Kitabı oku: «The Great Court Scandal», sayfa 14
Chapter Twenty Six
Place and Power
The grey-faced London magistrate had remanded the prisoners in custody for seven days, and the papers that evening gave a brief account of the proceedings under the heading: “Smart Capture of Alleged Jewel-Thieves.”
During the return journey to Worthing Claire remained almost silent at Leucha’s side. The girl, whose gallant lover had thus been snatched from her so cruelly, was beside herself in utter dejection and brokenness of heart. Surely they were a downcast pair, seated in the corners of an empty first-class carriage on the way back to the seaside town which possessed no further charm for them.
To Claire the plot was now revealed as clear as day. She had, however, never dreamed that Hinckeldeym and Stuhlmann would descend to such depths of villainy as this. Their spies had been at work, without a doubt. She had been watched, and the watchers, whoever they were, had evidently established the identity of the two men to whom she owed so very much. And then Hinckeldeym, with that brutal unscrupulousness that distinguished him, had conceived the hellish plot to create a fresh scandal regarding the jewel thief Guy Bourne and herself.
The man who had risked his life for hers had now lost his liberty solely on her account. It was cruel, unjust, inhuman! Night and day she had prayed to her Maker for peace and for protection from the thousand pitfalls that beset her path in that great complex world of which she was almost as ignorant as little Ignatia herself. Yet it seemed as though, on the contrary, she was slowly drifting on and on to a ruin that was irreparable and complete.
She felt herself doubting, but instantly her strong faith reasserted itself. Yes, God would hear her; she was sure He would. She was a miserable sinner, like all other women, even though she were queen of an earthly kingdom. He would forgive her; He would also forgive those two men who stood charged with the crime of theft. God was just, and in Him she still placed her implicit trust. In silence, as the train rushed southward, she again appealed to Him for His comfort and His guidance.
Her bounden duty was to try and save the men who had been her friends, even at risk to herself. Their friendliness with her had been their own betrayal. Had they disappeared from Paris with her jewels they would still have been at liberty.
Yet what could she do? how could she act?
Twenty years’ penal servitude was the sentence which Leucha declared would be given her father if tried in England, while upon Bourne the sentence would not be less than fifteen years, having in view his list of previous convictions. In Germany, with the present-day prejudice against the English, they would probably be given even heavier sentences, for, according to Mr Gore-Palmer, an attempt was to be made to make an example of them.
Ah! if the world only knew how kind, how generous those two criminals had been to her, a friendless, unhappy woman, who knew no more of the world than a child in her teens, would it really judge them harshly, she wondered. Or would they receive from the public that deep-felt compassion which she herself had shown them?
Many good qualities are, alas! nowadays dead in the human heart; but happily chivalry towards a lonely woman is still, even in this twentieth century, one of the traits of the Englishman’s character, be he gentleman or costermonger.
Alone in her room that night, she knelt beside the bed where little Ignatia was sleeping so peacefully, and besought the Almighty to protect her and her child from this last and foulest plot of her enemies, and to comfort those who had been her friends. Long and earnestly she remained in prayer, her hands clasped, her face uplifted, her white lips moving in humble, fervent appeal to God.
Then when she rose up she pushed back the mass of fair hair from her brow, and paced the room for a long time, pondering deeply, but discerning no way out of the difficulties and perils that now beset her. The two accused men would be condemned, while upon her would be heaped the greatest shame that could be cast upon a woman.
Suddenly she halted at the window, and leaning forward, looked out upon the flashing light far away across the dark, lonely sea. Beyond that far-off horizon, mysterious in the obscurity of night, lay the Continent, with her own Kingdom within. Though freedom was so delightful, without Court etiquette and without Court shams, yet her duty to her people was, she recollected, to be beside her husband; her duty to her child was to live that life to which she, as an Imperial Archduchess, had been born, no matter how irksome it might be to her.
Should she risk all and return to Treysa? The very suggestion caused her to hold her breath. Her face was pale and pensive in her silent, lofty, uncomplaining despair.
Would her husband receive her? Or would he, at the instigation of old Hinckeldeym and his creatures, hound her out of the Kingdom as what the liars at Court had falsely declared her to be?
