Red Masquerade - Louis Joseph Vance
"Let this be done," he concluded, "and by means of these few tins and
bottles which you see before you, in one brief hour the ruling classes will
have perished almost to a man, there will be no more government of a
tyrannical bourgeoisie to grind down the proletariat, a bloodless
revolution will have made England the cradle of the new liberty!"
"Bloodless?" the man on the dais repeated; and even he was seen perceptibly
to shudder at the prospect unfolded to the vision of his mind. "Yes--but
more terrible than the massacre of the Huguenots, more savage than the
French Revolution!"
"But I believe," the inventor commented, "your Excellency said we required
the means to deal a 'blow sudden, sharp, merciless--irresistible'."
"Surely now," the Irishman suggested, mockingly--where a wiser man would
have held his tongue--"you'll not be sticking at a small matter like
wholesale murder if it's to make us masters of England?"
"Of England?" the German echoed. "Herr Gott! Of the world!"
"And you, Excellency, our master," the inventor added, shrewdly.
A sign at once impatient and imperative demanded silence, and for a few
minutes it obtained unbroken, while the gathering, keyed to high tension,
studied closely the face of their leader and found it altogether illegible.
On his part he seemed forgetful of the existence of anybody but himself,
forgetful almost of himself as well: sitting low in his great chair, his
body as stirless as it were bound by some spell of black magic, his far
gaze probing unfathomable remotenesses of thought.
Slowly he recalled himself to his surroundings; with a suggestion of
weariness he sat up and reviewed the little company that hung so
breathlessly upon the issue of his judgment. The shadow of that satiric
smile returned.
"If the thing be feasible," he promised, "it shall be done. It remains for
Thirteen to be more explicit."
With an extravagant flourish the inventor whipped from his breastpocket a
folded paper, and spread it out face uppermost on the table.
"A map of London," he announced, "based on the latest Ordnance Survey and
coloured to show the districts supplied by the mains of each individual gas
depot. Thus you will observe"--what his long, bony finger indicated--"the
district supplied by the mains of the Westminster gas works, comprising
Buckingham Palace, the Houses of Parliament, the War Office, and the
Admiralty, Downing Street, the homes of hundreds of the aristocracy. All
these we can at will turn into the deadliest of death traps."
A tense voice interrupted with the demand: "How?"
"Quite easily, comrade: with the ramifications of our power throughout
London, all under the control of his Excellency"--the inventor bowed to
Number One--"it should be an easy matter to place a few trustworthy men
with the Westminster gas works."
"It can readily be done," Number One affirmed. "And then--?"
"While this is being done means must be found to smuggle other men, in the
guise of servants, into the various buildings selected, or to corrupt those
already so employed therein. At the designated hour--"
The words dried upon his lips as somewhere a hidden bell stabbed the quiet
with short, sharp thrills of sound, a code that spelled a message of
terrifying significance. The inventor started violently, but no more so
than every man about the table. Even Number One, shocked out of his
lounging pose, grasped the arms of his throne with convulsive hands.
Quietly and without a hint of hurry, the Chinese, Shaik Tsin, moved back
into the shadows and, unnoticed, disappeared behind a screen.
For a moment, when the bell had ceased, nobody spoke; but pallid face
consulted face and eyes grown wide with dread sought eyes that winced in
terror.
Then the Bengali leaped from his chair, jabbering with bloodless lips.
"Police! Raid! We are betrayed!"
He made an uncertain turn, as if thinking to seek safety in flight but
doubting which way to choose; and the movement struck panic into the minds
and hearts of his fellows. In a twinkling all were on their feet. But
before one could move a step the lamp in the ceiling winked out, the room
was left in darkness unrelieved, and the accents of Number One were heard,
coldly imperative.
"Gentlemen! be good enough to resume your places--let no one move before
there is light again. We are in no immediate danger: Shaik Tsin will show
you out by a secret way long before the police can hope to find and break
into this chamber. In the meantime--"
The infuriated voice of the Englishman interrupted:
"And 'oo're you to give us orders?--you 'oo talked so big about 'avin' tied
the 'ands of the Lone Wolf and Scotland Yard! You blarsted blow'ard! Bli'me
if I don't believe it's you 'oo--"
"Quietly, Seven! Have you forgotten you have a bad heart?--that excitement
may mean your sudden death?"
The rage of the Englishman ran out in a gasp and a whisper.
"In the meantime," Number One resumed as if there had been no break, "I
promised that, before the night was out, you should have proof of my
ability to enforce my will."
