THE CROWN MATRIMONIAL.
It was with a sardonic chuckle that Prince Mirkovics remarked the
next morning to his pretty German daughter-in-law, whom he had
summoned by telegraph from Thracia to assist him upon this momentous
occasion, that the entertainment he was offering to his future Queen
was favoured with Queen’s weather. The irony underlying the speech was
necessarily lost upon Princess Boris, to whom Princess Lida of
Dardania was the only possible Queen for Thracia, but she responded
with sympathetic cheerfulness, relieved to be able to display her new
Felix gown without offering it up as a sacrifice to her loyalty. The
locality of the picnic had cost Prince Mirkovics much anxious thought,
but he had fixed at last upon a spot known as the Tannenspitze, a
grassy hill-top emerging from a sea of pines, and commanding an
extensive view. Carriages were to convey the party from Ludwigsbad to
the foot of the hill, but the summit itself could only be approached
on foot, by means of a variety of intricate paths through the
pine-woods, and this it was that rendered the place specially suitable
in view of Prince Mirkovics’s purposes. The arrangements generally
were left in the hands of Princess Boris, who was dominated by the
ambition of giving the smartest picnic Ludwigsbad had ever seen. This
necessitated an expenditure at which the frugal soul of her
father-in-law rose in shocked revolt, but he remembered in time the
stakes for which he was playing, and held his peace.
In spite of the magnitude of the preparations for their entertainment,
the list of those invited was rather select than lengthy. The guest of
the day was naturally Princess Lida, a young lady of seventeen,
endowed with a tact and assurance that would have done credit to a
world-worn society leader of seventy. It pleased her Highness, who may
or may not have received a hint from her mother before starting, to
single out Philippa as the object of her special favour, and enlist
her as her inseparable companion for the day. Philippa must sit beside
her in the carriage, and walk with her through the pine-woods, and
give detailed answers to an endless list of searching questions as to
her home life, her favourite pursuits, her tastes, and her ancestry.
The easy persistence with which Princess Lida imposed her will upon
the whole party, and her stamp upon the conversation, astonished and
oppressed the English girl, who felt herself overgrown and unfinished
and badly dressed in the presence of this very self-possessed young
lady. The only misgiving which had afflicted Philippa on starting,
relative to her gown of white cloth, with its edging of gold cord, and
pale blue silk shirt, was the fear that something darker would be more
suitable for a rough country walk. Now, however, as she contemplated
Princess Lida’s delicate silver-grey silk and black lace, and the
marvellous confection of _pervenche_ cashmere, decked in bewildering
fashion with velvet bows, diamond buttons, iridescent embroidery, and
silk fringe, which Princess Boris had considered fitting wear for the
occasion, she owned to herself that the dress she had worn at the
Marlborough House garden-party, a few weeks back, would not have been
at all too smart. A miserable consciousness of her shoes also
oppressed her, for they were English-made and serviceable, and
contrasted painfully with the fairy-like foot-gear, high-heeled and
highly decorated, of the other ladies.
When the carriages had been left behind, however, and the walk through
the woods began, Philippa found that the advantage was on her own
side, but she thought Prince Mirkovics need not have emphasised this
superiority in the way he did. Noticing the difficulty with which
Princess Lida stumbled along the rough track, he devoted himself
ostentatiously to removing the stones from her path, accompanying his
attentions with remarks which the two girls were fain to regard as
breathing loyalty and respect, but which seemed fated to move King
Michael and his suite to bursts of ill-concealed laughter. It was a
relief to Philippa when their host insisted at last on offering his
arm to the Princess, and provided a cavalier for herself in the shape
of Captain Roburoff, who appeared to have altogether forgotten and
forgiven the snub he had received only five days ago at her
godmother’s hands. He spoke of Cyril and his efforts to solve the
Jewish problem with so much interest and appreciation that Philippa,
unconscious that a word from Prince Soudaroff had led him to read up
the subject carefully, felt her heart warm towards him, and conversed
with an animation such as she rarely showed to strangers.
