Mrs. Fitz

by J. C. Snaith

  CHAPTER XII

  THE MAN OF DESTINY

  It was not in looks alone that Fitz resembled the Man of Destiny. Theperemptory decision of his manner fitted him for the part. Thebeautiful musician and her subtle cadences were significant to him onlyin so far as they could serve his will. Fitz entered in the midst of arhapsody played divinely; and with an unconcerned air he went straightup to the piano, and, with Napoleonic effrontery, placed his elbowacross the music.

  "Sorry to interrupt you, Countess, but there is no time to lose."

  The Countess lifted her fingers from the keys, and her teeth flashed ina smile that had an edge to it.

  A shrug of the shoulders from the _pianiste_; and Fitz began to talkwith considerable volubility in his fluent Illyrian. My nurture hasbeen expensive; and on the admirable English principle of the more youpay for your education the less practical knowledge you acquire, let itcause no surprise that my acquaintance with the Illyrian tongue islimited to a few expletives. Therefore I was unable to follow thecourse of Fitz's conversation.

  Perforce I had to be content with watching his play of gesture. This,too, was considerable. The air of languor which it had pleased him toassume in the crises of his fate was laid aside in favour of awonderful ardour and conviction. He drummed his fingers on the top ofthe piano and urged his views with a fervour that might have moved theSphinx.

  At first the fair musician did not seem prepared to take Fitzseriously. Her smile was arch, and inclined to be playful. But Fitzwas in an epic mood.

  He had not come so far upon a momentous enterprise to be gainsaid by awoman's levity. The man began to wax tremendous. He kept his voicelow, but the veins swelled in his forehead, and he beat the palm of hisright hand with the fist of his left.

  Before such a force of nature no woman could be expected to maintainher negative attitude. Fitz's Illyrian became volcanic. In the endthe lady at the piano spread her hands, said "Hein!" and rose from themusic stool. A moment she stood irresolute, but the gaze upon her wasthat of a serpent fixed upon the eyes of a bird. The man'sdetermination had won the day. For, clearly at his behest, she quittedthe room, and Fitz, white and tense, yet with blazing eyes, followedher.

  For the moment it seemed that he had forgotten his fellow conspirators.But as soon as he had passed out of the room he turned back.

  "Stay where you are," he said. "You will be wanted presently."

  The five of us were left staring after him through the open door of thedrawing-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," saidI. "Were you able to follow the conversation?"

  "Not altogether. He appears to have made up his mind that Madame shalldo 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 shilling,all the same, that the damned fellow will get his way. Upon my word Ihave never seen his equal!"

  The Chief Constable laughed in a hollow voice, and removed another beadof 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. Thesituation was rather absurd. Five law-abiding Englishmen assembledwith fell intent in a private house, yet knowing very little of thebusiness they had on hand. Each had made his way by stealth, and underfalse pretences, into the very heart of the place. In this comfortabledrawing-room we had no _locus standi_ at all. To all in theestablishment we were total strangers, and to us they were equallystrange. Would Fitz never return? Would the call to action never bemade? A man with a high forehead and the look of an official came tothe threshold of the room, looked in upon us pensively, and then wentaway again. Two minutes later a second individual repeated theperformance. Doubtless we were five strange and unexpected birds--butthe whole business was beginning to be ridiculous.

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

  "Can you tell me if the Ambassador is dining out to-night?" I said tothe servant.

  "Yes, sir," said the man who was English. "At Buckingham Palace, buthe 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 outpretty well. He knows the game he's playing."

  This was reassuring from one whose habit was averse from optimism.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Three ladies were seated at the far end of this magnificent room. Onewas the fair musician upon whom Fitz had imposed his will; another wasa 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 thePrincess seated in state. Fitz presented each of us with all theformality that the most sensitive royalty could have desired. Hismanner of recommending us to her Royal Highness was dignified,authoritative and not without grace. As far as we were concerned, Ihope our bearing was not lacking in the necessary punctilio.

  Hitherto it had been our privilege to see Mrs. Fitz out hunting in herfamous scarlet coat, when to be sure she had been the centre of muchcritical observation. But at such times the princess was merged in thebrilliant horsewoman; and it goes to prove how easily "the real thing"may pass for the mere audacity of the intrepid adventuress, if onecomes 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 ofMrs. Fitz. Her style was quite as pronounced in the saddle as it wasin the salon, but the experts in that elusive quality had failed, asthey do occasionally, to appreciate its authenticity. Doubtless theywould have failed again to render the genuine thing its meed, had wenot the assurance of Fitz that we were in the presence of the heiressto the oldest monarchy in Europe.

