Princess Maritza

by Percy Brebner

  “Very beautiful,” said Francois.

  “I believe you. Too good to waste in fondling a woman. Ugh! What brings you so early to the Western Gate?”

  “I have a message for the Captain.”

  “Ah, from Monsieur De Froilette?”

  “I only carry messages for my master.”

  “I'll deliver it. Tell me quickly, and you shall taste a drop of real Burgundy, to keep the morning air out of your return journey.”

  “I was to tell it to the Captain personally.”

  “What!” thundered Stefan, “am I not to be trusted, then?”

  “You know the value of caution in these times,” said Franfois, “you spoke of it just now. Monsieur De Froilette is over-cautious, Stefan; that is the truth.”

  “It is a weakness of all masters,” the soldier replied, “and so they overreach themselves. Give me a little confidence, and I am content, but distrust me, and my ears are ever on the stretch to catch news which I may use to my advantage. But I have no quarrel with you. The Captain is out, you must await his return, and while you wait you shall taste his Burgundy.”

  “Out! So early!”

  “Oh, he's in love, I think, for he walks under the stars often, and on his return sighs like a gathering storm. I hear things, Monsieur Francois. I know.”

  The wily Frenchman nodded sympathetically.

  “Perhaps I might find a market for what you know.”

  “That's been in my mind these many days,” Stefan answered. “It's the first word that sticks in my throat. I've never let out secrets before, maybe because no man has told me any. Come, the wine may loosen my tongue.”

  He took two tankards and a key from the shelf, and led the way along a passage. The Frenchman followed eagerly, laughing at his companion's simplicity. It would be strange if Stefan could not tell him some news which would be useful to Monsieur De Froilette.

  “You have your wine in safe keeping,” he said, as Stefan went down into a cellar, bidding Francois to wait until he had struck a light.

  “Would you have us keep it in the doorway for every thirsty throat in Sturatzberg? Come down now. Sit you on that empty barrel there. Here's wine should make you dream to your heart's content. The Captain will think that it has leaked somewhat. Scurvy treatment, Monsieur Francois, to have such wine in hiding and never ask a soldier comrade to pass an opinion. So we help ourselves.”

  “To his wine and to his secrets, eh?”

  Stefan drowned his loud laughter in a copious draught, while Francois sipped with the air of a connoisseur.

  “Fit for a king's palate,” he murmured.

  “Say rather for the gods. Nectar, monsieur, nectar! My secrets bubble to my tongue as the wine bubbles to the surface.” “Turn them into good money, Stefan. After all, what is this English Captain to you?”

  The soldier set down his tankard and lowered his voice into a confidential whisper.

  “There are some who take me for a fool,” he said, coming nearer to his companion. “The Captain did not return last night, and there have been watchers in the street.”

  “Watchers? Go on, Stefan, what else?” said the Frenchman, eagerly.

  “Aye, I saw one draw back a blind in the house opposite not an hour ago. What do you make of that, Monsieur Francois?”

  The answer was a smothered gurgle, for a cloth had been suddenly tied across the Frenchman's mouth. It was in vain that he tried to free himself. He was no match against the muscles Stefan had shown him a little while ago; and before he had fully realized what had happened, he was bound, gagged, and lying on his back on the floor.

  “You'll have ample time to find out how much of a fool I am, Monsieur Francois,” said Stefan, “for unless a miracle should happen you'll be sharp set for a meal before you leave here. Never look so solemn, man; you won't die. I'll send and release you as soon as it is safe to do so; and if it will save your character I'll let your master in the Altstrasse know that you did your best to carry out his instructions and make a fool of me. Should you be able to drag yourself about presently you have my full permission to hold your mouth under any tap there in the cellar, and we'll never ask for payment of the score.” And drinking the wine which remained in his own tankard and also in the Frenchman's he left the cellar, locking the door after him.

  A few minutes later he walked down the street with a self-satisfied smile, a strapped-up bundle under his arm, and was soon lost to view in the lower purlieus of the city.