Cyril himself was unable to spare time for the picnic, which caused
Prince Mirkovics a secret guilty satisfaction, but he had generously
given Mansfield a day’s holiday, which had so far failed to bring the
secretary the pleasure he had expected. Philippa’s society was
unattainable, and in despair Mansfield attached himself to another
disconsolate young Englishman, who knew no one but the friends with
whom he had come. Together they forsook the beaten track in favour of
a torrent-bed, which afforded them a good deal of scrambling and a
certain amount of risk, arousing thereby the longing envy of Usk, who
had been delivered over to the tender mercies of Princess Lida’s
lady-in-waiting. Countess Birnsdorf was stiff, elderly, and
unappreciative of rural delights, and she subjected Usk to a severe
cross-examination, with the view of discovering whether he was really
“born,” in the German sense of the word. His light-hearted confession
that he really could not answer half her questions without looking up
his family history in the ‘Peerage’ shocked and startled her, and he
detected a perceptible shrinking from his society until she had
satisfied herself as to the length of time the Mortimers had reigned
at Llandiarmid, and the arms they had borne at different epochs. Early
study of the carvings and stained glass in the Castle hall had
rendered Usk well versed in these, and before the hill-top was
reached, the Countess had come to look upon him almost with
friendliness. The feeling was not reciprocated, however, and Usk was
base enough to turn his charge over to Mansfield’s unhappy friend, who
had in some way contrived to lose his companion in the wood, and
approached to ask whether Usk had seen him. Quieting his conscience
with the excuse that it would be quite a novel and exciting sensation
for the Countess to tall for the first time to some one who was not
“born,” Usk slipped away to find Mansfield, whom he discovered engaged
in a solitary search for adventures in the miniature cavern where the
stream took its rise. In this Usk joined him, and they wasted all the
vestas they had with them, made themselves decidedly wet, and tore
their clothes a little, enjoying themselves thoroughly the while. When
the want of matches rendered further exploration impracticable, they
remembered reluctantly their duty to the rest of the party, and were
retracing their steps to the summit of the hill, when there was a
flash of blue and white through the trees, and the two young men were
suddenly confronted by Philippa, who burst upon them, flushed and
panting.
“Usk,” she cried fiercely, “if you let that odious little cad come
near me again, I’ll never speak another word to you in my life!”
“Which I wish to remark, that your language is strong, Phil,” observed
Usk mildly.
Mansfield’s eyes blazed as he turned upon him. “For shame, Usk!
Doesn’t it matter to you that your sister has been insulted? Who is
it, Lady Phil? that Scythian fellow?”
“No, no,” panted Philippa, “it’s the King. But Usk is quite right. It
was silly of me to be so excited. Oh, please, Mr Mansfield, don’t go.
I--I want you to hear how it was. Please stay here.”
She caught his hand and held it, and Mansfield, before whose eyes had
floated a vision in which his stick made closer acquaintance with King
Michael’s sacred person than the monarch would be likely to consider
agreeable, allowed himself to be persuaded to remain, more especially
since Usk gave him a warning look behind Philippa’s back. “This is my
affair. You have no right to interfere,” the look meant, and Mansfield
was forced to submit.
“I suppose they must have arranged it beforehand,” Philippa went on,
“for you know, Usk, I was walking with Captain Roburoff. He talked so
nicely about Uncle Cyril, and told me such interesting things about
the Jews in Scythia, that I never thought about the path until he
stopped suddenly, and said, ‘A thousand pardons, mademoiselle! What a
fool I am! I have lost the way,’ and then I found that none of the
others were in sight, and I could not hear their voices either.
