Affairs of State - Burton E. Stevenson
The Prince turned and beheld Glueck, evidently expecting orders to
accomplish an assault upon the detective's person.
"Oh," he explained, "I told Glueck he might throw Tellier out the next
time he tried to get in here. I'm afraid you'll have to wait a few
minutes, my friend," he added, and Glueck retired, visibly disappointed.
"Let me tell you," said the duchess, emphatically, as the door closed
behind him, "that your prejudice against Monsieur Tellier is wholly
unwarranted and very foolish. He has discovered many things which you
seem to have overlooked."
"Perhaps," admitted the Prince; "but he has discovered them in a way
that no gentleman could countenance. Which reminds me," he added,
suddenly turning a fiery countenance upon the unhappy Frenchman, "that I
have an account of my own to settle with him. How dared you annoy--"
But the duchess held up her hand.
"One moment, Fritz," she interrupted, sternly. "Don't begin throwing
stones until you are quite sure you are not yourself in a glass house.
As I have said, Monsieur Tellier had many things of interest to relate."
"Well, my dear aunt," retorted the Prince, "now that he has related
them, I trust we may dispense with his company. I will settle my account
with him another time."
"First," said the duchess, with cold irony, "tell me what progress you
have made with your embassy, Fritz!"
"Very little, I am sorry to say, madame. But in three days, Lord Vernon
has promised to consider the matter."
"Three days! And do you imagine all the rest of the world will stand
still at your command, Fritz, and wait for you? Are you another Joshua?"
The Prince flushed. There was no denying the justice of the taunt.
"But that aside for the moment," continued the duchess. "Tell me
something of this American girl you have met here, and with whom you
have grown so fond of making the promenade."
"I hope soon to have the pleasure of presenting her to you, madame,"
said the Prince, flushing still more. "I believe you will find her
admirable."
"Perhaps," said the duchess, sceptically. "Is it really necessary that
I should meet her?"
"That, of course, will be as madame pleases. I thought you would
naturally wish to meet the woman whom it is my intention to marry."
The duchess fairly jumped in her chair.
"To marry!" she cried. "To marry! What nonsense!"
"You will see," continued the Prince, calmly, "how unwise it was to
begin the conversation in the presence of this--gentleman."
"No!" cried the duchess. "It was more than ever wise! Do you happen to
know who this woman is?"
"I refuse to discuss my affairs further," said the Prince, "until we are
alone."
"But do you know who she is? She has no dot! Perhaps you will say that
is nothing, that you expected none, though it seems to me it is your
duty to repair the fortunes of our house. But it is even worse than
that--she is the daughter of an inn-keeper."
"I refuse to believe it," answered the Prince, quietly.
"Monsieur Tellier, relate to him--"
"If Tellier so much as moves a finger, I will kick him down the stairs,"
added the Prince, still more calmly.
"But he has the papers from the notary!"
"That is nothing to me."
The duchess made a gesture of despair.
"Yet, after all," she cried, "that is a little thing beside this other.
Look at this," and she snatched a folded paper from the table at her
elbow. "She is a traitor to you--she has been playing with you--she has
been assisting these Englishmen to deceive you! You who are such a
stickler for honour in women no less than men! Look at this!"
"What is this paper?" asked the Prince, making no motion to take it from
her eager hand.
"It is a note which this impostor wrote to her and to her sister."
"And obtained how?" he questioned, a little pale, but keeping himself
well in hand.
"Obtained by Monsieur Tellier," replied the duchess. "It does not matter
how."
"No," said the Prince, "perhaps not; yet one can easily guess. By
bribing the chambermaid, perhaps; by forcing a lock; by rifling her
desk, examining her private papers. Oh, it is abominable!" and he turned
upon the Frenchman, fury in his eyes.
"No, no, Monsieur le Prince!" protested Tellier. "It was none of
these--I swear it! She left the note lying quite carelessly--"
But the Prince was upon him. With one hand at the back of his neck, he
steered him, sputtering, to the door.
"Glueck!" he cried, and pitched the Frenchman into the arms of the
faithful servant. The duchess, sitting within the room, caught the
sound of a scuffle, of fierce swearing; then a succession of dull bumps
sounded through the apartment. The Prince closed the door and turned
back to her.
"But, my dear Fritz!" she protested. "It may be true that Tellier is
abominable, yet sometimes one must use such instruments--surely, at
this moment, we are justified in using any instrument. I have paid him,
thank heaven! You must listen to reason. You have been fooled--we have
all been fooled--they have been playing with us--laughing at us behind
our backs for our simplicity--the girl as well as the others."
