Mrs. Fitz

"I am General Drago, and I wish to see the Ambassador." The Chief Constable's precision of phrase was really majestic.

The stalwart Illyrian, who seemed to be quite seven feet high from the crown of his wig to the soles of his silk stockings, bowed and led the way within.

When we had crossed his Excellency's threshold, and just as a gorgeous interior had unfolded itself to our respectful gaze, a very urbane-looking personage in evening clothes and a pair of white kid gloves took charge of us. He led us through a spacious hall containing pillars of white marble, whence we passed into a waiting-room, immediately to the right of a distinctly imposing alabaster staircase. In this apartment the light was dim and religious, and the atmosphere had a chill solemnity. Our friend of the white kid gloves presented us with a slip of paper apiece, and indicated an inkstand on the table.

"Write our names in Illyrian," I whispered to my fellow conspirator. "They will carry more weight."

The Chief Constable inscribed his own name on the slip of paper very laboriously, in the Illyrian character. When he had accomplished this feat, I proceeded as well as in me lay, and with a deliberation quite equal to his own, to commit to paper the name of the Herr Graf Alexis von Zbynska. I was beset with much misgiving as to the correct manner of spelling it, and therefore had recourse to a number of superfluous flourishes in order to conceal my ignorance as far as possible.

When the gentleman of the white kid gloves had solemnly borne away the slips of paper, the Chief Constable proceeded to remove a bead of honest perspiration from his manly forehead.

"Of all the cursed crackbrained schemes!" he muttered. "What does the madman expect us to do now!"

"Say as little and waste as much time as we can," said I, "and at ten minutes to ten, if we are still alive, we are to make our way up that staircase."

The head of the Middleshire Constabulary subsided into incoherence mingled with profanity.

The gentleman of the white kid gloves had closed the door upon us. The gloom and the silence of the room was terribly oppressive. With ticking nerves, I made a survey of its contents. The furniture appeared to consist of a large table with massive legs, half a dozen chairs covered in red leather, a full-length portrait in oils, by Bruffenhauser, of his Illyrian Majesty, Ferdinand the Twelfth, in which the victor of Rodova appeared in full regalia in a gilt frame, a really magnificent-looking old gentleman; while on a separate table at the far end of the room was the Almanach de Gotha.

It began to seem that our suspense was going to last for ever. Not a sound penetrated to us from beyond the closed door. At last Coverdale took out his watch.

"Is it ten minutes to ten yet?" I inquired anxiously.

"No; it still wants a couple of minutes to half-past nine."

To be condemned to support such tension for a whole twenty minutes longer was to place a term upon eternity.

"Hadn't we better open the door," said I, "so that we can hear if anything happens?"

My fellow conspirator concurred.

I opened the door accordingly and looked out in the direction, of the alabaster staircase. A man was descending it in a rather languid manner. There was something curiously familiar about his appearance. As soon as he saw me standing at the foot of the stairs he quickened his pace. It was clear that he wished to speak to me.

"Keep cool," he said, and to my half-joyful bewilderment I recognised the voice of Fitz. "You and Coverdale had better leave your overcoats in that room and go up. Go into the first room on the left on the first floor!"

With a coolness that was almost incredible, Fitz sauntered away across the wide vestibule with his hands in his pockets, while I returned to Coverdale with this latest command.

We obeyed it with a sense of relief. Anything was better than to sit counting the seconds in that funereal waiting-room. Divested of our overcoats, we went forth up the staircase, doing our best to appear quite at ease, as though there was nothing in the least unusual in the situation.

Half-way up we were confronted with two men coming down. They looked at us with quiet intentness and seemed inclined to speak. Coverdale passed on with set gaze and rigid facial muscles, an art in which, like so many of his countrymen, he is greatly accomplished. His "Speak-to-me-if-you-dare" expression stood us in excellent stead. The two men passed down the stairs without venturing to address us, and we went up.

The first room on the left, on the first floor, was a larger and more cheerful apartment than the one from which we had come. It was better lit; there was a bright fire, and it was furnished with taste, after the fashion of a drawing-room. There were books, photographs, and a piano.

The room was empty, but we had been in it scarcely a minute when a servant entered to offer us coffee. We did not disdain the ambassadorial bounty. Excellent coffee it was.

We were toying with this refreshment when a stealthy rustle apprised us that we were also about to receive the indulgence of feminine society. A young woman, tall and graceful, fair to the eye and charmingly gowned, came into the room with a sheet of music in her hand. The presence of a pair of total strangers did not embarrass her.

"Do you like Schubert?" said she, with a delightful foreign intonation.

