily with me all
the same?”
Félicia looked down. “I guess I won’t just have things in my own
hands then,” she said.
“Oh yes, you will, if you choose. If you’re engaged to me, I’ll take
good care that you don’t marry any one else.”
“You don’t know the temptation of a crown, Usk,” said Félicia softly.
“I know my father tried it, and was jolly glad to give it up.”
“Oh, your father!” The tone was eloquent. “But for me, Usk!”
“Very well; if you prefer your crown, say so, and I’ll go.”
“You’re real tiresome, fussing me like this. Do just wait a little.”
“Not another hour,” said Usk.
“Say, Fay!” Maimie burst into the room, “come right down; the
Grand-Duke’s here. Don’t stop to prink. That gown is just distracting
already.”
“Now, Fay, decide,” said Usk. “If you make up your mind to stick to
me, it’s natural for me to be with you when you receive the
Grand-Duke, and to explain to him that we are engaged. If you tell me
you don’t want me to be there, I shall know you are giving me up.”
“Do tell!” cried Maimie. “Who asked you to make conditions, Lord Usk?
Send him off right away, Fay.”
“You said you cared for me,” urged Usk. Félicia wavered.
“Félicia Steinherz, if you give in now I’m done with you,” said
Maimie, and Félicia unhooked Usk’s ring from her bangle, and threw it
at him.
“I just hate you both!” she cried; “but I’ve concluded which to
choose.”