HER ROYAL HIGHNESS RECEIVES A LETTER
Pledged to secrecy, Mrs. Arbuthnot earned a meed of praise for her
behaviour during a crowded and glorious epoch. If you entertain the
Crown Princess of an active and potent monarchy it is reasonable to
expect that things will happen.
Things did happen in some profusion during the sojourn of her Royal
Highness at Dympsfield House. Owing to the course taken by events
which I shall have presently to narrate, that sojourn was prolonged
indefinitely. The resources of our modest establishment were taxed to
the uttermost, but throughout a really trying period it is due to Mrs.
Arbuthnot to say that she was a model of tact, discretion, and natural
goodness.
She would have been unworthy the name of woman--a title not without
pretensions to honour, as sociologists inform us--had she not literally
burned to communicate her knowledge of the true identity of "the circus
rider from Vienna." But some compensation was culled from the fact
that her co-workers in the cause of the Public Decency grew
increasingly lofty in their point of view. Even the promptings of a
healthy human curiosity would not permit Mrs. Catesby to eat at our
board in order that she might see for herself. Mournfully that woman
of an unblemished virtue shook her head over us.
"It was not kind to dear Evelyn. It was right, of course, to
sympathise with the Fitzwarens in their misfortune. But the place was
old, and George understood that it was covered by insurance. And
fortunately all the pictures that were worth anything--and some that
were not--had been saved. But to take them under one's wing as we had
done was quixotic and bound to give offence. Besides, that kind of
person would be quite in her element at the village inn, the Coach and
Horses."
Nevertheless, Mrs. Arbuthnot bore every reproof with a stoical
fortitude. What it cost her "not to give away the show," to indulge in
the phrase of Joseph Jocelyn De Vere, it would be idle to estimate.
But she was true to the oath she had sworn on the night of the great
revelation. Not to a living soul did she yield her secret.
To Jodey himself what he was pleased to call "the royal visit" was a
matter for undiluted joy. It is true that he was turned out of his
bedroom, the best in the house, which commands an unrivalled view of
Knollington Gorse, and had to be content with humbler quarters; but our
Bayard was so perfectly _au courant_ with all that had happened, even
unto the presence of the four men in plain clothes in the shrubbery,
that the situation was much to his taste.
When the Princess was not herself present, it pleased him to treat the
whole thing as a matter for somewhat laborious satire.
"Ain't you got a bit o' red carpet and an awning for the front steps,
Mops? And why don't Odo sport his order at dinner? Can't see the use,
myself, in having an order if you don't sport it for royalty. Must put
your best leg first. Buck up a bit, old gal, else her Royal 'Ighness
will think you haven't been used to it. Anyhow, you must tell Parkins
to be damn careful how he decants that '63."
In the presence of Mrs. Fitz, however, the demeanour of my relation by
marriage was not unlike that of a linesman standing at attention on a
field day. His deportment was so fearfully correct in every detail;
his attire so extraordinarily nice--he discarded gay waistcoats and
brilliant neckties as being hardly "the thing"--his hair was groomed so
marvellously, and he was so overpoweringly polite that it was a source
of wonder how the young fellow contrived to maintain the standard he
had prescribed for himself.
It was a period of anxiety, yet it was not without its interest. In a
very short time Mrs. Arbuthnot had divined the _raison d'être_ of the
four men in the park, but this did nothing to impair her sense of
hospitality. Fitz did not favour us with much of his company except in
the evening. During the day his energies were absorbed with the
arrangements for the rebuilding of the Grange, and, as I gathered, with
further provisions for the safety of his wife. All the same, limited
as was the time at his disposal, it was our privilege to watch him
sustain the domestic character.
Whatever the incongruity of their fortunes, it was clear that Fitz and
his wife had a genuine devotion for one another. And in spite of their
apartness and the idea they conveyed of living entirely to themselves
without reference to the lives of humbler mortals, each seemed to
possess a quality worthy to inspire it. In a measure I was privileged
to share their confidence during the time they stayed under our roof;
and it was characteristic of them both that at heart they had a rather
charming and childlike frankness. Each of them revealed unexpected
qualities.
I think I am entitled to say that I never shared the hostility they
seemed to arouse in others. All his life long Fitz, as far as I had
known him, had been condemned to play the part of the black sheep.
Partly it may have been due to his habit of refusing to go with the
tide; of his declared hatred of any kind of a majority. He had always
been a law unto himself, and had given a very free rein to his
personality. To me he had ever stood revealed as one capable of
anything; of the greatest good or of the greatest evil; and to behold
him now in the domestic circle, in close affinity with the magnetic
being in whom the whole of his life was centred, was to find him
endowed with a charm and a fascination which had no place in the nature
of the Nevil Fitzwaren that was seen by the eyes of the world.
To me there was something beautiful and also a little pathetic in the
relationship which seemed to exist between these two diverse souls.
