UNMASKED.
In spite of her optimistic view of the situation, Zoe passed a
disturbed night, which the shouts and the persistent creaking of the
windlass announcing the arrival of the Scythian emissary did not tend
to soothe. She was oppressed by the conviction that she ought to
confide in Eirene, while at the same time she was resolved to do
nothing of the kind. It was unfair, she owned, to receive her
confidence and give her none in return, but the risks were too great.
Eirene might welcome the disclosure, since it would bridge the
infinite gulf she must believe to exist between herself and Maurice,
but it might make her all the more determined to sacrifice herself, if
she realised how important it was that he should not remain in
Scythian hands. And, on the other hand, she might refuse to believe
it, and in her pique insist on acting alone, when common action on the
part of the three was indispensable. Impatiently Zoe wished that it
had been possible to predict what Eirene would do in any given
circumstances. It was the uncertainty that made her so difficult to
deal with, and Zoe almost regretted that she had not done as Maurice
advised, and told her earlier, since things could not well have fallen
out worse than they had done. At last, as she tossed and turned on the
unyielding divan, she decided on a compromise. She would not tell
Eirene before the interview with the Scythian official, lest she
should do anything rash, but as soon as they had some idea what was to
happen she would make the disclosure.
The Scythian was evidently not inclined to waste time, for the girls
had only just breakfasted when a large and imposing letter was brought
in by the old woman. In it M. Boris Constantinovitch Kirileff did
himself the honour to recall himself to her Royal Highness’s
recollection, and craved humbly permission to wait upon her, either in
her own apartments or in the guest-room of the monastery.
“Now comes the tug of war!” said Eirene. “We don’t want him up here,
do we, Zoe? We will see him in the guest-room, then. I remember him at
Pavelsburg. He is in the Imperial Chancellery.”
The old woman had brought a pen and ink, but the only paper available
was the back of M. Kirileff’s beautiful un-folded epistle, on which
the answer was duly written by Zoe. When it had been despatched, she
and Eirene looked at one another rather anxiously. It was undeniable
that their appearance was not distinguished. A badly fitting blouse, a
home-made skirt, moccasins instead of shoes, and a paucity of
hairpins--for none had been obtainable in the village--are drawbacks
which only beauty of a very exceptional order can successfully
surmount.
“I shouldn’t mind a bit, if it wasn’t that we want to look so
particularly dignified,” said Zoe. “Suppose you put on the famous
girdle, Eirene. That ought to make an impression.”
“Hasn’t it brought us enough bad luck already?” asked Eirene, with a
shudder. “No, it shall stay where it is.”
“Look here, Eirene; don’t do anything rash,” Zoe entreated her. “This
man may merely have orders to escort you to Therma, so don’t begin by
making a tragic submission.”
“I assure you I shall be altogether the Princess in my dealings with
M. Kirileff,” returned Eirene, as the old woman appeared on the
threshold and beckoned to them. “I shall resort to brag.”
“You mean bluff,” said Zoe, in a stage whisper, as they descended the
stairs. “Shall we see Maurice, I wonder?”
There was no sign of Maurice in the courtyard, but when they mounted
the steps to the guest-room they caught sight of him among a number of
monks, who were gathered round him as though responsible for his
safe-keeping. But they had no time to ask one another what this meant,
for a well-preserved man of uncertain age, in immaculate morning
dress, advanced with every demonstration of respectful delight, and
touched Eirene’s hand with a highly waxed moustache. She had meant to
present him to Zoe, but as though he had divined her intention, he led
her immediately up the room to the divan on which the old Hegoumenos
was seated, a picture of puzzled, anxious willingness to oblige. He
indicated to Eirene the place next him, and M. Kirileff, on her
invitation, also seated himself, but at a respectful distance. Zoe’s
eyes met Maurice’s with keen amusement.
“You are the bearer of some message for me, I suppose?” said Eirene to
the Scythian. He bowed profoundly.
“On the contrary, madame, I have only an apology--an apology on my own
account for the measures taken on your behalf. I know how presumptuous
and uncalled for they must appear, and nothing but the conviction that
they have secured your safety at a moment of imminent danger could
give me courage to appear in your presence.”
[Image: images/img_226.jpg
Caption:
_Touched Eirene’s hand with a highly waxed moustache._]
“Then I am to attribute my being brought here to your influence?” said
Eirene, with the slightest possible lifting of the eyebrows. “I
confess, monsieur, my own impression would be that you had left me to
pass unaided through a month of incessant danger, and only interposed
to destroy my hopes when I was upon the very verge of safety.”
