THE "DUCHESS" ABDICATES
A few hours later--about ten o'clock--an automobile stopped in front of
the New Willard Hotel, and the Minister and his secretary alighted.
The visitors were shown at once into Father Murray's room where Mark,
Saunders and the priest waited. His Excellency took the chair offered
him and, with some hesitation in his choice, of words, opened the
conversation.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I first wish to congratulate you on your
persistence. That persistence led me to think that there was some
justice in your case. You can scarcely blame me, however, for not
granting your wish immediately, especially since, as my secretary
informed you, the effects of the dead lady seemed to indicate that it
was Miss Atheson who had been killed. I find that I was mistaken. It
was the Grand Duchess. There is absolutely no question about that now.
As soon as you are ready to receive Miss Atheson, she shall leave the
Ministry where, as you understand, she has been an honored guest."
The impetuous Saunders broke out: "Your Excellency means an honored
prisoner."
But Father Murray stepped into the breach.
"Not at all, Saunders," he said, "not at all." Then he turned to the
Minister. "Miss Atheson has been an honored guest at the Ministry.
That is perfectly understood, Your Excellency, _perfectly_ understood."
The Minister bowed. "I thank you, Reverend Sir. I am glad you do
understand. Miss Atheson was a friend of the Grand Duchess Carlotta.
She had known her in Europe. Why should she not have been a guest at
the Ministry of the nation which exercises a protectorate over the
domains of her late Royal Highness? I should wish to have that known
to the public. This afternoon we shall give to the press the sad story
of the visit to America of Her Royal Highness, under strict incognito.
Her friend, Miss Atheson, was of course awaiting the arrival of the
Grand Duchess, having come down in advance. Miss Atheson will, I am
sure, be kind enough, and considerate enough of the memory of Her
Highness, not to deny any of these statements."
"I am sure, Your Excellency," said the priest, "that Miss Atheson will
keep strict silence as to the past. She would not wish to embarrass
the situation nor in any way stain the memory of her dead friend. Of
that you may rest assured."
"I beg your pardon," said His Excellency, "but--I trust I may rely upon
the discretion of these gentlemen?"
Mark and Saunders bowed their assurance.
"Certainly."
"Your Excellency may rely on our discretion."
"It is needless for me to say," continued the Minister, "that the
situation is most embarrassing. But there is no reason why the Grand
Duchess should not have visited her friend--no reason why she should
not have come to Washington on her way back to her own country. She
would naturally wish to avoid publicity and, of course, the Ministry
was constantly in touch with her moves. All this is a reasonable
explanation of what has occurred. As to the body's having lain
neglected in the Baltimore morgue for some hours, something must be
assumed by the telegraph company. The body has already been embalmed,
and arrangements have been made for its shipment to Europe. I shall
myself go to Baltimore this afternoon. Do you, Reverend Sir, wish it
known that the friend of the Grand Duchess is your niece?"
"Yes; but I wish it put to the world in the proper form. Since Your
Excellency is preparing copy for the papers, may I ask if you will
permit me to revise it?"
"That I shall be glad to do," said the Minister, his face all smiles.
As His Excellency was about to depart, Saunders stopped him.
"One word, Your Excellency. Baron Griffin and myself were witnesses to
a very sad occurrence in Sihasset--"
The Minister turned hurriedly.
"You are mistaken, my friend," he said, significantly. "You are
mistaken. You saw nothing--remember that. It will be better for all
concerned. Your State Department would not thank you for making
embarrassing statements. Things have come out happily for you, if not
for the unfortunate Duchess. Yet, after all, perhaps the best thing
that could have happened for her was what you believed--until you were
corrected--happened in Sihasset. Baron Griffin will tell you that I
speak the truth when I say that the next best thing was her own death."
Mark inclined his head, for he had heard something of the reputation of
Luigi del Farno, when he was in Florence.
And then for the moment the Minister was forgotten in the man, and
tears glistened in His Excellency's eyes.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I never saw Her Royal Highness. But I have
heard a great deal of her, and I have followed her career. She was not
born to be a Duchess. She had all my sympathy, for she was just a
woman--beautiful, sentimental, loving. She was just the kind to do the
rash things which courts will not tolerate. She was the kind to follow
her own heart and not the dictates of kings. She was unhappy at court,
and that unhappiness was increased when she fell in love with the
Italian. She was the kind who would love until death--and then beyond
the grave. She was one who would make any sacrifice to her devotion.
