HEAVILY HANDICAPPED.
For some time after these exciting events, there was peace in the
Palace at Bellaviste, until the near approach of the date fixed for
the Princess of Weldart’s departure for the South of France brought
about another difference of opinion between the Regent and her
Ministers. The breach caused by the Queen’s discovery of the part her
mother had played with reference to the letter to the Emperor had soon
been bridged over, for the young widow in her loneliness could not
keep up a quarrel with the only person in whom her position and
circumstances permitted her to confide. Indeed, it was the friendly
relations existing between the mother and daughter which led to the
fresh difficulty already mentioned, for Queen Ernestine, dreading the
solitude of the long winter, and finding her life very monotonous and
the cares of State uncomfortably heavy, conceived a desire that she
and the little King should accompany the Princess to the Riviera. Full
of enthusiasm for her new idea, she broached the subject to M.
Drakovics and Cyril one morning, when the business on which they had
come to consult her was ended. To her surprise and annoyance, the
Premier showed no disposition to further her wishes.
“It is impossible, madame,” he said bluntly.
“Impossible? But I wish it!” she exclaimed, with the childishness
which occasionally made Cyril long to put her in the corner.
“Impossible, madame,” repeated M. Drakovics, “if only from the point
of view of propriety. To leave your kingdom, so lately bereaved of its
head, for the gaieties of the Riviera, would be an unheard-of slight
to the memory of your husband, and produce a most deplorable
impression in the country.”
“That may be perfectly true,” thought Cyril, “but it was not your
business to say it, at any rate in that way.” The Queen turned
crimson, and cast a fiery glance at the Premier.
“I can assure your Excellency that the memory of my husband is quite
safe in my hands. You are evidently unaware that my mother’s villa is
situated in a most secluded spot, and that she sees no society, with
the exception of members of her own family. Your Excellency’s
insinuation is unpardonable.”
“I think, madame,” Cyril ventured to say, “that the Premier has not
stated the chief objection to the journey your Majesty was proposing,
but I am sure it is in his mind. In the present state of public
affairs, it would be highly inexpedient, if not positively dangerous,
for your Majesty and the King to be both absent from Thracia at the
same time. His Excellency was unwilling to suggest the possibility of
your accompanying her Royal Highness and leaving his Majesty behind,
but that is the only alternative.”
“Ah yes, it is likely that I shall leave my child, is it not?” she
asked with superb scorn, while her fingers beat a tattoo on the table
with the inlaid paperknife. “One would have thought it would be
perfectly clear to you, gentlemen, that it is on account of the King’s
health I am anxious not to spend the winter at Bellaviste.”
“I trust, madame, that you have no reason for anxiety on his Majesty’s
behalf? The Court physician’s reports are most reassuring.”
“Oh, naturally--there is nothing absolutely the matter with him, but
he is growing too fast and becoming thin and pale. It is the fault of
this town air, and the confined life here at the Palace. I want him to
be in the country, where he can live simply and play with other
children, and be merely a boy among boys.”
“The plan is an excellent one, madame,” said M. Drakovics, finding his
tongue for the first time since the severe rebuke he had received;
“but I must agree with Count Mortimer that it would be in the highest
degree unwise for your Majesty and the King to quit the country at
present.” The Queen frowned, but he went on valiantly, “What does your
Majesty think of Praka as a winter residence? The climate is
extraordinarily mild, and the combination of sea air and rural life
would be excellent for his Majesty.”
“I don’t care for Praka,” returned the Queen shortly. “If we must
remain in Thracia as state prisoners, I prefer to go to Tatarjé. The
Villa Alexova, among the pine-woods, is an ideally lovely spot.”
“But, pardon me, madame--Tatarjé is a whole day’s journey from
Bellaviste, even by rail. It is most important that your Majesty
should not be far from the capital, in case of any sudden emergency.”
“You seem determined to oppose everything I suggest!” cried the Queen
petulantly. “I detest Praka. If I am satisfied to leave your
Excellency in charge of affairs, and merely to be informed by
telegraph of what happens, surely there is nothing wrong in that?”
“I could not consent to undertake such a responsibility, madame.”
“But you are content to accept the responsibility of undermining the
King’s health? Pray say no more, messieurs. We will discuss this
matter again. As for me, I am weary of it,” and she swept out of the
room, and sought refuge with her mother.
“They wish us to go to Praka,” she said, entering the morning-room.
