The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack: 25 Classic Novels and Stories

by George Barr McCutcheon

  The duke admitted that the feeling in Axphain’s upper circles was extremely bitter toward Graustark. The old-time war spirit had not died down. Axphain despised her progressive neighbor.

  “I may as well inform your highness that the regent holds another and a deeper grudge against Graustark,” he said, in the audience chamber where were assembled many of the nobles of the state, late on the night of his arrival. “She insists that you are harboring and even shielding the pretender to our throne, Prince Frederic. It is known that he is in Graustark and, moreover, it is asserted that he is in direct touch with your government.”

  Yetive and her companions looked at one another with glances of Comprehension. He spoke in English now for the benefit of Beverly Calhoun, an interested spectator, who felt her heart leap suddenly and swiftly into violent insurrection.

  “Nothing could be more ridiculous,” said Yetive after a pause. “We do not know Frederic, and we are not harboring him.”

  “I am only saying what is believed to be true by Axphain, your highness. It is reported that he joined you in the mountains in June and since has held a position of trust in your army.”

  “Would you know Prince Frederic if you were to see him?” quietly asked Lorry.

  “I have not seen him since he was a very small boy, and then but for a moment—on the day when he and his mother were driven through the streets on their way to exile.”

  “We have a new man in the Castle Guard and there is a mystery attached to him. Would you mind looking at him and telling us if he is what Frederic might be in his manhood?” Lorry put the question and everyone present drew a deep breath of interest.

  Mizrox readily consented and Baldos, intercepted on his rounds, was led unsuspecting into an outer chamber. The duke, accompanied by Lorry and Baron Dangloss, entered the room. They were gone from the assemblage but a few minutes, returning with smiles of uncertainty on their faces.

  “It is impossible, your highness, for me to say whether or not it is Frederic,” said the duke frankly. “He is what I imagine the pretender might be at his age, but it would be sheer folly for me to speculate. I do not know the man.”

  Beverly squeezed the Countess Dagmar’s arm convulsively.

  “Hurrah!” she whispered, in great relief. Dagmar looked at her in astonishment. She could not fathom the whimsical American.

  “They have been keeping an incessant watch over the home of Frederic’s cousin. He is to marry her when the time is propitious,” volunteered the young duke. “She is the most beautiful girl in Axphain, and the family is one of the wealthiest. Her parents bitterly oppose the match. They were to have been secretly married some months ago, and there is a rumor to the effect that they did succeed in evading the vigilance of her people.”

  “You mean that they may be married?” asked Yetive, casting a quick glance at Beverly.

  “It is not improbable, your highness. He is known to be a daring young fellow, and he has never failed in a siege against the heart of woman. Report has it that he is the most invincible Lothario that ever donned love’s armor.” Beverly was conscious of furtive glances in her direction, and a faint pink stole into her temples. “Our fugitive princes are lucky in neither love nor war,” went on the duke. “Poor Dantan, who is hiding from Gabriel, is betrothed to the daughter of the present prime minister of Dawsbergen, the beautiful Iolanda, I have seen her. She is glorious, your highness.”

  “I, too, have seen her,” said Yetive, more gravely than she thought. “The report of their betrothal is true, then?”

  “His sudden overthrow prevented the nuptials which were to have taken place in a month had not Gabriel returned. Her father, the Duke of Matz, wisely accepted the inevitable and became prime minister to Gabriel. Iolanda, it is said, remains true to him and sends messages to him as he wanders through the mountains.”

  Beverly’s mind instantly reverted to the confessions of Baldos. He had admitted the sending and receiving of messages through Franz. Try as she would, she could not drive the thought from her mind that he was Dantan and now came the distressing fear that his secret messages were words of love from Iolanda. The audience lasted until late in the night, but she was so occupied with her own thoughts that she knew of but little that transpired.

  Of one thing she was sure. She could not go to sleep that night.

