In the anteroom to his own newly decorated suite of rooms, the King
found two of his valets still on duty. One of them was Smith, the
rubicund, grizzled old sailor, who had been his servant in the Navy.
Dismissing the other man with a gesture, the King beckoned to Smith,
and entered his dressing room.
"I do not want to be disturbed, in the morning, until I ring my bell,
Smith," he announced. "I shall probably go out into the garden for a
breath of fresh air, last thing. See that the door into the garden is
left open. That is all now. Good-night."
Smith withdrew, at once, with the bob of his bullet-shaped head, which
was the nearest approach he could make to the bow required by etiquette.
Left alone, the King glanced round the dressing room.
Of all the rooms in the palace which he used habitually, this room had
become the most distasteful to the King. The massive, old-fashioned,
mahogany furniture, the heavy curtains drawn right across the windows,
the thick-piled carpet, and the softly shaded lights, in the room,
oppressed him, not so much because of what they were in themselves, as
because of what they were associated with, already, in his own mind.
It was here that he dressed for Court functions. It was here that
he dressed, three or four times a day, not for his own pleasure and
convenience, but "suitably for the occasion."
A masculine doll. A male mannequin. A popinjay.
But he was going to dress to please himself, now, anyway.
Moving swiftly about the room, he proceeded to ransack drawers, and to
fling open wardrobe doors, as he searched for a particular blue serge
suit, of which the Royal staff of valets strongly disapproved.
At last he found the suit he sought.
A few minutes later, he had effected, unaided, a complete change of
toilet.
The blue serge suit, instinct with the Navy style that was so much
to his mind, together with the grey felt hat, and the light dust
coat, which he selected, made an odd, and subtle, difference in his
appearance. Before, even in the easy undress of his smoking jacket, he
had been--the King. Now he was, in every detail, merely a young naval
officer in mufti, rejoicing in shore leave.
Looking at himself in the huge, full-length mirror which stood
immediately in front of the heavily curtained windows, the King
approved this result.
The young naval officer in mufti, who looked back at the King out
of the cunningly lighted mirror, tall, fair, and clean-shaven, had
retained much of the unconscious pride of youth. The face was, as yet,
only lightly marked by the lines, the thoughtful frown, and the dark
shadows, which are the insignia of a heavier burden, of a greater
responsibility, and of a more constant anxiety, and care, than any
known at sea. The mouth and chin were pronounced and firm, moulded by
the habit of command. The lips were a trifle full, and not untouched
by passion. A student of that facial character, which all men, princes
and peasants alike, must carry about with them, wherever they go, would
have said that this young man had a will of his own, which might be
expressed by rash and impetuous action. The brow was broad and high.
This was a young man capable of thought, and of emotion. Something of
the healthy tan, which long exposure to wind and weather leaves, still
lingered on the cheeks, but a slight puffiness under the tired blue
eyes, told of weariness, and of flagging physical condition.
"A breath of Judith's country air will certainly do me good. It will
freshen me up," the King muttered.
Swinging round from the mirror, he crossed the room, to the door, and
switched off all the lights. Then he opened the door. The long corridor
outside, which led from his suite of rooms to the central landing,
and so to the main staircase in the palace, was still brilliantly
lit. Closing the dressing room door behind him, the King slipped
quickly down the corridor. Avoiding the central landing, and the main
staircase, which lay to his right, he turned to the left, up a short
passage, which brought him to the head of a private staircase, which
was strictly reserved for his personal use. This staircase led down to
the ground floor of the palace, and ended in a small, palm and orange
tree decorated lounge, half vestibule, and half conservatory, which had
been a favourite retreat of his father. A glass door opened out of the
lounge into the palace garden. This door, as he had directed, had been
left open. Quickly descending the staircase, the King passed through
the lounge, out by the open door, into the garden.
A sharp glance, first to the right, and then to the left, assured
him that he was unobserved. By his order, the posts of the military
guard, and the beats of the police, on duty round the palace, had been
altered recently, so that he could use this door untrammelled by their
compliments. An unmistakable impatience with even necessary observation
of his personal movements had already become known as one of the new
King's most pronounced characteristics, and the military, and the
police authorities, alike, had done their best to meet his wishes in
the matter, although his wishes had added greatly to their difficulties.
The palace garden was full of the fragrance of the wonderful summer
night. The west breeze blew softly along the paths, and rustled amongst
the innumerable leaves of the overhanging trees. A few minutes of brisk
walking led the King through the darkness of the shrubberies, across
the deserted lawns, and past the shining, light-reflecting water of the
lake, to the boundary wall at the far end of the garden.
A small, old, and formerly little used wooden door in this wall was his
objective.