A groan of agony answered him, followed by an oath of witless fear. From a
distance the voice, now thin but still sonorous, added:
"Thirteen will hold himself ready to wait on me when I send for him
to-morrow. Gentlemen of the Council, I bow to you all."
Again silence held for a long minute during which no man stirred or spoke.
Then overhead the lamp burned bright again, discovering six frightened men
upon their feet and one who, still seated, did not stir, and never would
again.
His head fallen forward, chin resting on his chest, mouth ajar, inert arms
dangling over the arms of the chair, heavy legs lax, the Englishman sat
quite dead, dead without a sign to show how death had come to him.
Number One had disappeared.
There was a remote rumour of cries and shouts, the muffled sound of axes
crashing into woodwork....
IX
MRS. WARING
Late in the forenoon a pencil of golden light found a chink in jealously
drawn draperies, and groped the rich dusk of the bedchamber till it came to
rest, as if happy that its search had found so lovely a reward, upon the
face of a young girl who lay sleeping in a bed whose exquisite adornment
must have flattered even the exalted person of a princess.
With a swift but silent movement another girl, who had been sitting
patiently on a low stool near by, rose and put herself in the way of the
sunbeam. But too late: already long lashes were a-flutter upon the
delicately modelled cheeks of the sleeper.
A gentle sigh brushed parting lips; the sweet body stirred luxuriously;
unclouded by any shadow of misgiving, the blue eyes of the Princess Sofia
looked out upon the first day of her new world.
Then they grew wide with wonder, comprehending the sleek, pretty face of a
Chinese girl of about her own age who, with eyes downcast, demure mouth and
folded hands, submissively awaited recognition.
"Who are you?" Sofia demanded in a breath.
A bob of courtesy, wholly charming, prefaced a reply pattered in English
of quaintest accent:
"You' handmaiden--Chou Nu is my name."
"My handmaiden!"
"Les, Plincess Sofia."
"But I don't understand. How--when--?"
"Las' night Numbe' One he send for me, but when I come you go-sleep."
"Number One?"
Surprise coloured faintly the explanation: "Plince Victo', honol'ble fathe'
of Plincess Sofia. You like get up now, take bath, have blekfuss?"
The smile was irresistibly ingratiating: Sofia could not but return it.
Delighted, Chou Nu ran to the windows, threw wide their draperies, and
darted into the bathroom.
Autumnal sunlight kindled to burning beauty the golden-bronze tresses
coiled upon the pillows where Sofia lay unstirring, like a princess
enchanted--as indeed she was. Surely nothing less potent than magic had
wrought this metamorphosis in the fabric of her life! And whether the magic
were white or black--what matter? Its work was good.
No more the Cafe des Exiles, no more the deadly tedium of daily service at
the desk of the caisse, no more the shrewish tongue of Mama Therese, the
odious oglings of Papa Dupont, the ceaseless cark of discontent....
Incredible!
As one who moves in a dream, Sofia rose presently and bathed, then, robed
in a ravishing negligee of rare brocade, breakfasted on melon, tea, and
toast from a service of eggshell china.
In a long mirror she saw and watched but did not know herself. Like Goody
Twoshoes of nursery fame she could have cried: Lawkamercy! this is never I!
The presence of Chou Nu served merely to stress the sense of unreality:
for, obviously, only the heroine of a true fairy tale could have broken
from a chrysalis stage of sordid Soho to the brilliant butterfly existence
of a Russian princess domiciled in the most aristocratic quarter of London
and attended by a Chinese maid!
And Chou Nu proved a delight. Once satisfied she need fear neither
ill-temper nor arrogance from her new mistress, she indulged an even and
constant flow of artless high spirits, her amusing, clipped English
affording Sofia considerable entertainment together with not a little food
for thought.
Thus one learned that the main body of the service staff was Chinese under
a major domo named Shaik Tsin--Chou Nu's "second-uncle"--who enjoyed Prince
Victor's completest confidence and was, second to the latter only, the real
head of the establishment, its presiding genius. The front of the house
alone was dressed with a handful of English servants nominally under the
man Nogam, but actually, like him, answerable in the last instance to Shaik
Tsin.
Why this should be Chou Nu couldn't say. Sofia supposed it was because
Prince Victor thought his Occidental guests would feel more at ease with
English servants; or perhaps he himself preferred them, when it came to the
question of personal attendance.