"I think Schubert is charming," said I, with heartiness and promptitude.

The lady flashed her teeth in a rare smile and sat down at the piano. I arranged her music with a care that was rather elaborate.

It was not Schubert, however, that she began to play, but a haunting little "Impromptu" of Schumann's. Her playing was good to listen to, for her touch was highly educated; also it was fascinating to watch her movements, since she was an extremely graceful and vivid work of nature.

Very assiduously I turned over her music. The occupation in itself was pleasant; also it seemed to give some sort of sanction to our unlawful presence. Coverdale, with his hands tucked deep in his pockets, appeared to listen most critically to the lady's playing; although, as I have heard him declare himself, the only form of music that appeals to him is "a really good brass band."

In the course of the performance of Schumann's "Impromptu" the audience of the fair pianist gained in number and authority. Like the famous Pied Piper of Hamelin, the thrilling delicacy of her touch began to entice quaint beasts from their lair. Alexander O'Mulligan sauntered into the drawing-room at about the fourth bar. He wore his most seraphic grin, and his ears were spread to catch the most illusive chords of melody. He gave Coverdale a jovial nod and winked at me. It was clear that the amateur middle-weight champion of Great Britain was enjoying himself immensely.

Hardly had Alexander O'Mulligan advised us of his genial presence, when Brasset and my relation by marriage came in upon tiptoe. The sight of us all with an unknown lady discoursing Schumann for our benefit was doubtless as reassuring as it was unexpected. In the emotion of the moment Jodey gave the amateur middle-weight champion a fraternal dig in the ribs.

However, our party could not be considered complete without the presence of the chief gamester. The "Impromptu" had run its course and the gracious lady at the piano had been prevailed upon to play something of Brahms', when the master mind, whose arrival we were nervously awaiting, appeared once more upon the scene. Fitz came into the room looking every inch the Man of Destiny.

CHAPTER XII

THE MAN OF DESTINY

It was not in looks alone that Fitz resembled the Man of Destiny. The peremptory decision of his manner fitted him for the part. The beautiful musician and her subtle cadences were significant to him only in so far as they could serve his will. Fitz entered in the midst of a rhapsody played divinely; and with an unconcerned air he went straight up to the piano, and, with Napoleonic effrontery, placed his elbow across 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 in a smile that had an edge to it.

A shrug of the shoulders from the pianiste; and Fitz began to talk with considerable volubility in his fluent Illyrian. My nurture has been expensive; and on the admirable English principle of the more you pay for your education the less practical knowledge you acquire, let it cause no surprise that my acquaintance with the Illyrian tongue is limited to a few expletives. Therefore I was unable to follow the course 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 to assume in the crises of his fate was laid aside in favour of a wonderful ardour and conviction. He drummed his fingers on the top of the piano and urged his views with a fervour that might have moved the Sphinx.

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

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

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

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 the drawing-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," said I. "Were you able to follow the conversation?"

"Not altogether. He appears to have made up his mind that Madame shall do 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 I have never seen his equal!"

The Chief Constable laughed in a hollow voice, and removed another bead of 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. The situation was rather absurd. Five law-abiding Englishmen assembled with fell intent in a private house, yet knowing very little of the business they had on hand. Each had made his way by stealth, and under false pretences, into the very heart of the place. In this comfortable drawing-room we had no locus standi at all. To all in the establishment we were total strangers, and to us they were equally strange. Would Fitz never return? Would the call to action never be made? A man with a high forehead and the look of an official came to the threshold of the room, looked in upon us pensively, and then went away again. Two minutes later a second individual repeated the performance. Doubtless we were five strange and unexpected birds – but the whole business was beginning to be ridiculous.

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

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

"Yes, sir," said the man who was English. "At Buckingham Palace, but he 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 out pretty 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 at Buckingham Palace, Alexander O'Mulligan began to pound away more heartily than ever upon the upright grand.

"Give your imitation of church bells and a barrel organ, Alec," said a humble 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 to this aid to his existence, Fitz returned. He was alone, and he was peremptory.

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

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

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

Hitherto it had been our privilege to see Mrs. Fitz out hunting in her famous scarlet coat, when to be sure she had been the centre of much critical observation. But at such times the princess was merged in the brilliant horsewoman; and it goes to prove how easily "the real thing" may pass for the mere audacity of the intrepid adventuress, if one comes 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 of Mrs. Fitz. Her style was quite as pronounced in the saddle as it was in the salon, but the experts in that elusive quality had failed, as they do occasionally, to appreciate its authenticity. Doubtless they would have failed again to render the genuine thing its meed, had we not the assurance of Fitz that we were in the presence of the heiress to the oldest monarchy in Europe.