Again she implored the direction of the Almighty, sinking humbly upon her knees before the crucifix she had placed at the head of her bed, remaining there for fully a quarter of an hour.
Then when she rose again there was a calm, determined look on her pale, hard-set face.
Yes; her patience and womanhood could endure no longer. She would take Leucha and go fearlessly to Treysa, to face her false friends and ruthless enemies. They would start to-morrow. Not a moment was to be lost. And instead of retiring to bed, she spent the greater part of the night in packing her trunks in readiness for the journey which was to decide her fate.
The summer’s evening was breathless and stifling in Treysa. Attired in Henriette’s coat and skirt, and wearing her thick lace veil, Claire alighted from the dusty wagon-lit that had brought her from Cologne, and stood upon the great, well-remembered platform unrecognised.
The douaniers at the frontier had overhauled her baggage; the railway officials had clipped her tickets; the wagon-lit conductor had treated her with the same quiet courtesy that he had shown to her fellow-passengers, and she had passed right into the splendid capital without a single person recognising that the Queen – “their Claire” – had returned among them.
Leucha descended with Ignatia, who at once became excited at hearing her native tongue again; and as they stood awaiting their hand-baggage an agent of police passed them, but even he did not recognise in the neat-waisted figure the brilliant and beautiful soft-eyed woman who was his sovereign.
At first she held her breath, trembling lest she might be recognised, and premature information of her return be conveyed to Hinckeldeym or to the Prefect of Police, who, no doubt, had his orders to refuse her admittance. Yet finding her disguise so absolutely complete, she took courage, and passed out of the station to hail a closed cab.
They were all three utterly tired out after thirty-six hours of rail, crossing by way of Dover and Ostend.
When Leucha and Ignatia had entered the cab she said to the man sharply, in German, —
“Drive to the royal palace.”
The man, who took her for one of the servants, settled himself upon his box and drove up the straight tree-lined avenue to the great entrance gates of the royal park, which were, as usual, closed.
As they approached them, however, her Majesty raised her veil, and waited; while Leucha, with little Ignatia upon her knee, sat wondering. She, “the Ladybird,” the accomplice of the cleverest gang of thieves in Europe, was actually entering a royal palace as intimate friend of its Queen!
The cab halted, the sentries drew up at attention, and the gorgeous porter came forward and put in his head inquisitively.
Next instant he recognised who it was, and started back; then, raising his cocked hat and bowing low, gave orders to the cabman to drive on. Afterwards, utterly amazed, he went to the telephone to apprise the porter up at the palace that her Majesty the Queen had actually returned.
When they drew up at the great marble steps before the palace entrance, the gaudily-dressed porter stood bare-headed with three other men-servants and the two agents of police who were always on duty there.
All bowed low, saluting their Queen in respectful silence as she descended, and Leucha followed her with the little Princess toddling at her side. It was a ceremonious arrival, but not a single word was uttered until Claire passed into the hall, and was about to ascend the grand staircase on her way to the royal private apartments; for she supposed, and quite rightly, that her husband had, on his accession, moved across to the fine suite occupied by his late father.
Bowing slightly to acknowledge the obeisance of the servants, she was about to ascend the broad stairs, when the porter came forward, and said apologetically, —
“Will your Majesty pardon me? I have orders from the Minister Hinckeldeym to say that he is waiting in the blue anteroom, and wishes to see you instantly upon your arrival.”
“Then he knows of my return?” she exclaimed surprised.
“Your Majesty was expected by him since yesterday.” She saw that his spies had telegraphed news of her departure from London.
“And the King is in the palace?”
“Yes, your Majesty; he is in his private cabinet,” responded the man, bowing.
“Then I will go to him. I will see Hinckeldeym afterwards.”
“But, your Majesty, I have strict orders not to allow your Majesty to pass until you have seen his Excellency. See, here he comes!”
And as she turned she saw approaching up the long marble hall a fat man, her arch-enemy, attired in funereal, black.
“Your Majesty!” he said, bowing, while an evil smile played upon his lips. “So you have returned to us at Treysa! Before seeing the King I wish to speak to you in private.”