No success rewarded efforts to extract from Chou Nu her reason for
referring to Victor as "Number One." She stated simply that all Chinamans
in London called him that; and being pressed further added, with as near an
approach to impatience as her gentle nature could muster, that it was
obviously because Plince Victo' _was_ Numbe' One: ev'-body knew _that_.
A knock at the door interrupted Sofia's questioning. Answering, Chou
brought back word that the honourable father of Princess Sofia submitted
his august felicitations and solicited the immediate favour of her serene
attendance in his study.
Hasty search failed to locate the garments discarded on going to bed and,
in the indifference of depression and fatigue, left in a tumble on the
floor. All had vanished while Sofia slept; Chou Nu professed blank
ignorance of their fate; and apparently nothing had been provided in their
stead but Chinese robes, of sumptuous vestments well suited to one of high
estate. With these, then, and with Chou Nu's guidance as to choice and
ceremonious arrangement, Sofia was obliged to make shift; and anything but
unbecoming she found them--or truly it was a shape of dream that looked
out from her mirror.
Yet it was with reluctant feet that she left her room, descended the broad
staircase to the entrance hall, and addressed herself to the study door. It
had been so beautiful, that waking dream the sequel to her night of
dreamless sleep, too beautiful to be foregone without regret.
For Sofia had not forgotten, she could never forget, she had merely been
successful temporarily in banishing from mind that bitter disillusionment
which had poisoned what should have been her time of greatest joy.
To be told, by the father of whose dear existence one had only learned
within the hour, that one was the child of a notorious thief and an
adventuress ...
It needed more than common fortitude to face renewed reminder of that
shame.
Oddly enough, it seemed to help a bit, somehow to lend her courage and
assurance, to pass the man Nogam in the hall and acknowledge his bow and
smile. Sofia wondered vaguely what it was that made his smile seem so kind;
it was entirely respectful, there was nothing more in it that she could fix
on; and yet ...
She was able to offer Victor a composed, almost a happy countenance, and to
return cheerful assurances to punctilious enquiries after her well-being
and her comfort overnight. To the real affection in which he held her, the
warmth of his embrace, and the lingering pressure of his lips gave
convincing testimony; and in time, no doubt, as she grew to know him
better, her response would become more spontaneous and true. Indeed, she
insisted, it must; she would school herself, if need be, to remember that
this strange man was the author of her being, the natural object of her
affections--deserving all her love if only because of that nobility which
had enabled him to renounce those evil ways of years long dead.
But to-day--and this, of course, she couldn't understand--a slight but
invincible shiver, perceptible to herself alone, attended her submission to
paternal caresses; and the eyes were too dispassionate with which she saw
Prince Victor. Still, they found little to which fair exception might be
taken. If Life had thus far been callously frank with Sofia as to its
broader aspects, the niceties of its technique remained measurably a
mystery, she was insufficiently instructed to perceive that Victor's
morning coat (for example) had been cut a shade too cleverly, or that the
ensemble of his raiment was a trace ornate; and where a mind more mondain
would have marked ponderable constraint in his manner, she saw only dignity
and reserve. But for all that she recognized intuitively a lack of
something in the man, the sum of this second impression of him was formless
disappointment, she felt somehow cheated, disheartened, chilled.
That she was able at all to dissemble this sense of dashed expectations
was thanks in the main to a third party, a stranger whose presence she
overlooked on entering, when Prince Victor met her near the door, while the
other remained aside, half hidden in the recess of a window.
Directly, however, that Victor half turned away, saying "I have found a
friend for you, my dear," Sofia, following his glance, discovered a woman
whose every detail of dress and deportment was unmistakably of the
fashionable world and whose face carried souvenirs of loveliness as
unmistakable.
Smiling and offering her hands, she approached, while Victor's voice of
heavy modulations uttered formally:
"Sybil, permit me to present my daughter. Sofia, Mrs. Waring has graciously
offered to sponsor your introduction to Society, to guide and instruct you
and be in every way your mentor."
"My dear!" the woman exclaimed, holding Sofia's hands and kissing her
cheek. And then, looking aside to Victor, "But how very like!" she added
with the air of tender reminiscence.
"Oh!" Sofia cried, "you knew my mother?"
"Indeed--and loved her." Sofia never dreamed to question the woman's
sincerity; and her charm of manner was irresistible. "You must try to like
me a little for her sake--"
"As if one could help liking you for your own, Mrs. Waring!"
"Prettily said, my dear. You have inherited more from your mother than
your good looks alone. Is it not so, mon prince?"
