It was easy to learn that she was not the Princess. I did that by going
into a stationer’s shop and asking for a photograph of the royal lovers.
It was not quite so easy to find out who she was, without pinning my new
secret on my sleeve; but luckily everyone in Biarritz boasted knowledge of
the King’s affairs, and the affairs of the pretty Princess. Christopher
Trevenna made himself agreeable after dinner to the lady with the nose,
who would probably have shrunk away in fear if she had known that she was
talking with the Marqués de Casa Triana.
I, in my character of Trevenna, found out that the Princess had a friend,
Lady Monica Vale, daughter of the widowed Countess of Vale-Avon, who, when
at home, lived in the Isle of Wight. At present, the two were staying at
Biarritz, in a villa; and Lady Monica, a girl of eighteen or nineteen,
sometimes had the honour of going out with the Princesses, in the King’s
motor.
There were other privileged friends as well; but the description of Lady
Monica Vale, though painted with a colourless brush, was unmistakable.
Casually I inquired the name of the house where Lady Vale-Avon and her
daughter were staying, and having learned it, I made an excuse to escape
from the lady with the nose.
It was half-past ten o’clock, and a night flooded with moonlight. I
strolled out, smoking a cigarette, and in ten minutes stood before the
garden gate of the Villa Esmeralda.
There were lights in three or four of the windows, sparkling among
close-growing trees; and I had not finished my second cigarette, when a
carriage drove round the corner and stopped.
I moved into the background. A groom jumped down, unfastened the gate, and
having opened the brougham door, respectfully aided a middle-aged lady to
descend.
The moonlight showed me a clear, proud profile, and fired the diamonds in
a tiara which crowned a head of waved grey hair.
There were billows of violet satin and lace to keep off the ground; and as
the groom helped the wearer to adjust them under her chinchilla coat, a
girl sprang out of the carriage, her white figure and rippling hair of
daffodil gold in full moonlight.
I stood as a man might stand who sees a vision, hardly breathing. I made
no sound, yet she turned and saw me, sheltered as I was by the dappled
trunk of a tall plane-tree. It was as if I had called, and she had
answered.
I knew she remembered me, and that she did not misunderstand my presence.
There was no anger in her face, only surprise, and a light which was
hidden as she dropped her head, and passed on through the gate.
I could have sung the song of the stars. She had not forgotten me since
the afternoon. The look in my eyes then, had arrested some thought of
hers, and set me apart in her mind from other men.
It was no stupid conceit which made me feel this, but a kind of exalted
conviction.
When the gate was shut, I took off my hat and looked at the lighted
windows. I could make her care. I said to myself, “We’re meant for each
other. And if that’s true, though all the mountains in the world were
piled up as barriers between us, I’d cross them.”
That was a vow. And through the remaining hours of the night I tried to
plan how it would be best to begin its fulfilment.
Men who have gone through a campaign as close friends, have few secrets
from one another; and I had none from Dick Waring. Nevertheless, I would
now have kept one if it were possible; but it was not. If I had not told
him, he would have guessed, and then he might have thought that he had the
right to chaff me on losing my head.
It is only a happy lover who can bear to be chaffed, however, and a few
words were enough to show my tactful American where to set his feet on the
slippery path.
He too had seen the girl; therefore he could not be surprised at my state
of mind. But he regretted it, and urged that the best I could do was to go
away, before the thought of her had taken too deep a hold upon me.
“You see,” he said, “you’re in a hopeless position; and it’s better to
look facts in the face. If you’d fallen in love with almost any other
girl, except Princess Ena herself, you might have hoped. But as it is,
what have you to look forward to? You oughtn’t to have come to Biarritz.
In the circumstances, and with the King here, it was bravado. Friends of
his, enemies of yours, might even say it was bad taste, which is worse.
And then, having come, you proceed to follow the King’s motor-car; you
fall head over ears in love with a girl in it, a friend of the
bride-elect, to whom your real name, if she’s not heard it already, could
easily be made to seem anathema maranatha. But that’s not all. You’re here
under a name not your own. If you should by luck or ill-luck get a chance
to meet Lady Monica, you couldn’t be introduced to her as Christopher
Trevenna; it would be a false pretence; still less could you throw your
real name in her face; for between the King of Spain as a friend, and you
as an acquaintance, the girl would be in an uncomfortable position, to say
the least. No, my dear fellow, you can’t meet this young lady; and the
only thing for your peace of mind, if you’ve really fallen in love, is to
go away.”
I had no arguments with which to meet Dick’s. I listened in silence, but—I
made no preparation for departure. If there was nothing to be gained by
staying, at least there was as little to be gained by going; for I knew
that I should not forget the girl. If I were struck blind, her face would
still live for my eyes, white and pure against a background of darkness.
We stayed on at Biarritz, but I behaved with circumspection, and made no
further attempts to put myself in the King’s Way, though he arrived at the
Villa Mouriscot every morning from San Sebastian. Dick approved my conduct
and, pitying my depression, perhaps repented his hardness. He found
several Parisian friends at Biarritz, and when we had been there for three
days, he came back to the hotel from the Casino one night with an
important air.
“Strange how one’s tempted to do things one knows one oughtn’t to do,”
said he. “Now, it’s unwise to tell you I’ve met a man who knows Lady
Monica Vale, yet I’m doing it.”
“What did the man say?” I asked.
“A number of things—charming, of course. She’s not engaged, if that’s any
consolation.”
“Oh, I knew that.”
“How?”
“By her eyes.”
“Apparently she observed yours also.”
“What? She’s spoken of—she—”
“The sister of my man is a friend of Lady Monica’s. She told the sister
about the motor-car adventure.”