  That night seven horsemen left Sturatzberg, riding singly, and not all by the same gate. But, by whichever gate they left, they halted when they had ridden out of sight, and turned aside to reach the Breslen road. The last to go was Stefan. He went by the Southern Gate, and once free of the city, urged his horse forward toward the forest which lies between Breslen and Sturatzberg.

  CHAPTER XI. IN THE BOIS

  The Bois lay without the Northern Gate. The work of planting gardens and cutting carriage roads through the nearer stretches of the forest which touched the city on this side was due to Ferdinand I, whose statue stood in the Grande Place, the only useful action of which he had ever been guilty, it was said.

  Early in the morning men riding in the Bois had inquired of one another whether the story concerning Baron Petrescu were true. One had heard this, another that. It was whispered that the Baron had been killed in a duel by a member of the British Embassy, who had also been seriously wounded; and again, that he had wounded his adversary and had then been nearly killed by his adversary's partisans. Then one man inquired the name of the woman and another where the duel had been fought, for there was a law against duelling, although it was seldom enforced. The true story did not become public property, but it was presently known that the Baron's wound was a slight affair after all, and that the duel had not been fought with a member of the Embassy. Captain Ward had certainly been injured, but that was the result of an accident; they had Dr. Goldberg's word for it. It was then that the younger wiseacres smiled. Baron Petrescu was an easy lover, and had been punished for some indiscretion. Some townsman, perhaps, with the luck on his side, had got the better of the master of fence. No wonder the Baron wished to keep the matter quiet. Lord Cloverton knew the true story. Captain Ward had sent to him directly Dr. Goldberg had got him home, and the Ambassador shut himself in his room to consider his course of action. After his failure to entrap Queen Elena last night, and the King's anger consequent upon his accusation, his position was an extremely difficult one. The Queen had outwitted him, but the fact remained that Captain Ellerey was not to be found at his lodging this morning. He had ascertained this fact. There was no doubt that Ellerey had some understanding with her Majesty, and might have already left the city on his mission. The token might have been changed at the last moment. He had failed to arouse the King's suspicion through the Queen, but the interests at stake demanded instant action, and another method must be used. So Lord Cloverton went to the King and again apologized for the mistake his zeal had led him into. Her Majesty had, of course, proved how innocent her audience with Captain Ellerey had been, but the fact remained that Ellerey was the moving spirit in a rebellion. The sooner means were taken to obtain possession of his person the better. In this manner the Ambassador quickly made his peace, and messengers galloped hastily through the city from the palace.

  The night had been a sleepless one for Frina Mavrodin. From the moment she had seen those figures descending the stairs, her thoughts had been fixed in one channel. She knew the Baron's reputation as a swordsman, and her heart went with the man who had met his insult with so swift a demand for retribution. The cause to which she was attached, for which she was prepared to squander her wealth, to give her life even were that necessary, had compelled her companionship with this adventurous Englishman. She had met him in a spirit of raillery, measuring her woman's wit and beauty against his brusqueness, and his resourcefulness and calm determination had won her admiration. The cause was altogether forgotten sometimes in the mere plea
sure she had in being with him. He was not as other men, quick with a compliment, ever ready to please. Not a word of love had he spoken to her, yet his eyes had always sought her first in the throng, whether it were in the Bois or at Court, and, having found her, he looked no further. If she indulged in dreams sometimes, they were shadowy visions, pleasant enough, but taking no distinct shape, demanding no definite consideration.