Their implicit faith in the rightness of each other, their sense of
adequacy, was a very rare thing. So many of the ignoble things of
life, questions of material expediency, of shallow prejudice, of
partial judgment, they seemed to have ruled out altogether. And this
could not have been otherwise if one reflected that a veritable kingdom
of this world was the price that had been paid for this true fellowship.
My previous encounters with Mrs. Fitz had been of a somewhat trying
nature. But on the domestic hearth she was much less formidable. The
impetuous arrogance which had proved so disconcerting to everybody was
not so much in evidence. Her charm seemed to become rarefied as it
grew more humane. The childlike directness of her point of view began
to emerge more and more and to enhance her fascination; indeed, her way
of looking at things became a perpetual delight to such sophisticated
minds as ours.
Her total inability to take us seriously was quite piquant. Our
England and all that was in it amused her vastly. She would compare it
to an enchanted land in one of Perrault's fairy-tales. But our code of
life, our manners and customs, our ideals, our mechanical contrivances
and, above all, our solemnity concerning them, never failed to appeal
to her sense of humour.
It was my especial pleasure to converse with her after dinner. I
should not say that the art of conversation was her strong point, and
it was not until she had been a week in our midst that I was able to
come to anything approaching close quarters with her. But it was worth
making the effort to get past the barrier that was unconsciously
erected by her air of disillusion, of patient, plaintive tolerance.
There was a quaint definiteness about her ideas. Touching all
questions that had real significance her thinking seemed to have been
done for her generations ago. All that lay outside the life of the
emotions was to her the wearisome iteration of a constitutional
practice, a necessary but somewhat painful part of the order of things.
Perhaps the most surprising thing about her was her humility. The pomp
of kingship was to her the hollowest of all chimeras. It merely
resolved itself into the guardianship of a profoundly ignorant, an
undeveloped and an extremely thankless proletariat. "_Hélas!_ poor
souls, they don't know what is good," was a phrase she used with a
maternal sigh. The divine right of kings was part and parcel of the
cosmic order; a fact as pregnant and inviolable as the presence of the
sun and the planets in the firmament. To be called to the state of
kingship was an extremely honourable condition, "but you had always to
be praying." It was also honourable and not so irksome to be an
unregarded unit of the proletariat.
I am not sure, but I incline to the belief, that the fact that I had a
seat in the House enabled her to support my curiosity with more
tolerance than she might have done had I been without some sort of
official sanction. She regarded me as a chosen servant of _le bon roi
Edouard_; either my own personal grace or that of my kindred had
commended itself to the guardian of the state.
"Are not," said I, "the members of the Illyrian Parliament elected by
the people?"
"Yes, my father gave the people the franchise in 1890, and the nobles
have never forgiven him. So now the people choose their sixty deputies
out of a list he draws up for their guidance; the lords of the land
choose another sixty from among themselves; and then, as so often
happens, if the two Chambers cannot agree, the King gives advice."
"The King of Illyria has heavy duties!"
"My father loves hard work."
"Are you troubled, ma'am, with a democratic movement in Illyria, as all
the rest of Europe appears to be at the present time?"
The gesture of her Royal Highness was one of pity.
"_Hélas_, poor souls!"
It was delicate ground upon which to tread. But the fascination of
such an inquiry lured me on where doubtless the canons of good taste
would have had me stay.
"Would you not say, ma'am, your Republican Party was a menace to the
state?"
"They don't know what is good, poor souls." Her voice was gentle.
"They will have to learn."
"Will the King be the means of teaching them?"
"_Hélas!_ he is too old. It must be left to fate. Poor souls, poor
souls!"
During the sojourn of her Royal Highness at Dympsfield House, we saw a
good deal of the Chief Constable of our county. In a sense he had made
himself responsible for the safety of us all. His vigilance was great,
and its unobtrusiveness was part of the man. No precaution was
neglected which could minister to our security; and he gave his
personal attention to matters of detail which less thorough-going
individuals might have considered to be beneath their notice.
He was particularly insistent that the Princess should give up her
hunting, and that she should confine the scope of her activities, as
far as possible, to the grounds of the house. To this she was not in
the least amenable. An out-and-out believer in fate, and a subscriber
to the doctrine of what has to be will be, the bullets of the anarchist
had no terrors for her. To Coverdale's annoyance, she continued to
hunt in spite of his solemn and repeated warnings. And when he was
moved to remonstrate with Fitz upon the subject, he met with the reply,
"She pleases herself entirely."
"But, my dear fellow," said the Chief Constable, "surely you must know
that she is exposing herself to grave risks."
"If a thing seems good to her she does it," was Fitz's unprofitable
rejoinder.
The great man was frankly annoyed.
"That is very wrong, to my mind," he said with some heat. "It is
unfair to those who have made themselves responsible for her safety."