“What did I tell you?” responded the Princess quickly. “Of course they
choose Praka. No doubt they have settled it together long ago.”
“It would not surprise me,” the Queen agreed. “They seem to work
together as though they had only one mind between them.”
“We must separate them. So long as they are united, we are powerless.
I wish I could see a little more practical wisdom in you, Ernestine.
It is all very well to pay the most exaggerated deference to these two
men one day, and quarrel with them the next; but it merely cements
their alliance instead of breaking it.”
“Why, what would you have me do?” asked the Queen listlessly.
“I would have you work on a definite plan. What is the use of your
alternate sweetness and petulance if it all leads to nothing?”
“How can it lead to anything? I am pleasant to them if things are
happening as I like, and I suppose I am petulant if I feel cross. One
cannot act on a plan when one is angry.”
“That’s the very thing. You should never exhibit anger or pleasure
unless to serve a purpose. You must learn to conceal your feelings.”
“I have never been able to do that hitherto. But what is the purpose
which this concealment is to serve?”
“The estrangement of Count Mortimer from M. Drakovics. It is a very
simple matter, and I really feel quite impatient when I see you
wasting without any result quarrels and reconciliations which might
effect so much.”
“One might think that I was in love with either or both of these
gentlemen,” said the Queen lightly. Her mother frowned.
“Remember your position, Ernestine, pray. I should be afraid to engage
you in any diplomatic intrigue worthy of the name; you are so absurdly
susceptible to outside influence, and so unable to conceal its effect
on you. Is it possible that you don’t see who is to blame for the way
in which these men continue to act together?”
“No, indeed--unless you mean the men themselves?”
“I mean you. You have persisted in treating the two Ministers as
though they were a double-faced automaton, working merely as a whole,
when the slightest glimmering of common-sense should have led you to
see that your only hope lay in considering them separately.”
“But what ought I to have done?”
“You should have treated them with the most even and impartial
courtesy when they were together, reserving all your fluctuations of
temper or spirits for the occasions on which you received either of
them alone. Suppose Count Mortimer had requested an audience--you
should have treated him with friendly kindness, deferred to his
opinion, and taken the opportunity of lamenting that M. Drakovics
never sympathised with your difficult position, nor understood your
troubles. When you received M. Drakovics, you would have used similar
measures, and complained of Count Mortimer, intimating, of course,
that he himself was the only friend you possessed in Thracia. In this
way each man, without the other’s knowing it, would grow to imagine
himself to be high in your favour and confidence, and would look on
his rival with a jealous eye, until they began to quarrel about the
right of private audience. You would remain unobservant all this time,
except when you interfered to heighten the agony a little. Jealousy
would end by leading to a quarrel in your presence, when you could at
once get rid of them both.”
“It all sounds very wicked and very mysterious,” said the Queen,
stifling a yawn; “but I could never succeed in that kind of thing. I
haven’t the brains or the tact for politics, mamma. And even if one
could deceive M. Drakovics--I can quite believe that his vanity would
lend itself to such a course--I don’t think I should be successful
with Count Mortimer. He seems to be able to see through things. I did
try to win him over once--it was about Sophie von Staubach’s
appointment--but he saw it immediately, and it made me feel so
dreadfully uncomfortable, though he did take my side.”
“Then with him you must act differently. Some men prefer to be
approached without disguise, and you can flatter his weaknesses
openly.”
“But he has none. The King used to say, ‘Mortimer has no vices except
ambition, no pleasures even--except power.’”
“Except ambition and power! But that is everything, for the love of
power can ruin a man just as surely as any other vice. This makes me
hopeful, Ernestine, for your husband was a shrewd observer of
character. We must approach Count Mortimer on his weak side. It might
be as well occasionally to hint at the possibility of his superseding
M. Drakovics as Premier. That will put his own thoughts into words.
Then, in the meantime, there are other ways. Money confers power. One
might assist him to marry an heiress. He ought to marry; but no doubt
his poverty has prevented him hitherto.”
“But, dear mamma, I have not an unlimited choice of heiresses at hand
to offer him.”
“You have one, which is quite enough. There is your maid of honour,
Anna Mirkovics--her father fully expects you to select a husband for
her, and she will be the richest woman in Thracia at her mother’s
death. It would be an excellent match.”
“But Anna is terribly plain, and has no education, according to our
ideas. Besides, even if Count Mortimer married her, how would it
detach him from M. Drakovics?”