  CHAPTER XXI

  THE ROSE

  The next morning Aunt Fanny had a hard time of it. Her mistress was petulant; there was no sunshine in the bright August day as it appeared to her. Toward dawn, after she had counted many millions of black sheep jumping backward over a fence, she had fallen asleep. Aunt Fanny obeyed her usual instructions on this luckless morning. It was Beverly’s rule to be called every morning at seven o’clock. But how was her attendant to know that the graceful young creature who had kicked the counterpane to the foot of the bed and had mauled the pillow out of all shape, had slept for less than thirty minutes? How was she to know that the flushed face and frown were born in the course of a night of distressing perplexities? She knew only that the sleeping beauty who lay before her was the fairest creature in all the universe. For some minutes Aunt Fanny stood off and admired the rich youthful glory of the sleeper, prophetically reluctant to disturb her happiness. Then she obeyed the impulse of duty and spoke the summoning words.

  “Wha—what time is it?” demanded the newcomer from the land of Nod, stretching her fine young body with a splendid but discontented yawn.

  “Seben, Miss Bev’ly; wha’ time do yo’ s’pose hit is? Hit’s d’ reg’lah time, o’ co’se. Did yo’ all have a nice sleep, honey?” and Aunt Fanny went blissfully about the business of the hour.

  “I didn’t sleep a wink, confound it,” grumbled Beverly, rubbing her eyes and turning on her back to glare up at the tapestry above the couch.

  “Yo’ wasn’ winkin’ any when Ah fust come into de room, lemme tell yo’,” cackled Aunt Fanny with caustic freedom.

  “See here, now, Aunt Fanny, I’m not going to stand any lecture from you this morning. When a fellow hasn’t slept a—”

  “Who’s a-lecturin’ anybody, Ah’d lak to know? Ah’m jes’ tellin’ yo’ what yo’ was a-doin’ when Ah came into de room. Yo’ was a-sleepin’ p’etty doggone tight, lemme tell yo’. Is yo’ goin’ out fo’ yo’ walk befo’ b’eakfus, honey? ’Cause if yo’ is, yo’ all ‘ll be obleeged to climb out’n dat baid maghty quick-like. Yo’ baf is ready, Miss Bev’ly.”

  Beverly splashed the water with unreasonable ferocity for a few minutes, trying to enjoy a diversion that had not failed her until this morning.

  “Aunt Fanny,” she announced, after looking darkly through her window into the mountains above, “if you can’t brush my hair—ouch!—any easier than this, I’ll have someone else do it, that’s all. You’re a regular old bear.”

  “Po’ lil’ honey,” was all the complacent “bear” said in reply, without altering her methods in the least.

  “Well,” said Beverly threateningly, with a shake of her head, “be careful, that’s all. Have you heard the news?”

  “Wha’ news, Miss Bev’ly?”

  “We’re going back to Washin’ton.”

  “Thank de Lawd! When?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve just this instant made up my mind. I think we’ll start—let’s see: this is the sixth of August, isn’t it? Well, look and see, if you don’t know, stupid. The tenth? My goodness, where has the time gone, anyway? Well? we’ll start sometime between the eleventh and the twelfth.”

  “Of dis monf, Miss Bev’ly?”

  “No; September. I want you to look up a timetable for me today. We must see about the trains.”

  “Dey’s on’y one leavin’ heah daily, an’ hit goes at six in de mo’nin’. One train a day! Ain’ ’at scan’lous?”

  “I’m sure, Aunt Fanny, it is their business—not ours,” said Beverly severely.

  “P’raps dey mought be runnin’ a excuhsion ‘roun’ ‘baout Septembeh, Miss Bev’ly,” sp
eculated Aunt Fanny consolingly. “Dey gen’ly has ’em in Septembeh.”

  “You old goose,” cried Beverly, in spite of herself.

  “Ain’ yo’ habin’ er good time, honey?”

  “No, I am not.”

  “Fo’ de lan’s sake, Ah wouldn’ s’picioned hit fo’ a minnit. Hit’s de gayest place Ah mos’ eveh saw—’cept Wash’ton an’ Lex’ton an’ Vicksbu’g.”

  “Well, you don’t know everything,” said Beverly crossly. “I wish you’d take that red feather out of my hat—right away.”

  “Shall Ah frow hit away, Miss Bev’ly?”

