Books: The Puppet Crown
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Harold MacGrath >> The Puppet Crown
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"Your father nourished a particular rancor against the late duke."
"And justly, you will admit."
"Her Highness has offered you five millions for slips of paper
worth no more than the ink which decorates them."
"And I have refused. Why? Simply because the matter does not
rest with me. You have proceeded with a high hand, Madame, or
rather your duchess has. Nothing will come of it. Had there been
any possibility of my considering your proposals, this kidnaping
would have destroyed it."
She smiled. Maurice saw the smile and stopped whistling long
enough to scratch his chin, which was somewhat in need of a
razor. He had seen many women smile that way. He had learned to
read it. It was an inarticulate "perhaps."
"The rightful successor to the throne--"
"Is Madame the duchess," Fitzgerald completed. "I haven't the
slightest doubt of that. One way or the other, it does not
concern me. I came here simply to fulfill the wishes of my
father; and my word, Madame, fulfill them I shall. You are
holding me a prisoner, but uselessly. On the twentieth the
certificates fall due against the government. If they are not
presented either for renewal or collection, the bankruptcy
scheme of your duchess will fall through just the same. I will
tell you the truth, Madame. My father never expected to collect
the moneys so long as Leopold sat on the throne."
The whistle grew shrill.
"This officer here," continued Fitzgerald, while the Colonel
made a comical grimace, "suggests violence. I shall save him the
trouble. I have seen much of the world, Madame--the hard side of
it --and, knowing it as I do, it is scarcely probable that I
should carry about my person the equivalent of four millions of
crowns."
"Well, Madame," said the Colonel, pushing his belt closer about
his hips, as a soldier always does when he is on the point of
departure, "what he says is true, every word of it. I see
nothing more to do at present."
Mademoiselle of the Veil was paying not so much attention to the
Colonel's words as she was to Maurice's whistle.
"Monsieur," she said, coldly, "have you no other tune in your
repertory?"
"Pardon me!" exclaimed Maurice. "I did not intend to annoy you."
He stepped down out of the window.
"You do not annoy me; only the tune grows rather monotonous."
"I will whistle anything you may suggest," he volunteered.
She did not respond to this flippancy, though the pupils of her
gray eyes grew large with anger. She walked the length of the
room and back.
"Count, what do you think would be most satisfactory to her
Highness, under the circumstances?"
"I have yet to hear of her Highness' disapproval of anything you
undertake."
"Messieurs, your parole d'honneur, and the freedom of the
chateau is yours--within the sentry lines. I wish to make your
recollections of the Red Chateau rather pleasant than otherwise.
I shall be most happy if you will honor my table with your
presence."
The Colonel coughed, Maurice smoothed the back of his head, and
Fitzgerald caught up his monocle.
"My word, Madame," said Maurice, "is not worth much, being that
of a diplomat, but such as it is it is yours. However, my
clothes are scarcely presentable," which was true enough.
Several buttons were missing, and the collar hung by a thread.
"That can be easily remedied," said she. "There are several new
hussar uniforms in the armory."
"O, Madame, and you will permit me to wear one of those gay
uniforms of light blue and silver lace?"
The Colonel looked thoughtfully at Maurice. He was too much a
banterer himself to miss the undercurrent of raillery. He eyed
Madame discreetly; he saw that she had accepted merely the
surface tones.
"And you will wear one, too, Jack?" said Maurice.
"No, thank you. I pass my word, Madame; I do not like
confinement."
"Well, then, the count will shortly return and establish you in
better quarters. Let us suppose you are my guests for a--a
fortnight. Since both of us are right, since neither your cause
nor mine is wrong, an armistice! Ah! I forgot. The east corridor
on the third floor is forbidden you. Should you mistake and go
that way, a guard will direct you properly. Messieurs, till
dinner!" and with a smile which illumined her face as a sudden
burst of sunshine flashes across a hillside, she passed out of
the room, followed by her henchman, who had not yet put aside
the thoughtful repose of his countenance.
"A house party," said Maurice, when he could no longer hear
their footsteps. "And what the deuce have they got so valuable
in the east corridor on the third floor?"
"It's small matter to me," said Fitzgerald tranquilly. "The main
fact is that she has given up her game."
Said Maurice, his face expressing both pity and astonishment:
"My dear, dear John! Didn't you see that woman's eyes, her hair,
her chin, her nose?"
"Well?"
