Mrs. Fitz

by J. C. Snaith

  CHAPTER XIV

  A DEPLORABLE INCIDENT

  It was with a feeling akin to despair that I saw Coverdale follow theothers up the stairs. In the first place my own position wasinvidious. But there was nothing to be done. It was beyond questionthat Fitz must have a tried man like Coverdale at his elbow, whilstalso it was necessary that a person with some pretensions toresponsibility should take charge of the lady who was safely outside inthe electric brougham. Yet, uppermost in my thoughts, was a moreinsistent care. The affair had taken a very ugly turn. Fitz had shownhimself to be a man who did not stick at trifles, whilst von Arlenberg,unless his manner belied him, was cast in a similar mould. It wastherefore with some uneasiness that I went to offer my services to herRoyal Highness. That distinguished personage was seated greatly at herease, yet with a slight frown upon her somewhat imperious countenance.

  "Where is Nefil?" said she.

  "I have to tell you, ma'am," said I, "that Mr. Fitzwarenis--er--discussing certain important matters with his Excellency, andthat if it is agreeable to you he desires me to accompany you to yourhotel."

  "What are the matters?" Her gaze in its directness seemed to passright through me.

  "There are--er--certain details that have to be adjusted."

  "Well, I hope Nefil will be able to shoot straight."

  Whether I was more taken aback by the cynicism of the remark or by itssagacity, it would be fruitless to inquire. But to this pious hope Ihad nothing to add; and I stood feeling decidedly uncomfortable at thedoor of the car. There was no room in front by the side of thechauffeur, and I had received no invitation to take a seat within.

  The pause was awkward, but somehow there seemed to be no help for it.

  "Well?" said the lady, not without a suspicion of acerbity.

  Even that I could not take for an invitation to get in. I stoodacutely conscious that my embarrassment told against me.

  "Aha, _les Anglais_!" The malice was not too genial. "Would you hafme open the door?"

  I told the chauffeur to drive to the Savoy, and took the proffered seatby the side of the Crown Princess of Illyria.

  The discovery has no claim to be original, but in order to find outwhat a woman really is, one should sit with her alone and_tete-a-tete_. The opportunity for frankness is not likely to beneglected upon either side, since a display of that engaging qualityupon the one part seems automatically to evoke it on the other.

  No sooner was I seated by the side of Mrs. Fitz than I felt more atease. She was so sentient, so responsive; a creature who, beneath thetrenchant reserve of her manner, was alive in every nerve.

  She patted my knees with her fan.

  "Aha, _les Anglais_!" In the light of the lamps, I thought her eyeswere like stars. "So brave, so honest and so _bete_--I love them all!"

  The spell of her presence seemed to overpower me.

  "My brave Nefil will kill him, will he not?"

  "I fear," said I, "that one of them will not see to-morrow."

  "Indeed, yes; it cannot be otherwise."

  Her calmness amazed me. And yet there was nothing callous or unnaturalin it. Perhaps it might be described as the outward expression of animperial nature. At least that was the impression that I gained. Whenher servants drew their swords in her cause they must not look for aprick in the arm. Let them prepare to stake their lives and to yieldthem gladly. I shivered slightly; it was barbarous that a woman couldthus offer the father of her children to the gods, yet it was sublime.

  All too soon we arrived at the restaurant where Fitz had ordered supperfor seven. The place was filling up rapidly after the theatres. Wesat on a sofa in the foyer to wait for our party; I with an acuteanxiety and a sense of foreboding that held me tongue-tied; mycompanion with a detachment of mind that in the circumstances seemedalmost inhuman. For her sake a man was being done to death; one whomshe loved, or one whom her father honoured. But whatever Fate'sdecree, her nature was schooled to the point of submission.

  Seated by my side in the foyer, she subjected the throng of returningplaygoers to a frankly humorous and malicious scrutiny. These Englishwho were so _bete_ amused her vastly. The clothes they wore, the airsthey gave themselves, the things they did and the things they refrainedfrom doing, not a detail escaped that audaciously frank, that alertlycurious intelligence.

  "Your women are not as you, you fine, big English good dogs," she said,bestowing another indulgent pat upon my knees. "_Les Anglaises_, howprim and pinched they are, what dresses they wear, and how they dowalk! But I adore _vos jolis hommes_: was ever such distinction, suchcharm, such stupidity! _Mon pere_ shall have an English regiment. Iwill raise it myself, and be its colonel."

  Her laughter was deep and rich and full of malice. Even I, stupid andstricken with fear as I was, was yet sufficiently indiscreet to attemptto seize the opportunity.

  "It will be the easiest thing in the world, ma'am. Have you not raisedit already?"

  Another indulgent pat was my reward.

  "_Tres bon enfant_! _Quel esprit_! You shall sit by my side when weeat."

  Her ridicule had a velvet sheath, but even an Englishman, who felt asmiserably ineffectual as did I, was susceptible of the thrust.