But she fought against the solid rock of princely customs and
prejudices, and there was nothing for her but to break upon it. Her
love ruined that young officer. He was doomed from the moment she went
away and he followed her. No earthly power could have saved him.
But--believe me--she is better dead than married to him. We had his
life investigated. He has had his just deserts. The Grand Duchess was
not the first. It is well that she was the last, poor girl. The most
merciful thing that could have happened to a woman of her character was
the thing that did happen. She never knew of his fate. She died
thinking that she should meet him again--that she had successfully
broken down all barriers--that she and her lover could live their lives
in peace, here in America. She never learned that there could be no
happiness for her with a man like him. Let them rest in their
graves--for graves are better than courts. As Minister I could not say
these things; but I trust you, gentlemen, and I am talking to you now
as a man who has known love himself. Good-bye."
The little man stiffened up and became the Minister again.
"When, gentlemen, will you be ready to receive Mademoiselle Atheson?"
Father Murray bowed. "Whenever Your Excellency is pleased to send her."
"Perhaps, Reverend Sir, you will honor me by your presence at
luncheon?" As Father Murray hesitated, he added, "It will be better
that you should accompany Mademoiselle Atheson to the hotel. Besides,"
and he smiled good-humoredly, "we can get together and revise those
statements properly."
Father Murray bowed his acceptance and His Excellency took his leave.
"Luncheon is at one," he remarked, as he left the room. "I should be
pleased if you would come a little early. I know you will desire to
talk with Mademoiselle."
Shortly after twelve Father Murray was admitted to the Ministry, where
Ruth greeted him affectionately.
"How do you like being a Grand Duchess, Ruth?"
She made a little moue. "I don't like it at all. I'm abdicating
to-day."
He laughed, and they chatted together for some time, being finally
joined by His Excellency's daughters, who stayed with them until
luncheon was served. The meal proved to be a merry one, and after it
was over the two gentlemen withdrew to the library, followed by
Wratslav. Then, accompanied by Ruth, Father Murray returned to the
hotel--in a long, low-built limousine.
* * * * * *
The Bishop hurriedly pushed aside his almost untouched breakfast and
hastened to his study. The time was short, and there was much to be
done. His secretary, always prompt, handed him the morning papers, but
the Bishop pushed them aside.
"No, I haven't time now. Put them in my grip."
The secretary started to speak, but the Bishop was already giving his
instructions, and his subordinate waited, perforce, for a more
opportune time--which never came.
On the train, the Bishop's breviary first claimed his attention. As he
paused to rest his eyes, his idle glance was suddenly arrested by the
flaring headlines of a paper across the aisle. Quickly he opened his
grip and brought forth his own papers. Ah, here it was--on the first
page.
MISS RUTH ATHESON TO WED BARON GRIFFIN
Former Vicar-General Announces
the Engagement of His Niece.
And, in the next column:
GRAND DUCHESS CARLOTTA VICTIM OF WRECK
Ruler of Ecknor Killed While
on Her Way to Washington.
The story was skillfully written. No one had "remembered," or at least
influence had been able to suppress unpleasant comment. But for the
Bishop the mere juxtaposition of words was enough. In fancy he was
back in the Seminary at Rome where he had first met Donald Murray. He
saw the tall young Englishman at his desk, in front of him the portrait
of a charming child.
"My niece," he had said. "She's a winsome little thing. I miss her
sorely."
He recalled, too, how someone had related the romance of Edgar Atheson,
who had later become Grand Duke of Ecknor. Donald Murray had been
strangely silent, he remembered. And--yes, it was just after that
that the picture had disappeared from his desk. "It is best," had been
Donald Murray's only comment.
The Bishop remembered now. And he knew why Monsignore had looked so
surprised and reproachful when asked to give his "full" confidence
regarding Ruth Atheson. He understood, now, the meaning of the quiet,
"My Lord, there are some things I cannot discuss even with you."
The Bishop bowed his head. "Blind, blind," he murmured, "to have known
so much, to have understood so little. Can you ever forgive me, my
friend?"