Mrs. Fitz Part 19

The five of us were left staring after him through the open door of the drawing-room. It was the Chief Constable who broke the silence.

"What's his game now?"

"He appears to be engaged in convincing a woman against her will," said I. "Were you able to follow the conversation?"

"Not altogether. He appears to have made up his mind that Madame shall do something, and Madame appears to have made up hers that she won't.

But exactly what it is, I can't say. I don't mind betting a s.h.i.+lling, all the same, that the d.a.m.ned fellow will get his way. Upon my word I have never seen his equal!"

The Chief Constable laughed in a hollow voice, and removed another bead of honest perspiration from his countenance.

Fitz's departure with the Countess marked the renewal of our suspense.

Here were the five of us landed indefinitely, biting our thumbs. The situation was rather absurd. Five law-abiding Englishmen a.s.sembled with fell intent in a private house, yet knowing very little of the business they had on hand. Each had made his way by stealth, and under false pretences, into the very heart of the place. In this comfortable drawing-room we had no _locus standi_ at all. To all in the establishment we were total strangers, and to us they were equally strange. Would Fitz never return? Would the call to action never be made? A man with a high forehead and the look of an official came to the threshold of the room, looked in upon us pensively, and then went away again. Two minutes later a second individual repeated the performance. Doubtless we were five strange and unexpected birds--but the whole business was beginning to be ridiculous.

I looked at my watch. It was twenty-five minutes past ten. Then the undefeated O'Mulligan sat down at the piano and began to play the latest masterpiece in vogue at the Tivoli. The strains of his searching melody had the effect of bringing to us another servant with a further supply of coffee.

"Can you tell me if the Amba.s.sador is dining out to-night?" I said to the servant.

"Yes, sir," said the man who was English. "At Buckingham Palace, but he will be home before eleven."

"Is the Crown Princess dining there also?"

"No, sir, I believe not."

"She is in the suite of rooms on the next floor?" I said carelessly.

"Yes, sir."

When the man had withdrawn I was congratulated.

"Well done, you!" said Coverdale. "Useful information."

"I wonder if Fitz knows as much," said I.

"Of course he does. The infernal fellow has thought this thing out pretty well. He knows the game he's playing."

This was rea.s.suring from one whose habit was averse from optimism.

Inspired with the knowledge that his Excellency was dining at Buckingham Palace, Alexander O'Mulligan began to pound away more heartily than ever upon the upright grand.

"Give your imitation of church bells and a barrel organ, Alec," said a humble admirer, insinuating a trifle more ease into his bearing.

"Do you think they will mind if we smoke here?" said Bra.s.set, plaintively. "I am dying for a cigarette."

However, before the Master of the Crackanthorpe could have recourse to this aid to his existence, Fitz returned. He was alone, and he was peremptory.

"What an infernal din you fellows kick up!" He fixed his daemonic gaze upon the amateur middle-weight champion. "Leave that piano and come and be presented to my wife."

At last we were coming to the horses. There was a perceptible squaring of shoulders and a shooting of cuffs, and then Fitz led the way out of the room, followed by Coverdale and the rest of us in review order. We were conducted up another marble staircase and along a lengthy corridor, through a succession of reception-rooms, until at last we found ourselves in an apartment larger and more ornate than all the others. Its sombre richness was truly imposing. Pictures, tapestry, candelabra, carpets and furniture all combined to give it the air of a state chamber.

Three ladies were seated at the far end of this magnificent room. One was the fair musician upon whom Fitz had imposed his will; another was a mature and stately dame, with snow-white hair and patrician features; and the third, reclining upon a chair with a high gilt back, was the "Stormy Petrel," the Crown Princess of Illyria.

As soon as we came into the room the two other ladies rose, leaving the Princess seated in state. Fitz presented each of us with all the formality that the most sensitive royalty could have desired. His manner of recommending us to her Royal Highness was dignified, authoritative and not without grace. As far as we were concerned, I hope our bearing was not lacking in the necessary punctilio.

Hitherto it had been our privilege to see Mrs. Fitz out hunting in her famous scarlet coat, when to be sure she had been the centre of much critical observation. But at such times the princess was merged in the brilliant horsewoman; and it goes to prove how easily "the real thing"

may pa.s.s for the mere audacity of the intrepid adventuress, if one comes to consider that the bearing of "the circus rider from Vienna"

awoke no suspicions in respect of her status.