“You are rather dense to-day, my dear child. Naturally, I do not
propose that you should give Anna to the Count without exacting any
conditions. You would, of course, agree with him that, in return for
your help in arranging the marriage, he should support you in future
against M. Drakovics. The girl is so absurdly devoted to you that her
influence would all be cast in the same direction.”
“And Anna is to be sold to him as the price of his support! I thought
it was only princesses who were treated in that way? At any rate, I
don’t intend to sacrifice her to a husband who would only marry her
for her money. Moreover, I am certain that Count Mortimer would not
consent to the bargain.”
“Not consent!” The Princess of Weldart’s eyebrows rose until they
nearly met her hair. “My dear Ernestine, only give him the chance!”
“I will,” said the Queen, unmoved. “If I were not so sure that he
would refuse, I would not risk Anna’s happiness; but I know he will.”
“I have not the slightest doubt that he will seize upon the idea with
avidity.”
“And I am sure that you misjudge him. You have scolded me so often for
yielding to the King’s dying wish, and consenting to a reconciliation
with this man, that I wish him to justify himself to you. I believe
that he is a sincere friend to Michael and myself, although he makes
himself extremely disagreeable in fulfilling the duties imposed by his
friendship. Well, you will see.”
“We shall see,” echoed the Princess; and the Queen, piqued by the
incredulity of her tone, sat down and dashed off a request to Cyril to
come to her immediately, as she wished to consult him upon a point of
importance.
“I will send it at once,” she said, ringing the bell. To the servant
who answered the summons she gave the note, desiring him to deliver it
instantly, and as soon as he was gone she turned again to her mother.
“You must sit behind the screen,” she said. “I don’t want you to be
able to say that he posed as a disinterested ally because you were
present. And you must not reveal yourself, of course. It would
scarcely do to have a ‘screen scene’--an unforeseen _dénoûment_ of a
dramatic order--in this little comedy of ours. It is quite exciting,
isn’t it? I wonder how you will feel as you sit concealed, and listen
to Count Mortimer’s noble sentiments!”
She was full of interest and animation as she hastened to arrange the
screen round the Princess as she sat beside the fire, and walked
backwards and forwards from the door to the table to assure herself
that there was no possibility of Cyril’s catching a glimpse of the
concealed auditor. Just as his footsteps were heard without, she
jumped up again to arrange one side of the screen more easily, so that
it might not look as though there was anything to hide, and only
returned to her chair as the footman opened the door.
“You were pleased to send for me, madame?” said Cyril, as he entered.
“Yes; I wanted to talk about this plan of wintering in the country.
Surely you can induce M. Drakovics to withdraw his opposition to our
going to Tatarjé? The King and I are the persons chiefly concerned,
after all.”
“The kingdom is also concerned, madame.”
“Oh, of course; but then---- Come, Count, I wish to go to the Villa
Alexova; is not that enough? It is a lady’s reason, you know.”
“It is enough for a lady’s reason, madame; but not for a Queen’s
reason.”
Queen Ernestine shrugged her shoulders. “Your definitions are too
subtle for me, Count. I think you will use your influence with M.
Drakovics, since I ask it?”
“Madame, I dare not use my influence to the injury of the kingdom.”
“The injury of the kingdom!” she cried indignantly. “You know as well
as I do that the reason why M. Drakovics wants us to winter at Praka
is that he has property there, and thinks that it will increase in
value if the place becomes fashionable.”
“Your Majesty has the power of divining motives. My abilities are not
of such a high order.”
“But surely it must make a difference when you know that?”
“I am afraid, madame, that it is not any part of my duty to inquire
into the secret motives which may have prompted M. Drakovics in the
advice he has thought fit to give your Majesty.”
“Duty, duty! All that you consider is your duty to M. Drakovics. Have
you no duty to the King and to me?”
“Undoubtedly, madame. In this instance the duties coincide.”
“Why do you trifle with me in this way, Count? You promised my husband
that you would befriend us--now I call upon you to fulfil your
promise. We need a new party in Thracia, such a party as supported
your English George III., the party of the King’s Friends, and you are
the man to lead them.”
“I did not know that your Majesty was ambitious of becoming a power in
politics,” returned Cyril, desperately puzzled as to her meaning.
Surely she must have some object in talking in this apparently random
way?
“What can I offer you to secure your allegiance, Count? We cannot
expect to obtain support without paying for it, I know. Would you care
to marry a rich wife? Prince Mirkovics’s daughter is in my charge, and
with her fortune it would be very suitable for her to marry a Minister
of State. Or would you prefer the reversion of the post which M.