"True; you haven't had any experience with petticoats. This
woman will rend heaven and earth rather than relinquish her
projects, or rather those of her mistress. I should like to see
this duchess, who shows a fine discernment in the selection of
her assistants. Beware of the woman who is frankly your enemy.
If she is frank, it is because she is confident of the end; if
not, she is frank in order to disarm us of the suspicion of
cunning. I would give much to know the true meaning of this
house party."
"Hang me if I can see what difference it makes. She can not do
anything either by frankness or by cunning."
"She gathered us in neatly, this red-haired Amazon."
"Red-haired!" in a kind of protest.
"Why, yes; that's the color, isn't it?" innocently.
"I thought it a red-brown. It's too bad that such a woman should
be mixed up in an affair like this."
"Woman will sacrifice to ambition what she never will sacrifice
to love. Hush; I hear the Colonel returning."
They were conducted to the opposite wing of the chateau, to a
room on the second floor. Its windows afforded an excellent view
of the land which lay south. Hills rolled away like waves of
gold, dotted here and there with vineyards. Through the avenue
of trees they could see the highway, and beyond, the river,
which had its source in the mountains ten miles eastward.
The room itself was in red, evidently a state chamber, for it
contained two canopied beds. Several fine paintings hung from
the walls, and between the two windows rose one of those pier
glasses which owe their existence to the first empire of France.
On one of the beds Maurice saw the hussar uniform. On the
dresser were razors and mugs and a pitcher of hot water.
"Ah," he said, with satisfaction.
"The boots may not fit you," said the Colonel, "but if they do
not we will manage some way."
"I shall not mind the fortnight," said Maurice. "By the way,
Colonel, I notice that French seems to prevail instead of German.
Why is that?"
"It is the common language of politeness, and servants do not
understand it. As for myself, I naturally prefer the German
tongue; it is blunt and honest and lacks the finesse of the
French, which is full of evasive words and meanings. However,
French predominates at court. Besides, heaven help the foreigner
who tries to learn all the German tongues to be found in the
empires of the Hohenzollern and Hapsburg. Luncheon will be
served to you in the dining hall; the first door to the right at
the foot of the grand staircase. I shall send you a trooper to
act as valet."
"Spare me, Colonel," said Maurice, who did not want any one
between him and the Englishman when they were alone.
"I have never had a valet," said Fitzgerald; "he would embarrass me."
"As you please," said the Colonel, a shade of disappointment in
his tones. "After all, you are soldiers, where every man is for
himself. Make yourselves at home;" and he withdrew.
Maurice at once applied lather and razor, and put on the
handsome uniform, which fitted him snugly. The coat was tailless,
with rows of silver buttons running from collar to waist. The
breast and shoulders and sleeves were covered with silver lace,
and Maurice concluded that it must be nothing less than a
captain's uniform. The trousers were tight fitting, with broad
stripes of silver; and the half boots were of patent leather. He
walked backward and forward before the pier-glass.
"I say, Fitz, what do you think of it?"
"You're a handsome rascal, Maurice," answered the Englishman,
who had watched his young friend, amusement in his sober eyes.
"Happily, there are no young women present."
"Go to! I'll lay odds that our hostess is under twenty-five."
"I meant young women of sixteen or seventeen. Women such as
Madame have long since passed the uniform fever."
"Not when it has lace, my friend, court lace. Well, forward to
the dining hall."
Both were rather disappointed to find that Madame would be
absent until dinner. Fitzgerald could not tell exactly why he
was disappointed, and he was angry with himself for the vague
regret. Maurice, however, found consolation in the demure French
maid who served them. Every time he smiled she made a courtesy,
and every time she left the room Maurice nudged Fitzgerald.
"Smile, confound you, smile!" he whispered. "There's never a
maid but has her store of gossip, and gossip is information."
"Pshaw!" said Fitzgerald, helping himself to cold ham and
chicken.
"Wine, Messieurs?" asked the maid.
"Ah, then Madame offers the cellars?" said Maurice.
"Yes, Messieurs. There is chambertin, champagne, chablis,
tokayer and sherry."
"Bring us some chambertin, then."
"Oui, Messieurs."
"Hurry along, my Hebe," said Maurice.
The maid was not on familiar terms with the classics, but she
told the butler in the pantry that the smooth-faced one made a
charming Captain.
"Keep your eyes open," grumbled the butler; "he'll be kissing
you next."
"He might do worse," was the retort. Even maids have their
mirrors, and hers told a pretty story. When she returned with
the wine she asked: "And shall I pour it, Messieurs?"