  “We—ll, no; you needn’t do that,” said Beverly, “Put it on my dressing-table. I’ll attend to it.”

  “Wha’s become o’ de gemman ’at wo’ hit in the fust place? Ah ain’ seen him fo’ two—three days.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know. He’s probably asleep. That class of people never lose sleep over anything.”

  “’E’s er pow’ful good-lookin’ pusson,” suggested Aunt Fanny. Beverly’s eyes brightened.

  “Oh, do you think so?” she said, quite indifferently. “What are you doing with that hat?”

  “Takin’ out de featheh—jes’ as—”

  “Well, leave it alone. Don’t disturb my things, Aunt Fanny. How many times must I tell you—”

  “Good Lawd!” was all that Aunt Fanny could say.

  “Don’t forget about the time-tables,” said Beverly, as she sallied forth for her walk in the park.

  In the afternoon she went driving with Princess Yetive and the young Duke of Mizrox, upon whose innocent and sufficiently troubled head she was heaping secret abuse because of the news he brought. Later, Count Marlanx appeared at the castle for his first lesson in poker. He looked so sure of himself that Beverly hated him to the point of desperation. At the same time she was eager to learn how matters stood with Baldos. The count’s threat still hung over her head, veiled by its ridiculous shadow of mercy. She knew him well enough by this time to feel convinced that Baldos would have to account for his temerity, sooner or later. It was like the cat and the helpless mouse.

  “It’s too hot,” she protested, when he announced himself ready for the game. “Nobody plays poker when it’s 92 in the shade.”

  “But, your highness,” complained the count, “war may break out any day. I cannot concede delay.”

  “I think there’s a game called ‘shooting craps,’” suggested she serenely. “It seems to me it would be particularly good for warriors. You could be shooting something all the time.”

  He went away in a decidedly irascible frame of mind. She did not know it, but Baldos was soon afterward set to work in the garrison stables, a most loathsome occupation, in addition to his duties as a guard by night.

  After mature deliberation Beverly set herself to the task of writing home to her father. It was her supreme intention to convince him that she would be off for the States in an amazingly short time. The major, upon receiving the letter three weeks later, found nothing in it to warrant the belief that she was ever coming home. He did observe, however, that she had but little use for the army of Graustark, and was especially disappointed in the set of men Yetive retained as her private guard. For the life of her, Beverly could not have told why she disapproved of the guard in general or in particular, but she was conscious of the fact, after the letter was posted, that she had said many things that might have been left unwritten. Besides, it was not Baldos’s fault that she could not sleep; it was distinctly her own. He had nothing to do with it.

  “I’ll bet father will be glad to hear that I am coming home,” she said to Yetive, after the letter was gone.

  “Oh, Beverly, dear, I hate to hear of your going,” cried the princess. “When did you tell him you’d start?”

  “Why, oh,—er—let me see; when did I say? Dash me—as Mr. Anguish would say—I don’t believe I gave a date. It seems to me I said soon, that’s all.”

  “You don’t know how relieved I am,” exclaimed Yetive rapturously? and Beverly was in high dudgeon because of the implied reflection, “I believe you are in a tiff with Baldos,” went on Yetive airily.

  “Goodness! How foolish you can be at times, Yetive,” was what Beverly gave back to her highness, the Princess of Graustark.

  Late in the evening couriers came in from the Dawsbergen frontier with reports which created considerable excitement in castle and army circles. Prince Gabriel himself had been seen in the northern part of his domain, accompanied by a large detachment of picked soldiers. Lorry set out that very night for the frontier, happy in the belief that something worth while was about to occur. General Marlanx issued orders for the Edelweiss army corps to mass beyond the southern gates of the city the next morning. Commands were also sent to the outlying garrisons. There was to be a general movement of troops before the end of the week. Graustark was not to be caught napping.

  Long after the departure of Lorry and Anguish, the princess sat on the balcony with Beverly and the Countess Dagmar. They did not talk much. The mission of these venturesome young American husbands was full of danger. Something in the air had told their wives that the first blows of war were to be struck before they looked again upon the men they loved.