"No!" he said, fiercely. "No!"
"Fritz," she cried, her voice trembling, a mist before her eyes as she
looked at him, "you believe that I love you, do you not--oh, better than
anything else in the world. You believe that I desire your happiness!
But it must be happiness with honour, Fritz, as becomes a Markeld. You
have your name to consider, your house. You know that I would
rather--oh, a hundred times!--wound myself than wound you! You must
listen, then, when I tell you that this girl is not worthy of you; when
I tell you that this note proves it!"
"Read it!" he commanded, in a hoarse voice. "Read it, then!"
"'Lord Vernon will be deeply grateful,'" she read, "'if he is not
mentioned in connection with to-day's adventure.' To-day's
adventure--when he kicked Jax away from her. Can you doubt? Can you be
so stupid as to doubt? These Americans--they have no sense of honour!"
He turned to the window without answering, but his face was drawn and
white.
CHAPTER XVIII
Man's perfidy
To Archibald Rushford, sitting ruminant in his room, staring absently
out at the dunes and the sea, his paper forgotten, there entered
presently Susie--a rather subdued Susie, as he noted from the corner of
his eye--who drew up a chair very close to his and sat down and propped
her chin in her hands and looked up at him.
It came to him in a flash of revelation that, did she have a mother, it
was to her she would have gone at this moment, and not to him, and his
eyes were a little misty as he looked down at her. That she and her
sister should have grown, motherless, to such sweet, triumphant
womanhood struck him in this instant as a kind of miracle--he had never
thought of it before. He had taken their beauty, their wit, their
sanity, as matters of course; he had never looked at them, clearly, from
the outside; he had never quite thoroughly appreciated them. They had
come this far, guideless, in the journey of life, and had done well and
bravely; but now Susie, at least, had reached a point in the path where
she needed help and counsel. She had come to him for it and he must give
her the best he had.
"Dad," she began, a little tremulously, "would you mind so _very_ much
if I should m-marry and live in Europe? Of course," she added, hastily,
to break the force of the blow, "you would come over very often and stay
with us, and we would go over very often to see you."
"So he _has_ spoken to you, has he?" laughed her father. "He told me he
hadn't."
"Spoken! You know about it? Oh, dad, what do you mean?"
"I mean that a certain William Frederick Albert, of Markeld--I believe
that's his name--or most of it--was in here a while ago and had the
impudence to ask me to give you to him."
"Oh!" gasped Susie, with flaming cheeks, and sank back in her chair and
I dare say cried a little; but her father didn't see her, for his own
eyes were full of tears. The moment passed, the tears were wiped
away--"Tell me about it, dad," she said.
"Tell you about it? I have told you!"
"About what he said. How did he look?"
"I dare say he looked about as he always does--a little pale around the
gills, perhaps, as one usually does when one's performing an unpleasant
duty!"
"Dad!"
"You don't mean to say you think he enjoyed it?"
"They--they always have to do it in Europe," faltered Sue.
"So I understand. But he said he hadn't told you."
"He hasn't--he hasn't said a word."
"Oh--_you_ just sort of scented it in the air, I suppose--sort of saw it
coming."
"Every woman can tell when a man is in l-love with her," explained
Susie, with dignity, but boggling a little at the crucial word. "What
did you tell him, dad?"
"I told him to take you and welcome."
"Now, dad, you mustn't tease!"
"Well, then, I told him he'd better see you first, since you're the
party principally concerned."
"But you like him?"
"Immensely!"
Susie's arms were about his neck, and her cheek was against his cheek,
and a pearly tear plashed down upon his shirt-front.
"Oh, you dear dad!" she cried. "I knew you'd like him!"
"He seems a pretty straight sort of fellow," observed her father, "he
looks clean, and he talks like a man."
"And you won't mind so very much?"
"Not if it makes you happy, my dear. All girls have to marry sometime, I
suppose. You'll be rather farther away from me than I could wish, but I
dare say the Prince will let me come over and stay in his castle
occasionally, and eat at the second table--"
"_Let_ you! Why, he'll _beg_ you to. Why couldn't you come over and live
with us, dad?"
"And die of ennui in a year? Not much. I'll go home and make some more
money for you--you see, I'd never figured on having to finance a
Princess!"
"Dad," very softly.
"Well, what?"
"Do you know, I don't believe he suspects I'm to have any money."
"Neither do I. That's one thing I like about him."
"But you really might come and live with us, dad."
"Oh, no, I mightn't. Besides, there's Nell--What!" he cried,
interpreting the sudden pressure of her arms, "you don't mean that she's
gone and done it, too!"