  The awakening had come when Princess Maritza had spoken of him. She had said little, but Frina had read the deeper meaning underneath her words. As a Princess, Maritza had watched the man's career, believing that one day he might prove useful to her cause; but as a woman she had also remembered the circumstances of their meeting, and had treasured them in her heart. Only with this discovery had Frina Mavrodin become fully conscious of all Captain Ellerey's companionship meant to her. The flood-gates were suddenly opened, and the rushing torrent of her emotions threatened to sweep away all thought of the cause she had worked for, and loved, and believed in. Almost had she told him her secret to-night by her eager questions, arid the blood mounted to her cheeks as she remembered. How would he have answered her had he not been summoned to audience with the Queen? Leaning at the open window, looking at the heavy clouds which presently obscured the moon, she passed a night of restless anxiety. Somewhere, perhaps very near her, the man she loved had faced death to-night, calmly, fearlessly; even now he might be lying with sightless eyes toward the coming day, the new day which was so long in coming.

  It came at last, and with her eyes bathed to remove all traces of the night's vigil, she went as usual to breakfast with the Princess, who was always an early riser. Since the night they had spoken of Captain Ellerey there had arisen a subtle difference in their relations toward each other. It hardly amounted to restraint, but the Countess was more reserved, and the Princess talked little of her hopes and plans. She made more show of taking her companion into her confidence, but told her less. For this difference, perhaps, Frina was chiefly responsible. Maritza felt that she had grown lukewarm, not to her personally, but toward the cause which took so few and such trifling steps toward its end. She did not wonder at it. No day passed in which she herself had not a period of despair, a passionate longing to drive things to a speedy conclusion, though the end brought failure. To her, her cause was paramount, and she would not allow herself to think of Desmond Ellerey apart from it; yet when Frina had in a manner claimed him, she remembered that morning on the downs, every hue of land and sky, every sound that had sung in her ears, every perfume the air held, and the centre of all was this man, who seemed then to be her possession. He had come to her country, not at her bidding, perhaps, but at her suggestion surely, and she had a right to his allegiance. It was a woman's argument, and a weak one, yet her heart seemed to excuse her.

  They were still at breakfast when Dumitru was ushered in.

  “Pardon, Princess, but I have news—important news. It could not wait.”

  “You are welcome, good Dumitru. Does the news mean action? Such is the only news I long for now.”

  “Yes,” was the answer. “This English Captain is about to move. Whether he has the token or not I do not know, but Baron Petrescu believes he has. Last night he picked a quarrel with him, and they fought, and—” “Fool that he is!” exclaimed the Princess, starting from her seat. “Does not the Baron know that I had work for this Englishman? and now he has killed or maimed him in a useless quarrel.”

  “But it was not so, Princess; it was the Baron who fell.”

  Frina Mavrodin had also risen from the table, her hands clasped firmly together in her excitement, and a little sigh of relief echoed Dumitru's words.

  “A new experience for Baron Petrescu,” she said calmly.

  “Ah, Countess, this Englishman is a devil,” the man went on rapidly. “I had it from one who watched the fight. There was little moon, and the light was dancing and treacherous. The Baron used all the art which before has brought death when he willed, but this English Captain cared not. He knew all the Baron's art, and besides something which the Baron knew not. The Baron would have been killed had not those who were watching saved him.”

  “They interfered?” said the Princess.

  “Yes, to save the Baron.”

  “They did not stop at that?” said the Countess eagerly. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Have I not said he is a devil?” answered Dumitru. “They rushed upon him and he fought them all. A sword thrust here, a blow with his fist there, a savage breaking through them, and he escaped—unhurt.”

  “Splendid!” exclaimed Frina, her face aglow.

  “Splendid, Frina? Is not the Baron our friend?” Yet there was a glow in Maritza's eyes, too.

  “And is not Captain Ellercy the man you have work for? You should rejoice.”

  The Princess looked at her for a moment, and then she smiled. “Yes, it was splendid, as you say. What more, Dumitru?”

  “The friend of the Englishman was killed, I think. He was of the Embassy. There will be much questioning over the affair.”

  “The Baron's folly is likely to ruin us,” said the Princess.

  “There is still Captain Ellerey,” said Frina.

  Dumitru looked at the Princess, the slightest flicker in his eyes attracting her attention.

