A DISTURBING ELEMENT.
The bitter words in which Cyril renounced all interest in Thracia
were interrupted by an exclamation from Mansfield, who was staring
incredulously at a little party of people approaching from one of the
winding paths. There were an old lady in a bath-chair, a girl, and a
young man, the last two unmistakably English.
“Don’t you see, Count? It’s Lady Phil and Usk!” cried Mansfield,
quickening his steps; but Cyril caught him by the arm.
“Wait a minute, Mansfield. Did my brother stipulate that you were not
to speak to Lady Phil during this year of probation? If he did, I will
curb my natural longing to see my niece, and we will turn our backs
upon danger.”
“Oh, no, really!” Mansfield was horror-struck by the suggestion. “I
was not to follow her about; but I was never forbidden to speak to her
if we met. Lord Caerleon trusted me, I am sure.”
“Caerleon was always trustful,” said Cyril unkindly; but he consented
to keep pace with Mansfield’s hurrying feet, and was considerate
enough to allow the young people to greet one another apart, while he
presented Prince Mirkovics in due form to Princess Soudaroff, an
exiled Scythian lady who occupied the position of godmother to both
the Marchioness of Caerleon and her daughter. Had the matter rested
with him, he would have left them to themselves for a longer time, but
Prince Mirkovics, who was standing with his hat in his hand, looked at
him reproachfully.
“Alas, Count! am I not to enjoy the honour of being presented also to
Madame your niece?”
“Prince Mirkovics accords you royal honours, Phil,” said Cyril. “Is it
necessary to mention that Lady Philippa is Lord Caerleon’s daughter,
Prince?”
“Quite unnecessary, Count. Madame must not come to Thracia unless she
comes as queen. There are still old men who remember her father’s
reign, and it goes without saying that all the young men would be
ready to champion the cause of such a lady.”
“I’m so glad you think me like my father,” said Philippa, in her old
impulsive way. “But even if he was still King of Thracia, I shouldn’t
be of any importance, you know. Usk would be the great person, not I.”
Prince Mirkovics glanced at the slight dark-haired youth whose
mirthful grey eyes met his across the bath-chair, and shook his head.
“No, madame, Milord Usk resembles your mother too much. She was a
beautiful girl, indeed--I remember seeing her at the municipal ball
given in honour of your father’s arrival at Bellaviste--but to us she
is only the woman for whose sake Carlino forsook Thracia.”
“What a horrid way of putting it!” cried Philippa. “You ought to be
thankful that I’m not a princess, for I should get you banished from
Court for saying such things. Uncle Cyril, I am sure we ought not to
keep Prince Mirkovics standing here so long.”
She glanced entreatingly at her uncle, for Prince Mirkovics still
maintained his deferential attitude, hat in hand, and Cyril came to
the rescue. “My niece is afraid you will take cold, Prince. Pray put
on your hat.”
“May I be permitted to attend Madame for a short distance?” asked the
old man, complying immediately with the request, and Cyril, much
amused, accepted the humbler office of walking beside the bath-chair,
while Mansfield, looking extremely disconsolate, attached himself to
Usk.
“Ah, Princess, this is your doing!” said Cyril to the old lady. “You
are certainly an inveterate match-maker. I never knew any one like
you.”
“Why, what have I done?” asked Princess Soudaroff, with great
simplicity. “I thought the Ludwigsbad waters might do me good, and
therefore I came here. Could I leave Phil and her brother behind, when
their parents had entrusted them to my care?”
“Perhaps you had heard that the Ludwigsbad water is meat and drink in
one, and thought you might economise, eh, Princess? Have you been
spending your whole year’s income in advance on your charities, as
usual?”
“No, no. The fact is, poor Phil seemed so painfully interested in
Ludwigsbad and your letters, that I thought the waters would--would do
me no harm, and so we are here.”
“The truth at last, Princess! Confession is good for the soul.”
