THE QUEEN'S MOVE.
"Her arms across her breast she laid;
She was more fair than words can say:
Bare-footed came the beggar-maid."
It was impossible that the Queen-mother's anxiety should not have
revealed to her the coldness which had sprung up between her son and
Mlle de Tricotrin. She had been at the Kora rout, and her intense love
for Kophetua, and her absorbing desire to see him united to her new
favourite, had made her eyes sharper than those of the rest of the
world, interested as they were.
Hitherto her hopes had been rising daily. She was rejoicing not only at
the skilful manner in which the Marquis was winning over all parties to
their common cause, but also at the warm relations which seemed to be
growing between Kophetua and the beautiful Frenchwoman. It was quite
clear to her that he was taking an interest in Mlle de Tricotrin which
he had never shown for a woman before. At last she felt her
long-deferred hopes were about to be realised, when suddenly she was
aware that the happy love-progress was arrested. Some discord had
jarred in upon the growing harmony. It rang in her listening ears rudely
enough, but whence it was she could not tell.
It was this that made her look so sad and anxious, as she took her usual
drive in the cool of the following afternoon. Of late Mlle de Tricotrin,
who had grown to be like a daughter to the lonely Queen, had always
accompanied her on these drives. This time, however, she had sent an
excuse that she was not well. Indeed, she felt that after her crime she
could not play her part before the keen eyes of her patroness without
breaking down. So Margaret was alone, for she would have no one to
replace her Héloise. She wished besides to think over quietly by herself
what could be the cause of the coldness which Mlle de Tricotrin's
message only confirmed.
It was the Queen's custom during these drives to visit from time to time
the public hospitals of the villages around the capital. For in this
well-ordered kingdom every village possessed its hospital, maintained at
the public expense, and there was not one in which the benign and
stately presence of Margaret was not familiar and welcome. With the
affection of the people she strove to fill the aching void, where should
have nestled the love and confidence which her only son denied her; and
if her visits of mercy did not bring her a full measure of consolation,
they at least won her a wide popularity, which shed an intermittent glow
of happiness into her clouded life.
It was only natural that she should try to-day the specific her womanly
heroism had taught her. She drove to a village which lay before the
furthest gate of the Royal Park. The people were all assembled on the
green, and she could see they were eagerly watching a rude stage which
some wandering players had set up under the spreading shelter of an
ancient acacia. They gave her a ringing shout of greeting as she passed
by, oblivious of the sorrows of the highly rouged lady who raved before
them. Nor would they give the stage another glance till the Queen's
stately coach had rolled by out of sight.
An hour or so was spent in reading to and comforting the few sick that
the hospital contained, and then the Queen returned. The play was done,
and the dispersing people so blocked the road that the chariot had to
pull up. A man in a fantastic dress took advantage of the delay to
approach the Queen and ask her a boon with that elaboration of ceremony
by which players consider they imitate the manners of the great. It was
a little thing that he wanted, though his air was lofty enough to have
prefaced a demand for half of the kingdom. As the privileges of the
chartered beggars in Oneiria were wide, so were the laws against
unlicenced vagrancy excessively severe. The status of strolling players
was at the best doubtful, and in the present case the mayor of the
village had refused them permission to camp on the green, upon the
ground that such a proceeding was flat vagrancy. Not a house or even a
barn was to be had, and so the motley player was begging leave to pass
the night within the gates of the park--a request which Margaret granted
graciously enough.
To the sound of another cheer from the villagers the park gates closed
behind the Queen, and she went on her way towards the palace. It was a
lovely evening, and before she had gone far she was tempted to leave the
chariot to go round a wide sweep of the road, while she herself walked
across under the great acacias to meet it again. Her trouble was as
heavy on her heart as ever now her Samaritan visit was over; and, alone
with the rugged trunks and the spreading boughs and peeping flowers, she
felt she could think it out more easily, and perhaps light upon the
cause that made the sweet bells jangle out of tune.
Her way soon led her along a gully, where a little brook hurried gently
down with happy chatter to find its way to its father Drâa. Here some
long-dead king had obliterated all trace of the rank vegetation that had
stolen up from the tropical regions to the southward, and in its place
had fostered the nobler forms which through the long ages have gathered
about the blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea. On the favoured slopes
of the Atlas, where the mighty breath of the Atlantic still has power to
cherish and make strong, he found them, and here they now rejoiced
together in the vigour of lusty age. Giant oaks stretched out their
limbs across the moist rocks to greet their rough-coated cousins the
cork-trees on the other side. And almost in their arms grew the wild
olives in wanton freedom, as though they mocked the modest silver
poplars which quivered hard by. They, shy prudes, stood aloof
delicately, and trembled always, as though they never ceased to fear the
rough embrace of the wanton olive's friends. And here and there, where
the tinkling stream idled through a wider channel, and the banks were
marshy beds of vivid green, an oleander stood; and, as its ruddy flowers
began to peep out to see the ripening year, it seemed to blush for the
immodest hypocrite who, with her sober hue, had cheated the old Greeks
to call her chaste.