Deadly and inexorable malice was in his countenance. She turned upon him with a quick fire in her eyes, answering with that hauteur that is inherent in the Hapsbourg blood, —
“Whatever you have to say can surely be said here. You can have nothing concerning me to conceal!” she added meaningly.
“I have something to say that cannot be said before the palace servants,” he exclaimed quickly. “I forbid you to go to the King before I have had an opportunity of explaining certain matters.”
“Oh! you forbid —you?” she cried, turning upon him in resentment at his laconic insolence. “And pray, who are you? – a mere paid puppet of the State, a political adventurer who discerns further advancement by being my enemy! And you forbid?”
“Your Majesty – I – ”
“Yes; when addressing me do not forget that I am your Queen,” she said firmly, “and that I know very well how to deal with those who have endeavoured to encompass my ruin. Now go to your fellow-adventurers, Stuhlmann, Hoepfner, and the rest, and give them my message.” Every word of hers seemed to blister where it fell. Then turning to Leucha, she said in English, —
“Remain here with Ignatia. I will return to you presently.”
And while the fat-faced officer of State who had so ingeniously plotted her downfall stood abashed in silence, and confused at her defiance, she swept past him, mounted the stairs haughtily, and turning into the corridor, made her way to the royal apartments.
Outside the door of the King’s private cabinet – that room wherein Hinckeldeym had introduced his spies – she held her breath. She was helpless at once, and desperate. Her hand trembled upon the door knob, and the sentry, recognising her, started, and stood at attention.
With sudden resolve she turned the handle, and next second stood erect in the presence of her husband.
Chapter Twenty Seven
A Woman’s Words
The King sprang up from his writing-table as though electrified.
“You!” he gasped, turning pale and glaring at her – “you, Claire! Why are you here?” he demanded angrily.
“To speak with you, Ferdinand. That scheming reptile Hinckeldeym forbade me to see you; but I have defied him – and have come to you.”
“Forbade you! why?” he asked, in a deep voice, facing her, and at once noticing that she was disguised as Henriette.
“Because he fears that I may expose his ingenious intrigue to you. I have discovered everything, and I have come to you, my husband, to face you, and to answer any charges that this man may bring against me. I only ask for justice,” she added, in a low, earnest voice. “I appeal to you for that, for the sake of our little Ignatia; for the sake of my own good name, not as Queen, but as a woman!”
“Then Hinckeldeym was aware that you were returning?”
“His spies, no doubt, telegraphed information that I had left London. He was awaiting me in the blue anteroom when I arrived, ten minutes ago.”
“He told me nothing,” her husband remarked gruffly, knitting his brows in marked displeasure.
“Because he fears the revelation of his dastardly plot to separate us, and to hurl me down to the lowest depths of infamy and shame.”
Her husband was silent; his eyes were fixed upon hers. Only yesterday he had called Meyer, the Minister of Justice, and given orders for an application to the Court for a divorce. Hinckeldeym, by continually pointing out the Imperial displeasure in Vienna, had forced him to take this step. He had refrained as long as he could, but at last had been forced to yield.
As far as government was concerned, Hinckeldeym was, he considered, an excellent Minister; yet since that night when the man had introduced his spies, he had had his shrewd suspicions aroused that all he had told him concerning Claire was not the exact truth. Perhaps, after all, he had harshly misjudged her. Such, indeed, was the serious thought that had a thousand times of late been uppermost in his mind – ever since, indeed, he had given audience to the Minister Meyer on the previous morning.
Claire went on, shining forth all her sweet, womanly self. Her intellectual powers, her elevated sense of religion, her high honourable principles, her best feelings as a woman, all were displayed. She maintained at first a calm self-command, as one sure of carrying her point in the end; and yet there was, nevertheless, a painful, heart-thrilling uncertainty. In her appeal, however, was an irresistible and solemn pathos, which, falling upon her husband’s heart, caused him to wonder, and to stand open-mouthed before her.
“You allege, then, that all this outrageous scandal that has been the talk of Europe has been merely invented by Hinckeldeym and his friends?” asked the King, folding his arms firmly and fixing his eyes upon his wife very seriously.