“Madame, the greatness of your mind will quickly set my conduct in the
true light. As a man of honour and the faithful servant of my august
master, whose affection for your illustrious house needs no assurances
from me, I humbly assure you that at the moment you supposed yourself
on the verge of safety you were in more frightful peril than during
the whole month with the brigands.”
“You astonish me, monsieur. From whom was this danger to arise?”
“It was not a matter of the future, madame; it existed already--in
your very _entourage_. Has your Royal Highness any knowledge of the
true character of the young man and woman who shared your captivity?”
“A month in their company in such circumstances ought to be
conclusive, monsieur. I have the pleasure to be able to assure you
that they have both displayed a fidelity which would be praiseworthy
in dependants of my own, but which must be unique in the case of
strangers united to me only by the bond of a common disaster.”
“You call them strangers, madame. I am to understand they were unknown
to you at the time you undertook your--pilgrimage?”
“At the time I undertook my--pilgrimage,” replied Eirene, with an
intonation which brought an involuntary smile to Zoe’s lips, “I was as
absolutely ignorant of the existence of Mr and Miss Smith as they were
of my identity when chance threw us together on our journey.”
“Chance? Ah, yes, the meeting was casual on your part, no doubt,
madame. But the ignorance of the brother and sister Smith exists only
in your mind, so guileless, so unsuspicious of treachery.”
“I assure you, monsieur, I am by no means unsuspicious by nature,”
said Eirene, with distinct resentment. “So determined was I to
preserve my _incognito_ that I communicated the route and object of
my--pilgrimage to no one but the lady who attended me, and who is
since dead. It was impossible for any one else to be acquainted with
it.”
Zoe waited eagerly for the answer. The artistic way in which M.
Kirileff was leading up to his _dénouement_ appealed to her critical
faculty. From a purely literary point of view she could have applauded
the unblushing lie with which he countered Eirene’s declaration.
“Ah, madame, these things leak out somehow. If we were acquainted with
your intention--I speak of the office I have the honour to
represent--and were watching over your safety without your knowledge,
if it was known also to the plotter Panagiotis, why should it be
unknown to these tools of his?”
“If you were watching over my safety, monsieur, I can only say that
your measures left something to be desired,” said Eirene smartly. “I
will remind you that you have just applied a very offensive term to a
lady and gentleman whom the events of the past month have taught me to
hold in the highest esteem.”
“I could wish, madame, that they had betrayed themselves in their true
colours, since that would have released me from the sad duty of
acquainting you with their worthlessness. They are the creatures of
the arch-conspirator Panagiotis in an attempt to deprive you of the
rights bequeathed to you by your imperial ancestors.”
“Monsieur, you speak in riddles. The thing is too absurd.”
“Precisely, madame. It is too absurd. But if you ask this man, this
woman”--he pointed an accusing finger at Maurice, who was laboriously
endeavouring to follow the rapidly spoken French, and succeeding at
intervals, and at the deeply interested Zoe--“who they really are,
they will assure you that their true name is not Smith, but Teffany,
and that they are descended from Basil, the elder brother of your
ancestor Leo, son of the Emperor John Theophanis.”
“But this is preposterous!” cried Eirene.
“Madame, you have chosen the only word that fits the situation. It is
preposterous. They were brought up by their grandfather, a respectable
landed proprietor named Smith, who became possessed, late in life,
with the delusion that he was a descendant of the last Christian
Emperor. The delusion would, no doubt, have died with him, but,
unfortunately, it came to the ears of the firebrand Panagiotis in one
of his visits to England for the purpose of stirring up support for
his incendiary propaganda. He had been repulsed by your illustrious
father, who preferred to await in dignified passivity the results of
the diplomacy of his august friend the Emperor of Scythia, rather than
put himself forward as the figurehead of a revolutionary conspiracy.
Thus deprived of a _raison d’être_ for his schemes, this man
Panagiotis finds himself confronted with the means at once of
forwarding his plots and of revenging himself upon your father’s
daughter. He will produce a nearer heir. Now, madame, mark the course
of events. Your impetuous resolution to proceed on pilgrimage to the
shrines most nearly associated with the devotion of your illustrious
race has the effect of bringing you within the range of the
conspiracy, which has been so deftly engineered that even we, who are
secretly protecting your movements, are unacquainted with its full
purpose. The fiend Panagiotis sees his opportunity, and instructs his
tools to worm themselves by insidious means into your confidence----”
“You are mistaken, monsieur,” with a last effort of dignity. “It was I
who addressed myself to Miss Smith.”