Drakovics holds? or both, perhaps?”
Cyril stood listening in astonishment as she ran on, half afraid to
glance at his face, but determined to put him to the proof.
“Madame----” he began, but she interrupted him.
“Or there is money, of course. We are not very rich in Weldart, but
still, one can assist one’s friends occasionally. Would you----”
This time it was Cyril’s turn to interrupt. “Be good enough, madame,”
he said fiercely, “to leave your sentence unfinished. I can forgive
much in consideration of your youth; but it is impossible that you can
be so childish as not to appreciate the insult you have thought fit to
offer me.”
The Queen sat gazing at him helplessly, too much frightened to resent
his words. “I am very sorry----” she murmured feebly; “I never
thought---- I did not mean----”
“It is a pity that I promised your husband to remain in Thracia and do
my best for you and his son, madame,” he went on, “for otherwise your
Majesty would have succeeded by this time in driving me from your
service, as you desire to do.”
“I don’t desire it----” began the Queen, gazing at his angry face as
though the sight fascinated her; but she was interrupted suddenly.
“_Que vous jouez à merveille votre rôle, M. le Comte!_” cried the
Princess’s voice from her hiding-place, and she emerged from behind
the screen. Cyril turned upon Queen Ernestine.
“Is it possible, madame, that you have ventured to make this infamous
proposition to me in the presence of a third person? Perhaps I shall
discover that I have had the honour of furnishing a little
entertainment to the whole of your Majesty’s Court?”
“No, no; indeed you are unjust, Count.”
“Is it so, madame? At any rate your Majesty has the satisfaction of
realising that it is for the last time.”
“No, you are unjust still; you must let me speak. It was a trick,
Count--a foolish jest. My m---- some one pretended to doubt you, and I
assured them of your honour, and offered to test it in this way. I was
wrong to do it, but I felt certain of your answer.”
“As I am no longer in your Majesty’s service, it may perhaps be
permitted me to entreat you to remember your own position, madame, if
you have no care for mine.”
“Count, you must not allow this foolishness of mine to deprive my son
and Thracia of your services. I forbid it--I, your Queen.”
“There are certain insults, madame, which are so deadly as to absolve
a subject from his allegiance.”
“Nothing can absolve you from your promise to my husband. You cannot
desert my son and me when he confided us to your care.”
“Your Majesty asks too much. My friend the King would have been the
last person to wish that my promise to him should bind me to remain
exposed to such insults without having the right to resent them. To
borrow your own words to the Premier, madame, your conduct has been
unpardonable.”
“Not unpardonable, when you have been assured that the suggestion was
made only in jest, and as a means of proving your fidelity in the eyes
of others. Your Queen entreats you to retain your post, Count. Is not
that enough? Must I fetch my son to join his entreaties with mine?”
“Be quiet, you little fool!” hissed the Princess into her daughter’s
ear. Cyril caught the whisper, and it changed the current of his
thoughts in a moment. He saw the whole plot now; and where the Queen’s
pleading had failed to move him, a determination that the Princess
should not be able to boast of having effected his removal from the
Thracian scene succeeded. He turned again to Ernestine.
“I accept your explanation, madame,” he said; “but I can only beg you
to remember that others might not be so complaisant.”
“And we will go to Praka,” she cried, as he prepared to depart.
“I will convey your Majesty’s message to the Premier,” he replied,
still in the same frigid tone, with his hand on the door. It was not
his intention to let the Queen down too easily this time. She had
committed a _faux pas_, which might have been a fatal one, and she
must be made aware of the fact. Suppose she had made her offer of a
bribe to a man who had accepted it, or who, while refusing it, had
done so with the intention of publishing the matter abroad? Cyril took
a good deal of credit to himself for the tone he had maintained, and
resolved to teach his young sovereign a lesson. It was quite evident
that she had failed to realise the gravity of the insult she offered;
but she could not always expect her inexperience to procure her
immunity from the consequences of her foolish acts. The stars in their
courses cannot be relied upon to fight invariably for the same person,
even though she is young and beautiful and a Queen. Cyril had been too
forbearing hitherto, and this was his reward. Queen Ernestine must now
be made to understand that practical jokes and wayward tempers were
all very well in an irresponsible schoolgirl, but might prove
dangerous to the Regent of Thracia.