“I only ask you, Ferdinand, to hear the truth, and as Sovereign to render justice where justice is due,” was her calm response, her pale face turned to his. “I was too proud in my own honesty as your wife to appeal to you: indeed, I saw that it was hopeless, so utterly had you fallen beneath the influence of my enemies. So I preferred to leave the Court, and to live incognito as an ordinary person.”
“But you left Treysa with Leitolf, the man who was your lover! You can’t deny that, eh?” he snapped.
“I deny it, totally and emphatically,” was her response, facing him unflinchingly. “Carl Leitolf loved me when I was a child, but years before my marriage with you I had ceased to entertain any affection for him. He, however, remained my friend – and he is still my friend.”
“Then you don’t deny that to-day he is really your friend?” he said, with veiled sarcasm.
“Why should I? Surely there is nothing disgraceful that a man should show friendliness and sympathy towards a woman who yearns for her husband’s love, and is lonely and unhappy, as I have been? Again, I did not leave Treysa with him. He joined my train quite by accident, and we travelled to Vienna together. He left me at the station, and I have not seen him since.”
“When you were in Vienna, a few days before, you actually visited him at his hotel?”
“Certainly; I went to see him just as I should call upon any other friend. I recognised the plot against us, and arranged with him that he should leave the Court and go to Rome.”
“I don’t approve of such friends,” he snapped again quickly.
“A husband should always choose his wife’s male friends. I am entirely in your hands, Ferdinand.”
“But surely you know that a thousand and one scandalous stories have been whispered about you – not only in the palace, but actually among the people. The papers, even, have hinted at your disgraceful and outrageous behaviour.”
“And I have nothing whatever to be ashamed of. You, my husband, I face boldly to-night, and declare to you that I have never, for one single moment, forgotten my duty either to you or to our child,” she said, in a very low, firm voice, hot tears at that moment welling in her beautiful eyes. “I am here to declare my innocence – to demand of you justice, Ferdinand!”
His lips were pressed together. He was watching her intently, noticing how very earnestly and how very boldly she refuted those statements which, in his entire ignorance of the conspiracy, he had believed to be scandalous truths. Was it really possible that she, his wife, whom all Europe had admired for her grace, her sweetness, and her extraordinary beauty, was actually a victim of a deeply-laid plot of Hinckeldeym’s? To him it seemed utterly impossible. She was endeavouring, perhaps, to shield herself by making these counter allegations. A man, he reflected, seldom gets even with a woman’s ingenuity.
“Hinckeldeym has recently revealed to me something else, Claire,” he said, speaking very slowly, his eyes still fixed upon hers – “the existence of another lover, an interesting person who, it appears, is a criminal!”
“Listen, Ferdinand, and I will tell you the truth – the whole truth,” she said very earnestly. “You will remember the narrow escape I had that day when my cob shied at a motor car and ran away, and a stranger – an Englishman – stopped the animal, and was so terribly injured that he had to be conveyed to the hospital, and remained there some weeks in a very precarious state. And he afterwards disappeared, without waiting for me to thank him personally?”
“Yes; I remember hearing something about him.”
“It is that man – the criminal,” she declared; and then, in quick, breathless sentences, she explained how her jewels had been stolen in Paris, and how, when the thieves knew of her identity, the bag had been restored to her intact. He listened to every word in silence, wondering. The series of romantic incidents held him surprised. They were really gallant and gentlemanly thieves, if – if nothing else, he declared.
“To this Mr Bourne I owe my life,” she said; “and to him I also owe the return of my jewels. Is it, therefore, any wonder when these two men, Bourne and Redmayne, have showed me such consideration, that, lonely as I am, I should regard them as friends? I have Redmayne’s daughter with me here, as maid. She is below, with Ignatia. It is this Mr Bourne, who is engaged to be married to Leucha Redmayne, that Hinckeldeym seeks to denounce as my lover!”
“He says that both men are guilty of theft within the Empire; indeed, Bourne is, it is said, guilty of jewel robbery in Eugendorf.”
“They have both been arrested at Hinckeldeym’s instigation, and are now in London, remanded before being extradited here.”
“Oh! he has not lost very much time, it seems.”