It is time I attempted to describe this noble creature. But it is vain to seek to portray a great work of nature. Above all else I think she must be regarded as that. She was prodigal in beauty; imperious in the vividness of her challenge; splendid in the arresting candour of her dark and disdainful eyes. There was a compelling power before which the world of men and things was prone to yield; but there was pathos too in that valiant self-security, which knew so little yet exacted so much; and beyond all else there was the immemorial fascination of a luckless, intensely sentient being, who seemed in her own person to be the 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 the romance of the circumstances.

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

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

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

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

"Mais oui, mon cher, I know it well, les Anglais sont des hommes honnêtes." Suddenly she laughed quite charmingly, and enfolded the six of us in a glance of the highest benevolence, with which, doubtless, her favourite dogs and horses had often been indulged. "Do you know, there is something in les Anglais that I like much. Quiet fellows, eh, always a little bête, but so – so trustworthy. Yes, I like them much."

There was something soft and quaint and entirely captivating in the accent of her Royal Highness. The smile in her eyes was frankness itself.

"I hope, ma'am," said the Chief Constable, still labouring valiantly with 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 Prussia reviewing his regiment of giants, might have been expected to indulge in a very similar gesture. We were honest Englishmen, quiet fellows, a little bête, who were always to be trusted; and her naïveté was such, 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 of Strauss the Countess Etta von Zweidelheim. The bows were profound; and not for a moment did the look of high indulgence quit the face of her Royal Highness.

"The Margravine is a dear good creature, Colonel Coverdale. Many times she 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 sums she used to set me. As for her cooking, it is excellent. If you are not otherwise engaged, my dear Colonel, I should recommend you to marry her."

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

"Delighted, I'm sure," he murmured.

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

A further development of this alluring topic was precluded by the entrance 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 round her chair, found it hard to veil his impatience. Too plainly the delay, which was wanton and unnecessary, was setting his nerves on edge. His wife must have been conscious of it, since she patted his sleeve with an air at once soothing and maternal. Nevertheless she showed no haste to forgo the comfort of the room or the pleasure of the society in which she sat.

"I was hoping," said Fitz, "that we could get away before the return of von 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 could place it around his wife's shoulders voices were heard at the far end of the long room.

Three men had entered.

The first of these to approach us was a tall, stout and florid personage wearing full Court dress and so many decorations that he looked like a caricature. Certainly he was a magnificent figure of a man, but, at this moment, a little lacking in serenity. His face showed traces of a consternation that would have been almost comic had it not been rather painful. At the sight of the six of us he spread out his hands and gesticulated to those who had come with him into the room.

In an undertone he said something in Illyrian, which I did not understand.

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

"Ah, Baron, you have dined well?"

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

"Très bien; it is well. I have heard my father say that cooking was the only art in which the good English are not quite perfect. And le bon 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 gaze was travelling constantly to meet that of his two companions, stolid men who yet were at a loss to conceal their uneasiness. On the other hand, the air of the Princess was charmingly cool and dégagé.

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

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

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

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

"Well, Baron," said the Princess, "it is a privilege that I am sure you covet. His Excellency the Herr Baron von Arlenberg, my dear father's representative 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 representative slightly and curtly, but ignored his hand altogether.

CHAPTER XIII

FURTHER PASSAGES AT NO. 300 PORTLAND PLACE

The Princess was amused.

"Aha, les Anglais! Très bons enfants!"

The royal eyebrows had an uplift of mischievous pleasure.

"And this, dear Baron," said her Royal Highness, "is my good friend Colonel Coverdale, who has smelt powder in the wars of his country."

Fitz's open rudeness seemed to help the Ambassador to sustain his poise. He bowed and offered his hand to the Chief Constable in a fashion precisely similar to that he had used to the husband of the Princess.

The Chief Constable shook hands with the Ambassador. It was amusing to observe the manner in which each of these big dogs looked over the other. The representative of Ferdinand the Twelfth was a man of greater calibre than his first appearance had led us to believe.

"It is pleasant, madam," said he, "to find you surrounded by your English friends."

The dark eyes brimmed with meaning.

"Confess, Baron, that you did not think I had so many."

"Your Royal Highness is not kind to my intelligence," said his Excellency.

"Confess, then, you did not think that such was their courage?"

"I will perjure myself if your Royal Highness desires it." The Ambassador's laugh was not so gay in effect as it was in intention. "But could I believe that you would admit any save the bravest to your friendship?"

"Then you recognise, Baron, that my friends are brave?"

"Unquestionably, madam, they are brave."