"I don't know, dad, but Lord Vernon has been very attentive to her. She
hasn't told me anything; I'm only guessing."
Her father gave a long, low whistle.
"Well!" he said. "You've been hustling things up with a vengeance, I
must say! There must be something in the atmosphere. It'll be a little
lonely in that big New York house without you, Susie."
"I know it will, dear dad. And if you say the word, I won't leave
you--not for a long, long time. It will be a long time anyway, you
know--a year, at least--there will be so much to do."
"And a year is quite long enough to keep two lovers apart. Youth goes
faster than you think, my dear. No, no; it'll be all right, Susie. You
don't suppose I'm as selfish as all that!"
"No, dad; that's just what I'm afraid of; you're not selfish enough.
It's I who am selfish."
"Nonsense! Everybody in this world has a right to happiness, Susie; why,
that's one of the foundation-stones of the Declaration of Independence.
And, I take it, a woman's great chance of happiness is in marrying the
man she loves. That's what every woman has a right to do, and nobody has
the right to raise a finger to prevent her. I'll give you to Markeld
with a clear conscience, my dear, when the time comes, and bless you
both. That is, if you really love him."
"Oh, dad!" she cried and hid her face; there is one light in the eyes
which none but a lover may see!
"Quite sure?" he persisted.
"Quite sure!" she said, softly.
"You're sure you're not jumping in the dark; it isn't the Prince you're
in love with?"
"No, dad; it's the man. That seems an awfully bold thing for a girl to
say, doesn't it? But he--he's such a nice fellow!"
"Yes, I believe he is," agreed her father.
"He's been telling me about himself, you know; about what he wants to do
in the world," added Susie, looking up at him.
"Has he?" and her father laughed. "The same old game--effective as ever!
We all do it--why, I remember, Susie--"
He stopped suddenly, with a little tremor in his voice.
"Yes, dad," very softly.
She was leaning forward on his knee, looking up at him. He put his arm
around her and drew her close.
"You're like your mother, Susie," was all he dared trust himself to say,
his arms tight around her.
They sat so a moment, lost in memory, until a knock at the door brought
Susie to her feet. A page handed in a little package.
"For Mademoiselle Rushford," he said.
"Thank you," said Susie, and closed the door. "For me?" she repeated, as
she turned back into the room. "What do you suppose it is?"
"The quickest way to find out is to open it, my dear," suggested her
father, drily.
Susie ripped the paper off in an instant, and disclosed a little book
bound in flexible red leather.
"'Who's Who,'" she read, looking at the title, and just then a card fell
out. She stooped and picked it up. "Why, it's from that odious French
detective! Listen, dad--'With the compliments of M. Andre Tellier, who
is sure of Mademoiselle Rushford's gratitude.'"
"Send it back to him," said her father. "Or here, give it to me--I'll go
down and smash his face with it. I ought to have kicked him out of the
house yesterday--I'd have done it but for Pelletan."
"Wait a minute, dad; here's a page turned down. Maybe there's something
he wanted me to see. Oh, yes; it's about Lord Vernon--he meant the book
for Nell--I'll call her," and she started toward the open door into the
inner room.
"Wait," said her father, instantly. "What about Vernon? Read it."
She stopped, struck by the tone of his voice.
"What do you mean, dad?" she asked, paling a little. "Surely, you don't
mean--"
"Read it," he repeated, sternly.
She opened the book with hands suddenly tremulous.
"'Vernon, fifth earl of (created 1703),'" she read, in a low voice.
"'George Henry Augustus Gardner, K. G., K. T., P. C., F. R. S., F. S.
A.; baronet 1628; Viscount Vernon, Baron Dalberry, 1710; Viscount
Cranford, 1712; Baron Vernon, 1829; trustee of Imperial Institute; born
tenth of May, 1859; son of Lord Henry Augustus Gardner, M. P., son of
fourth Earl and Mary, daughter of Richard Chaloner, Boston, U. S. A.;
married, Catherine--'"
"Married!" cried her father, and then restrained himself, though his
face turned crimson. "But go on--perhaps she's dead."
"No, she isn't dead!" said Sue, reading a line or two farther. Then she
closed the book. "I don't understand," she said, dazedly. "I can't
understand. He didn't seem that kind of man at all, dad!"
"No," said a hoarse voice from the door. "No, he didn't."
"Nell! Nellie dear!" cried Sue, and in an instant her arms were about
her.