"Much more." Victor's enigmatic smile gave place to a look of regret and
uneasiness. "Let us hope, however, not too much. Heredity," he mused in
sombre mood, "is a force of such fatality in our lives...."
He gave a gesture of solicitude and continued with characteristic
deliberation, and that preciseness of diction which he seemed never able to
forget, even though deeply moved.
"More than ever, now that Sofia is restored to me, I could wish the past
other than what it was, that she might start life with a handicap less
cruel of inherited tendencies. But when I reflect that both her parents--"
"Please!" Sofia begged, piteous. "Oh, please!"
"I am sorry, my dear." Victor closed tender hands over those which the girl
had lifted in appeal. "It is for your own good only I give myself this pain
of warning you against your worst enemy, I mean yourself, the self that is
so strange a compound of hereditary weaknesses.... Please remember always
that, no matter what may happen, however far you may be led into
transgression of the social codes, I shall never reproach you, on the
contrary, you may count implicitly on my sympathetic understanding. Never
forget, I, too, have known, have suffered and fought myself--and in the end
won at a cost I am not yet finished paying, nor will be, I fear, this side
my grave."
He sighed from his heart, and bowing a stricken head, seemed to lose
himself in disconsolate reverie--but not so far as to suffer the
interruption which Sofia made to offer and which he stayed with an eloquent
hand.
"You do not understand? But naturally. Let me explain. No: there is no
reason why Sybil--Mrs. Waring--should not hear. She is a dear friend of
long years, she understands."
With a quiet murmur--"Oh, quite!"--Mrs. Waring ran an affectionate arm
round Sofia's shoulders and gently held the girl to her.
"When I determined to forsake the bad old ways," Victor pursued--"this you
must know, my dear--I had friends--of a sort--who resented my defection,
set themselves against my will and, when they found they could not swerve
me from my purpose, became my enemies. That was long ago, but to this day
some of them persist in their enmity--I have to be constantly on my guard."
"You mean there is danger?" Sofia asked in quick anxiety. "Your life--?"
"Always," Victor assented, gravely. With a shrug he added: "It is nothing;
for myself, I am used to it, I do not greatly care. But for you--that is
another matter altogether. I have a great fear for you, my child. That,
indeed, is why I never tried to find you till yesterday--believing, as I
mistakenly did, you were in good hands, well cared for, happy--lest my
enemies seek to strike at me through you. But when I saw that unfortunate
advertisement I dared delay not another hour about bringing you within the
compass of my protection. Even now, untiring as my care for you shall ever
be, I know my enemies will be as tireless in endeavours to rob me of you.
You will be followed, hounded, importuned, lied to, threatened--all without
rest. If they cannot take you from me bodily, they will seek to poison your
mind against me. Therefore, rather than keep you practically a prisoner in
your home, I feel obliged to require a promise of you."
Deeply stirred by the melancholy gravity that informed his pose, the girl
protested earnestly: "Anything--I will promise anything, rather than be an
anxiety to one who is so kind."
"Kind? To my own daughter?" Victor smiled sadly. "But I love you, little
Sofia. Nor is it much that I must ask of you: merely that you never go out
alone, but only in the company of Mrs. Waring or Mr. Karslake or,
preferably, both."
"Oh, I promise that--"
"But there is more: If by any accident you should ever find yourself left
alone in public, do not let strangers speak to you, refuse to listen to
them."
"I promise."
"And finally: If anybody should ever seek to turn you against me, come to
me instantly and tell me about it."
"But naturally I would do that, father."
"Good. I rely upon your discretion and loyalty. At another time I will
explain matters in more detail. For the present--enough of an unpleasant
subject. You have a busy day before you. At my request Mrs. Waring has
arranged to have various tradespeople wait upon you this morning to take
your orders for the beginnings of a wardrobe. If you can find something
ready-made to wear you will want, no doubt, to spend the afternoon
shopping. A car will be at your disposal, and I give you carte blanche. I
wish you never to know an unsatisfied need or desire. Still, I am selfish
enough to reserve for myself the happiness of selecting your jewels."
"Oh!" Sofia cried, breathlessly. Victor was holding his arms open; and how
should she deny him? "You are too good to me," she murmured. "How can I
ever show my gratitude?"
Holding her close, Victor smiled a singular smile.
"Some day I may tell you. But to-day--no more. I am much preoccupied with
affairs; but Mrs. Waring will take care of you till evening, when I promise
myself the pleasure of dining with you both."
