[Illustration: 9127]
They had spent a most interesting hour at the Royal Mews, and, rare
good fortune, the best was yet to come. They means Mr. Harris and
Marie-Celeste and Albert, and the Royal Mews--since to the average
little American the words doubtless are wholly unintelligible--means the
royal stables. Mr. Harris and Marie-Celeste had called by appointment
in the phaeton lor Albert, and then leaving the ponies in the care of a
groom at the entrance to the stable courtyard, in company with another
groom they had visited the royal horses. The place as a whole was rather
disappointing to our little party. Harold, who had been all through the
stables of the Duke of Westminster at Eton Hall, had described something
much finer than this--imposing buildings surrounding a courtyard paved
with bevel-edged squares of stone, with not so much as a whisp of hay
or straw to be seen anywhere, and in the centre a noble statue of a
high-spirited horse, rearing and pulling hard at the bridle, held in the
hand of a stalwart groom, who seems fully equal to the occasion. Here
there was nothing of the sort, and yet these were the Queen's stables.
Ah, well! these were old and the Duke's were new, and perhaps the royal
family were trying to avoid extravagance, and that was of course very
commendable. But what seemed lacking in elegance of appointment was made
up in the number of horses; and happening to enter one of the courtyards
just as three of the court carriages were about to be driven out of it,
the children were intensely interested. Marie-Celeste opened her eyes
wide for wonder at the novel sight of a coach and four, but with no
reins anywhere about the harness, and not so much as the suggestion of
a scat for the coachman. The mystery of how they were to be driven was
solved in a moment, however, when a faultlessly equipped groom threw
himself astride of one of the leaders, and the stablemen, standing at
the bridles of the four-in-hand, at one and the same moment let go
their hold, and sprang quickly out of the way. It was very inspiring and
exciting to see the three coaches, that were to convey some royal guests
to the depot, leave the courtyard one after the other, the horses in
each case prancing in wildest fashion and perfectly free, apparently,
with the exception of the one mounted leader, to do any outlandish thing
that they chose.
“I don't see that there's anything at all to keep them from running
away,” pondered Marie-Celeste gravely, “or how they ever manage them at
all.”
“But dey do,” said well-informed Albert; “I've seen dem often. Dat
cuttin' up is jus' for fun at de start. Dey're trained to behave jus' of
dere own selves without any driver, and when dey get out on de road
dey always do behave;” and then in the moment's pause that followed,
Marie-Celeste, remembering certain recent performances of her own,
wondered if her father wished that a certain little girl, of whom he
had some knowledge, more closely resembled these royal ponies, who, once
trained to behave, according to Albert, never dreamed of taking the bit
in their teeth or of kicking over the traces.
But the best that was yet to come was something of a highly exclusive
and highly privileged order--something in which even Mr. Harris could
have no part. From the moment that Albert had climbed into the phaeton
at his own door he had held a small square envelope firmly in one hand.
Mr. Harris had advised him to put it in his pocket or to consign it to
him for safer keeping but to no avail. Albert considered the grip of his
own right hand the safest place by far for the valuable little square
of cardboard, and which was nothing else than the open sesame to the
Queen's own garden, called the East Terrace, and to which the general
public only occasionally were admitted. Exception, in this instance, had
been made for Marie-Celeste and Albert. It had all been managed in some
way by Albert's father, Canon Allyn, apropos of Albert's having repeated
a remark of Marie-Celeste's, “that she should be happy as a queen
herself if just once she could be allowed to walk in that garden.”
Whether the powers that rule the entrance to the same came to the
conclusion that to a little girl of twelve and a little boy of four the
term of general public could not honestly be applied, or whether all
rules of procedure and precedence were magnanimously waived in
their favor, certain it is that the little card in question bore the
incredible inscription: “Admit Master Albert Allyn and his little
friend, Miss Marie-Celeste Harris, to the East Terrace between the hours
of twelve and three on Thursday. By order of ----------”
And this was Thursday, and by Mr. Harris's watch, long ago carefully
adjusted to English time, it was precisely five minutes to twelve. The
skies were blue above them and a delightful little breeze was blowing
out of the west; so that everything was just as it should be when two
pairs of eager little feet were to be allowed to tread the paths of the
Queen's own garden. And such a garden as it proved! with its fountains
and statues and vases, and the orangery on one side, and on the other
three sides a beautiful sloping lawn, ascending from the level of the
garden to the gray stonewall at the outer edge of the terrace; and
to think that here they were actually walking about in this beautiful
garden, instead of merely peering through the fretwork of the iron gate,
as some other little children with envious eyes were doing that very
moment. Marie-Celeste was so impressed with the greatness of the
privilege accorded them, that for the first five minutes or so she kept
Albert's hand tight in her own, and spoke never a word save a whispered
“yes” or “no” to Albert's questions. But to Albert, who had been
born beneath the castle walls, it must be confessed royalty was less
awe-inspiring, and to walk about hand in hand in that stately fashion
and talk in suppressed whispers was not his idea of the way to enjoy the
Queen's garden.