It would be easy to indulge in a page of reflection upon the subject of Mrs. Fitz. Her style was quite as p.r.o.nounced in the saddle as it was in the salon, but the experts in that elusive quality had failed, as they do occasionally, to appreciate its authenticity. Doubtless they would have failed again to render the genuine thing its meed, had we not the a.s.surance of Fitz that we were in the presence of the heiress to the oldest monarchy in Europe.

It is time I attempted to describe this n.o.ble creature. But it is vain to seek to portray a great work of nature. Above all else I think she must be regarded as that. She was prodigal in beauty; imperious in the vividness of her challenge; splendid in the arresting candour of her dark and disdainful eyes. There was a compelling power before which the world of men and things was p.r.o.ne to yield; but there was pathos too in that valiant self-security, which knew so little yet exacted so much; and beyond all else there was the immemorial fascination of a luckless, intensely sentient being, who seemed in her own person to be the epitome of an entire s.e.x at the dawn of the twentieth century.

One by one we paid our homage, and it was not rendered less by the romance of the circ.u.mstances.

"You are brave men!" she said in a voice wonderfully low and clear in quality. "We Sveltkes have known always how to esteem men of courage."

Coverdale, as the doyen of the party, took upon himself to speak for us. He held himself erect and bowed much too stiffly to pa.s.s muster as a courtier. But he had a kind of plain, almost rough, sincerity which atoned a little for his resolute absence of grace.

"If we are to have the privilege, ma'am," said the Chief Constable, "of making ourselves useful, I am sure we shall all feel very proud and honoured."

There is often something rather charming in a plain man's attempt at the ornate. So honourable an awkwardness caused the eyes of her Royal Highness to glow with humour and kindliness.

"_Mais oui, mon cher_, I know it well, _les Anglais sont des hommes honnetes_." Suddenly she laughed quite charmingly, and enfolded the six of us in a glance of the highest benevolence, with which, doubtless, her favourite dogs and horses had often been indulged. "Do you know, there is something in _les Anglais_ that I like much. Quiet fellows, eh, always a little _bete_, but so--so trustworthy. Yes, I like them much."

There was something soft and quaint and entirely captivating in the accent of her Royal Highness. The smile in her eyes was frankness itself.

"I hope, ma'am," said the Chief Constable, still labouring valiantly with his politeness, "that we shall deserve praise."

The Princess continued to smile. A very characteristic smile it was.

A little girl admiring her array of dolls, or old Frederick of Prussia reviewing his regiment of giants, might have been expected to indulge in a very similar gesture. We were honest Englishmen, quiet fellows, a little _bete_, who were always to be trusted; and her _navete_ was such, that it was bound to inform us of these facts.

"You must know my ladies. They will like to know you, I am sure."

The elder was the Margravine of Lesser Grabia; the fair admirer of Strauss the Countess Etta von Zweidelheim. The bows were profound; and not for a moment did the look of high indulgence quit the face of her Royal Highness.

"The Margravine is a dear good creature, Colonel Coverdale. Many times she has helped me when I could not do my sums. I never could do sums, because I always thought they were stupid. But she is such a kind, faithful soul, my dear Colonel, and not at all stupid, like the sums she used to set me. As for her cooking, it is excellent. If you are not otherwise engaged, my dear Colonel, I should recommend you to marry her."

The younger section of her Royal Highness's bodyguard, Bra.s.set, Jodey and O'Mulligan, gave ground abruptly. The amateur middle-weight champion of Great Britain nearly disgraced us all by choking audibly.

But really the expression of blank dismay upon the weather-beaten countenance of the Chief Constable was stupendous. However, his presence of mind and his courtier-like politeness did not for a moment desert him.

"Delighted, I'm sure," he murmured.

"I feel sure, a man so brave as Colonel Coverdale has a good wife already," said the lady of the patrician features, speaking excellent English with great amiability.

A further development of this alluring topic was precluded by the entrance of a fourth lady into the room. She carried an opera cloak.

Clearly this was designed for the use of the Princess.'

Her Royal Highness, however, preferred to tarry. Fitz, hovering round her chair, found it hard to veil his impatience. Too plainly the delay, which was wanton and unnecessary, was setting his nerves on edge. His wife must have been conscious of it, since she patted his sleeve with an air at once soothing and maternal. Nevertheless she showed no haste to forgo the comfort of the room or the pleasure of the society in which she sat.