  “I think we have been betrayed by someone,” said Dagmar, after an almost interminable silence. Her companion did not reply. “The couriers say that Gabriel knows where we are weakest at the front and that he knows our every movement. Yetive, there is a spy here, after all.”

  “And that spy has access to the very heart of our deliberations,” added Beverly pointedly. “I say this in behalf of the man whom you evidently suspect, countess. He could not know these things.”

  “I do not say that he does know, Miss Calhoun, but it is not beyond reason that he may be the go-between, the means of transferring information from the main traitor to the messengers who await outside our walls.”

  “Oh, I don’t believe it!” cried Beverly hotly.

  “I wonder if these things would have happened if Baldos had never come to Edelweiss?” mused the princess. As though by common impulse, both of the Graustark women placed their arms about Beverly.

  “It’s because we have so much at stake, Beverly, dear,” whispered Dagmar. “Forgive me if I have hurt you.”

  Of course, Beverly sobbed a little in the effort to convince them that she did not care whom they accused, if he proved to be the right man in the end. They left her alone on the balcony. For an hour after midnight she sat there and dreamed. Everyone was ready to turn against Baldos. Even she had been harsh toward him, for had she not seen him relegated to the most obnoxious of duties after promising him a far different life? And now what was he thinking of her? His descent from favor had followed upon the disclosures which made plain to each the identity of the other. No doubt he was attributing his degradation, in a sense, to the fact that she no longer relished his services, having seen a romantic little ideal shattered by his firm assertions. Of course, she knew that General Marlanx was alone instrumental in assigning him to the unpleasant duty he now observed, but how was Baldos to know that she was not the real power behind the Iron Count?

  A light drizzle began to fall, cold and disagreeable. There were no stars, no moon. The ground below was black with shadows, but shimmering in spots touched by the feeble park lamps. She retreated through her window, determined to go to bed. Her rebellious brain, however, refused to banish him from her thoughts. She wondered if he were patroling the castle grounds In the rain, in all that lonely darkness. Seized by a sudden inspiration, she threw a gossamer about her, grasped an umbrella and ventured out upon the balcony once more. Guiltily she searched the night through the fine drizzling rain; her ears listened eagerly for the tread which was so well known to her.

  At last he strode beneath a lamp not far away. He looked up, but, of course, could not see her against the dark wall. For a long time he stood motionless beneath the light. She could not help seeing that he was dejected, tired, unhappy. Hi
s shoulders drooped, and there as a general air of listlessness about the figure which had once been so full of courage and of hope. The post light fell directly upon his face. It was somber, despondent, strained. He wore the air of a prisoner. Her heart went out to him like a flash. The debonair knight of the black patch was no more; in his place there stood a sullen slave to discipline.

  “Baldos!” she called softly, her voice penetrating the dripping air with the clearness of a bell. He must have been longing for the sound of it, for he started and looked eagerly in her direction. His tall form straightened as he passed his hand over his brow. It was but a voice from his dream, he thought. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll get wet?” asked the same low, sweet voice, with the suggestion of a laugh behind it. With long strides he crossed the pavement and stood almost directly beneath her.

  “Your highness!” he exclaimed gently, joyously. “What are you doing out there?”

  “Wondering, Baldos—wondering what you were thinking of as you stood under the lamp over there.”

  “I was thinking of your highness,” he called up, softly.

  “No, no!” she protested.

  “I, too, was wondering—wondering what you were dreaming of as you slept, for you should be asleep at this hour, your highness, instead of standing out there in the rain.”

  “Baldos,” she called down tremulously, “you don’t like this work, do you?”

  “It has nothing but darkness in it for me. I never see the light of your eyes. I never feel the—”

  “Sh! You must not talk like that. It’s not proper, and besides someone may be listening. The night has a thousand ears—or is it eyes? But listen: tomorrow you shall be restored to your old duties. You surely cannot believe that I had anything to do with the order which compels you to work at this unholy hour.”

  “I was afraid you were punishing me for my boldness. My heart has been sore—you never can know how sore. I was disgraced, dismissed, forgotten—”

  “No, no—you were not! You must not say that. Go away now, Baldos. You will ride with me tomorrow,” she cried nervously. “Please go to some place where you won’t get dripping wet.”