[Illustration: 0129]
Finally he resolved to take matters into his own hands by suddenly
slipping away from Marie-Celeste's grasp; and then drawing off a little,
and folding both hands behind his back, as though neither of them were
to be longer at anybody's disposal, he said aggressively: “And--and now
what are you afraid of, Marie-Celeste? Do you sink somebody's goin' to
soot you from de top of one of de towers if you speak out loud?”
“Why no, of course not,” with a little nervous laugh; “really, I didn't
know I was just whispering; but it seems such a wonderful place to me,
as much for what has happened here as for what is here now.”
Albert looked at Marie-Celeste a little whimsically, and then said
dryly: “Well, I don' know much about what's happened here, and I
s'ouldn't sink jus' an American little girl would know so very much
eider.”
“Perhaps not,” said Marie-Celeste, half angry at Albert's insinuation;
“but 's'ouldn't sink' or no, I could tell you a good deal if I chose to
about one little queen who lived here--”
“Oh, yes, I remember. You did promise to tell me 'bout her some
day. Right here, where she used to live, would be a good place,
Marie-Celeste.”
“Yes, it would,” but in a tone as though nothing was farther from her
thought than the telling of it. She would show this presuming little
Albert that “jus' American little girls” were not to be so easily
conciliated.
Albert looked crestfallen, but hoped still to win by strategy.
“She was a little French girl, wasn't she?” he asked, quite casually.
“Yes, she was.”
“Do you s'pose she used to play in this garden?”
“I'm sure I don't know,” with an indifferent shrug of the shoulders.
“Her name was Isabel, wasn't it?”
“Yes, her name was Isabel.”
“And she was only nine when she was a queen.”
“Only nine.”
Albert gave Marie-Celeste a look which said as plainly as words: “That
jus' American little girls could be awful mean,” and evidently deciding
it would be best to leave that kind of a girl to herself, turned on his
heel and walked straight off toward the castle with a consequential air,
and as though bent on reporting such unseemly conduct to Her Majesty in
person.
Marie-Celeste looked after him a moment with a most amused smile, and
then growing to feel more at home amid royal surroundings, turned to
investigate the little miniature elephants that flank the steps leading
down from the eastern terrace. Then she wandered on, making a partial
circuit of the garden, stopping here and there to gaze at some statue
that struck her fancy or to touch with reverend hand the rich carving of
the vases, and finally bringing up at the fountain in the centre.
Meantime, what had not that audacious Albert ventured! The rapid and
indignant pace at which he had sought to put as much space as possible
between the offending Marie-Celeste and himself had brought him in a
trice to the foot of the double flight of steps that ascend from the
garden to the terrace. And what more natural, when you find yourself at
the foot of a flight of steps, than to walk up them, no matter if the
place does chance to be Windsor Castle; and then if at the top you
find an open door confronting you, what more natural than to walk in,
particularly if there happens to be no one to say you nay, and you have
half a mind, besides, to seek an audience of the Queen, and report
the ungracious conduct of an ungracious little American, who has been
unworthily permitted to tread the paths of the royal garden. A few
moments later he was bounding down the stone stairway, flying toward
Marie-Celeste with the breathless announcement: “She wants us to come
in.”
“Who?” screamed Marie-Celeste, half stiff with fright; “not the Queen?”
“No,” called Albert, who was not to be delayed by explanations, and was
already half-way back to the steps again; “the Queen's mother.”
“The Queen's mother!” thought Marie-Celeste; “she must be very old.” But
this was time for action rather than thought.
“Please wait for me, Albert;” for Albert had scaled the stairs, and
in another second would be out of sight; and for a wonder, Albert
waited--touched, perhaps, by the entreaty in her voice, and perceptibly
enjoying the turn of affairs that left him master of the situation.