“I like the look of the young man,” remarked the Princess
confidentially. “Of course I have heard a great deal about him already
from Usk, but I was anxious to see him. And he is your secretary, Lord
Cyril? And you are engaged in bringing about the restoration of the
Jews to their own land? What a wonderful age this is of ours, and what
a privilege for you to be allowed to assist in such a work! I can’t
tell you how thankful it makes me that I have been allowed to live
long enough to witness this crowning fulfilment of prophecy.”
“I must introduce my friend Goldberg to you if he comes here,” said
Cyril. “You and he both take that view of things.”
“I have already had some correspondence with the Chevalier Goldberg on
the subject of relief for the Scythian Jews. Ah, how sad it is that my
own country should take the lead in ill-treating God’s ancient people!
Is it true that Scythia is even now resisting your measures for
releasing them from bondage?”
“Scythia is undoubtedly doing her best to spoil our plans at
Czarigrad.”
“Lord Cyril, a thought has struck me.” The old lady sat upright
suddenly. “I am expecting Vladimir Alexandrovitch here in a day or
two. You know that he manages my affairs, and is anxious to consult me
about some investment. When I told him I should be at Ludwigsbad, he
said that would suit him quite well.”
“Prince Soudaroff is coming here?”
“Yes, merely on this business of mine, as I said. But he is an
honourable, fair-minded man. Why should you not meet him informally
and talk things over? You could put the case for the Jews fully before
him--men in his position are always surrounded by people whose
interest it is to keep the truth from them--and I am sure he would be
convinced. Then he could represent the real state of affairs to the
Emperor. You won’t refuse to make the attempt? It may save so much
delay.”
“I shall be delighted to meet Prince Soudaroff whenever you like,
Princess.” But in his own mind Cyril was using very different language
regarding the prospective visit of the great diplomatist who was so
fortunate as to be brother-in-law to the unsuspicious old lady in the
bath-chair.
“Then they have felt the pinch already? This is sharp work. Wily idea
to cloak the object of Soudaroff’s journey in this way. But I shall
have to walk warily, for it’s no joke to find oneself between him and
her most sapient Highness of Dardania.”
They had arrived at the bridge between the old and new promenades, and
he seized the opportunity to detach Prince Mirkovics from Philippa,
and carry him off to his rooms, earning Mansfield’s undying gratitude
by deputing him to escort the ladies back to their lodgings--a
gratitude which was immediately extended to the Princess when she
remarked that it would be pleasant to take a turn in the Neue Wiese
before returning.
“Do you know,” said Philippa mysteriously, as she resumed her place
beside the chair, while Mansfield unblushingly deserted Usk in order
to walk with her, “I think that poor old man must be a little queer.
He has been going on in the most extraordinary way, saying that I
ought to be a queen, and trying to make me discontented with my humble
lot in life. I told him I was perfectly happy in it, and then he said
that I had inherited my father’s only fault, lack of ambition, and
that if father and Uncle Cyril could be mixed up together, they would
make a perfect king. I told him that I thought Uncle Cyril was
splendid, but that I wouldn’t have father the least bit different for
anything, and he said that only confirmed what he had remarked
before.”
“He evidently thinks it’s your duty to worry father back to Thracia,”
laughed Usk.
“Awfully lucky for me that you don’t agree with him,” said Mansfield.
“I should never have had a chance of coming across you in that case.”
“And if you had,” said Usk, “it wouldn’t have done you much good. Do
you think her Royal Highness the Princess Philippa would have
condescended to be aware of your existence?”
“Usk! as if I should ever forget old friends, or pretend to make any
difference with them!” cried Philippa indignantly.
