COURT SECRETS
Hugh Renwick lay flat upon the coping of the wall for a moment peering
up and down the road until sure at last that the way was clear, when he
let himself down and walked rapidly in the direction of the village. The
events of the last hour were of a nature to disturb the equanimity of an
existence less well ordered than his. The winning of the Countess
Marishka, an achievement upon which he had set his whole soul for many
uncertain weeks in which hope and fear had fought a daily battle in his
heart--that in itself had been enough to convince him that the gods
looked upon him with favor--but this other _coup de foudre_! Whatever
the means by which his information had been obtained, the mere
possession of it and the revelation of it to his Ambassador was a
diplomatic achievement of the highest importance. There had long been
rumors of an _entente_ between Archduke and Kaiser, but _this_! He
rubbed his eyes to make sure that he was awake.
Hugh Renwick was merely the average Englishman of good family and
wealth, who because of his education in a German university had found
the offer of the post of Vienna singularly attractive. He had filled his
position with circumspection, if not with brilliancy, and had made
himself sufficiently popular in court circles to be sure that if not a
triumphant success in the drudgery of the office, he was at least not
altogether a social failure. Good looking, wealthy, talented though he
was, it was something indeed to have won Marishka Strahni, who, apart
from her high position in Vienna and the success of a season, was, as he
well knew, the finest girl in all Austria. Even yet he doubted his good
fortune. He had come to Konopisht, where the girl was visiting the
Duchess of Hohenberg, who had been a childhood friend of her mother's.
As everyone in Vienna knew, Sophie Chotek was ineligible for the high
position she occupied as consort of the Heir Presumptive. Though a
member of an ancient Bohemian family, that of Chotek and Wognin, the law
of the Habsburg's that archdukes may marry only those of equal rank,
forbade that the Duchess of Hohenberg and her children should share the
position of husband and father. She had been snubbed upon all the
occasions of her appearance at court functions, and had at last retired
to the Archduke's estates at Konopisht, where she led the secluded life
of the _ebenburtige_, still chafing, rumor had it, and more than ever
jealous and ambitious for the future of the children.
Upon the occasion of a previous visit of the Countess Marishka to
Konopisht, Renwick had spent a week end at the castle, but he thanked
his stars that he was now stopping at the village inn. It would have
been difficult to go through the formality of leave-taking with the
shadow of this impending tragedy to Europe hanging over him. He pitied
Marishka from the bottom of his heart for he had seen the beginnings of
the struggle between her devotion to the Duchess and her duty to her
sovereign. But he knew enough of her quality to be sure that she would
carry out her plan at whatever the cost to her own feelings.
As Renwick approached the gates which led into the Castle grounds, he
had an actual sense of the consequence of the Archduke's guests in the
appearance of soldiery and police which were to be seen in every
direction, and while he waited in the village road two automobiles came
out of the gate and dashed past him in the direction of the railroad
station, in the foremost of which he recognized Archduke Franz and his
guests of the rose garden.
"The roses of Konopisht," he muttered, thinking of Marishka's fatalism.
"Were they symbols, those innocent red blossoms?" And then with an
inward smile, "Marishka! What bitterness could the roses of Konopisht
bring between Marishka and him?"
A sense of the grave importance of his mission came over Renwick with a
rush. He looked at his watch. Six o'clock. It would have been hazardous
to use the wire to reach the Embassy even had he possessed a code. He
knew enough of the activities of the Austrian secret service to be sure
that in spite of his entrée at the Castle, his presence at Konopisht at
this time might be marked. He sauntered down the street with an air of
composure he was far from feeling. There was nothing for it but to obey
Marishka's injunctions and wait, upon his guard against surprises, but
ready to go to any extreme to reach Vienna and the Embassy with a sound
skin. He found the owner of a motor car, and telling the man that he was
traveling by night, he paid its owner in advance and engaged it to be at
a certain place by nightfall, promising a further payment if the matter
were kept secret. Then he went to the inn, took supper, and lighting his
pipe, paced the cobbles and waited.
As the summer dusk fell slowly upon the streets of the little village,
Renwick found himself a prey to renewed apprehensions as to Marishka.
Had her presence and his in the rose garden been discovered by one of
the Archduke's retainers? And was she now a prisoner in the castle where
a few hours ago she had been so free a guest? She was clever, as he
knew, but the burden of her secret had marked its shadows upon her face.
What excuse would she offer the Duchess for her sudden departure? The
girl was dear to him, dearer than anything in the world but England, and
the thought of making a choice between her safety and the performance of
his duty was bitterly painful to him. Eight o'clock passed--nine. He had
gone inside the house again, for the actions of any stranger in
Konopisht were sure to be conspicuous and he felt himself already an
object of notice. But at last unable to bear the suspense inactive, he
went out, crossed the road and stood, his teeth clenched upon his
extinguished pipe, his gaze upon the road which led to the gates of the
Park.
There she came to him, out of the darkness. At the touch of her fingers
he started, for he had not been expecting her from this direction, but
the sound of her voice fell like the balm of her presence upon his
spirit.
