9b: We Play the King

HERE Kneller came in, to say that Sully was needed to deal with some matter of State, but he would not go until he had seen Bell and Rowley and had thanked them in the name of the country for what they had done.

Kneller was very civil, but seemed very much relieved to learn that we were leaving the country without delay.

“It was highly irregular,” he said, tugging his heavy moustache. “I never thought to subscribe to such goings on. I am for rules and precedents, and you---you have driven a coach and six through the lot.”

“True enough, sir,” said George. “But at a critical moment you took the reins.”

For the first time I saw the man smile. Then, as though to correct such a lapse, he put up his eye-glass and drew his brows into a frown.

“I trust,” he said roughly, “I trust your men are discreet.”

“They are ex-soldiers, sir,” said George.

Kneller nodded approvingly, and, the moment seeming propitious, we took our leave.

Our parting with Grimm was less simple.

The old sergeant-footman was at a loss for words, and, now that the strain was over, our recent, curious relation troubled him as never before. He begged us to forgive him if he had seemed disrespectful and thanked us a thousand times for making his path so smooth, and at last, to our great distress, he began to weep, declaring that his master ‘now in heaven’ would remember our devotion and would intercede with St. Peter in our behalf.

Then nothing would do but we must enter the bedroom and view the dead Prince, “for,” said he, “it was you, sirs, that brought him his peace at the last. On Saturday morning I gave him to understand that four strong men had been sent to see justice done, and thereafter he fretted no more.”

So once again that day we looked upon the face of the Prince, whose livery we had been wearing, whose name we had never heard a fortnight before.

Then for the last time we used the passage, and thirty minutes later we were back in our flat.

Once there, we wasted no time.

A car was procured, and Rowley left with the detective to fetch the Rolls. We had no sooner bathed and changed than they were back, and, before the clocks had struck two, our baggage was at the station and we were over the border and were taking the Salzburg road.

I think it was natural that the next three days should hang most dull and heavy upon our souls.

Indeed, to me life seemed to have snapped off short, and, when I awoke on Monday, to find myself at Salzburg and to see the dormers of the houses against our old inn, for a moment the waters of dejection passed over my head.

The Grand Duchess apart, the burden of the last ten days had been so strange and brilliant that our simple habits of fishing sequestered streamlets and proving the countryside seemed to us jailbirds’ portion and our very freedom a prison into which we had been suddenly cast.

But for George Hanbury, I think that I should have done nothing but wander the streets of Salzburg, wrapped in melancholy and staring at every clock, but, though we came nearer to a quarrel than ever before, he insisted that we should go fishing and put our minds to the business of finding unmapped waters and beguiling suspicious trout. Whilst I was still protesting, he called for Bell and Rowley and bade them have the Rolls ready in half an hour, and, ere they were gone, began to go over our tackle as though some throne were depending upon whether we caught any fish.

So we went forth that Monday, as though Vigil was a phantom city and all our late adventure a lively dream; and, though for the first few hours our occupation seemed hollow and our surroundings strange, the sights and sounds of the country soon came to refresh our senses and our simple pastime in some sort to fill the blank.

For all that, I cannot pretend that, after the business of king-making, the tempting of sprightly fishes was anything but very small beer, and, while it was honest medicine and did us a world of good, the hours went by very slowly and life seemed uneventful and monstrous smooth.

We did not speak of my lady, for, for my part, my heart was too full, and George had no comfort to offer that was not cold: but I fancy he thought of her often, and I know that never for one instant was she out of my mind.

The future appalled me.

Prince Paul’s jealousy apart, no fellowship was to be thought of, if only because I could not stand it---and that was the simple truth.

I would build her the house I had promised, but not whilst she lay at Littai, three miles away. I would see her, if this could be compassed, from time to time. But bear her company I dared not.

Yet my world without her was bleak as a winter’s day, and I knew that only her presence would ever lighten the darkness in which I was now to dwell.

So much for myself.

Of what lay before my darling I scarcely could bear to think. I was at least a free man. I need take no wife to my wounding, to mimic her manners. But she---she was to go in marriage to a man as vile of body as he was vile of soul.

The shocking thought that by my interference I had not only bound her more straitly to this her unhappy fate, but had bruised her heart, which, but perhaps for my coming, might have been always whole, sent me half out of my mind. At such times, cowardly enough, I fled back to my own misfortune, to scourge myself with the terror of my long drive back from Elsa and of taking up the thread of a life which had been very happy and was now to be very sad.

Shakespeare has said somewhere that ‘men have died and worms have eaten them---but not for love’: and, though I am a child in such matters, I cannot doubt that he is right. Even in those three days I never doubted it. But, though I was not to die, Leonie, Grand Duchess of Riechtenburg, was a maid whom once a man had laid eyes on he never forgot.

At eleven o’clock on Wednesday I brought the Rolls to rest at the spot where, six nights before, we had looked out the way to Cromlec and on to Vogue.

Only Bell was with me, and I think he knew as well as I did that I was to meet the Grand Duchess---and take my leave.

The night was superb. A fine moon was sailing low down in a cloudless sky, and the breeze which had risen to temper the heat of the day had sunk to rest. Not a breath stirred the leaves of the chestnuts which hereabouts grew very thick and threw all the road into shadow for half a mile.