Captain Roburoff seemed dreadfully sorry, and asked me to sit down on
a fallen tree while he went on a little farther to see where the path
led to. I said I was not tired, but he persisted I must be, and I
thought he would fancy that I was afraid to stay in the wood alone, so
I sat down. He was out of sight among the trees almost at once, and it
really was rather lonely, so that I was quite glad when I heard him
coming back, as I thought. But it wasn’t Captain Roburoff at all, it
was the King, and he said he had flown to the relief of the distressed
damsel, and talked a lot of nonsense about wood-nymphs, and tried to
pay me compliments about--about my hair, you know, and that sort of
thing. I nearly laughed, but I thought it might be his way of being
polite, so I walked on with him. Then we came to a rather steep place,
and he would insist on helping me up it (though I believe I could have
helped him much better), and he squeezed my hand. I pulled it away at
once, and he said, in the most idiotic way, ‘Would that I might call
that fair hand mine for ever!’ I thought that was going rather far,
even for a foreigner, so I made some remark about Princess Lida, just
to recall her to his mind. Then he flew out and said that he hated
Princess Lida, that his mother and the Princess of Dardania had
arranged the marriage when he was a baby, and had brought him up to
look upon it as a settled thing, and that Princess Lida had no soul,
and not a thought in common with him, and he was tired of her very
name, and he would be graciously pleased to marry me instead. Fancy--a
boy years younger than I am! He had got sentimental again by that
time, but I was so angry that I gave him a good talking-to, and told
him that he ought to be ashamed of himself, and that Princess Lida was
perfectly lovely, and would make him a far better queen than he had
any right to expect, and then he went into such a passion! I think he
must have expected me to regard his offer as a sort of command, to be
obeyed without question, for he said that the Princess of Dardania and
her daughter were the curse of Thracia, and that it would be my fault
if the kingdom was ruined and he went to the bad. I wanted to box his
ears, and at last I was really afraid I should, for he was just like a
little boy who ought to be put in a corner, so I came away. Usk, do
you think he was mad--or _drunk_?” Philippa ended the story of her
wrongs in an awestruck whisper.
“Don’t know, I am sure. I shall speak to him and see.”
“No, Usk, you’d better not. You know father told us to be sure to
consult Uncle Cyril at once if the slightest attempt was made to
entangle us in politics while we were abroad, and I suppose this must
be the sort of thing he meant.”
“Would you like me to tell Count Mortimer when I see him to-night,
Lady Phil?” asked Mansfield. A horrible suspicion had seized him that
Cyril might have some hand in the affair. He hated himself for the
thought, but his short intercourse with his employer had served to
assure him that over-scrupulousness was not one of Cyril’s failings.
If he was indeed in King Michael’s confidence, and Philippa discovered
the fact, the enthusiastic love she cherished for her uncle would be
destroyed for ever, and Mansfield made up his mind to spare her the
pain of such a disillusionment.
“Oh no,” she answered, flushing scarlet. “I could not let any one else
tell him about such a horrid thing. I must do it myself.”
“I would make as little of it as possible,” said Mansfield, with
assumed unconcern. “I shall see him before you do, that’s all.”
“Oh yes, please tell him, then. Perhaps he might say we ought not to
have lost time. But you won’t leave me alone all afternoon, Usk, will
you? or if Usk is called away, you’ll stay with me, won’t you, Mr
Mansfield?”
Mansfield assured her of his constant attendance with a warmth that
drew another warning look from Usk, and they returned to the rest of
the party, who were all somewhat ruffled, owing to the obvious
ill-temper of King Michael. He was seated between his _fiancée_ and
Princess Boris, doing his best to make both ladies uncomfortable, and
the appearance of Philippa with her bodyguard produced no improvement
in his mood, since all Prince Mirkovics’s tactics failed to separate
the three. Even when Princess Lida claimed Philippa again after lunch
as her companion, Usk and Mansfield followed the two girls at a
discreet distance, much to the disapproval of the lady-in-waiting, who
suspected in them a romantic adoration for her charge. By affecting an
abnormal denseness, and complete ignorance of the French language,
they succeeded in baffling their host’s efforts to detach them from
Philippa, and when they returned to Ludwigsbad in the evening they
were able to boast that King Michael had not ventured to approach her
again. Mansfield saw Usk and his sister safely deposited at Princess
Soudaroff’s lodgings, and returned reluctantly to the Hôtel Waldthier
to tell his story to Cyril. He could not bring himself to look at his
employer during the recital, for the fear which had seized him at
first had become almost a certainty, and it was with a shock of
anticipation rather than surprise that he heard Cyril say--
“So soon? The young rascal has lost no time, certainly.”
“Count, you didn’t know of this?” The agony of entreaty in his own
voice startled Mansfield.
“May I ask what business it is of yours?”
“I couldn’t--I can’t believe it. Some one told me once that you spared
no one when it was a question of politics, but I can’t believe you
would expose your own niece to unpleasantness simply to further your
schemes.”
“A Daniel come to judgment! The unpleasantness was soon over, on your
own showing.”
“It would not have been in the case of any other girl. It might have
led her into awful trouble. Lady Phil is different. She would not let
herself be tempted by a crown.”
“In view of your position with regard to my brother’s family,”
remarked Cyril icily, “your interference in this affair is open to
objection.”