"It--it doesn't matter," said Nell, steadying herself against the door,
striving to still a sudden convulsive shuddering. "I was a f-fool to
think he--he cared. Of course he--he was only amusing himself!" and then
her self-control suddenly gave way, and her head fell forward upon her
sister's shoulder. But only for a moment; that high queenliness was not
on the surface, merely, but in the heart, as well. "I think I'm getting
tired of Weet-sur-Mer, dad," she said, quite steadily, with a wan little
smile. "I seem to be hungering for New York again; wouldn't you like to
go home?"
"We'll go, of course, at once, dad," commanded Sue. "That's the only
thing to do. Oh!" she cried, her eyes flashing, "I could murder such a
man--cut him to pieces, inch by inch--and gloat over the deed!"
Rushford was very pale and his hands were trembling a little as he
started for the door.
"Yes, I'll order the trunks packed," he said, incoherently. "I'll have
to hurry--I'll try to--"
Something in his voice caught Susie's ear; she turned her head and
looked at him.
"Dad!" she called.
He paused with his hand on the knob.
"Dad, come here."
He came back reluctantly.
"We're to go away quietly, you know, without telling any one; there's to
be no fuss--we couldn't bear that--"
A tap on the door interrupted her. Rushford opened it. A man stood
without, a German with complexion like mahogany. He bowed silently and
handed in a note. Rushford took it and closed the door.
"It's from Markeld," he said, looking at the crest; "thought he hadn't
made his case quite emphatic enough, I guess," and he glanced at Susie's
blushing face and smiled. "Of course, we'll have to tell him," he added,
as he tore open the envelope and unfolded the sheet of paper it
contained. "He has a sort of right--"
He stopped.
Susie saw his face turn gray again.... A great fear fell upon her
heart--a cold, still fear that gripped her and left her shivering.
"What is it, dad?" she asked quietly, through clenched teeth.
"Nothing," answered her father, looking at her vaguely. "It's nothing.
It's--it's merely a matter of business, Susie."
"Come, dad," she said, still quietly, "don't try to deceive me. Tell
me--no matter what it is, I can bear it. Do you think I haven't any
pluck, dad?"
"Yes, I know you've got pluck, Susie," he said. "We've simply made a
mistake, my dear, in believing these blackguards honourable men. Let's
think no more about them."
"Read what he says, dad."
He hesitated still, but her eyes compelled him, and he read:
"'The Prince of Markeld begs to withdraw his proposal for the hand of
Miss Rushford.'"
"And that is all?"
"That is all, Susie."
"It couldn't be!" she said, a little hoarsely. "His aunt is
here--Monsieur Pelletan told me--and she has pointed out to him the
folly of it! I was silly to think it could come true! But, oh--" and she
dropped sobbing into a chair.
Her father stood for a moment watching the heaving shoulders. Then, with
a face hard as iron, he opened the door and closed it softly behind him.
CHAPTER XIX
An American Opinion of European Morals
"I tell you fellows for the last time," Lord Vernon was saying, "that we
can't keep this thing up any longer. Miss Rushford has served notice on
me that she's going to tell, and dashed if I blame her. Besides, there's
the note."
"The note can't hurt us--I've extracted its sting. As for Miss Rushford,
I might see her again," suggested Collins, who had been pacing nervously
up and down the room.
"See her? Nonsense! You'll do nothing of the sort! What right have we to
bother her? She'd probably send you about your business, anyway. She's
got a heart--something that diplomats know nothing about and never take
into account."
"We didn't take it into account in your case, that's true!" retorted
Collins, with covert irony.
"No, you didn't!" said the other, wheeling short around upon him. "Nor
did I take into account what a damned scoundrelly thing it was I was
persuaded into undertaking. I tell you, some of us will have to get down
and eat dirt before this thing is over!"
"Pshaw!" and Collins smiled loftily. "Before a petty German princeling?"
Vernon turned red with anger at the words, but as he opened his mouth to
reply, there came a sharp knock at the door.
"Come in!" he shouted, before the others could draw breath. "No, I'm not
going to hide!" he added, in answer to Collins's gesture. "That farce is
finished!"
The door opened and Monsieur Pelletan appeared on the threshold.
"Monsieur le Prince de Markeld!" he announced, and bowed low, as the
Prince advanced past him into the room. In the shadows of the hall,
Glueck's erect figure was dimly visible.
For a moment no one spoke, but Vernon's face was flushing under the
ironical gaze bent upon it.
"So," said the Prince, at last. "It appears that you are not ill. You
have been tricking me all the time!"
"Yes," answered Vernon, not attempting for an instant to evade the
question. "Tricking you--that is the word. I am glad she has told you."
"Do you think it was quite the course for a gentleman to pursue?"
continued the Prince, in a voice singularly even.
"No," said Vernon, quietly. "I do not."