I was glad of this darkness and bade Bell put out the lights, and so sat thinking and smoking until it seemed to me that my pipe had gone out.

The silence was absolute, and when an owl cried from some thicket, his lusty sentence had the world to itself.

So for some fifty minutes. Then I heard a car, coming from Elsa, a little way off.

At once I turned on our side lights and stepped down into the road, but, though I expected every instant the lights of the other to appear, I saw no sign of them, and, when I listened again, I could hear the engine no more.

Now I was sure of my place, so I bade Bell stay where he was and strolled down the road towards Elsa, with my ears pricked and my eyes searching the darkness for any sign of approach.

I had meant to walk to the bend round which I had been waiting for the lights of the car to appear, and I had gone nearly so far, when I saw the Grand Duchess before me in the midst of the way.

“I walked on,” she said simply. “I told the chauffeur to follow in a quarter of an hour.”

As once before, I was speechless, but I put her hand to my lips.

“We were very lucky,” said I. “And Kneller----”

“Who gave him his lead? Whose courage stung him to action for very shame?”

“We will not argue it,” said I. “You were always out of my reach, and I have set a gulf between us which can never be bridged.” I let her go there and covered my eyes. “I deserve no better. That night, here, where we are standing, Fate played clean into my hands, and I was so gallant and cunning that I could not see my fortune, but threw it away.”

“Richard, it would have been no fortune to take a renegade wife.”

“Not if she was to be unhappy. But, any way, the thing is done.” I stood up and drew a deep breath. “We were to build your lodge. If you will send word to Jameson, I should like to begin at once. All of us need distraction, and---and it will help me to try to set up your home.”

In the distance an engine was started. Then a car began to approach.

As in a dream, I began to walk by her side, not looking where I was going, but staring at the fingers that lay on my sleeve.

“Sully and Marya are here. They have come to say ‘Good-bye’ and to wish us good luck. And then will you drive me to Littai? My great-aunt is there. And to-morrow perhaps you and Mr. Hanbury will come to stay. And if you do not mind a poor lodging and if you can---can stand me as your neighbour for two or three weeks . . .”

What else she said I do not know and of the meeting which followed I have no clear recollection, save that Marya Dresden was weeping and Sully was deeply moved. But they were both very cordial and spoke most handsomely.

And then we were in the Rolls and were driving for Littai as we had driven for Anger a week before.

+++

There is little more to be told.

Though my marriage must end our alliance, that finest of friends, George Hanbury, rejoiced with me. Indeed, my splendid fortune might have been his, so gay and debonair was his company and so gracious and lively his wit.

Beneath his blithe direction the rebuilding of the lodge became a festive business. The work was after our heart, and Bell and Rowley took to the enterprise, as children let out of school.

Six weeks we played with our toy---and Sully came twice to see us and Marya Dresden three times. Then we set our faces to England, and the future and all that it held.

My lady we left in Paris, to follow in ten days’ time, and so came back to Maintenance as we had gone. This on a beautiful evening, just as the rooks were homing and adding to the peace of sundown by their ancient and comfortable cries.

Of my parting with George I find it most hard to write.

It had always been agreed between us that he that should first marry should take the place; there was, therefore, no argument, but it shook me to see the packing and disposal of George’s things.

He had made up his mind, however, to live in Town, and so was content to leave some stuff and his hunters and, after a struggle, to promise to hunt from no other house. This meant that we should constantly see him for some five months of the year, and I do not believe a man’s word was ever more gladly given or more joyfully received.

And so it happens that we sit down to dinner as often three as two and that Bell and his old companion still clean our tops together and share their memories.

Our life is quiet and simple, for that is the life we love, and the tumult of those wild ten days seems to us to grow more monstrous with the passing of time. This, I think, is natural; for from first to last we were fighting a losing battle and the hopelessness of our venture rode, like a hag, upon our nerves---yet, but for our holding on, Leonie Chandos would never have graced our table or ridden to hounds in the English countryside.

When I think of this, I fall silent, as well I may, and the scenes of our great endeavour take on a significance so dreadful that I strive to put them out of my mind. Sometimes they will not be denied, but gape upon me, like the Psalmist’s bulls of Basan, until, one after another, I look them down.

I hear the slam of the tempest upon the Rolls and the shocking roar of Grieg’s pistol behind my back: I see Barabbas looming in the twilight and the bailiff’s sinister figure on the bench by the door; I smell the choking reek of The Square of Carpet, and I hear the clatter of the shutter which George let fall; I see the quiet Lessing Strasse and the faces of the policemen beside me and the second car storming towards us with open doors: I see the royal apartments and young Grimm watching the telltale, and I hear the sentries spring to attention a foot away: I see the Grand Duchess in the wardrobe and us all, like sheep before the shearer, dumb before the doom of her words, and I see Johann lolling and smiling and the desperate, hunted look upon Sully’s face. . . .

As I review these matters, so surely they lose their sting and come to seem no more than the clouds which gather to wait the rising sun: and, to be honest, if I were given the chance of wiping them out of my memory, I know in my heart that I would not let them go.

THE END