Mrs. Fitz Part 41

The star of my destiny was rising to the heights of the tragedy queen.

"If you would only make the effort to understand, my child," I said patiently, "what is implied in your own admission that there is something in being a king, after all!"

"You are insanely jealous. He is a perfect dear, and he is old enough to be one's grandfather."

For once, however, I was adamant. Together we ascended the stairs; together we entered her ladys.h.i.+p's chamber. There was not adequate accommodation for the two of us. The best rooms had been placed at the disposal of Fitz and his wife, and of the King and his Chancellor.

Leading out of this apartment, however, was a small dressing-room with a sofa in it. I opened the door and, as I did so, delivered my final ultimatum.

"Irene, you will either do as you are asked, else I spend the rest of the night in there."

"Pray do as, you choose." Mrs. Arbuthnot was pale with indignation.

"But I shall not lock the door."

"So be it."

Leaving the door of the dressing-room slightly ajar, I lay down on the sofa just as I was, and composed myself for slumber as well as an entirely ridiculous situation would permit. Precisely how it had come about it was hard to determine, but I was prepared to inflict upon my overwrought self, for the events of that long day had been many and remarkable, a still further amount of bodily discomfort. But Fitz's hint had overthrown a married man, a father of a family, and a county member, whatever the sense of humour had to say about it all.

In the process of time I forgot sufficiently the dull tumult of my brain and the throbbing of my arm for my jaded nerves to be lulled into an uneasy doze. How long I had been oblivious of my surroundings I do not know, but quite suddenly a cry seemed to break in upon my senses.

I awoke with a start.

The room was in total darkness save for a thread of light which came through the partially open door of the adjoining chamber. But sounds and a voice proceeded from it.

I rose from my sofa and listened at the threshold.

"Little milady, little Irene."

The pleading accents were familiar, and paternal. I pushed open the door and entered the room. A distracted vision with streaming hair and in a white nightgown was sitting up in bed; while candle in hand a magnificent figure in a blue silk Oriental robe over a brilliant yellow sleeping-suit was confronting her.

"Little milady. Little Irene."

I fumbled for the k.n.o.b of the electric light, found it and turned it up.

I was face to face with a subtle and smiling visage. There was astonishment in it, it is true, but it was also full of humour and benevolence.

"Why, my friend," said Ferdinand the Twelfth in his most paternal manner, "pray what are _you_ doing here?"

I confess that I could find no answer to the royal inquiry.

In the circ.u.mstances it was not easy to know what reply to make.

Indeed so completely was I taken aback that I could not find a word to say. Coolly enough the King stood regarding me with that bland and subtle countenance. But as those smiling eyes measured me they gave me "to think." I carried one arm in a sling, I was without a weapon, and the Father of his People was a man of exceptional physical power.

As a measure of precaution, I reached pensively for the poker.

A transitory gleam flitted across the King's face, but the royal countenance was still urbane.

"Madame should have locked her door," he said, with an air of humorous reproach. "Dat is a good custom we haf in Illyria."

"Your Majesty must forgive us," said I, without permitting my glance to stray towards the half-terrified vision that was so near to me, "if we appear _bourgeois_. The fact is, we are not so familiar as we should like to be with the usages of the great world."

The King laughed heartily.

"There is nothing to forgive, my good friend," he said with an air of splendid magnanimity. "But Madame should certainly have locked her door. However, let us not bear malice."

With a superbly graceful gesture, in which the paternal and the humorous were delightfully mingled, the King withdrew.

Horror and incredulity contended in the eyes of Mrs. Arbuthnot. But I did not think well to spare her the reverberation of my triumph.

"There is something in being a king, after all, _mon enfant_."

Mrs. Arbuthnot was only able to gasp.

"Do not let us blame him; he is the Father of his People. But apparently it would seem that that which may be _bourgeois_ in the eyes of the matrons of the Crackanthorpe Hunt is really the highest breeding in Illyria."

Thereupon I laid down the poker as pensively as I had taken it up, sought to compose the star of my destiny, who was beginning to weep softly, and bade her good morning.

Outside the door I lingered a moment to hear the key click in the lock in the most unmistakable manner.

With the aid of a candle I made my way to my temporary quarters over the stables. The hour was a quarter to five. Little time was left for further repose, but it was used to such advantage that it was not without difficulty that my servant was able to rouse me at a quarter to eight. By the time I was putting the finis.h.i.+ng touches to my toilet I was informed that Count Zhygny was below, inspecting the horses.

Count Zhygny, to give our ill.u.s.trious guest his _nom de guerre_, which, like nearly all Illyrian proper names, it is well not to attempt to p.r.o.nounce as it is spelt, was stroking the fetlocks of Daydream with an air of knowingness when I joined him. Dressed in a suit of tweeds and a green felt hat, he looked the picture of restless energy. Seen in the light of day he was far older than he had appeared the previous night. Hollows were revealed in his cheeks, and there were pouches under his eyes. His hands shook and his brow had many lines, but every one of his many inches was instinct with a natural force.

His greeting was frank and hearty and as cordial as you please. There was not a trace of resentment or embarra.s.sment. But, from the manly ease of his bearing, it was abundantly clear that the king could do no wrong.

He linked his arm through mine, and together we strolled in to breakfast. At the sideboard I helped him to bacon and tomatoes, and Mrs. Arbuthnot gave him coffee.

The manner of "little milady" was perhaps a thought constrained when she received his Majesty's matutinal greeting. To encourage her he pinched her ear playfully.

Mrs. Fitz did not grace this movable feast, and Fitz and the Chancellor were rather late.

"You have taken a long time over your devotions, Schalk," said the King. "I am glad it does not cost me these pains to keep on good terms with heaven."

"I also, sir," said Schalk drily.

"I see you have the English _Times_ there, Schalk. What is the news this morning?"

The Chancellor adjusted a pair of gold pince-nez and began to read aloud from that organ of opinion.

"'Blaenau, Wednesday evening. The Illyrian Land Bill was read a second time in the House of Deputies this afternoon.'"

"Ha, that is important," said the King, laughing. "What a well-informed journal is the English _Times_! Do you approve of the Illyrian Land Bill, Schalk?"

"Since I had the honour of drafting it, sir, to your dictation, I cannot do less than endorse it."

"And read a second time already, says the English _Times_, in the House of Deputies. I always say they have some of the best minds of the kingdom in the Lower House."

"Trust them to know what is good for themselves," said Schalk sourly.

It was tolerably clear, from the Chancellor's manner, that his royal master was enjoying a little private baiting.