“I am sure you never would,” said Mansfield, so fervently that Usk
laughed aloud, and Princess Soudaroff smiled a placid smile. They had
now reached the Königspark, and were passing one of the outlying
restaurants with which it is dotted. Before the door stood three dusty
travelling-carriages loaded with luggage. The drivers were refreshing
themselves after the not very lengthy journey from Charlottenbad, and
a number of servants, swaggering about, were displaying their liveries
before the admiring eyes of the waitresses. As Princess Soudaroff and
her companions passed on, they came in sight of a group of rather
noisy young men, who were gathered round a table on a terrace
overlooking the river, apparently recruiting their exhausted energies
with the help of beverages not exactly of a temperance character. One
of the drinkers, who sat by himself on one side of the table, made a
remark to the rest, and the whole party turned round and stared at
Philippa. The blush called up on her cheek by the fervour of
Mansfield’s remark changed into a flush of anger when she became aware
of their rudeness, and she held her golden head very high as she
addressed a studiously careless observation to Usk, but her
displeasure appeared to fail of its intended effect.
“_A la belle Anglaise_!” cried the youth who had already spoken to his
friends, who were now all standing up round the table, and the words
were followed by the crash of broken glass as the goblets were dashed
down after the toast had been drunk.
“I say, this is beyond a joke!” cried Usk angrily, but Mansfield
gripped his arm, with a look that said, “We will come back and settle
things when the ladies are gone indoors.” Philippa was too much
discomposed to observe this piece of by-play, finding it necessary to
relieve her feelings by a sweeping denunciation of the manners of
foreigners, in which both the young men heartily agreed with her. When
Mansfield had stigmatised the unknown roisterers as a set of cads, and
Usk had added that they were probably shop-walkers from Vindobona out
for a holiday, she felt better, and made haste to turn the
conversation to more agreeable themes. Before very long, however, a
hurried footstep became audible in the direction from which they had
come, and an officer in undress uniform, catching them up, bowed
profoundly to the Princess and Philippa.
“My august master, the King of Thracia, regrets deeply that the
indiscreet remarks of some person in his company annoyed
mademoiselle,” he said, in French. “It will afford his Majesty much
gratification to be permitted to offer his apologies in person later
in the day.”
“We are much honoured by his Majesty’s solicitude, monsieur,” replied
Princess Soudaroff promptly, “and neither my god-daughter nor I could
dream of demanding further apologies. Karl, you may go on.”
And with a bow that equalled his own in courtliness, the Princess left
the discomfited emissary standing in the road.
“It is nothing but a trick to discover where we are staying,” she
remarked to the rest, when they were out of earshot.
“I shall have something to say to that youth,” said Usk, jerking his
head in the direction of the distant monarch. “Wretched little
whippersnapper, how can he summon up the cheek to look a Mortimer in
the face?”
“No, Usk,” said Philippa earnestly; “you mustn’t say a word to him. It
might get Uncle Cyril into fresh trouble. I suppose if the King is
determined to make our acquaintance, he must; but if he does I shall
let him know what I think of him.”
None of the party happened to look round, or they would have perceived
the disconsolate messenger following them at a discreet distance. His
errand of pursuing these strangers to their hotel was not an agreeable
one to him, and he hailed gladly the appearance of Prince Mirkovics,
whose elaborate salutation showed that he was acquainted with them, as
a relief from the necessity. The old noble’s eyes gleamed when he
heard the story.
“Yes; I can tell his Majesty who the young lady is,” he said, and
walked on so fast that the officer could hardly keep pace with him or
find breath to tell the King why he had come.
“Well, Prince; so you can tell us who it is that we have been
admiring?” said King Michael, lazily erecting a pile of broken
wine-glasses.
“The lady, sir, is the daughter of the Marquis Carlino, your august
father’s predecessor on the throne.”
“The niece, then, of the excellent Count Mortimer!” said the Scythian
officer who had failed in his errand.
“What does that signify, when she has such hair?” demanded King
Michael. “I never saw anything like it. All these German women look
washed-out beside her.”
The youthful monarch posed as a connoisseur of female beauty, and his
attendants murmured a respectful acquiescence in his decision. Prince
Mirkovics alone did not seem to have heard it. His sombre eyes were
gleaming again under their shaggy brows.
“I am glad your Majesty has enjoyed this one glimpse of the lady,” he
said.
“Why do you speak as though I should never see her again, Prince? I
intend to make her acquaintance at the ball to-night, and I’ll bet you
anything you like that she gives me half a dozen dances.”