"Thank God," he gasped. "Marishka, I was afraid----"
"I came as soon as I could," she whispered rapidly in English. "It was
difficult. I could make no excuses for leaving. I pleaded fatigue and
went to my room. And when the opportunity offered, stole out through the
garden."
"And your absence will not be discovered----?"
"Not until tomorrow--when, please the Holy Virgin, I shall be at
Schönbrunn."
He took her in his arms and kissed her warmly, but he felt the restraint
in her caress.
"Hugh, belovèd, let us wait upon duty for our own happiness. I cannot
rest until I have told our dreadful secret. You have a motor car?"
"Come," he said. And taking her small valise with his own, he led the
way to the spot where the machine was awaiting them. Marishka gave
directions and in a few moments they were off. The danger of detection,
once beyond the village, was slight, and their purpose to reach the
railroad at Budweis and take a late train to Vienna was not difficult of
accomplishment. The machine was none too good, but the road for the main
part was excellent. Renwick's arm was about the girl, and they sat
discussing their plans for the immediate future.
"You have no fear for what you are about to do?" he asked.
"What should I fear?" she said lightly. "I am only doing my duty."
"There will be difficulties, will there not?"
"Perhaps. But I shall succeed. Prince Montenuovo, the High Chamberlain
of the Court will listen to me."
"But you will not tell him all."
"Not unless it is necessary. You, Hugh, will take me to him."
Renwick was silent for a moment.
"Marishka," he said at last, "we share a terrible duty, yours to
Austria, and mine to England----"
"But mine--is it not the greater?" she pleaded. "You must not speak,
Hugh, until I have given you permission."
Renwick folded his arms and gazed stolidly into the darkness.
"I must tell what I know to Sir Herbert," he said firmly. "You must not
ask me to be silent."
He noticed the change in her voice as she replied, "Is my happiness so
slight a thing that you can refuse the first request I make of you?"
He caught her hand to his lips.
"Marishka, you know----"
"My first request----"
"There is nothing in the world that I would not do for you. You would
think little of me if I did not do my duty."
"And of your duty to me----? Is that nothing?"
Renwick smiled into the darkness. Had he been told six months ago that
he would be bandying the interests of England against the plans of a
pretty woman he would have laughed the idea to scorn.
"What do you wish me to do, Marishka?" he asked gently.
With a swift impulse, she threw her arms about his neck, whispering in
his ear.
"O Hugh, I cannot bear that there should be a difference between us,
today, the first of our _fiançailles_. It will perhaps make no great
difference that you should tell what we have heard, for your country,
thank the Holy Virgin, is at friendship with mine. If you would but wait
until I give you permission."
"And if something happened to me in the meanwhile----?"
"Nothing can happen. No one at Konopisht can know. I am sure of
that--sure."
Perhaps the moment of danger that had threatened their happiness had
made each more considerate, and the two great secrets that they
possessed, their own and the other more terrible one had strengthened
the bond between them.
"I will wait until you have been to Schönbrunn," he decided.
"Until I give you permission," she insisted.
He kissed her. She believed it to be a promise and the tight pressure of
her hand rewarded him. In that moment of _rapprochement_, the destinies
of nations seemed a matter of little moment to them.
"You will marry me soon, Marishka?" he murmured.
"Perhaps," she whispered gently.
Morning brought the pair in a _fiacre_ into the Schottenring, Marishka
weary but resolute, Renwick somewhat dubious as to their appearance at
this early hour alone in the streets of Vienna. But at his suggestion
that they drive first to the house of Marishka's aunt and guardian,
Baroness Racowitz, where some excuse could be made for the girl's
unexpected visit, Marishka only shook her head and gave the town address
of Prince Montenuovo, who, as she knew, was still in residence, the
Emperor not being expected at Ischl until the middle of July. Nor would
she permit Renwick to accompany her within the house, and so he sat
alone in the humble _fiacre_ for what seemed an interminable time, until
a man in livery came down the steps and gave him a note in Marishka's
hand.
"I have succeeded in getting an audience. Go to the Embassy and
await word from me. Silence."
And so at last he drove away to his hotel, sure at least that for the
present he had done his duty to Marishka. But this was no boy-and-girl
matter. The lives of nations, perhaps, hung upon his decision. In a weak
moment he had promised Marishka an impossible thing. He did not know
what danger hung over him. If anything happened to him England might
never know until it was too late. The vision of Marishka's pale face
haunted him, but he decided to take no further chances, and locking
himself in his own rooms, he wrote a long statement, in which he
accurately recounted his experience in the garden the day before. This
letter written, sealed, addressed, and given to a trusted servant to be
delivered into the hands of the Ambassador at a given time, Renwick
breathed a sigh of relief, then bathed, dressed, and waited.
It was not until some days later that he heard in detail of Marishka's
visit to the Emperor. The High Chamberlain, aware of the visit of the
Countess Strahni to Konopisht, and convinced of her earnestness and
anxiety, had acted immediately. The Emperor fortunately was not ailing
and the audience was obtained without difficulty. Franz Joseph at
eighty-four, and burdened with more sorrows than those that fall to the
lot of the average man, still found interest in the complaints and
petitions of his subjects and had audience on certain days at
Schönbrunn. It was this intimate touch with his people, kept through
many years, which endeared him to his subjects, and stories of his
paternal kindness were thus continually sent the length and breadth of
the nation.