The murmuring brook splashed up upon the rocky path, and the leaves bent
down and rustled in the evening breeze, as though they would whisper to
the passing Queen the secret she could not divine. But, plunged in deep
and miserable thought, she kept on her way unheeding, till all at once
she was aware of a nymph-like figure that sat upon a rock on the
further side of the brook, and dipped her white feet in it. Upon her
long dark tresses was a crown of flowers, and in her lap lay others,
which ever and again she tossed upon the stream, and watched in idle
reverie racing, embracing, and dividing, as they sported with the
laughing eddies.
The Queen could not help admiring the picture in spite of her surprise
at the intrusion. She drew nearer, and then, to her complete
astonishment, saw that the flower-crowned nymph was none other than the
pretty maid of Mlle de Tricotrin. She had always liked the girl for her
gentleness and modesty, no less than for her evident devotion to her
mistress. Still her presence in the park alone was a liberty that could
not be passed over. Margaret called her gently by her name.
Penelophon rose hastily when she saw who spoke, and cast a whole lapful
of flowers into the stream as she made her humble reverence. The water
seemed to seize the blossoms greedily, and hurried away with its prize,
as though the maid had lost all that could tempt it to linger.
"My girl," said the Queen, with severity, though not unkindly, "why are
you here? Do you not know that no one is allowed in the park without
leave?"
"Yes, madam," answered Penelophon, with quiet confidence, "but Trecenito
gave me leave."
"Who do you say, girl?" cried the Queen, drawing herself up, and
speaking with great asperity.
"I mean his majesty gave me leave," answered Penelophon, looking down
and blushing faintly in her confusion.
"But how did you come here?" asked the Queen, trying to conceal the
interest which a sudden suspicion gave her.
"From the old hunting-lodge, madam," answered Penelophon, "where Captain
Pertinax and the gendarmes are."
"But what were you doing there?" said the Queen.
"Trecen---- I mean his majesty," said Penelophon, looking down again,
"told Captain Pertinax he was to keep me there till his majesty was
resolved where I was to go."
"Where you were to go, child?" echoed the Queen, assuming her kindest
tone, for she felt she had found a clue to the mystery, and did not want
to frighten the girl. "But why are you not to be with Mlle de Tricotrin?
How did you come to leave her?"
"Do you not know, madam?" said Penelophon, with a look of pain in her
trusting eyes. "Did my good mistress not tell you?"
"No, child; what was it?"
"Then I will come and tell you. I will come and whisper in your ear; I
dare not speak it loud. I hardly dare to think of it, lest the thing
should come again."
She spoke in a low, frightened voice, and then stepped in trembling
agitation across the brook, and came to the Queen's side.
"The thing came----" she began, beneath her breath.
"What thing, my girl?" asked the Queen, with increasing excitement.
"That thing that limps and glares, and is wrapped in a cloak," answered
Penelophon, in a hurried whisper, while she looked anxiously about her.
"The thing that Captain Pertinax says is called Turbo, the Chancellor.
Well, it came and dragged me away from Mlle de Tricotrin in the dark
night; but Trecenito sent the gendarmes and took me away from it, and
they brought me here, where its eyes cannot look at me."
The Queen made no reply. It was all she could do to conceal the sudden
elation that possessed her, for now she was sure that accidentally she
had stumbled on what she sought. Penelophon's familiar way of speaking
of the King had aroused suspicions which her story served only to
confirm. The case was perfectly clear. This innocent girl was the means
that Turbo was using to thwart her plans for Kophetua's happiness. The
Chancellor had obviously discovered that the fascination which Mlle de
Tricotrin was exercising over his pupil was something which he could not
meet with his ordinary weapons. The beauty and sweetness of her Héloise
had at last touched the King's stony heart, and love was alive in him.
Turbo was man of the world enough to know that this was a state of mind
which was not to be reasoned with, and he must have thought that the
only means by which he could prevent the attachment getting past undoing
was to place another woman in the way.
In the sudden reaction of spirits brought about by the unexpected
success of her quest, the Queen could hardly help smiling at the
Chancellor's astuteness. It was certainly a clever move. She knew her
son's nature well enough to understand how this dreamy child of the
people was just the most dangerous rival Mlle de Tricotrin could have.
It was just the idyllic passion to commend itself to a nature which,
though outwardly cynical, was, as she well knew, at bottom imaginative,
poetical, and even Quixotic.
It was clear then to the Queen that Turbo had stolen the girl from Mlle
de Tricotrin, in consequence, probably, of the King having noticed her.
He had arranged for her this romantic retreat, where Kophetua could
visit his Rosamund with the added spice of secrecy on pretence of
inspecting the gendarmes. The plot was perfect, and Margaret's elation
at her fancied discovery was in proportion to its perfection. For not
only had she unravelled the whole mystery which had so troubled her, but
she found herself in a position to foil the Chancellor's last attempt.