During the next few days Cyril never saw the Queen alone, and only
rarely in company with M. Drakovics. Whenever he entered her presence,
he knew that she was searching his face to see whether he had forgiven
her, and the fact gave him a keen sense of pleasure, which he was
careful to conceal, returning to the coldly deferential manner which
he had preserved towards her in her husband’s lifetime, and which he
succeeded in resuming with some difficulty, after the comparatively
friendly intercourse of the past few weeks. It was the Queen herself
who broke the ice at last, for it was not in her nature to remain
passive in face of what she chose to consider injustice. She found her
opportunity on the occasion of an official reception at the Palace,
which the Ministers and their wives were expected to attend, on the
anniversary of the declaration of Thracian independence. Cyril was
standing a little apart from the other officials when she passed round
the circle, addressing a few words to each person, and she spoke to
him in English, which scarcely any one else understood.
“I see that you have not yet forgiven me, Count?”
“There are some things, madame, which may be forgiven, but never
forgotten.”
“But surely that is a very undignified attitude of mind? If my little
son adopted it, I should tell him he was sulky.”
“I know now by sad experience, madame, that no considerations will
prevent you from treating me with the same frankness as his Majesty.”
“If that is the case, I will say at once that this change in your
manner is extremely displeasing to me, Count. I do not choose to be
reminded perpetually that I am in disgrace.”
Cyril groaned within himself. Would nothing teach this girl the most
ordinary prudence or reserve? Her delicate and responsible position
appeared to her only as a means of escaping from the shackles of
conventionality. That she was Queen-Regent of Thracia was merely
another reason for doing and saying what she chose. “Nothing could be
further from my mind than to produce such an impression, madame,” he
answered. “Your Majesty cannot doubt that?”
“Nor the impression that with respect to our wintering at Praka, you
have gained a victory over me?”
“I was of opinion that I was going to Praka to make inquiries and
arrangements on your behalf, madame, and at your wish.”
“Oh yes, you may go to Praka; but remember, Count, that when it is a
question of bearing malice or a grudge, other people can do that as
well as yourself.”
She passed on, leaving him to wonder what was meant by the implied
threat contained in her last speech. He took an early opportunity of
sounding Baroness von Hilfenstein on the subject, and found that the
mistress of the robes also entertained misgivings.
“I feel almost certain that the Queen has some plan in her head,” she
said; “but she has not communicated it to me. I fancy that she may
intend to order a sudden move to Praka before your arrangements are
complete, in order to catch you unprepared. At any rate, she has
ordered me to warn all the ladies to have their dresses for the winter
made in good time, and to be ready to travel at two hours’ notice. I
hoped we should get on better when the Princess’s influence was
removed, but she has left her tool behind. Fräulein von Staubach is
not a friend of yours, Count.”
“I fear not, although I am not aware of having injured her.”
“It is not that, but she distrusts you. She is a good woman--an
excellent, kind-hearted creature, full of sentiment--and she sees, as
she thinks, the warm heart of the young Queen chilled, and its best
impulses thwarted, by your statesmanship. Then the Princess has filled
her with doubts as to your motives, and quite unconsciously she
influences the Queen against you. She has no intention of interfering
in affairs of state, but she cannot help regarding with suspicion any
suggestion that comes from you.”
This was scarcely reassuring, and Cyril departed on his journey to
Praka in no very cheerful frame of mind. He found a travelling
companion in M. Drakovics, who was obliged to visit his Praka estate
on business, and they agreed to journey back to Bellaviste together
the next day. Cyril’s duty was merely to discover whether it was
possible to provide sufficient accommodation for the Queen and her
suite in the little village, now almost deserted for the winter, which
formed the favourite marine resort of the wealthier Thracians, but in
spite of the limited scope of the inquiry, his task was a difficult
one. M. Drakovics had not built a house on his property, an omission
which he now regretted, since it prevented his putting the Queen under
an obligation by offering to lend her his villa; but he represented
that it would be possible to accommodate one or two of the suite in
the small farmhouse occupied by his bailiff, and by taking advantage
of this offer, Cyril calculated that he should be able to find room
for the whole of the Court. To live in tents, after the manner of the
majority of the summer residents, would naturally be impossible in the
winter.
Praka was not by any means a lively place, and its natural
attractions, at any rate in the autumn, were soon exhausted, so that
Cyril found himself ready and eager to quit it as soon as his business
was done. The cooking at the little inn was bad, and the beds worse,
facts which did not tempt him to linger, and he was waiting at the
station some time before it was likely that M. Drakovics would arrive.