“The lady does not attend public balls, sir.” As he spoke Prince
Mirkovics blessed secretly the strict principles in which Nadia
Caerleon had brought up her daughter.
“Not go to balls? Why not?” asked the King, in unaffected
astonishment.
“Possibly because her parents do not approve of the class of person
she would meet there, sir,” replied Prince Mirkovics, bestowing a
severe glance upon the would-be lady-killer, who looked offended.
“Oh, very well: then I shall command Count Mortimer to present her,
that’s all. I mean to speak to her.”
“With what object, sir, if I may venture to ask?”
“Because I want to see whether she is as lively as she is handsome, of
course. She ought to have plenty of fun in her, from her face.”
“If your Majesty is really desirous of making the lady’s
acquaintance”--Prince Mirkovics was astonished and delighted by the
sudden development in himself of such powers of diplomacy as he had
never suspected hitherto--“surely it would be well to say nothing to
Count Mortimer. As I ventured to hint just now, if his Excellency knew
that you, sir, had been graciously pleased to express admiration of
his niece, he would probably remove her at once from Ludwigsbad.”
“Hang it! so he would,” said the King peevishly. “It would be just
like him.”
“Perhaps, sir, without mentioning the matter to Count Mortimer, I
might have the honour of making your Majesty acquainted with the lady
at a little entertainment of some sort. A ball, of course, is out of
the question----”
“And moreover, their Highnesses the Princess of Dardania and Princess
Ludmilla could not be present,” put in the Scythian officer.
The King frowned fiercely at the interrupter. “Their Highnesses have
nothing whatever to do with it,” he said angrily. “I make my own
friends without asking their leave.”
“Sir,” said Prince Mirkovics, “allow me to say that Captain Roburoff
is nevertheless in the right. I must be able to invite the Princess
Ludmilla, at any rate, to grace the entertainment by her presence.
Would a party of pleasure to visit some object of interest meet your
Majesty’s wishes?”
“Anything, anything!” said the King sulkily. “Arrange it as you like,
Prince; only be sure to let me know in time, so that I may make no
other engagement. And see here, you must look after Princess Lida. I
am not going to dangle after her all day, instead of talking to the
beautiful Mortimer.”
“I will do my best to arrange everything to your Majesty’s taste,”
said Prince Mirkovics as he retired. Once out of the King’s presence,
a feeling of sick disgust came over the old man as he thought of the
part he had played.
“That wretched boy the son of Queen Ernestine!” he muttered. “It is as
well she cannot see him. And I to be plotting to give him Carlino’s
daughter! But that is the very thing. She has spirit and strength of
mind sufficient to save him in spite of himself. And if not--if he
ventured to slight her, to ill-treat her”--Prince Mirkovics’s hand
clenched itself involuntarily--“we would tear him from the throne, and
seat her there alone. I would kill him with my own hands; but it would
be worth a year or two of misery for her to have her reigning in
Thracia.”
After due consultation with his hotel-keeper and with the director of
the baths, Prince Mirkovics sent out that evening the invitations for
his picnic, and resigned himself to wait four whole days before he
could do anything more. During this period, however, King Michael
contrived to steal a march upon him. Cyril, to whom in righteous
indignation Mansfield had borne the news of the King’s extraordinary
behaviour, thought it well to make a point of accompanying Princess
Soudaroff and Philippa in their morning and evening promenades, and on
these occasions his party invariably encountered that of the King. The
first time this happened, King Michael, who had not chosen to receive
Cyril when the latter called at his hotel the day before, stopped and
spoke to him with marked graciousness. The next time, becoming aware,
apparently, that the ex-Premier was not alone, he desired him to
present his relations, and addressed to each of them a few affable
words, delivered with a _blasé_ and venerable air which sat oddly
upon his youthful countenance. This gave him the opportunity of seeing
Philippa in a new character, for the spectacle of the sallow,
weary-eyed boy, who had treated him with so much ingratitude,
patronising her beloved uncle, was almost too much for her, and her
blue eyes sparkled with the indignation which her close-pressed lips
succeeded in restraining. Cyril was not blind to the feelings of
either side, but his only comment on what he saw was to tease Philippa
afterwards about her manners, which he declared to lack the repose
that ought to mark the caste of Vere de Vere.