“No. His intention is that Mr Bourne shall stand his trial here, in Treysa, and at the same time the prisoner is to be denounced by inspired articles in the press as my lover – that I, Queen of Marburg, have allied myself with a common criminal! Cannot you see his dastardly intention? He means that this, his last blow, his master stroke, shall crush me, and break my power for ever,” she cried desperately. “You, Ferdinand, will give me justice – I know you will! I am still your wife!” she implored. “You will not allow their foul lies and insinuations to influence you further; will you?” she asked. “In order to debase me in your eyes and in the eyes of all Europe, Hinckeldeym has caused the arrest of this man to whom I owe my life – the man who saved me, not because I was Crown Princess, but because I was merely a woman in peril. Think what betrayal and arrest means to these men. It means long terms of imprisonment to both. And why? Merely in order to attack me – because I am their friend. They may be guilty of theft – indeed they admit they are; nevertheless I ask you to give them your clemency, and to save them. You can have them brought here for trial; and there are ways, technicalities of the law, or something, by which their release can be secured. A King may act as he chooses in his own Kingdom.”
Every word she spoke was so worthy of herself, so full of sentiment and beauty, poetry and passion. Too naturally frank for disguise, too modest to confess her depth of love while the issue remained in suspense, it was a conflict between love and fear and dignity.
“I think you ask me rather too much, Claire,” he said, in a somewhat quieter tone. “You ask me to believe all that you tell me, without giving me any proof whatsoever.”
“And how can I give you proof when Mr Bourne and his friend are in custody in London? Let them be extradited to Treysa, and then you may have them brought before you privately and questioned.”
For some moments he did not speak. What she had just alleged had placed upon the matter an entirely different aspect. Indeed, within himself he was compelled to admit that the suspicions he had lately entertained regarding Hinckeldeym had now been considerably increased by her surprising statements. Was she speaking the truth?
Whenever he allowed his mind to wander back he recollected that it had been the crafty old President who had first aroused those fierce jealous thoughts within his heart. It was he who had made those allegations against Leitolf; he who, from the very first weeks of his marriage, had treated Claire with marked antipathy, although to her face he had shown such cordiality and deep obeisance that she had actually believed him to be her friend. Yes, he now recognised that this old man, in whom his father had reposed such perfect confidence, had been the fount of all those reports that had scandalised Europe. If his calm, sweet-faced wife had, after all, been a really good and faithful woman, then he had acted as an outrageous brute to her. His own cruelty pricked his conscience. It was for her to forgive, not for her to seek forgiveness.
She saw his hesitation, and believed it due to a reluctance to accept her allegations as the real truth.
“If you doubt me, Ferdinand, call Hinckeldeym at this instant. Let me face this man before you, and let me categorically deny all the false charges which he and his sycophants have from time to time laid against me. Here, at Court, I am feared, because they know that I am aware of all my secret enemies. Make a clearance of them all and commence afresh,” she urged, a sweet light in her wonderful eyes. “You have clever men about you who would make honest and excellent Ministers; but while you are surrounded by such conspirators as these, neither you nor the throne itself is safe. I know,” she went on breathlessly, “that you have been seized by a terrible jealousy – a cruel, consuming jealousy, purposely aroused against me in order to bring about the result which was but the natural outcome – my exile from Treysa and our estrangement. It is true that you did not treat me kindly – that you struck me – that you insulted me – that you have disfigured me by your blows; but recollect, I beg, that I have never once complained. I never once revealed the secret of my dire unhappiness; only to one man, the man who has been my friend ever since my childhood – Carl Leitolf. And if you had been in my place, Ferdinand, I ask whether you would not have sought comfort in relating your unhappiness to a friend. I ask you that question,” she added, in a low, intense, trembling voice. “For all your unkindness and neglect I have long ago really forgiven you. I have prayed earnestly to God that He would open your eyes and show me in my true light – a faithful wife. I leave it to Him to be my judge, and to deal out to my enemies the justice they deserve.”
“Claire!” he cried, suddenly taking her slim white hand in his and looking fiercely into her beautiful eyes, “is this the real truth that you have just told me?”
“It is!” she answered firmly; “before God, I swear that it is! I am a poor sinner in His sight, but as your wife I have nothing with which to reproach myself – nothing. If you doubt me, then call Leitolf from Rome; call Bourne. Both men, instead of being my lovers, are your friends – and mine. I can look both you and them in the face without flinching, and am ready to do so whenever it is your will.”