  It is difficult for the average Briton, acutely conscious that he isenduring the patronage of a superior, to be easy, graceful and naturalin his bearing; to say the appropriate things in the appropriate way,and to carry off the situation lightly. Every moment that I sat by theside of her Royal Highness in the centre of the public gaze, I felt myposition to be growing more invidious. The pose of my companion seemedto become more Olympian; while if I ventured a half-hearted _riposte_or a timid pleasantry, I suffered for it; or if I remained silent andrespectful--and that after all is the only course to take in thepresence of our betters--I furnished an additional example of theheaviness of my countrymen.

  I came to the conclusion that the less I said the better it would farewith my over-sensitive dignity, but even the utterance of an occasionalmonosyllable did not save me.

  "When I hear the big dogs growl, the English masteefs, I say to myself,'Ah, the dear fellows, how excellently they speak the language!'"

  Unless one springs from the Chosen Race, it takes more than threegenerations to produce a courtier. I felt myself to be growing stifferand generally more infelicitous in my demeanour. And then, as if tocomplete my overthrow, there entered the foyer a supper-party, whoseappearance on the scene I could only regard with horror.

  Who has not felt that among the astral bodies there is a malign power,a kind of Court Dramatist, who arranges sinister coincidences andmischievous surprises for us humble denizens below, in order to divertthe privileged onlookers sitting in heaven? The supper-party whichcame into our midst, which looked as though it had been to see "TheImportance of Being Earnest," and had been shocked by its reprehensiblelevity, consisted of Dumbarton, our illustrious neighbour, "dearEvelyn" high of coiffure and robed in pink satin, the august Mrs.Catesby, and the highly respectable George, with one or two others ofminor importance as far as this narrative is concerned, although inother spheres not prone to yield pride of place to anybody.

  It was clear from the rigid, slow and undeviating manner in which theducal party walked past our sofa, that we were discovered. Mrs.Catesby, in particular, gazed down her nose with really awfulsolemnity; George, the highly respectable, wearing his Quarter Sessionsexpression; Dumbarton, looking like a Royal Duke painted in oils; and"dear Evelyn," his pink-robed spouse, a really admirable picture ofwhat can be achieved in the way of high-bred hauteur. I can only saythat, speaking for myself, I addressed a humble prayer to heaven thatthe floor might open and let me through.

  A chill of apprehension settled upon me. I sat very close, not daringto move an eyelid.

  Alas! as the procession filed past, there arose a note of derision; aclear, resonant, bell-like note.

  "Ach, pink! Pink in dis climate and wis dat complexion!"

  Even the _ch
ef de reception_ was compelled to follow the example ofMrs. Catesby of looking down his nose with really awful solemnity.

  The sweat sprang to my miserable forehead. I never have a nightmarenow without I dream of pink satin. The ducal party passed beyond ourken, leaving me shattered utterly and more than ever at the mercy of mycompanion. However, to my relief, the "Stormy Petrel" began to betraya care in regard to her husband. It began to seem that the aim of hisadversary had been the straighter.

  Fitz was certainly a desperate fellow, and my intercourse with the ladywhom he had prevailed upon to share his name rendered that aspect ofhis character the more clear. What enormous grit the man must have toabduct such a lioness and to attempt to keep house with her upon abasis of equality. But had he met his overthrow at last? Had hetempted fate once too often? The hands of the clock were creeping ontowards midnight.

  "Nefil has missed his aim." The voice of the Princess trembled.

  Almost immediately, however, this was proved to be not the case. Therewere further arrivals in the foyer; five men entered together, and thefirst of these was Fitz.

  It may have been the fault of my overwrought fancy, but it seemed to methat each of the five was looking excited and pale. My companion roseto receive them. "It is well," she said. "It is well." She turned toFitz, who looked ghastly, and extended her hand with a gesture that Ican only compare to that of Medusa. Fitz bore the hand to his lips.

  "What happened?" I said to Coverdale in a hoarse whisper.

  "Don't ask!" he said, half turning away.

  "Do you mean----" I said; but the sentence died in my throat.

  The invasion of the supper-room was a pretty grave ordeal to have toface. The stress of that day, woven of the very tissue of excitement,had told upon me; and again I was in the grip of a nameless fear.Instead of following in the train of Mrs. Fitz into the glare of a toonotorious publicity, I wanted to run away and hide myself.

  The room was crowded with people who were there to see and to be seen.We had to make our way past a number of tables to one reserved for usat the far end of the room. In the middle of our progress, like a lionin the gate, was the ducal party toying elegantly with quails andchampagne.

  Each member of her Royal Highness's bodyguard, including theindomitable O'Mulligan, was looking downcast and unhappy and far fromhis best. But the lady herself, in bearing and in manner, made nosecret of her status. She was the Heiress-Apparent to Europe's oldestmonarchy condescending to eat in the midst of barbarians.