On the evening before Prince Mirkovics’s picnic Cyril and Mansfield
betook themselves to Princess Soudaroff’s rooms to join her
dinner-party, instead of dining as usual in the open air. The only
other visitor present was her brother-in-law, the great Scythian
diplomatist, and it was for his benefit that this formal indoor dinner
had been arranged, in order that the keen eyes of Ludwigsbad might not
observe his conference with Cyril. As soon as the meal was over Usk
gave his arm to the Princess, Mansfield, who had received his orders
beforehand, followed, nothing loth, with Philippa, and the two
statesmen were left to themselves, Cyril bringing his chair to Prince
Soudaroff’s end of the table, and waiting for him to begin to speak. A
curious visitor might have observed that when either man glanced away
the eyes of the other ran searchingly over him, as though to discover
some joint in his armour, but that when the two pairs of eyes met, an
impenetrable veil seemed to be let down to hide the soul behind each.
Prince Soudaroff raised a glass of wine critically to the light as he
said--
“What are your terms, Count?”
“You desire an accommodation, then?”
Prince Soudaroff shrugged his shoulders. “What would you have? You
have hedged us in so completely that we must capitulate or starve. I
suppose it is understood that if we withdraw our opposition at
Czarigrad you get us the loan we want on easy terms?”
“I regret to say that no money can pass until our concession is
actually granted. Aid in corn you shall have to any reasonable
extent.”
“This is ungenerous, Count. Why such distrust of our honour?”
“It is a compliment to you, Prince. We must make things safe.”
“Well, I suppose you rely on cruel necessity to bring us to our knees.
But there is one indispensable condition. The proposed governor of
Palestine must be an Orthodox prince.”
“That is not our affair. It is for the Powers to decide.”
“Nonsense, my friend! No one knows better than you how to manage the
Powers. You and your syndicate can impose your will upon them in this
particular as in others. Our honour forbids us to accept anything
else. Our past history, the blood we have shed in the Christian cause
against the infidel----”
“Let me advise you to write it off as a bad debt, Prince.”
“Impossible. I dare not return to Pavelsburg without this
modification. The Emperor is firm. He will risk and lose everything
rather than yield the point.”
“Then he must bring the Powers to see it in the same light.”
“But that is impossible, I tell you. We have no means of bringing them
to our side. Come, Count, we must have your help. Prince Kazimir of
Dardania is our candidate--a German on the mother’s side. Europe will
not be irreconcilable. What can we offer you to ensure his election?”
“Unfortunately, I can’t think of anything I want,” drawled Cyril.
“Money--when we get it? Titles--we will make you a prince? Political
power?--come, we will propose you as High Commissioner of Minoa, and
you can enjoy yourself there to your heart’s content.”
“Thanks, Prince; it’s not big enough.”
“Well, if you will not accept anything for yourself, what of your
family? Would you care to see your niece Queen of Thracia? Roburoff
tells me that young Michael is perfectly infatuated with her.”
“Unfortunately there is an obstacle, in the shape of the Princess of
Dardania and her daughter.”
“Oh, the Princess has failed us twice, we need not consider her. One
throws away an untrustworthy tool, you know. As for the girl, we will
find her another husband. Your niece would suit Michael much
better--keep him well in hand and look the part, too. I have been
studying her closely since I came here. She will never have the
regular beauty of her mother; but her colouring is far more charming,
and--Englishwoman though she is--she has not the distressing
woodenness of manner which spoiled the lovely Nadia Mikhailovna in her
younger days. If that girl had been brought up by a woman of the
world, instead of a saintly fanatic like my sister Pauline
Vassilievna, she would have taken Europe by storm. Your niece can
never rival her. But then, as I say, she has dignity and good-humour
and _bonhomie_ such as her mother did not possess. Why, I would advise
my august master to obtain her hand for the Crown Prince, but that I
should despair of making her a convert to Orthodoxy.”