Lately, by his order, this door had been repainted, and fitted with
a new lock. One or two members of the palace household staff were
housed in Lower Grosvenor Place, the thoroughfare on to which the
wall abutted. It was, ostensibly, in order that these trustworthy and
discreet members of the household staff might be able to pass in and
out of the door, unchallenged, and so use the short cut through the
garden to the palace, that the King had considerately directed that
the lock on the door should be renewed, and that new keys should be
distributed.
It was one of these new keys which he now produced from his own pocket,
and, after a hurried glance behind him to assure himself that he was
still unobserved, fitted into the lock.
The lock worked smoothly.
The door opened inwards.
The King stepped out on to the pavement of Lower Grosvenor Place.
The door, operated by a spring, closed silently behind him.
Lower Grosvenor Place, normally a quiet and deserted thoroughfare
was, tonight, for once, thronged with people. A cheering, singing
rollicking crowd, the backwash of the larger crowds, which had been
attracted to the palace, and to the display of fireworks in the parks,
had taken possession of the roadway. For a moment, the noise of the
crowd, and the lights of the street, coming so abruptly after the
silence, and the secluded darkness of the garden, disconcerted the
King. Next moment, smiling a little at the thought of his own bizarre
position, he darted into the crowd, and began to work his way across
the road.
Inevitably jostled, and pushed, by the crowd, he made slow progress.
Suddenly, his progress was arrested altogether.
A little company of West End revellers, half a dozen youthful dandies
from the clubs, and as many daringly dressed women, who were moving
down the centre of the road, with their arms linked, singing at the top
of their voices, deliberately intercepted him, and circling swiftly
round him, held him prisoner.
"Where are your colours, old man?" one of the women demanded, in
an affected, provocative drawl. She was young, and, in spite of
her artificial complexion, and dyed eyebrows, she still retained a
suggestion of prettiness, and even of freshness. "Here! This is what
you want!"
As she spoke, she caught hold of the lapel of the King's coat, and
pinned to it a large rosette of red, white, and blue ribbons.
"There! That looks better," she declared. "You don't want people
to think you're one of these Communist cads, and in favour of a
revolution, do you?"
The King laughed merrily.
That he, the King, should be suspected of being in favour of revolution
struck him as irresistibly absurd. Then the second thought which is
so often nearer to the truth than the first, supervened. After all,
was the idea so absurd? Was he not--an unwilling King? Had he not been
increasingly conscious, of late, of a thought lurking at the back of
his mind, that he, of all men, had, perhaps, least to lose, and most
to gain, in the welter and chaos of revolution? What would he lose?
The intolerable burden of his isolation: the responsibility, and the
exacting demands of the great position, into which he had been thrust
so unexpectedly, and so much against his will. What would he gain?
Liberty, Equality, Fraternity! The revolutionary slogan voiced his own
personal needs. His laughter died away.
Happily, a precocious, fair-haired youth, who was leaning on the
shoulder of the rosette-distributing girl, broke the awkward little
silence which ensued.
"Chuck it, Doris! Can't you see he's one of us?" he remarked. "He's got
Navy written all over him."
And he nodded to the King, as to a brother officer.
"Mind your own business, Bobbie, and I'll mind mine," Doris drawled,
unperturbed. "He's a nice boy, but he'd forgotten his rosette. No man,
who isn't wearing the right colours, is going to pass me by, tonight,
unchallenged."
The King pulled himself together with an effort.
"But now that I am wearing the right colours, you will let me pass?" he
suggested. "I am in rather a hurry."
Bobbie promptly dragged the laughing and protesting Doris to one side,
and so left the road clear for the King.
"Pass, friend!" Bobbie announced. "All's well!"
The King dived hastily, once again, into the crowd. A sudden, and
curiously belated, fear of recognition, here in the immediate vicinity
of the palace, lent wings to his feet. No doubt the reckless audacity
of his excursion almost precluded the possibility of recognition. And
yet thousands of these people had seen him, at close quarters, only a
few hours ago.
So they knew about the impending storm, and they were already taking
sides. He looked at the rollicking crowd which surged about him, now,
with new interest. Red, white, and blue rosettes, similar to the one
which was pinned to his own coat, were being worn everywhere. The right
colours appeared to be popular. In the elaborate, secret, protective
schemes, lettered for code purposes, in the Greek alphabet, from Alpha
to Gamma, which the old Duke of Northborough had laid before him, to
demonstrate the Cabinet's readiness for every eventuality, the loyalty
of the people had no place. Might not that loyalty render the old
Duke's schemes unnecessary? But the old Duke wanted, he seemed almost
anxious, to force a fight. And the old Duke was, of course, right.