"It is a question of free-will," said Fitz, "and she knows far more
about that than most people. And when it comes to a matter of choosing
right, she has a special faculty."
So inconclusive a reply merely ministered to the wrath of the Chief
Constable, who in private complained to me bitterly.
"I wish to heaven they would quit the country," he said. "They are a
source of endless worry and expense. We do all we can to help them,
and I must say the Yard is wonderful, yet they can't be induced to take
the most elementary precautions. I regret now, Arbuthnot, that I urged
you to shelter them. I had hoped they were rational and sensible
people, but I now find they are not."
"You think, Coverdale, the danger is as real as ever?"
"Frankly I do. Ferdinand the Twelfth has played it up so high in
Illyria that the Republicans are determined to make an end of the
monarchy."
"But didn't she renounce her right to the throne when she married Fitz?"
"In effect she may have done so, but the Illyrian law of succession
will not contemplate such an act. Ferdinand makes no secret of the
fact, apparently, that he will compel her to marry the Archduke Joseph,
and that she must succeed to the throne."
"How is it possible for him to give effect to his will?"
"He is a strong man, and if he sets his mind upon a particular course
of action few have been able to deny him."
"Then you think her marriage with Fitz is merely an episode in what is
likely to be a brilliant but stormy career?"
"Always provided it is not cut short by one of those bullets it is our
duty to anticipate. I can only tell you that the Foreign Office is now
very anxious to get her out of the country, and that if they dared they
would deport her."
"Ho, ho!"
An academic admirer of our constitutional practice, I was fain to
indulge in a whistle.
"And, strictly between ourselves," said the Chief Constable, "if only
the right government were in, deported she would be."
"A fine proceeding, I am bound to say, for a country with our
pretensions to liberalism!"
"Under the rose, of course." The Chief Constable permitted himself a
dour smile. "I daresay it would make a precedent, and yet one is not
so sure about that. But one thing I am sure about, and that is that
some of us are devilish unpopular in high places. They would not be
averse from making things rather warm for certain individuals who shall
be nameless. They are pretty well agreed that we ought to have kept
our fingers out of the pie. As old L. said to me yesterday, she has
got to leave the country, and the sooner she goes the better it will be
for all concerned."
All this tended to bring no comfort to the married man, the father of
the family, and the county member. If anything, it deepened his
anxiety.
It is only just to state, however, that this feeling was not shared by
Mrs. Arbuthnot. To be sure, she was not acquainted with all that
happened. But as far as she was concerned the element of danger in the
case was an essential and rather delightful concomitant to its romance.
The Vane-Anstruther hyper-sensitiveness to that mysterious ideal "good
form" rendered it necessary that Mrs. Arbuthnot should perform a
volte-face. This she proceeded to do with really amazing completeness
and efficiency. No sooner was the true identity of our visitor
established, than, as far as the ruler of Dympsfield House was
concerned, there was an end of the circus rider from Vienna and all her
works. The ingrained Vane-Anstruther reverence for royalty, due I have
ever been led to believe to an uncle who held a Household appointment,
received full play. The lightest whim of the Princess--except before
the servants it was ever the Princess--was law.
Mrs. Arbuthnot did not go without a reward. Such an incursion did she
make upon the royal regard that in a surprisingly short time she was
addressed as Irene, and about the end of the first week of the visit
the intelligence was confided to me that the Princess had asked to be
called Sonia. Without a doubt we were living in a crowded and glorious
epoch. And I do not think its glamour was in any degree impaired by
the strictures of the world.
It is not too much to say that the Crackanthorpe ladies were
scandalised by the open and flagrant treason of Mrs. Arbuthnot. She
had taken the queen of the sawdust into the bosom of her family.
Together they hunted the fox; together they overrode the Crackanthorpe
Hounds. Loud and bitter were the lamentations of Mrs. Catesby. The
whole county shook its head.
Mrs. Arbuthnot wore the crown of martyrdom with extraordinary grace and
nerve. Her conduct in public was marked by a cynical impropriety, a
flagrant audacity at which the world rubbed its eyes and wondered.
"I really believe," said Mrs. Catesby one day as together we made our
way home through the January twilight, "that if Irene belonged to me I
should chastise her. Can you be unaware that she allows the creature
to call her by her first name? And Laura Glendinning assures me that
with her own ears she heard her address her as Matilda, or whatever the
name is she received in baptism."
"Yes, it's a desperate situation," I agreed, with a sigh which had
perhaps a greater sincerity than it was allowed the credit.
"I hold you entirely responsible," said the Great Lady. "And so does
everybody who knows the true facts of the case. That deplorable
evening at the Savoy--and now you actually find her house-room in order
that she may demoralise your wife! What a merciful thing it is that
your dear, good, devoted mother, the most refined of women, is no
longer with us! By the way, Odo, I suppose you have heard that there
is some talk of asking you to resign your seat?"