As he walked up and down the rickety platform, while in the background
Dietrich mounted guard over his bag, a telegram was handed to him. It
was from the Baroness von Hilfenstein, and bore the date of the
previous evening:--
“Her Majesty has just announced that the Court leaves for the Villa
Alexova early to-morrow. I fear this will not reach you in time for
you to prevent the move, but pray follow as soon as possible. It
appears that the Queen sent Batzen to Tatarjé two days ago to make
preparations; but he cannot have been able to do much in such a short
time. Everything will be in confusion. I depend upon you.”
“Excellent old woman!” was Cyril’s first thought as he read the
missive. “If I have the pleasure of spoiling the Queen’s pretty little
plot for making a fool of me, it is all thanks to you. So that is what
old Batzen’s mysterious mission comes to, is it? I might have guessed;
but the idea of employing the poor old parson on such an errand!”
The Herr Hofprediger Batzen was a venerable Lutheran clergyman to whom
the charge of the little King’s moral and religious education was
supposed to be intrusted; but as his Majesty was still rather young to
receive regular instruction, his tutor’s time was more or less at the
Queen’s disposal. Hence it was that his sudden departure from Court on
one of her errands had excited no surprise, and people had considered
the secrecy which enshrouded his destination as due to the desire for
importance of the good pastor himself Cyril was wiser now, and could
almost have laughed, in spite of his chagrin, when he thought of the
tutor’s unfitness for his present task, and the pitiful muddle which
would be the probable result of his attempt at housekeeping. But this
was not the time for laughing, but for action, and Cyril hurried out
to meet M. Drakovics as the Premier rode up to the station on his
rough country horse.
“Would you like to hear what is our gracious sovereign lady’s last
little game?” was the irreverent question with which the younger
Minister greeted the elder. M. Drakovics raised his eyebrows.
“If you could assure me that she had eloped to join the ex-secretary
Christophle, and had married him, I should not be heart-broken,” was
his answer, as he dismounted.
“No, no, my friend; you are not to be Regent just at present. Her
Majesty and the Court remove to-day to Tatarjé, and take up their
abode at the Villa Alexova.”
“_Mille tonnerres!_” cried M. Drakovics, stamping furiously about the
platform. “This woman will ruin in a day the kingdom I have been
building up for nine years. I ask you, is it to be endured?”
“I’m afraid it must be so, since you can scarcely propose to cure it
by superseding the Queen in the regency. But the news is certainly
most serious. It would be better if you had told the Queen the real
reasons for her not going to Tatarjé, as I advised at the time,
instead of simply making out that it was too far away.”
“Would you have had me tell her that the Villa is within a drive of
the country residence of her cousin the Princess of Dardania, and that
that woman’s Court is a perfect hotbed of intrigues of all kinds?”
“I would not have had you do anything so foolish. Our old
acquaintance, the Princess Ottilie, will no doubt do her best to
entangle her Majesty in some of her schemes for the advancement of her
husband’s dynasty; but she is not by any means the most dangerous
person in the neighbourhood of Tatarjé. That bad pre-eminence is
reserved for Colonel O’Malachy.”
“Oh, that old dotard!” said M. Drakovics contemptuously.
“Dotard if you like, but what is he doing where he is? You know that
the air of Tatarjé seems to breed rebellion; that in my brother’s
time the garrison supported the insurrection in favour of the house of
Franza; and that Otto Georg had more trouble with the town and
district than with all the rest of the kingdom.”
“It is all Bishop Philaret’s fault. He is stronger even than the
Metropolitan in his pro-Scythian sympathies. You know they say that he
threatened to get the Synod to excommunicate him for accepting a
pardon from a non-Orthodox King?”
“I know. Well, that is the kind of danger the Queen would have
recognised and appreciated. Anything that threatened her son’s faith
or throne would have put her on her guard at once; but you would not
tell her. And now, besides the Princess of Dardania, who is likely to
be troublesome, but scarcely dangerous, we have the Bishop actively
hostile, and Colonel O’Malachy biding his chance to reap a harvest for
Scythia.”
“You remarked to me once,” cried M. Drakovics, turning savagely upon
his supporter, “that in moments of crisis it was well to act, instead
of wasting time in mutual recrimination. If I concealed from the Queen
my true reasons for not wishing her to take the King to Tatarjé, it
was because I knew that she would tell them to her mother, and that
through her it would become known all over Europe that there was
disaffection in Thracia. I took what seemed to me the wisest course;
but no man’s wisdom can provide against a woman’s folly. I ask you now
what you propose to do?”