“For goodness sake don’t force me to ask questions.”
“I won’t. I’ve a soft heart, which has often been my undoing. She said
she’d seen the most interesting man in the world. Don’t faint.”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“I’m not chaffing. She did say that—honest Injun. At least, I’ve Henri de
la Mole’s word for it. His sister was at school at the convent of the
Virgin of Tears with Lady Monica Vale. Lady Monica supposed the other day
that we were both French, which is a compliment to your accent. She said
she wished she could find out ‘who was the brown man with the eyes.’ I’m a
fool to have told you that though, eh? It can’t do you any good, and will
probably make you worse.”
“But it has done me good.”
“Flattered your vanity. However, I haven’t told you all yet. De la Mole
says the mother’s a dragon, hard as iron, cold as steel, living for
ambition. She was left poor, on her husband’s death, as the Vale-Avon
estates went with the title to a distant relative, and the girl’s been
brought up to make a brilliant match. She’s been given every
accomplishment under Heaven, to add to her beauty; and as the family’s one
of the oldest in Great Britain, connected with royalty in one way or
another, in Stuart days, Lady’s Monica’s expected to pull off something
from the top branch, in the way of a marriage. De la Mole’s heard that the
present Lord Vale-Avon has been first favourite with the mother up till
lately, though he’s next door to an idiot. Princess Ena’s engagement to
the King of Spain has changed everything. You see, Lady Vale-Avon and her
daughter live not far from the Princess, in the Isle of Wight. When the
King came a-courting to England, came also, though not exactly in his
train, another Spaniard, the Duke of Carmona, and—”
“Don’t,” I cut in; “I won’t hear his name in connection with her’s. That
half Moorish brute!”
“He may have a dash of Moorish blood, but he’s not half Moorish; and if
he’s a brute, he’s a good-looking brute, according to de la Mole, also
he’s one of the richest young men in Spain. Lady Vale-Avon—”
I jumped up and stopped Dick. “I’m in earnest,” I said. “I can’t bear to
listen. I know the sort of things you’d say. But don’t. If you do, I think
I’ll kill the fellow.”
“Ever met him?”
“No. The men of my house and of his have been enemies for generations. But
I’ve heard of certain exploits.”
“He’s coming here to stop with his mother, the old Duchess, who’s been
spending the winter at Biarritz. Another reason for you to vamose.”
“You mean, to stay. At least, he shan’t have a clear coast.”
“I don’t see how you can hope to block it.”
“I will—somehow.”
“No doubt you’re a hundred times the man he is, but—fate’s handicapped you
for a show place in the matrimonial market. You are—”
“A man countryless and penniless. Don’t hesitate to state the case
frankly.”
“Well, _you’ve_ said it. While the other’s rich, and a grandee of Spain.
And, though de la Mole says the King doesn’t care for him, on account of
something or other connected with the Spanish-American War, he’s bound to
become a _persona grata_ at Court if he marries a friend of the young
Queen; and, no doubt, that influences his choice.”
“Thank Heaven, Lady Monica isn’t Spanish.”
“Ah, but Spain’s the fashion now. And you haven’t heard all my news. Henri
de la Mole says Lady Monica is asked to be a maid of honour for the young
Queen of Spain, the one Englishwoman she’s to have in attendance.”
“At least the wedding won’t be till June. It’s only the end of February
now. I’ve got more than three months.”
“You haven’t got one. Soon after the Princesses leave Biarritz, Lady
Vale-Avon and Lady Monica are going to visit the old Duchess of Carmona in
Spain.”
“What, they’re going to Seville?”
“If her house is there. I’m telling you what I’ve been told.”
“The principal house of the Duke is in Seville, though he has a place near
Granada, and a flat in Madrid as a substitute for a fine house that was
burned down.”
“Then Seville’s where they’ll be. Anyhow, they’re to see the great show in
Holy Week there.”
It was as if Dick had suddenly drenched me with iced water.
For a few seconds I did not speak. Then I said, “Are you trying to break
it to me that the match is arranged?”
“I told you Lady Monica wasn’t engaged.”
“And I told you I knew she wasn’t. But that isn’t to say the mother, the
woman ‘as hard as iron and cold as steel,’ hasn’t planned her daughter’s
future, a girl so young, and always kept under control.”
“It looks as if the wind was setting in that quarter. A person of Lady
Vale-Avon’s type would hardly accept such an invitation if she didn’t
intend something to come of it.”
“You’re certain the invitation’s been accepted?”
“Certain. Angèle de la Mole has been with her brother in Spain, and Lady
Monica’s been asking her advice about what to take and what to wear. The
Duke himself is in Paris, buying a new automobile; at least, so his mother
says; but other people say he’s at Monte Carlo. Anyhow, he’s expected here
in time for the ball.”
“What ball?”
“Didn’t I tell you? A masked ball the old Duchess is giving in honour of
Princess Ena. A grand affair it will be, says de la Mole. There’s been
jealousy about the invitations, which have been carefully weeded.”
“You and I’ll accept,” said I.
“We’re not likely to have the chance.”
“Sometimes a man must make a chance. I shall meet Lady Monica at the
Duchess’s ball.”
“All right. Suppose you go in the garb of a palmer?”
“Eh?”
“I was thinking of another first meeting, case not dissimilar, you know,
Romeo and Juliet. My poor, mad friend, there’s more hope for a Montague
with a Capulet than for a Casa Triana with a friend of the future Queen of
Spain, and the daughter of a Lady Vale-Avon.”
“Romeo won Juliet.”
“It wasn’t exactly a fortunate marriage. See here, if you’re going in for
the part of Romeo, it’s no good asking me to play Mercutio.”