Marishka was shown into an antechamber in the Emperor's private suite
where for what seemed an interminable time she sat and waited. At length
her sponsor appeared and conducted her along a short corridor past
several rooms to a white door which the Prince opened, and then stood
aside as Marishka entered.
"The Countess Strahni," he announced.
Marishka, a little bewildered and frightened, advanced uncertainly, her
eyes dazzled by the brilliant sunlight which streamed in at the south.
As she hesitated, a voice near the furthest window spoke reassuringly.
"Come in, child," it said. "I am here."
She advanced with trembling knees, aware of an old man in a military
blouse sitting in a large chair beyond a desk. The infirmities of age
and suffering had bowed his shoulders and to Marishka the Emperor seemed
smaller than when she had seen him last, smaller and very much older.
There was a stillness about his person, a quality of resignation and
quiescence that was almost statuesque. But his whiskers and mustache,
carefully groomed, were brushed upward and outward from the rather heavy
lip and chin, and had a military cut which comported well with the
dignity of his appearance. His eyes, the right one much smaller than the
left, were light gray in color, and as her own gaze caught them, very
grave and kindly, like his voice, which as he spoke gave her every
encouragement to be at her ease.
"You will pardon the infirmities of an old man and forgive me for not
rising," he said gently. "Will you be seated, here, before me, where I
may look at you?"
There was a pathetic touch of his old gallantry in the gesture which
accompanied the words, and a bright flash of his eyes as Marishka came
forward into the light and stood before him. Even today the Emperor was
not immune from the charms of feminine beauty. Marishka did as she was
bidden, sitting upon the edge of her chair before the old man, gazing at
him again, without words to begin.
"His Highness has told me that you have something of importance to
communicate," said the Emperor with a smile. "Your grandfather once did
me a service. If there is anything that I may do----"
The quiet voice paused and she was conscious of the gaze of the gray
eyes upon her in gentle inquiry.
"It is nothing that I want, Sire," she murmured haltingly. "It is
something of the utmost importance that has occurred--at
Konopisht--which I thought it necessary that you should know--something
of the gravest moment to the State--to Austria--and to--to Your
Majesty."
She paused breathless, finding speech difficult.
She saw his eyebrows upraised slightly and then contracted, while his
gaze upon her grew concentrated.
"You may speak freely, child. There is no one here who hasn't the
interests of my country at heart."
Marishka glanced around swiftly, her pulses throbbing. Prince Montenuovo
stood beside the desk, immovable.
"Your Majesty," she almost whispered, "my information is of such a
character----"
She paused again and felt the old man's gaze upon her in deeper interest
and curiosity. There was a silence, but if he had had a momentary doubt
of her, it was speedily dispelled, for his rather weary lips parted in a
smile, as he turned to his Chamberlain. "If Your Highness will be
pleased to await my call----"
Prince Montenuovo with a bow withdrew.
"Now, child," said the Emperor, bending slightly forward in his chair,
"will you not tell me freely what has bothered you?"
"Your Majesty," said Marishka, plunging breathlessly into her subject,
"I was stopping at Konopisht at the castle of the Archduke Franz. The
Duchess of Hohenberg, formerly the Countess Chotek, was a friend of my
mother's, and for many years our families have been intimate."
She saw the slight contraction of the heavy brows at the mention of
Sophie Chotek's name, but she went on rapidly:
"Sire, when you know how long our families have been friendly, how kind
Her Highness has been to me since the death of my father and mother, you
will understand that what I am about to say--to reveal--is very painful
to me. I could not speak, Sire, even now, unless the welfare of Austria
and of Your Majesty were not more important to me than any personal
considerations whatever."
As she paused painfully again, he encouraged her with a smile.
"Go on, child," he said.
"I was at the tennis court, playing with"--she paused and blushed
prettily--"with a friend. The game finished, we--we went into the garden
and sat upon the lawn in the shade of some foliage where it was cool. I
did not know, Sire, nor did my companion, of the presence of royalty at
Konopisht, and did not remember that I had been told not to go into the
rose garden until it was too late."
"Too late?" he asked keenly.
"We were interested, talking, and not until the sound of footsteps upon
the graveled walk near the arbor, did I realize how grave a violation of
the hospitality of the Archduke had been committed. I should have fled,
but, Sire, I could not. I was frightened. And so we stayed, hidden in
the foliage by the arbor."
"So!" he broke in, his voice speaking the word with a rising inflection
of intense interest. "It is well that you have come. I, too, know
something of the visitors to the roses of Konopisht. The talk was not
all of roses, _nicht wahr_?" he said quietly, with a little bitterness.
"No, Sire. The talk was not all of roses," said Marishka.
"Go on, then," he continued. "Spare me no word of what you heard or saw.
Nothing."
And Marishka, composing herself with an effort, obeyed the command.