“Alas, madame! must I point out that this apparent reserve was but a
means of piquing the curiosity of a young lady who had just
emancipated herself from the safeguards of her rank, and might be
supposed to possess an innocent curiosity as to the concerns of her
_bourgeois_ fellow-travellers?” Eirene grew scarlet, and Zoe,
remembering their early acquaintance, could not repress a smile. “The
ruse was successful. By the time the Roumi frontier was crossed, the
conspirators, with a confederate who poses as an officer of the
British Army, were in possession of your Royal Highness’s confidence.
I tell you frankly, with a full sense of the seriousness of my words,
that but for the accident to the bridge, which I cannot help regarding
as providential--I am no atheist, thank the saints!--I do not know
what the result would have been. Whether you would ever have been
permitted to reach Therma I cannot tell. It was the apparently
commonplace and innocuous character of your companions that baffled
all suspicion, and I doubt if our agents would have penetrated their
true nature in time. But if you had once reached Therma, and accepted
the treacherous hospitality of Panagiotis at his country villa, there
can be no doubt that you would never have left it alive and free. You
were an obstacle to his plans. Only your death, or your acceptance of
an alternative, too degrading to you as a Princess and a woman for me
to do more than hint at it, would have made his schemes safe.”
“Zoe,” broke in Maurice, as Eirene changed colour again when her eyes,
vainly seeking a resting-place, met his, “what is this blackguard
saying? Tell him to talk English, or if he can’t, to let you
interpret. I can’t understand what he says, but he is making Eirene
miserable.”
“He says that we are impostors, and that we made up to her on the
journey that we might decoy her to the Professor’s and kill her,” said
Zoe succinctly.
“Rubbish!” said Maurice. “Eirene, how can you listen to such nonsense?
You know us too well to believe it, I should hope. Zoe and I will
explain the whole thing to you in five minutes, if you will see us
somewhere without this man, who seems to be mixing himself up in
things which don’t concern him in the least.”
“I do not speak English,” observed M. Kirileff mildly, and--so Zoe
averred afterwards--untruthfully, “but it appears to me that this
young man is presuming upon the confidence with which you have
honoured him, madame. He has to learn that you are no longer
unprotected, but that the shield of Scythia is interposed between your
royal person and his presumptuous designs. I cannot sufficiently
admire the way in which Providence has utilised the atrocious crime of
the brigands to preserve you from actual danger to your life and
peace. The impostor durst not announce himself in his pretended
character, knowing the devotion of the miscreants--however
misdirected--to the Slavic and Exarchist idea, and the necessity of
retaining your confidence forced him to treat you with respect and
reserve. It was when the ransom was paid, and you were once more at
his mercy, that you would have been again in extreme danger. That
danger I had the happiness to avert by bringing you here. My measures
were hasty, even violent, I confess--I had no choice--but they were
successful.”
“Your fidelity calls for my highest gratitude, monsieur,” said Eirene,
rallying her forces. “I do not mind confessing that I am overwhelmed
by the news you have brought me. Such treachery--such duplicity--where
I saw only loyalty and respect, is almost incredible. This impudent
assertion, which touches my rights--what course is to be taken
respecting it?”
“In my opinion, madame--which is not without weight, if I may
respectfully say so, with my superiors--there could be no more
suitable place for the detention of the culprits than this. It is the
most humane, as well as the most convenient, view of the case to
regard them as suffering from hereditary mania, but they cannot be
allowed to impose their wild hallucinations upon the world. We must
have from each of them a definite confession of the imposture, and of
the steps by which they were induced to acquiesce in it, as well as of
their motives in forcing themselves upon you. Until that confession is
signed, they may well remain here in safety, carefully looked after by
the good monks, and causing scandal to no one.”
“The idea is excellent,” said Eirene. “Tell me,” she added harshly,
turning to Maurice, “are you willing to sign a confession of the
imposture of which you have been guilty, and to entreat my pardon for
your treachery?”
“I’m not going to sign anything that isn’t true,” returned Maurice. “I
don’t carry all my family papers about with me, but I have them safe
at home. It’s as certain that we are descended from the elder son of
John Theophanis as that you are from the younger.”
Eirene raised her head disdainfully. “The comparison shows your state
of mind,” she said. “You are undoubtedly labouring under a delusion,
and it is only charity to see that you are kept in safety until it has
passed away.”
“Oh, very well. Tell the first British Consul you come across your
idea of charity, and see what he will say.”
“The British Consul would do nothing,” she said sharply. “You seem to
forget that by alleging a Greek descent you have deliberately
renounced your British citizenship, and placed yourself among my
subjects--mine.”
“I am sorry to appear to contradict you, but when you come to think of
it, isn’t it just the other way about?”
“Oh, this is too much!” cried Eirene, rising from her seat. “Am I to
endure these insults--to be defied to my very face? And this from one
whom I trusted!”