“I propose to reach Tatarjé to-night, and resume my duties in
connection with the Court.”
“To-night? but it will take us until mid-day to get back to
Bellaviste, and Tatarjé is twelve hours’ journey farther on.”
“You don’t imagine that I intend to follow the Court meekly at a
distance, giving them a twelve hours’ start, and to turn up the day
after the fair in that way? No; I shall take the cross-country route,
and so get there about midnight.”
“But the railway is not yet open all the way.”
“No; but it is sufficiently near completion to allow of the passing of
ballast-trains. Milénovics was telling me so only yesterday. My man
and I must find accommodation on the engine of one of those trains,
and my things can be sent on to me from Bellaviste.”
The Premier’s eyes glistened, but he restrained himself. “You are the
man for the present state of affairs,” he said; “for you know better
than any of us how to spoil the success of a woman’s tricks. Mind, I
rely upon you wholly as regards Tatarjé. I must get on as best I can
at the capital; but the safety of the King, and therefore of Thracia,
rests on your discretion. I may run down occasionally, of course; but
you will be obliged to act on your own judgment if any difficulty
arises. You can trust me to support you.”
A little further conversation on various important points followed,
and the two Ministers separated to seek their respective trains. The
first part of Cyril’s journey passed without discomfort, as the line
had been in use some time; but when the section still in process of
construction was reached, matters were very different. When the
passengers were all obliged to quit the train, which went no farther,
the disclosure of Cyril’s identity secured permission for himself and
Dietrich to travel in the cab of the engine attached to a line of
ballast-trucks which were just about to start; but so rough did the
way in front appear that at first even the stolid German hesitated to
follow his master. But there was no time for delay, and in response to
Cyril’s “Be quick, Dietrich; either come or stay behind!” the valet
shut his eyes, metaphorically speaking, and took the plunge. The
journey was like a peculiarly realistic nightmare, owing to the
swaying and jolting and clanking and leaping of the train, which
varied matters occasionally by running off the rails and regaining
them in some miraculous manner. It was an experience no one would wish
to repeat; but as Cyril stood at eight o’clock that evening, bruised,
dusty, and exhausted, on the platform of the country station at which
the farther end of the new line joined that running to Tatarjé, he
rejoiced. Three hours’ journey would bring him to his goal, and
deprive the Queen of her anticipated triumph over her Ministers. His
calculations were not mistaken. By midnight he had reached Tatarjé,
only an hour or so later than the Court, and selected his quarters in
the Villa, giving strict orders that the Queen was not to be informed
of his arrival. In the distracted state of affairs consequent on Herr
Batzen’s mission of preparation, the order was easy of fulfilment, and
Cyril took a good night’s rest, and bided his time.
His time was not long in coming. In the morning the Queen and Baroness
von Hilfenstein found themselves beset by a throng of tearful ladies
and loudly complaining maids, who all expatiated upon the discomforts
of the night, and the absolute lack of furniture and even food which
prevailed in all parts of the house. Finding the Queen quite at a
loss, the Baroness made the practical suggestion that Count Mortimer
should be summoned, and matters given into his hands.
“Count Mortimer!” cried the Queen in astonishment. “But he is at
Praka, or at any rate no nearer than Bellaviste.”
“Pardon me, madame; but I am almost certain I caught a glimpse of him
coming to the Villa this morning.”
The Queen turned in bewilderment to the other ladies, one of whom
hastened to assure her that she had found Count Mortimer established
in an office on the ground-floor, and had complained to him of the
state of affairs, when he had replied that he would do his best to
remedy it as soon as he had the Queen’s authority. It was evident that
the only thing to do was to send for him, and this the Queen did.
“When did you arrive, Count?” she asked, when he appeared.
“Last night, madame,” with a look of surprise.
“But how--how did you succeed in getting here?”
“It is my duty to accompany the Court, madame.”
“Yes; but--I thought you were at Praka?”
“On the contrary, madame, I am here, and ready to serve you.”
The Queen gave up the riddle with a sigh, and Cyril remained master of
the situation. He knew that she would have given anything to ask for
an explanation, which her dignity would not allow her to do, and he
enjoyed his triumph in the intervals of his multifarious labours all
day.