"Nor do I!" said the Prince.
Again there was a moment's silence. It was Vernon who broke it.
"When I went into this thing," he began quite steadily, "I had no
thought that it would result as it has. It seemed to me an innocent
deception, warranted by reasons of state. We could not, of course,
foresee that you would follow us here, instead of going on to London.
For some time I have found the role unbearable; but, until a moment ago,
I fancied I might be able to explain to you the course I have taken."
"Explain!" repeated the Prince, with bitter emphasis.
"Now, of course," went on Vernon, evenly, "I see that no explanations
are possible--that no apology, even, which I might make, would excuse
me. I don't in the least believe in duelling--I have always thought that
I would be the last person in the world to be entangled in that way--but
this seems to be one of those situations which have no other solution. I
am quite willing, anxious even, to give you any satisfaction you may
demand. It is your right."
"I agree with you," said the Prince. "It is my right. My friends will
wait upon you," and he turned toward the door.
"But this is folly!" protested Collins, his face very red. "We are
living on the verge of the twentieth century, gentlemen; not in the
seventeenth. I won't countenance this madness for an instant."
"Who asks you to countenance it?" demanded Vernon, sternly. "I repeat, I
am at the Prince's service. I am glad that it is within my power to
offer him this reparation."
"Very well," said the Prince, bowing, and again turned to the door; but
Vernon stopped him with a gesture.
"Before you go, before I can meet you, even," he said, quietly, "there
is a further explanation due you--"
"I have no wish to hear it," the Prince broke in.
"It is one which you must, nevertheless, listen to," went on Vernon,
coldly. "Confession would, perhaps, be a better word for it. Miss
Rushford did not know the whole truth."
"So!" said the Prince, with irony. "You acted unfairly, then, even with
your co-conspirators!"
Vernon flushed hotly, but kept himself in hand.
"The retort is unworthy of you," he said. "I assure you that Miss
Rushford was not in any sense a co-conspirator."
"Do you mean that she was ignorant of the deception you were playing?"
demanded the Prince, quickly.
"No; she was not ignorant of that; but she--"
The Prince held up his hand with an imperious gesture.
"No more," he said; "if this is the explanation--confession--what you
will--I repeat that I do not care to hear it."
"This is not it."
"It cannot, in any event, alter matters."
"I have no wish that it should alter matters, Your Highness!" retorted
Vernon, proudly. "When I have offered you the greatest reparation in my
power, it is ungenerous that you should--"
Again a knock interrupted him.
"Come in!" he called, recklessly.
The door opened and Archibald Rushford entered. He closed the door
carefully behind him and advanced to the middle of the room.
Vernon started forward.
"Why, how are you, Mr. Rushford?" he began, with outstretched hand. "I'm
very glad to see you."
"Oh, you are?" inquired the American, keeping his own hands firmly
behind his back. "I suppose _you're_ glad to see me, too?" he added,
turning to the Prince.
"I know of no reason why I should avoid you," returned the Prince,
proudly.
"Perhaps not," assented Rushford, drily. "The standards of gentlemanly
conduct seem to be different in the Old World and in the New. I'm glad,
however, that I've caught you two together. I suppose that little farce
of pretended illness was played only for the benefit of outsiders!"
"I assure you, Mr. Rushford," began Vernon quickly, but the American
stopped him with a gesture.
"I don't care to hear," he said. "I care nothing for your two-by-four
conspiracies and intrigues. But, I repeat, I'm glad I caught both of you
together. It enables me to tell, in the same breath, what I think of
both of you, and I am very anxious to tell you, fully and completely,
for I suppose you have been surrounded all your lives by toadies who
were afraid to tell you the truth about yourselves, or who were so like
you that they couldn't see the truth--products of the same code of
morals--a code truly European! In a word, then, I think you are both
blackguards--blackguards of the most nasty and contemptible kind--the
kind that preys upon women! I may add that you have deeply shaken my
faith in human nature, for, to look at you, one would mistake you for
gentlemen!"
The words were uttered quietly, evenly, deliberately; each one given its
full value. There was a certain dignity in Rushford's aspect which made
interruption impossible; but neither man offered to interrupt. The
Prince was biting his lips desperately; Vernon turned red and white and
red again in evident amazement.
"And having said this," concluded the American, "as emphatically as
possible, I will very gladly leave you to yourselves."
"Oh, no, you won't!" cried Vernon, fiercely, in a voice hoarse with
emotion. "I, at least, demand an explanation."
"An explanation?" and Rushford laughed, a little mocking laugh. "Can't
your conscience give you an explanation? Or is it too deadened to do
that?"