Cyril laughed gently. “If my niece wishes to be Queen of Thracia,
Prince, she will attain her object without my help. If she doesn’t,
nothing I could do would have any effect upon her.”
“You would return to Thracia as Premier, of course.”
“Thanks, but that I have already refused to do.”
“Then I fear we can settle nothing,” said Prince Soudaroff, rising
from the table, “since I am forbidden to accept any agreement that
excludes this all-important stipulation. I am returning to Pavelsburg
at once, and I will take his Imperial Majesty’s pleasure on the
subject. Shall we join the ladies? I must make my adieux at once, or I
shall not reach Charlottenbad in time for the train.”
But although Prince Soudaroff’s coachman was distinctly ordered, in
the hearing of Cyril and Usk, to take the Charlottenbad road, he did
not do so, nor did the occupant of the carriage appear to feel any
alarm when he found himself being driven exactly in the opposite
direction. The road which the coachman appeared to prefer led into the
hills, and after a drive of about twenty minutes the carriage stopped
at a small door in a park-wall, and Prince Soudaroff alighted. The
door opened at his knock, and he walked briskly along the path that
led from it, guided by a ray of light from a window at some distance
in front. Below this window was a door, which was also opened promptly
by an invisible watcher, and admitted the visitor to a passage in
which was a back staircase. The man-servant who had been stationed at
the door conducted him in perfect silence up the stairs, and through a
small ante-room into a luxurious boudoir, in which was sitting a lady
in trailing garments of black and a cap with a long black veil falling
from it to the ground. She dismissed the servant with a gesture.
“Well, what is your news?” she asked imperiously of Prince Soudaroff.
“Bad, madame. The Mortimer is incorruptible.”
“Then the negotiations are broken off?”
“Unfortunately, madame, we cannot afford to do that. The other side
know that they have only to wait, and we must yield.”
“He refuses to consent to the election of my son?”
“He will not express any preference, madame. The matter is one for the
Powers, he says. You and I know that his personal assent would satisfy
the Emperor, and give us all we want.”
“Because it would discredit him with the Jews when it came out?”
“Either that, madame, or it would so revolt the Catholic powers that
they would combine to oblige Roum to refuse the concession, and he
would lose his prestige. When the Jews reject him, he cannot sink much
lower. Perhaps Hayti would afford the only possible field for his
powers.”
The Princess of Dardania smiled gently at the brutal joke. “Then the
affair resolves itself once more into a personal contest between Count
Mortimer and myself,” she said. “You will let me know anything of
moment that occurs to you, and I will turn my thoughts to winning the
assent which is either to ruin our friend’s influence or discredit his
cause, or both.”
“The task could not be in abler hands, madame. Perhaps I might venture
to offer one single suggestion? I hear rumours that the Mortimer is
aiming at the throne of Thracia for his niece.”
“Ah, he wishes her to supplant my daughter?”
“Exactly so, madame. The presumption of the idea is atrocious, but it
occurs to me that it might prove useful. It might be possible to lead
him on by its means. For instance, from an incautious remark he let
drop, it seems to me that his Majesty must have made overtures to him,
with the view of inducing him to return to Thracia. That opens up
dangerous possibilities, but it also gives us some idea how to set to
work.”
“I see.” The Princess sat with her black brows drawn together.
“And now, madame, I will depart, if your Royal Highness will permit
me. It would not look well to lose my train after starting in such
excellent time. You wished me to convey a letter to the Emperor, I
believe?”
The Princess unlocked her writing-case, and took out a sealed
envelope, which Prince Soudaroff placed in an inner pocket. Kissing
the hand which the Princess extended to him, he took his leave, and
quitted the villa with the same precautions as he had observed on
entering it. His carriage was waiting for him under the wall of the
park, and he was quickly embarked on the long drive necessary to bring
him to Charlottenbad and the train.