Mansfield’s accusing eyes fell, but he recovered himself quickly. “I
can’t deny that I love Lady Phil, Count; but that doesn’t deprive me
of the right a man has to help any girl that he may see placed in an
unfair position.”
“And what is the exact nature of the help you propose to render?”
“To resign my post with you, and telegraph to Lord Caerleon. Lady Phil
shall never hear the full truth, if I can help it. I think it would
break her heart to know that you----”
Mansfield’s voice faltered, and Cyril’s keen eyes scrutinised him
curiously.
“Do you know that you are a fool, Mansfield?--an honest, blundering
idiot? I won’t accept your resignation, do you hear?--though I should
be justified in doing so, after the way you have spoken to me. How
dare you expect me to defend myself against your suspicions? You know
you had given me up as a bad lot. Well, all I knew of the matter was a
hint last night from Prince Soudaroff that young Michael had fallen in
love with my niece, but I refused to have anything to do with it. And
even now I know that you trust me no further than you can see me.”
“Forgive me, Count. If you knew how I hated the thought----”
“I should grovel before you in mingled pity and admiration, no doubt.
But why I should care a farthing about your opinion of me I don’t
know. I have never defended myself to any one before, but you are
really too young and idyllic for this wicked world. Well, you may be
easy about my niece. I will put a stop to King Michael’s love-making.”
Mansfield’s mind was in a whirl as he departed. He had not known
hitherto what power Cyril possessed over him, nor with what mastery he
could play upon his feelings; but he felt now that if he had found his
employer guilty of the baseness he had suspected in him, it would have
been a blow second only to the loss of Philippa herself. The
unworthiness of his late suspicions cut him to the heart, and his
whole demeanour the next day was a mute entreaty for pardon, which
amused Cyril not a little. Even an incident which would have aroused
his misgivings the day before had now no power to disturb his trust.
The early promenade and the open-air breakfast were over, and
tranquillity had settled down upon the place for the space of those
morning hours which Ludwigsbad holds sacred to rest and seclusion. At
the Hôtel Waldthier Mansfield sat writing in the little anteroom of
Cyril’s _appartement_, whence he could command the side-door which was
reserved for Count Mortimer’s visitors. Many strange guests had
Mansfield admitted at that door, from royal princes to
poverty-stricken Jews, but it was startling even to him to observe a
stage conspirator approaching it. The visitor wore a soft felt hat
pulled down over his face, and a greatcoat with the collar turned
up--an attire singularly unsuited to the weather,--and he glanced from
side to side, starting at the slightest sound, in a very realistic
manner. After stepping noiselessly up to the door, and apparently
satisfying himself that he was unobserved, he returned on tiptoe to
the gateway by which he had entered the garden, and brought back with
him another person attired like himself. Together they approached
Mansfield’s window, and the first man made signs expressive of a
desire to enter without attracting attention. Leaving his desk,
Mansfield admitted them at the private door. They entered without
uttering a word, but, once in the room, the second turned down his
collar and disclosed the features of King Michael.
“Are we alone, and unobserved?” he demanded of his companion.
“Absolutely so, my liege,” returned Captain Roburoff, in accents that
suggested a certain difficulty in speaking. The King turned
majestically to Mansfield, who half expected to hear himself addressed
as “Minion.”
“Tell Count Mortimer that I wish to see him,” he said.
“I will inquire whether his Excellency is at leisure, sir,” responded
Mansfield, who would have given much to deny the monarch admittance
altogether. But although Cyril raised his eyebrows quizzically, and
asked whether Mansfield would wish to be present during the interview,
he rose at once and came to the door to welcome his royal visitor.
“To what am I indebted for this supreme honour, sir?” he inquired when
they were alone.
“Be seated, Count,” replied King Michael affably. “I am here on a
friendly errand, I assure you.”
Cyril bowed and obeyed, and his visitor continued--
“I perceive, Count, that you are surprised by this private visit. No
doubt it will surprise you still more to learn that it is merely an
earnest of my good-will towards you. I admit that when I came to the
throne I acted hastily in accepting your resignation, but no one can
regret it more than I do. I look to you, as a fair-minded man, to
place the blame where it is due. My mind had been poisoned against
you--by whom, you can guess.”