"No one else shall," declared Maurice. "When is the duchess to
arrive?"
"I do not know, Monsieur," stepping in between the chairs and
filling the glasses with the ruby liquid.
"Who is Madame Sylvia Amerbach?"
"Madame Sylvia Amerbach," placing the bottle on the table and
going to the sideboard. She returned with a box of "Khedives."
Fitzgerald laughed at Maurice's disconcertion.
"Where has Madame gone?"
"To the summer home of Countess Herzberg, who is to return with
Madame."
"Oho!" cried Maurice, in English. "A countess! What do you say
to that, my Englishman?"
"She is probably old and plain. Madame desires a chaperon."
"You forget that Madame desires nothing but those certificates.
And the chaperon does not live who could keep an eye on Madame
Sylvia Amerbach."
The mention of the certificates brought back all the
Englishman's discomfort, and he emptied his glass of wine not as
a lover of good wine should. Soon they rose from the table. The
maid ran to the door and held it open. Fitzgerald hurried
through, but Maurice lingered a moment. He put his hand under
the porcelain chin and looked into the china-blue eyes.
Fitzgerald turned.
"What was that noise?" he asked, as Maurice shouldered him along
the hall.
"What noise?"
Madame came back to the chateau at five, and dinner was
announced at eight. The Countess Herzberg was young and pretty,
the possessor of a beautiful mouth and a charming smile. The
Colonel did the honors at the table. Maurice almost fancied
himself in Vienna, the setting of the dining room was so perfect.
The entire room was paneled in walnut. On the mantel over the
great fireplace stood silver candlesticks with wax tapers. The
candlestick in the center of the table was composed of twelve
branches. The cuisine was delectable, the wines delicious.
Madame and the countess were in evening dress. The Colonel was
brimming with anecdote, the countess was witty, Madame was a
sister to Aspasia.
Maurice, while he enjoyed this strange feast, was puzzled. It
was very irregular, and the Colonel's gray hairs did not serve
to alter this fact. What was the meaning of it? What lay
underneath?
Sometimes he caught Fitzgerald in the act of staring at Madame
when her attention was otherwise engaged; at other times he saw
that Madame was returning this cursory investigation. There was,
however, altogether a different meaning in these surreptitious
glances. In the one there were interest, doubt, admiration; in
the other, cold calculation. At no time did the conversation
touch politics, and the crown was a thousand miles away--if
surface indications went for aught.
Finally the Colonel rose. "A toast--to Madame the duchess, since
this is her very best wine!"
Maurice emptied his glass fast enough; but Fitzgerald lowered
his eyes and made no movement to raise his glass. The pupils in
Madame's eyes grew small.
"That is scarcely polite, Monsieur," she said.
"Madame," he replied gently, "my parole did not include toasts
to her Highness. My friend loves wine for its own sake, and
seldom bothers his head about the toast as long as the wine is
good. Permit me to withdraw the duchess and substitute yourself."
"Do so, if it will please you. In truth, it was bad taste in you,
count, to suggest it."
"It's all the same to me;" and the Colonel refilled his glass
and nodded.
The countess smiled behind her fan, while Maurice felt the edge
of the mild reproach which had been administered to him.
"I plead guilty to the impeachment. It was very wrong. Far from
it that I should drink to the health of the Philistines. Madame
the countess was beating me down with her eyes, and I did not
think."
"I was not even looking at you!" declared the countess, blushing.
The incident was soon forgotten; and at length Madame and the
countess rose.
Said the first: "We will leave you gentlemen to your cigars; and
when they have ceased to interest you, you will find us in the
music room."
"And you will sing?" said Maurice to the countess.
"If you wish." She was almost beautiful when she smiled, and she
smiled on Maurice.
"I confess," said he, "that being a prisoner, under certain
circumstances, is a fine life."
"What wicked eyes he has," said the countess, as she and Madame
entered the music room.
"Do not look into them too often, my dear," was the rejoinder.
"I have asked not other sacrifice than that you should occupy
his attention and make him fall in love with you."
"Ah, Madame, that will be easy enough. But what is to prevent me
from falling in love with him? He is very handsome."
"You are laughing!"
"Yes, I am laughing. It will be such an amusing adventure, a
souvenir for my old age--and may my old age forget me."
The men lit their cigars and smoked in silence.
"Colonel," said Maurice at last, "will you kindly tell me what
all this means?"