All was consummated in that one final touch of truth and nature. The consciousness of her own worth and integrity which had sustained her through all her trials of heart, and that pride of station for which she had contended through long years – which had become more dear by opposition and by the perseverance with which she had asserted it – remained the last strong feeling upon her mind even at that moment, the most fateful crisis of her existence.
Her earnest, fearless frankness impressed him. Was it really possible that his wife – this calm-faced woman who had been condemned by him everywhere, and against whom he had already commenced proceedings for a divorce – was really, after all, quite innocent?
He remembered Hinckeldeym’s foul allegations, the damning evidence of his spies, the copies of certain letters. Was all this a tissue of fraud, falsehood, and forgery?
In a few rapid words she went on to relate how, in that moment of resentment at such scandalous gossip being propagated concerning her, she had threatened that when she became Queen she would change the whole entourage, and in a brief, pointed argument she showed him the strong motive with which the evil-eyed President of the Council had formed the dastardly conspiracy against her.
“Claire,” he asked, still holding her soft hand with the wedding ring upon it, “after all that has passed – after all my harsh, inhuman cruelty to you – can you really love me still? Do you really entertain one single spark of love for me?”
“Love you!” she cried, throwing herself into his arms in a passion of tears; “love you, Ferdinand!” she sobbed. “Why, you are my husband; whom else have I to love, besides our child?”
“Then I will break up this damnable conspiracy against you,” he said determinedly. “I – the King – will seek out and punish all who have plotted against my happiness and yours. They shall be shown no mercy; they shall all be swept into obscurity and ruin. They thought,” he added, in a hard, hoarse voice, “to retain their positions at Court by keeping us apart, because they knew that you had discovered their despicable duplicity. Leave them to me; Ferdinand of Marburg knows well how to redress a wrong, especially one which concerns his wife’s honour,” and he ran his hand over his wife’s soft hair as he bent and kissed her lips.
So overcome with emotion was she that at the moment she could not speak. God had at last answered those fervent appeals that she had made ever since the first year of their marriage.
“I have wronged you, Claire – deeply, very deeply wronged you,” he went on, in a husky, apologetic voice, his arm tenderly about her waist, as he again pressed his lips to hers in reconciliation. “But it was the fault of others. They lied to me; they exaggerated facts and manufactured evidence, and I foolishly believed them. Yet now that you have lifted the scales from my eyes, the whole of their devilishly clever intrigue stands plainly revealed. It utterly staggers me. I can only ask you to forgive. Let us from to-night commence a new life – that sweet, calm life of trust and love which when we married we both believed was to be ours for ever, but which, alas! by the interference and malignity of our enemies, was turned from affection into hatred and unhappiness.”
“I am ready, Ferdinand,” she answered, a sweet smile lighting up her beautiful features. “We will bury the past; for you are King and I am Queen, and surely none shall now come between us. My happiness to-night, knowing that you are, after all, good and generous, and that you really love me truly, no mere words of mine can reveal. Yet even now I have still a serious thought, a sharp pang of conscience for those who are doomed to suffer because they acted as my friends when I was outcast and friendless.”
“You mean the men Bourne and Redmayne,” the King said. “Yes, they are in a very perilous position. We must press for their extradition here, and then their release will be easy. To-morrow you must find some means by which to reassure them.”
“And Hinckeldeym?”
“Hinckeldeym shall this very night answer to his Sovereign for the foul lies he has spoken,” replied the King, in a hard, meaning tone. “But, dearest, think no more of that liar. He will never cross your path again; I shall take good care of that. And now,” he said, imprinting a long, lingering caress upon her white, open brow – “and now let us call up our little Ignatia and see how the child has grown. An hour ago I was the saddest man in all the kingdom, Claire; now,” he laughed, as he kissed her again, “I admit to you I am the very happiest!”
Their lips met again in a passionate, fervent caress.
On her part she gazed up into his kind, loving eyes with a rapturous look which was more expressive than words – a look which told him plainly how deeply she still loved him, notwithstanding all the bitterness and injustice of the black, broken past.