The fear which, by her view of the situation, Turbo seemed to have of
Mlle de Tricotrin's influence entirely coincided with her own idea that
Kophetua was on the brink of an irresistible passion for the
Frenchwoman. All, then, that was necessary was to remove Turbo's
counter-attraction, and the game was won. Her motherly eagerness showed
her the means by which this might be accomplished, and taught her to
play her part with the skill and delicacy which was essential to
success.
"My dear," said the Queen at length, softly stroking Penelophon's hair,
"I am very sorry for you. I am very glad I found you here."
"Thank you, madam," answered Penelophon. "It is not hard to see why my
mistress loves you so. But why are you glad?"
"Because, my child," said the Queen, "you are not safe here any more
than you were with your mistress."
"Not safe?" cried Penelophon, her big eyes dilating with fear.
"That thing knows where you are," answered the Queen, in a mysterious
voice, "though the King thinks you are safe. He does not know, but
to-night it will come and look at you."
"No! no!" cried the poor girl, covering her face interior. "But will it
take hold of me too?"
"I cannot tell," replied the Queen-mother doubtfully. "Perhaps the
gendarmes will prevent it; but it is a cunning thing."
"O madam!" exclaimed Penelophon, casting herself at Margaret's feet,
"what shall I do? I could not bear it again. Will you not take me away
where it cannot come? For the love of Trecenito take me away!"
"Well, child, for the love of Trecenito I will take you away," said the
Queen, covering her deceit with words that were true. "I will bring you
to some good friends of mine hard by, and they shall take you far away
where the thing can never find you,--far away to the mountains, where
the King's hunting-tower stands, and I will tell him, and none but him,
whither you have gone."
"Bless your sweet majesty! bless you!" cried Penelophon, fervently
kissing the hand that soothed her. "But now let us go quickly before the
gendarmes see."
"Follow me, then, child," said the Queen, and hastily retraced her steps
up the gully to where she knew she would find the players; and as they
passed, the oleanders blushed deeply to see what wrong a mother's love
could do, and the white poplars trembled with dread. Overhead the Turkey
oaks and the rough cork-trees shot out their muscular arms stiffly, as
though they would have stopped the cruel deed; but the wild olives
nestled close, and whispered wantonly it was no harm.
The players were already there with their carts when the two women came
to the park gate. A few words and a little purse soon persuaded
Margaret's motley friend to take the matter in hand. All the Queen
required was that he should start away betimes in the morning with his
company, and carry the beggar-maid to some remote part of the kingdom,
and she promised the man a handsome present if the girl were not found
for a year.
Then she gave her hand to Penelophon, who kissed it again with devotion.
Margaret, in a voice that all could hear, charged the players to treat
her kindly, and so took her leave, and hurried to meet her carriage at
the point agreed.
The Queen's delight at the way she had outwitted her cunning adversary
only increased as she thought over it, and by the time she reached the
palace she felt compelled to share her joy with some one. So she easily
persuaded herself that M. de Tricotrin ought at once to be informed of
the plot against his daughter, and how, in consequence of her clever
move, it was now, instead of a cause of anxiety, a thing to rejoice
over, as evidence of how nearly the King had come to yielding to
Héloise's charms.
She sent to him at once to request the favour of an interview, and M. de
Tricotrin appeared without delay. Margaret told him the whole story
with great animation, and was perhaps a little surprised at his
reception of her news. She had certainly looked for a little more
enthusiasm in his congratulations, but was too happy and too satisfied
with herself to take much notice of his manner. As for the Marquis, the
instincts of an old diplomatist prevented him explaining the Queen's
mistake. It was true that her story took his breath away at first; but
it was a second nature with him, when he found any one labouring under
an error, not to undeceive until he was sure that there was nothing to
be made out of the situation as it stood.
So after his first surprise he listened with interest, gravely thanked
the Queen for her energy in his daughter's behalf, and ceremoniously
took his leave, with the unpleasant conviction that things had taken a
very awkward turn.
What had happened he could hardly tell. That the Queen's view of the
affair was wrong he had little doubt. A much more natural explanation
suggested itself to him. Somehow or other Kophetua had got wind of the
intended abduction, and had ordered the gendarmes to be on the alert to
prevent it. How the secret had leaked out of course he could not be
sure; but, in all probability, his own daughter, prompted by her silly
infatuation for the girl, had given the King a hint. Whether this were
so or not, he was sure that Turbo would come to the same conclusion, and
feel that the Tricotrin side of the bargain had not been loyally carried
out.
The only thing to be done was to go to the Chancellor at once, find out
what had actually happened, and, as a proof of sincerity, inform him
what had become of the girl. This could certainly do no harm. For, even
supposing the Queen were right, and Turbo's proposition had only been
part of a deep-laid scheme to draw off the King from his daughter, it
would, at any rate, be better to let the wily Chancellor know that his
game was seen through.
So to the Chancellor M. de Tricotrin went.