  It was clear that the ducal party was fully determined to take anextreme course. By the animation of its conversation and its assiduousregard for quails and champagne, it evidently hoped to make the factquite plain that our privacy would be respected if only we had thedecency to extend a like indulgence to theirs.

  Alas! in certain kinds of warfare there are no sanctities.

  "Ach, pink!" said Mrs. Fitz, in that voice which had such a terriblequality of penetration. "Can any one tell me _why_ pink----?"

  The nervous fancy of a married man, a father of a family, and a countymember, seemed to detect a titter from the adjoining tables. Coverdalepressed forward sombrely. Her Royal Highness, instinct with a ruthlessand humorous disdain, went forward too. Fitz, however, lingered amoment, and touched his distinguished neighbour upon the shoulder withincredible Napoleonic heartiness.

  "Hullo, Duke!" he said.

  "How are you, Fitzwaren?" said the great man, in a voice that seemed tocome out of his shoes.

  "Never mind the Missus!" said the Man of Destiny, with a comichalf-cock of the left eye at the patrician aspect of her Grace. "It'sonly her fun."

  The man's effrontery, his cynicism, his absence of taste, werestaggering. But what a sublime courage the fellow had. On hesauntered, with his hands buried in his pockets, in the wake ofCoverdale and her Royal Highness. Brasset and I, walking delicately,were crowding upon his heels, when what can only be described as aperemptory and insistent hiss recalled us to the danger zone.

  "Reggie! Odo Arbuthnot!"

  We proffered a forlorn salute to the most august of her sex.

  "Beg pardon, Mrs. Catesby, didn't see you, y'know."

  Brasset's apologetic feebleness was in singular and painful contrast tothe epic breadth of the inconceivable Fitz.

  "Don't dare to offer me a word, either of you," said the Great Lady, ina whisper of Homeric truculence. "You are committing the act of socialsuicide. When I think of your mother, Reggie, and of your wife anddaughter, Odo Arbuthnot, I----but I will say nothing. But it is socialsuicide for all of you, including that fatuous police constable."

  The flesh cannot endure more than a given amount of suffering, althoughthe measure of its capacity is so terrible. But whatever it was, I wasalready past it.

  "Pink is certainly a trying colour," I whispered.

  "Dear Evelyn will never forgive it. Have none of you a sense ofdecency? It is madness!"

  I agreed that it was, and retreated limply to the next table but two.

  Our supper party should have been a dismal function, but somehow it wasnot. It was only reasonable to assume that some fell occurrence hadtaken place at the Embassy, but whatever its nature was, its witnessesbegan to pull themselves together under the magnetic influence of Mrs.Fitz. Her imperious gaiety, if it did not wholly banish Coverdale'sabysmal gloom, did much to make it less. As for the other members ofthe party, conscience-stricken and uneasy at heart as they were, it wasimpossible not to respond to her power.

  Even the Master of the Crackanthorpe, whose sense of humour is of adecidedly primitive order, indulged in a loud guffaw at one of herpungent remarks.

  "Restrain yourself, my dear fellow, for heaven's sake!" I admonishedhim. "Dumbarton is already looking like doom. Your presence here hasalready cost the poultry fund fifty pounds, see if it hasn't. If hehears you laugh in that way he will close his covers and stick up wire."

  "Don't care what he does!" said the Master of the Crackanthorpe, withan unnatural brightness in his eyes.

  The siren had indeed a terrible power. The imperious glance, thedistended nostril, the mobile lips, the skin of gleaming olive, thewhole figure vivid with the entrancing charm of sex and the romance ofages--who were we, _les hommes moyens sensuels_, that we should havethe strength of soul to resist it all? Nature had fashioned asorceress; and when she takes the trouble to do that, she bestows, as arule, a consciousness of power upon her chosen instrument, and thedetermination to wield it ruthlessly. We drained our glasses andbasked in her smiles.

  Our laughter waxed higher; our joy in her presence the more unguarded.I retained discretion enough to be aware that no detail of our conductwas lost upon the august party two tables away. Every guffaw of whichwe were guilty would be used against us. What had happened to theimpeccable tradition of reticence and right thinking that men of knownprobity should yield with this publicity to the blandishments of aqueen of the sawdust?

  It was a desperately unlucky position; but we were committed to itirrevocably. Nothing now could save our good name among ourneighbours. Yet that half-hour after midnight was crowded andglorious. Who were we, weak-willed mediocrities, that we should resistthe moment? After the passes we had braved in the service of one sosplendid and so ill-starred, after the long-drawn suspense we hadendured, could we be insensible to the gay music, half-affectionate,half-insolent, of our names upon her lips?

  Coverdale sat by the right of the sorceress, I by the left--responsiblemen--yet even with the Gorgon's eye of the Great Lady upon us, we werefain to publish to the world that we were neither less nor more thanthe bond-slaves of the circus rider from Vienna.