"Never ask your host how old his wine is. If he is proud of it,
he will tell you." He blew the smoke under the candle shades and
watched it as it darted upward. "Don't you find it comfortable?
I should."
"Conscience will not lie down at one's bidding."
"I understood that you were a diplomat?" The Colonel turned to
Fitzgerald. "I hope that, when you are liberated, you will
forget the manner in which you were brought here."
"I shall forget nothing," curtly.
"The devil! I can not fight you; I am too old."
Fitzgerald said nothing, and continued to play with his emptied
wine-glass.
"The Princess Alexia," went on the Colonel, "has a bulldog. I
have always wondered till now what the nationality of the dog
was. The bulldog neither forsakes nor forgives; he is an
Englishman."
This declaration was succeeded by another interval of silence.
The Englishman was thinking of his father; the thoughts of
Maurice were anywhere but at the chateau; the Colonel was
contemplating them both, shrewdly.
"Well, to the ladies, gentlemen; it is half after nine."
The countess was seated at the piano, improvising. Madame stood
before the fireplace, arranging the pieces on a chess board. In
the center of the room was a table littered with books,
magazines and illustrated weeklies.
"Do you play chess, Monsieur?" said Madame to Fitzgerald.
"I do not."
"Well, Colonel, we will play a game and show him how it is done."
Fitzgerald drew up a chair and sat down at Madame's elbow. He
followed every move she made because he had never seen till now
so round and shapely an arm, hands so small and white, tipped
with pink filbert nails. He did not learn the game so quickly as
might be. He, like Maurice, was pondering over the unusual
position in which he found himself; but analysis of any sort was
not his forte; so he soon forgot all save the delicate curve of
Madame's chin and throat, the soft ripple of her laughter, the
abysmal gray of her eyes.
"Monsieur le Capitaine," said the countess, "what shall I sing
to you?"
"To me?" said Maurice. "Something from Abt."
Her fingers ran lightly over the keys, and presently her voice
rose in song, a song low, sweet, and sad. Maurice peered out of
the window into the shades of night. Visions passed and repassed
the curtain of darkness. Once or twice the countess turned her
head and looked at him. It was not only a handsome face she saw,
but one that carried the mark of refinement. . . . Maurice was
thinking of the lonely princess and her grave dark eyes. He
possessed none of that power from which princes derive benefits;
what could he do? And why should he interest himself in a woman
who, in any event, could never be anything to him, scarcely even
a friend? He smiled.
If Fitzgerald was not adept at analysis, he was. Nothing ever
entered his mind or heart that he could not separate and define.
It was strange; it was almost laughable; to have fenced as long
and adroitly as he had fenced, and then to be disarmed by one
who did not even understand the foils! Surrender? Why not? . . .
By and by his gaze traveled to the chess players. There was
another game than chess being played there, though kings and
queens and knights and bishops were still the sum of it.
"Are you so very far away, then?" The song had ceased; the
countess was looking at him curiously.
"Thank you," he said; "indeed, you had taken me out of myself."
"Do you like chestnuts?" she asked suddenly.
"I am very fond of them."
"Then I shall fetch some." It occurred to her that the room was
very warm; she wanted a breath of air--alone.
"Checkmate!" cried the Colonel, joyfully.
"Do you begin to understand?" asked Madame.
"A little," admitted Fitzgerald, who did not wish to learn too
quickly. "I like to watch the game."
"So do I," said Maurice, who had approached the table. "I should
like to know what the game is, too."
Both Madame and the Colonel appeared to accept the statement and
not the innuendo. Madame placed the figures on the board.
Maurice strolled over to the table and aimlessly glanced through
the Vienna illustrated weeklies. He saw Franz Josef in
characteristic poses, full-page engravings of the military
maneuvers and reproductions of the notable paintings. He picked
up an issue dated June. A portrait of the new Austrian
ambassador to France attracted his attention. He turned the leaf.
What he saw on the following page caused him to widen his eyes
and let slip an ejaculation loud enough to be heard by the chess
players. Madame seemed on the point of rising. Maurice did not
lower his eyes nor Madame hers.
"Checkmate in three moves, Madame!" exclaimed the Colonel; "it
is wonderful."
"What's the matter, Maurice?" asked Fitzgerald.
"Jack, I am a ruined man."
"How? What?" nearly upsetting the board.
"I just this moment remember that I left my gas burning at the
hotel, and it is extra."
The Colonel and Fitzgerald lay back in their chairs and roared
with laughter.