“Did the Queen's mother come out and ask you to come in?” whispered
Marie-Celeste, detaining Albert by main force, while she straightened
his necktie and gave his hopelessly frowsy curls a rearranging touch.
“No, I went in and asked her to tome out; nes I did, really,” in
refutation of the astonished incredulity on Marie-Celeste's face.
“The door was open, an' I jus' walked in, an' I dess dey sought I was
jus' a little prince or somethin', cause nobody said anythin' to me till
I tame to the room where de Queen's mother was; an' I asked her wouldn't
she tome out in de garden an' see you; an' she said no, she did not feel
able to walk very much, but for me to go an' bring my little friend in.”
And nothing could, by any possibility, have been more patronizing than
the tone in which Albert uttered the words “my little friend.” And this
was all the light that was ever thrown on Albert's unsolicited _entree_
into Windsor Castle. If he met with a rebuff from any quarter or had to
push his way in the face of any difficulties, he has never owned up to
them.
Be that as it may, a very sweet-faced lady met them at the door as they
entered, and saying reassuringly, “Come this way, children,” led them
through a corridor resplendent with statues and portraits, and thence by
a wide folding-door into a large room, with windows looking out over the
Long Walk and away to the grand old Windsor Forest.
Albert, who had already become familiar with the appointments of this
apartment, stepped at once to the table, near which an elderly lady was
sitting, and laying his sailor-hat, nothing loath, atop of a miniature
of His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, announced cavalierly,
“And--and now, this is my little American friend, Marie-Celeste.”
“How do you do, dear?” said the lady, extending her hand, which
Marie-Celeste, her cheeks aflame with the unexpected abruptness of
Albert's introduction, took in hers, in a pretty deferential sort of
way, as though fully conscious of the dignity of her surroundings.
Albert, on the other hand, apparently as much at home in the Queen's
private sitting-room as anywhere else in the world, had worked himself
way back into a deep-seated, gilded armchair, so that his dusty
little feet stuck straight out into the air before him. Meanwhile, the
sweet-faced lady had drawn a little _tête-a-tète_ sofa nearer the table,
and invited Marie-Celeste to take a seat beside her, and then there
followed a few general remarks as to the warmth of the weather and the
beauty of the garden, etc., while Marie-Celeste gazed in unconcealed
admiration at everything about her.
“It is very beautiful,” she said in the first pause of the conversation,
“to be allowed to see the inside of this part of the castle, but I am
afraid it was very rude in Albert to walk right in the way he did.”
“Very rude?” Indeed! Albert's eyes flashed, and there is no telling what
rejoinder he might have made but that the sweet-faced lady gave him no
opportunity.
“Oh, that's all right,” she said cordially; “Albert told us he was Canon
Allyn's little boy, and that made us very glad to see him, for the Queen
has a very high regard for Canon Allyn; and then when he told us he
thought you would like to come in too, the Queen sent for you.”
“That was very kind of the Queen,” said Marie-Celeste gratefully, while
Albert looked mystified, for he was not at all aware of the Queen's
having had any part in the transaction; but he thought it was a good
time to gain a little useful information.
“I suppose de Queen is always very busy,” he said, addressing the young
lady, “and never has any time jus'--jus' to sit around like dis?”
The young lady hesitated a moment before she answered, and glanced
toward the Queen, for the elderly lady was none other, if you please,
than Victoria herself, though it never entered the children's heads for
one moment to suspect it. A Queen in black silk and a lace cap! Why, the
thing was simply incredible. Albert had not passed the statue on Castle
Hill almost every day since he learned to walk for nothing.
[Illustration: 0135]
He guessed he knew how a queen ought to look in her robes of velvet and
ermine, and with characteristic self-sufficiency had at once settled
it in his venturesome little mind that this was the Queen's mother; and
Marie-Celeste, presuming he knew whereof he spoke, simply took him at
his word. And so both the children almost at once betraying their utter
unconsciousness of the Queen's presence, the Queen and her companion
were naturally greatly amused, and by an interchange of glances decided
not to enlighten their unsuspecting little visitors.
“Her Majesty,” said Miss Belmore, the lady-in-waiting, after hesitating
a moment, not knowing how to answer, “has of course many things to
occupy her mind, but still she often spends a quiet hour or so in this
very room.”
“Oh, does she?” for this fact at once added a new lustre to everything
for Marie-Celeste; “where does she generally sit?”
“Generally where I am sitting,” answered the Queen.