“Calm yourself, madame,” said M. Kirileff, seizing the opportunity to
point a judicious moral. “All your friends must regret that your
impatience of restraint, your love of the bizarre, led you into such a
situation, but you will not be left to cope with it alone. My
instructions are to inquire your wishes for the future?”
“Oh, to go anywhere, away from here!” She sank upon the divan again.
“I fear”--M. Kirileff’s tone was slightly severe--“that your Royal
Highness can hardly expect to be received at Court as before, at any
rate until your reputation for--shall I say eccentricity of
behaviour?--has been in some degree forgotten. You would not care to
remain here?”
“Here?” Eirene shuddered. “I detest every stone of the place. No,
monsieur, I must be in a town. My health, my nerves, have suffered
cruelly from the miseries of the past month, and from this crowning
trial. I need medical care, female attendance.”
“I can well understand your feelings, madame. As I came here, Madame
Ladoguin, the wife of our Consul-General at Therma, begged me to place
her house and her services at your disposal for as long as you
required them. She is a charming and accomplished woman, and her
society will cheer and refresh you.”
“Very well,” said Eirene, rising. “I hardly dare indulge hope for the
future, after what I have suffered to-day. You will pardon me if I
leave you now, monsieur. I can endure no more.”
“I am grieved to have been the means of inflicting this pain upon you,
madame.” M. Kirileff escorted her to the door, noticing the stony
glance of disdain she bestowed upon Maurice as she swept past him, and
returned to his seat with a complete change of manner, while the monks
pushed forward to listen.
“I need not waste much time on you,” he said contemptuously to Maurice
and Zoe. “You know why you are here, and the step you must take to
obtain your release. Until you take that step, you may be very sure
you will remain in safe custody. Understand that you are prisoners, no
longer guests. We do not propose to furnish troublesome people like
you with the luxuries of a first-class hotel. You will see that the
man is placed in one of your dungeons,” he added authoritatively to
Papa Athanasios, “and the woman in one of the less commodious cells
reserved for female pilgrims.”
“But, lord, the dungeons have not been used for hundreds of years!”
protested the monk in his bad French.
“Then have one cleared for the prisoner. If there are rats, so much
the better. It is unnecessary for me to use threats,” he addressed
Maurice again; “your own mind--dull-witted Englishman though you
are--will paint the truth for you. Here you are, and here you stay
until you write out and sign the confession I shall leave you. No one
knows where you are, or would think of looking for you here, and even
if your prison was known, an army could not rescue you. Her Royal
Highness is not vindictive, but we allow no tampering with the
heritage of a princess under Scythian protection. I may as well tell
you that your accomplice, the alleged British officer, is on the point
of leaving Emathia, on the plea that he is summoned back to his
military duties.”
“He doesn’t know Wylie, does he, Zoe?” said Maurice, as they were left
standing together for a moment while M. Kirileff conversed with the
Hegoumenos, and Papa Athanasios was absent preparing the dungeon.
“Of course not. Oh, Maurice, do you believe now what I said to you
about Eirene? I knew she would take it like this.”
“It’s only for the first few minutes,” said Maurice, unruffled. “When
she gets by herself, and this fellow isn’t by to make vile
suggestions, she’ll remember all we’ve been through together, and
she’ll know we simply couldn’t have meant any harm to her. Of course,
it was bound to give her a shock, but she’ll be frightfully sorry when
she realises the things she has said.”
“Maurice, you would contentedly lie down and let Eirene trample on
you! She is--no, I won’t say it.”
“It’s awfully hard on you, I know,” said Maurice. “I wish you could
dissociate yourself from me in some way.”
“As if I would ever give away your case! Why, it’s mine as much as
yours. No, we will stick to each other, Maurice, if all the Eirenes in
the world turn against us. I shall set to work on a novel at
once--making it up in my mind, of course. I have never been able to
find time to get to work absolutely undisturbed before. And you will
frame a plan for governing Emathia, no doubt. Dear boy, keep up
heart!”
The tears were in Zoe’s eyes as she spoke, and her cheerful voice
shook. Maurice patted her on the shoulder.
“All right, Zoe. Papa Athanasios will look after me, you may be sure.
Don’t get dismal. Wylie will be here before long, trust him. And don’t
think too hardly of Eirene.”
“Always Eirene!” Zoe stamped her foot as Maurice was led away. He
turned and nodded gaily to her, and a curious thought came into her
mind. “Could it be?” she asked of herself. “Shall I suggest it to
Maurice? No, it would be worse for him if it turned out not to be
true. I wish it might be that, for his sake--and hers and mine, too,
for the matter of that. But I don’t believe she could do it.”