At the sound of a knock he put Sofia gently from him, and said in a strong
voice:
"Enter."
The door opened, Nogam announced:
"Mr. Sturm."
Hard on the echo of his name a man swung into the room with an air at once
nervous and aggressive--a tall man shabbily dressed, holding his head
high--and at sight of Sofia and Mrs. Waring, where he had doubtless thought
to find Prince Victor alone, stopped short, betraying disconcertion in the
way he instinctively assumed the stand of a soldier at attention, bringing
his heels together with an undeniable click, straightening his shoulders,
stiffening both arms to rigidity at his sides. And for a bare thought his
eyes rolled almost wildly in their deep sockets. Then he bowed twice, from
the hips, with mechanical precision, profoundly to Victor, with deep
respect to the women.
Victor smothered an exclamation of annoyance.
Unbidden, a word shaped in Sofia's consciousness, a French monosyllable
into which the war had packed every shade and gradation of hatred and
contempt, the epithet _Boche_.
Immediately erasing every sign of irritation, Victor greeted the man with
casual suavity. "Oh, there you are, eh, Sturm?" Then, as Sofia and Mrs.
Waring turned to go, he added quickly: "A moment, please. Since Mr. Sturm
to-day becomes a member of the household, acting as my assistant in some
research work which I am undertaking, I may as well present him now. Mrs.
Waring, permit me: Mr. Sturm. And the Princess Sofia Vassilyevski, my
daughter ..."
Mumbling their names after Victor, the man Sturm executed two more bows. At
the same time he seemed to remind himself that his soldierly carriage was
perhaps injudicious, and forthwith abandoned it for a studied slouch which,
in Sofia's sight, was little less than insolent. And unmistakably there was
something nearly resembling insolence in the eyes that boldly sought hers:
a look equivocal at best and, intentionally or no, wholly offensive in
essence; as if the fellow were asserting their partnership in some secret
understanding; or as if he knew something by no means to Sofia's credit....
Her acknowledgment of his salute was accordingly cool, and she was glad
when a nod from Prince Victor gave her leave to go.
X
VICTOR ET AL
Those first few weeks of emancipation from the ennui of existence at the
Cafe des Exiles were so replete with wonders that Sofia lived largely in a
beatific state of breathless excitement, devoting the best part of her days
to thoughtless flying from delight to new delight, and going nightly to her
bed so healthily tired that she slept like a top and never once awakened to
memories of disturbing dreams.
Perhaps her pleasure burned the brighter for its dark, ambiguous
background--those many questions which Prince Victor persisted in leaving
unanswered. Sofia knew bad times of perplexity and depression, when the
price of translation from drudge to princess seemed a sore price to pay.
And yet, required to state the cost to her in terms explicit, she must have
hesitated lest she appear ungrateful in complaining, who hardly needed to
express a wish to have it granted, who indeed knew many a wish realized in
fact before she was fully aware of its inception in her private thoughts.
All those lovely material things of life which her famished girlhood had
ached for so hopelessly now were hers in abundant measure, and all the less
tangible things, too, so requisite to the happiness of women in a worldly
world--or nearly all. Frocks she had, with furs and furbelows no end;
flowers and flattery and frivolities; freedom within limitations as yet not
irksome; jewels that would have graced an imperial diadem--everything but
the single essential without which everything is hollow nothing and life
itself only the dreaming of a dream.
The one lack known to the Sofia of those days was the lack of Love.
She had gone so long longing to love, questing blindly and vainly for some
human being to whom her affection would mean something vital and dear--it
seemed cruel that her longing must be still denied. As it had been with
Mama Therese, it was now with the romantic father so newly self-declared.
She wanted desperately and tried her best to love Victor as his daughter
should; and that he cared for her profoundly she knew and never questioned;
yet when she searched her secret heart Sofia discovered no feeling for the
man other than a singular form of fear. His look, his tone, his manner, his
presence altogether, inspired a nameless sort of shrinking, inarticulate
apprehensions, and mistrust which the girl found at once utterly
unaccountable and dismally disappointing; so that, with every wish and will
to do otherwise, she found herself involuntarily making excuse of trivial
interests to keep out of Victor's way and, when there was no escaping,
sitting silent and ill at ease in his society, or seizing on some slender
pretext, it didn't matter what, to inveigle into their company a third
somebody, it didn't matter whom--Mrs. Waring, Karslake, even the
unspeakable Sturm.