“And--and I know jus' how she looks sitting dere,” said Albert; “she has
a beautiful crown on her head and a long kind of veil coming down from
de crown, and a kind of gold stick in her hand dat papa says is called
a--a--”
“Sceptre,” suggested Marie-Celeste, coming to the rescue; “and then she
wears”--for Marie-Celeste had studied the statue too--“a beautiful broad
ribbon coming from one shoulder, crosswise this way to her belt, doesn't
she?”
“Yes, sometimes,” said Miss Belmore.
“And on it she wears the badge of the Order of the Garter, doesn't she?”
“Yes, that is right, too; but what do two little people like you know
about the Order of the Garter?”
“We know all dere is,” said Albert grandly; “we had a
Knight-of-the-Garter day las' week;” and then recalling the matter
of the foolish little garter, his face grew crimson, and he begged
Marie-Celeste not to tell.
“What do you mean by a Knight-of-the-Garter day?” said the Queen,
smiling at Albert's embarrassment and keenly enjoying the novelty of the
situation.
“Why, it was a day,” Marie-Celeste explained, “when we came to the
castle here and went into the different rooms and then into St. George's
Chapel, and Harold Harris, my cousin, who lives here, and who has read
up a great deal about the knights, told us all he knew about them. But
there is one thing,” added Marie-Celeste, changing the subject, because
unwilling that so important an occasion should be to any extent devoted
to any mere narrating of their own childish doings, “I would very much
like to know, and that is, if Victoria is ever called Madame La Grande
Reine?”
“Why no, my dear, I don't know that she is,” said Her Majesty; “but what
a little French woman you seem to be.” At this Albert rudely clapped one
little hand over his mouth, as though to keep from laughing outright.
Marie-Celeste a little French woman! Why he didn't believe she knew more
than a dozen French words to her name.
“But why do you ask if she is ever called by that title?” continued the
Queen.
“Oh, because on the steamer coming over I learned all about the Queen
whom they used to call Madame La Petite Reine.”
“What are you saying, Marie-Celeste?” said Albert impetuously; “I
don't understan' you at all;” for not for one single moment was this
conversation in the Queen's own sitting-room to rise above the level of
his comprehension, if it lay in his power to prevent it.
“I am talking about the little French Queen, Isabel.”
“Oh!” greatly relieved that the matter could be so easily explained; and
then he added, turning beseechingly to Her Majesty, “Won't you please
make her tell it? Se always says se knows a great deal about her, but se
never tells what se knows.”
It was Marie-Celeste's turn to color up now, and she looked at Albert,
considering for a moment in what way she should proceed to annihilate
him, when Her Majesty happily put to rout all such revengeful
intentions. “I should love to talk with you about the little Isabel,”
she said, “for I know all about her too, and there are some things here
in the castle that used to belong to her that I should be glad to have
you see. It seems to me you two little people will have to remain to
luncheon, and afterward we will have a good talk about the little French
Isabel.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Marie-Celeste, “but I don't believe we can,”
the idea of actually sitting down to the royal table being almost too
overpowering.
“Oh, nes we can, too,” said Albert, “if you sink the Queen won't mind.”
“On the contrary,” said Her Majesty, with difficulty concealing her
amusement, “I am confident she will be most glad to have you entertained
at the castle; and now, Miss Belmore, will you summon Ainslee, that she
may show our little friends through the private apartments?”
Ainslee proved to be a motherly-looking, middle-aged woman with a bunch
of keys hanging from her ample girdle. After she had received a word
or two of direction from Miss Belmore, the children set off under her
guidance, with unconcealed delight on their faces at the prospect of
seeing with their own eyes these mysterious apartments, and with a
deep-seated hope in each quick-beating heart that in all the full
regalia of crown and sceptre and ermine they might somewhere encounter
the marvellous Queen.
Meantime, imagine the astonishment of the inmates of the Little Castle
to have a finely mounted groom, in the royal livery of the big Castle,
ride up to their door, and with that indescribable condescension
inherent in even the most ordinary of grooms, hand in a communication,
which on being opened imparted the rather astounding information “That
Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen, having accidentally made the
acquaintance of the little visitors to the East Terrace, had invited
them to remain for luncheon at the Castle, and would see that they
reached home safely under proper escort later in the afternoon.” The
note also mentioned that similar word had been sent by special messenger
to Canon Allyn.
“Gad, but they're lucky!” said Harold: and then he sent for his pony
and started off for a long gallop, hoping thereby to get the better of
certain absurdly jealous feelings that would not down at his bidding.