But Madame did not even smile.
CHAPTER X
BEING OF LONG RIDES, MAIDS, KISSES AND MESSAGES
Fitzgerald was first into bed that night.
"I want to finish this cigar, Jack," said Maurice, who wished to
be alone with his thoughts. He sat in the chair by the window
and lifted his feet to the sill. The night wind was warm and
odorous. He had found a clue, but through what labyrinth would
it lead him? A strange adventure, indeed; so strange that he was
of half a mind that he dreamed. Prisoners. . . . Why? And these
two women alone in this old chateau, a house party. There lay
below all this some deep design.
Should he warn his friend? Indeed, as yet, of what had he to
warn him? To discover Madame to Fitzgerald would be to close the
entrance to this labyrinth which he desired to explore. How
would Madame act, now that she knew he possessed her secret?
Into many channels he passed, but all these were blind, and led
him to no end. Madame had a purpose; to discover what this
purpose was Fitzgerald must remain in ignorance. What a woman!
She resembled one of those fabulous creatures of medieval days.
And why was the countess on the scene, and what was her part in
this invisible game?
He finished his cigar and lit another; but the second cigar
solved no more than the first. Mademoiselle of the Veil! He knew
now what she meant; having asked her to lift her veil, she had
said, "Something terrible would happen." At last he, too, sought
bed, but he did not sleep so soundly as did Fitzgerald.
Ten days of this charming captivity passed; there was a thicker
carpet of leaves on the ground, and new distances began to show
mistily through the dismantling forest. But there were no
changes at the Red Chateau--no outward changes. It might, in
truth, have been a house party but for the prowling troopers and
the continual grumbling of the Englishman when alone with
Maurice.
During the day they hunted or took long rides into the interior
of the duchy. Both women possessed a fine skill in the saddle.
In the evenings there were tourneys at chess, games and music.
Each night Fitzgerald learned a little more about chess and a
little less about woman. The countess, airy and delicate as a
verse of Voiture's, bent all her powers (and these were not
inconsiderable) toward the subjugation of Maurice. She laughed,
she sang, she fascinated. She had the ability to amuse hour
after hour. She offered vague promises with her eyes, and
refused them with her lips. Maurice, who was never impregnable
under the fire of feminine artillery, was at times half in love
with her; but his suspicions, always near the surface, saved him.
Sometimes he caught her hand and retained it over long; and once,
when he kissed it, there was no rebuke. Again, when she sang,
he would lean so close that she could feel his breath on her
cheek, and her fingers would stumble into discords. Often she
would suddenly rise from the piano and walk swiftly from the
room, through the halls, into the park, where, though he
followed, he never could find her. One day she and Madame
returned from a walk in the forest, the one with high color and
brilliant eyes, the other impassive as ice. Now, all these
things did not escape Maurice, but he could not piece them
together with any result.
On the morning of the tenth day the two prisoners came down to
breakfast, wondering how much longer this house party was going
to last.
"George! I wish I had a pipe," said Maurice.
"So do I," Fitzgerald echoed glumly. "I am tired of cigars and
weary of those eternal cigarettes. How the deuce are we going to
get out of this?"
"What's your hurry? We're having a good time."
"That's the trouble. Hang the duchess!"
"Hang her and welcome. But why do you complain to me and not to
Madame? Are you afraid of her? Does she possess, then, what is
called tamer's magnetism? O, my lion, if only you would roar a
bit more at her and less at me!"
"I don't know what she possesses; but I do know that I'd give a
deal to be out of this."
"Is the chambermaid idea bothering you?"
"No, Maurice, it is not the chambermaid. I feel oppressed by
something which I can not define."
"Maybe you are not used to tokay forty years old?"
"Wine has nothing to do with it."
He was so serious that Maurice dropped his jesting tone. "By the
way," he said, "do you sleep soundly?"
"No. Every night I am awakened by the noise of a horse entering
the court-yard."
"So am I. Moreover, Madame seems to be troubled with the same
sleeplessness.
"Madame?"
"Yes. She is so troubled with sleeplessness that nothing will
quiet her but the sight of the man who rides the horse: all of
which is to say that a courier arrives each night with
dispatches from Bleiberg. Now, to tell the truth, the courier
does not keep me awake half so much as the thought of who is
eating three meals a day at the end of the east corridor on the
third floor. But there are Madame and the countess; we have kept
them waiting,"
"Good morning," said Madame, smiling as they came up. "And how
have you slept?"
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