By this time, the King had succeeded in working his way across the
road. He turned now, mechanically to his left, down a quiet, side
street, which ended in a cul-de-sac, but afforded, on the right, an
entrance to one of those odd, shut in havens of coach-houses and
stables, which are to be found all over the West End of London, tucked
away behind the great houses, from which they usually take their
directory title, with the addition of that admirably significant word,
mews. Here, in a small, lock-up garage, which he had contrived to rent
in the name of a youthful member of his personal, secretarial staff,
the King kept a two-seated, powerfully engined, motor car. Geoffrey
Blunt, the nominal tenant of the garage, a light-hearted but discreet,
cadet of a good house, had also lent his name for the purchase of the
car. In recognition of Blunt's complaisance in the matter, the King had
allowed him to accompany him in one or two harmless Caliph Haroun Al
Raschid night interludes, in which the car had figured; but Blunt, as
Vizier, had no idea that the King, his Caliph, used the car, as now,
for solitary excursions.
The police constable on the beat happened to be testing, with
his bull's-eye lantern in action, the fastenings of the adjacent
coach-houses and stables, in the dimly lit mews, when the King arrived
at the garage. Recognizing in the King, as he thought, a resident in
one of the neighbouring houses, the constable saluted him respectfully,
and helped him to open the garage doors, and run out the car.
"You'll find the traffic difficult tonight, sir, I'm thinking," he
remarked, with a hint of a London tamed Irish brogue. "They turned
the people out of the parks, when the fireworks finished, a full half
hour ago, but, bless you, they are in no hurry to go home. Well, it's
one night in a lifetime, as you might say, isn't it, sir? And, beyond
holding up the traffic, there's no harm in the people--they're just
lively, that's all. There'll be a good many of them will lie in late,
when they do get to bed, in the morning, I'm thinking. But the tiredest
man, in all London, this night, and in the whole Empire, too, if it
comes to that, I should think must be the King himself, God bless
him! Did you get a good view of him, yourself, sir? I was in duty in
Whitehall for the procession, and barring a yard or two, I was as close
to him then, as I am, now, to you. As fine, and upstanding a young
fellow, as you could wish to see, he is, too, and as like his poor dead
brother, the Prince, God rest his soul! as two peas. But he looked
tired, I thought. I hope they won't work him too hard, at first. He's
only a young man still, and he's got his troubles before him, they say,
although to look at the people, tonight, you wouldn't think so, would
you? But give him his chance, and he'll do as well as his brother,
the Prince, I say, for all that he's a sailor. I'm an old Guardsman,
myself, sir, the same as the Prince was, but, after all, it's time you
had your turn, in the Senior Service, isn't it, sir?"
Busy putting on the thick leather motor coat, and adjusting the
goggles, which he kept stored in the car, the King listened to the
constable's garrulous, friendly talk with rich amusement, not untouched
by a more serious interest. He almost wished that he could reveal
his real identity to the man, and then shake hands with him. Surely
the loyalty of the people had been underestimated? This garrulous
police constable had a juster appreciation, and a more sympathetic
understanding, of the difficulties and the dangers of his position,
than he had ever imagined possible.
With the constable's assistance the King closed, and re-locked the
garage doors. Then he slipped a handful of loose silver into the man's
not too ready palm, and sprang up into his seat at the steering wheel
of the car.
"Liquidate that in drinking to the King's health, constable," he
directed, as he started the car. "Drink it to the frustration of all
the King's enemies."
All the King's enemies? His worst enemy? Himself?
The man's reply was drowned by the throbbing beat of the powerful
engine.
A moment later, the car leapt forward, out of the dimly lit mews,
swung up the quiet side street, beyond, and so passed into the densely
thronged roadway in Lower Grosvenor Place.
The police constable's prediction as to the difficulties of the traffic
proved more than justified. In Grosvenor Place, the King found that he
could only advance at a snail's pace, sounding his siren continuously.
Over and over again, he had hurriedly to apply all his brakes. The
crowd, singing, cheering, and rollicking, had taken complete possession
of the roadway, and ignored the approach of all vehicles of whatsoever
kind. Fellow motorists, in like case with himself, grinned at the
King, in friendly, mutual commiseration. For his part, it was with
difficulty, that he restrained his impatience, and kept his temper. He
was still far too close to the palace for his peace of mind.
At Hyde Park Corner, the police, mounted and on foot, had contrived
to maintain a narrow fairway, which made real, although still slow,
progress through the locked traffic possible. But in Park Lane, the
crowd had it all their own way again, spread out across the road, and
indulging in rough horse-play, as nearly out of hand as the London
crowd ever permits itself to go. Happily, by the Marble Arch, the
road cleared once more. In Oxford Street, in spite of the brilliant
illuminations of the famous shops and stores, and the huge crowds
which they had attracted there, the King found that he could slightly
increase his speed. When he swung, at last, into Tottenham Court Road,
and so headed the car directly north, the traffic, by comparison with
that through which he had just passed, seemed almost normal. Free now
from the necessity of extra vigilance, and only occasionally called
upon to sound his siren, or to apply his brakes, he was able to open
out the car considerably, and settle himself more comfortably at the
steering wheel.