  It is time I attempted to describe this noble creature. But it is vainto seek to portray a great work of nature. Above all else I think shemust be regarded as that. She was prodigal in beauty; imperious in thevividness of
her challenge; splendid in the arresting candour of herdark and disdainful eyes. There was a compelling power before whichthe world of men and things was prone to yield; but there was pathostoo in that valiant self-security, which knew so little yet exacted somuch; and beyond all else there was the immemorial fascination of aluckless, intensely sentient being, who seemed in her own person to bethe epitome of an entire sex at the dawn of the twentieth century.

  One by one we paid our homage, and it was not rendered less by theromance of the circumstances.

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

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

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

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

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

  There was something soft and quaint and entirely captivating in theaccent of her Royal Highness. The smile in her eyes was franknessitself.

  "I hope, ma'am," said the Chief Constable, still labouring valiantlywith 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 Prussiareviewing his regiment of giants, might have been expected to indulgein a very similar gesture. We were honest Englishmen, quiet fellows, alittle _bete_, who were always to be trusted; and her _naivete_ wassuch, 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 ofStrauss the Countess Etta von Zweidelheim. The bows were profound; andnot for a moment did the look of high indulgence quit the face of herRoyal Highness.

  "The Margravine is a dear good creature, Colonel Coverdale. Many timesshe 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 sumsshe used to set me. As for her cooking, it is excellent. If you arenot otherwise engaged, my dear Colonel, I should recommend you to marryher."

  The younger section of her Royal Highness's bodyguard, Brasset, Jodeyand O'Mulligan, gave ground abruptly. The amateur middle-weightchampion of Great Britain nearly disgraced us all by choking audibly.But really the expression of blank dismay upon the weather-beatencountenance of the Chief Constable was stupendous. However, hispresence of mind and his courtier-like politeness did not for a momentdesert him.

  "Delighted, I'm sure," he murmured.

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

  A further development of this alluring topic was precluded by theentrance 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 roundher chair, found it hard to veil his impatience. Too plainly thedelay, which was wanton and unnecessary, was setting his nerves onedge. His wife must have been conscious of it, since she patted hissleeve with an air at once soothing and maternal. Nevertheless sheshowed no haste to forgo the comfort of the room or the pleasure of thesociety in which she sat.

  "I was hoping," said Fitz, "that we could get away before the return ofvon Arlenberg."

  The smile of the Princess was of rare brilliancy.

  "Ah yes, the dear Baron. Perhaps it is better."

  Fitz took the cloak from the hands of the lady, but before he couldplace it around his wife's shoulders voices were heard at the far endof the long room.

  Three men had entered.

  The first of these to approach us was a tall, stout and floridpersonage wearing full Court dress and so many decorations that helooked like a caricature. Certainly he was a magnificent figure of aman, but, at this moment, a little lacking in serenity. His faceshowed traces of a consternation that would have been almost comic hadit not been rather painful. At the sight of the six of us he spreadout his hands and gesticulated to those who had come with him into theroom.

  In an undertone he said something in Illyrian, which I did notunderstand.

  In striking contrast to the perturbation of the Ambassador the mannerof the Princess was as amiable and composed as if she were seated inthe castle at Blaenau.

  "Ah, Baron, you have dined well?"

  "Excellently, madam, excellently!" said the Ambassador. Theconsternation in his face was slowly deepening.

  "_Tres bien_; it is well. I have heard my father say that cooking wasthe only art in which the good English are not quite perfect. And _lebon roi Edouard_, I hope he is in good health?"

  "In robust health, madam, in robust health."

  The dismay in the eyes of the Ambassador was rather tragic. His gazewas travelling constantly to meet that of his two companions, stolidmen who yet were at a loss to conceal their uneasiness. On the otherhand, the air of the Princess was charmingly cool and _degage_.

  "Baron," said she, "do you know my husband?"

  Her smile, as she spoke, acquired a malice that made one think of asword.

  "Madam, I have not the privilege," said the Ambassador coldly.

  Somehow the manner of the reply gave one an enlarged idea of hisExcellency's calibre. If in such a situation it is permissible for ahumble spectator to speak of himself, I felt my throat tighten and myheart begin to beat.

  "Well, Baron," said the Princess, "it is a privilege that I am sure youcovet. His Excellency the Herr Baron von Arlenberg, my dear father'srepresentative in England, Mr. Nevil Fitzwaren, squire of Broadfields,in the County of Middleshire."

  The Ambassador bowed gravely and then held out his hand.

  Fitz returned the bow of Ferdinand the Twelfth's representativeslightly and curtly, but ignored his hand altogether.