Cyril bowed again in silence. King Michael went on--
“I have made up my mind to redress the injustice into which I was
hurried. In their eagerness to aggrandise their own family, my mother
and the Princess of Dardania induced me to engage myself to Princess
Ludmilla, and by means of this quasi-promise the Princess of Dardania
has contrived to exercise a wholly unwarranted authority over myself
and the kingdom. I have determined to put an end to it. The Princess’s
influence is injurious to Thracia, and her daughter is personally
distasteful to myself. The position which she hopes to occupy I
destine for your niece, Lady Philippa Mortimer, and I desire your
assistance in the matter.”
“Well?” interjected Cyril, with startling suddenness.
“I think you forget to whom you are speaking, Count.”
“No, sir. I do not forget that for the sake of the girl you now wish
to cast aside you broke the heart of the mother who had sacrificed her
life’s happiness for you and your kingdom.”
The King’s sallow face grew livid. “If all that is said is true, you
are not the man to talk to me of cruelty to her Majesty, Count.”
“At least I can say that I have repented my cruelty from that day to
this. You have not.” Cyril’s eyes were flashing, and his even voice
was charged with thunder. King Michael and he had both risen to their
feet, and were confronting each other angrily across the table.
“We are losing time in these irrelevant recriminations, Count,” said
the King, recovering himself. “I wish you to undertake the conduct of
this affair. You will return to office, of course--I give you _carte
blanche_ with regard to the wretched crew of incapables at present in
power--but I do not know whether you will prefer to rid me of the
Princess of Dardania and her daughter before setting to work. I leave
the method to you--you are an old enemy of her Royal Highness, I
believe?--and I don’t stipulate for any special tenderness towards
either of them. Afterwards you will take the proper steps to obtain
Lady Philippa’s hand for me. I believe I alarmed the young lady
yesterday by avowing my sentiments too openly; no doubt she thought
such warmth incorrect in view of Princess Lida’s presence in the
company; but you will do everything in due form. You hesitate? You
think I am making a cat’s paw of you?” A grim smile crossed Cyril’s
face. “I am willing to repeat before witnesses the orders I have given
you, if you will call in Roburoff and your secretary.”
“Quite unnecessary.” Cyril had regained his usual calm. “You broke the
heart of the woman who gave up everything for you, and now you want to
throw away the toy for the sake of which you did it. But that you
won’t do. I don’t pose as a moralist, but I have some sense of the
fitness of things. At the rate you are going, it won’t be long before
you are unfit to speak to a decent woman, and you expect me to give
you my niece! Why, I should have scruples about marrying you to
Princess Lida, if I had any responsibility in the matter, but her
mother and you settled that between you, and you shall stick to it. If
I am not mistaken, she will turn out a match for you. But at any rate,
for your mother’s sake, I will see that her wishes on the subject are
carried out.”
The fierce irony of the tone roused the King to something very like
frenzy. “If I don’t marry your niece, I’ll make you sorry that you
refused her to me,” he muttered, his lips twitching and his fingers
picking nervously at his chin.
“The first word you say against her will be the signal for your own
destruction,” said Cyril coldly. “I am not in the habit of speaking
idly, and I warn you that you are still on the throne only because I
have not cared to dethrone you. But if you are good enough to furnish
me with a reason for taking action----”
“I don’t revenge myself upon women,” snarled the King, forgetting his
threat of the moment before.
“Ah, you are young yet,” replied Cyril pleasantly. “Permit me to
attend your Majesty to the door.”
In the anteroom Captain Roburoff, who had been amusing himself with
trying to torment Mansfield by means of hints as to the King’s
matrimonial intentions, jumped up in a hurry when his sovereign
appeared. He expected a return to the elaborate ceremonial which had
marked their entrance into the hotel, but King Michael strode out of
the room without a word, neglecting all the precautions he had seen
fit to adopt, and Mansfield breathed freely. It was evident that here
was no accepted lover, and the refusal appeared to have been
accompanied by a little wholesome plain speaking. On Cyril the
impression left by the interview was one of unmitigated disgust.
“_That_ Ernestine’s boy!” he muttered, as Prince Mirkovics had done
before him. “Well, it’s a good thing that the young blackguard forgot
himself so far as to threaten poor little Phil. It forces me to make
things safe by cutting the ground from under his feet. So now to
business!”