"That is news to me, my dear Mary, I assure you."
"The Vicar thinks you ought. He seems to think that if you have any
Christian feeling about things you will do so on your own initiative."
"It is so like the Church of England not to realise that by the time a
man reaches the age of forty he has gone over to Buddha."
"I don't know in the least what you mean, but I hope it is nothing
improper. But I can assure you that the Vicar's opinion is shared by
others. The Castle is dreadfully wounded. Poor dear Evelyn will never
forgive it--never! No more fishing in Scotland and no more shooting.
At any rate, it will be a mere waste of time and money for you to stand
again."
It only remained for me to agree very cordially with Mrs. Catesby, and
to confess to surprise that my constituents had not made the discovery
sooner.
"But," said I, cheerfully, "here we are at that fine example of late
Jacobean art known as Dympsfield House. I would that I could prevail
upon you, Mary, to honour our guest by drinking a cup of tea in her
presence. It would be a graceful act which I am sure we should all
appreciate."
"I have a conscience, Odo Arbuthnot," said the Great Lady, with a
severity of mien that rendered the announcement superfluous. "Also I
have some kind of a standard of morals, manners and general conduct
which I strive to live up to."
At the gate I said _au revoir_ to the outraged matron. Having disposed
of my horse, I made my way indoors. The ladies had come home in the
car and were at the tea-table already. Among a number of other
weaknesses which go with a strong infusion of the feminine temperament,
I confess to a decided partiality for the cup which cheers yet does not
inebriate.
Mrs. Arbuthnot was pouring out the tea and her Royal Highness was
standing in front of the fire. She was reading a letter, and to judge
by her brilliantly expressive countenance, its contents were affording
a good deal of exercise for her emotions.
"I wish, Sonia, I could convert you to cream and sugar," said Mrs.
Arbuthnot, declining to entrust the cup to my care, but rising
importantly and personally handing it to the occupant of the hearthrug.
"Oh, no, t'ank you. Lemon _à la Russe_. What a people to take cream
and sugar in their tea!"
She enforced her idea of the absurdity by giving Mrs. Arbuthnot a
playfully affectionate pinch of the ear.
"I have a piece of news for you, my child. Now, you must not laugh."
"Oh, no, Sonia, I will not laugh."
The somewhat exaggerated note of Mrs. Arbuthnot's obedience was not
unlike that of the model girl of the class being examined by the head
mistress.
"Now, Irene, be quite good. Not even a smile." The Princess held up a
finger of mock imperiousness. "Dis is most serious. Shall I tell you
now, or shall I to-morrow tell you?"
"Oh, please, please," piped Mrs. Arbuthnot, "please tell me at once.
Is it those absurd Republicans?"
"Oh no, my child; it is something much more interesting. My father is
on his way to England."
In sheer exultation Mrs. Arbuthnot gave a little leap into the air.
"O-oh!" she gasped.
"Think of it, my child! The royal and august one coming to this funny
little island, where everything is according to Perrault. He is coming
with old Schalk."
"O-oh!" gasped Mrs. Arbuthnot.
"You don't know Schalk. Wait till you have seen Schalk and then you
will die. He will kill you quite. He looks like dis, and he walks so."
Her Royal Highness made a face that was really comic and took a few
steps across the carpet in imitation of Schalk going to the House of
Deputies.
"Are they _really_ coming?"
"On Thursday they arrive at Southampton."
"They will go straight to Windsor, of course?"
"Oh no, my child; it is not a visit of state. It is quite a secret,
what you call _incognito_. The king is coming to make obedient his
wicked daughter. _Helas!_"
With tragic suddenness the Princess dropped her voice and the laughter
died in her eyes. But Mrs. Arbuthnot was too far deeply engrossed in
her own wild and extravagant thoughts to pay heed to the change.
"But if the King does not go to Windsor, where else can he go?" said
she. "An hotel doesn't seem right, somehow, although, of course, there
are some rather nice ones in London."
"I think, my child," said the Princess, "it were best that my father
came to us. They have anarchists in London. Besides, I insist that
you see Schalk. He will make you laugh until you shed tears."
It was as much as ever Mrs. Arbuthnot could do to keep herself in hand.
"Oh, Sonia," she cried, "do you really think the King will come to us?"
"_Mais oui, certainement_, that is his intention. But it is a secret,
a grand secret, you must not fail to remember. _Le bon roi Edouard_
must not know he is in this country. His name will be Count Zhygny;
and perhaps our good Odo here will be able to find him a little
shooting. Hares, partridges, anything that goes on four legs will
amuse him; and you must never forget, my good Odo, that he is the best
player at _Britch_ in Illyria. Now mind you don't play very high, or
he will ruin you. And so will Schalk."
"I thank you, ma'am, for the information," said I, gravely.