  “I am not sure the other man is dead,” he said. “Might I suggest that the Countess should drive as usual, and hear what is said in the Bois? Then to-night we can plan and arrange. The time has surely come.”

  “Will you, Frina?”

  “I will, and you may rest assured that I will have the whole story by to-night.”

  When she had left the room Princess Maritza turned hastily.

  “What more, Dumitru?”

  “Much more, Princess; but it is only for your ears.”

  Frina Mavrodin had sped along the corridor so swiftly that she did not hear the door locked after her to prevent her sudden return or the intrusion of others. For a while she had no thought but a half-barbaric satisfaction that Baron Petrescu had justly suffered for his unprovoked insult; but this was succeeded by fears for Ellerey's safety. He had escaped last night, but he had other enemies besides those who had attempted to assassinate him in the garden-more dangerous enemies, perhaps. She determined to know nothing, to school her face to indifference, while she eagerly learned all she could.

  She lunched with a friend, the wife of a member of the Austrian Embassy who had often quite unconsciously given her valuable information, but she could add nothing to her knowledge to-day. She knew Baron Petrescu had fought a duel and had been wounded, but she did not know who his opponent was. Later, in the Bois, Frina heard many versions of the story, but not in one of them was Captain Ellerey's name mentioned. She did not understand it. There was some undercurrent of intrigue going on of which she was ignorant. Her carriage was drawn up to the side of the road, where she was holding a small court of pedestrians, when she caught sight of Lord Cloverton. It was seldom that he walked in the Bois, but that he should be there in confidential colloquy with Monsieur De Froilette was nothing short of marvellous.

  Lord Cloverton saw the Countess, and stopped a little distance away. He wanted to speak to her, but had no desire that De Froilette should be a third at the interview.

  “I am exceedingly obliged to you, monsieur,” he said to his companion. “Any information respecting Captain Ellerey's whereabouts just now will be of immense advantage to me—that is, to the country. He is one of those reckless young men who, while winning our admiration, do riot blind us to the fact that they are dangerous.”

  “Ah, I have admired him and seen the danger for a long time,” De Froilette answered. “The commercial interests I have in this country force me to keep pace with its politics. I am not an expert, and it is sometimes very difficult.”

  “I can quite believe it,” said the Ambassador, looking, however, wonderfully incredulous. “I do not fancy I have ever heard in which direction your commercial interests lie.”
r />   “Timber, my lord.”

  “A profitable business.” “I hope so in the future. At present there is too much unrest. With the Princess Maritza in Sturatzberg—”

  “In that I think you are mistaken, monsieur.”

  “No, my lord. Mine was trusted information. Through the same channel I shall learn where Captain Ellerey is.”

  “A spy, monsieur?”

  “He would be hurt to hear himself called so. He is a servant of mine, interested in my business, and a valuable fellow. He has known Captain Ellerey's movements for months past, and even now, I warrant, is at his heels. You shall hear from me, my lord, the moment he returns.”

  “A thousand thanks, monsieur; you will place me under an obligation. And the value of the news will depend on the state of the timber trade,” he added to himself as he turned away. “Something has frightened Monsieur De Froilette; I wonder what it is.”

  Joining the little crowd round the Countess Mavrodin, he entered into the conversation with the heartiness of a man who hasn't a care in the world; and one by one the others withdrew, it was so evident that the Ambassador intended to remain. Frina Mavrodin desired nothing better. Lord Cloverton could doubtless tell her the truth, and although she did not for one moment expect him to do so, she thought she could probably draw it from him with the help of the knowledge she already possessed.

  “My horses are getting rather restive, they have been standing so long. Will you drive with me, Lord Cloverton?”

  He thanked her and got in beside her.

  “One seldom sees you in the Bois,” she said.

  “No. I will be honest. I sometimes sleep in the afternoon, Countess.”

  “And to-day?” she queried, with a laugh. “To-day business brought me. I hoped to see you.”

  “Surely you flatter me. Since when have you considered me capable of being business-like?”