“Princess …” began a man from the Times.
“The correct term is your highness,” Alexander said.
“Forgive me, your highness. As your show begins here in London tomorrow night, how do you feel about the fact that, before even setting foot on the stage of the Egyptian, you have become a symbol of immorality throughout Britain? Pickets are here today and have already begun appearing in front of the theatre’s doors. Does this not disturb you?”
Alexander nodded and began waving his arms, pounding his chest and swaying his hips. One of the reporters, unable to contain his laughter, was heard to say “can’t he cluck like a chicken, then?” Princess Noor nodded back in understanding and proceeded to answer with more gestures including a short dance that had the gentlemen of the press rapt with attention.
“The princess says, ‘this confuses me. In my country amid the palms and pyramids, the costumes I wear are traditional—a symbol of the beauty and fertility of woman. The dances I do celebrate this. As for the rest of my duties, they are to carry out the wishes of my master that he may successfully complete his wonderful miracles. I hope you will tell your readers that I hope to make friends with all the lovely people of your country and that everything I do is wholly innocent and suitable for children.’”
To Alex’s delight, Skelton Knaggs, the oily little scandalmonger for the notorious daily Packet, waved for attention. Alexander had been hoping Knaggs would show, irresistibly drawn as he was to any story that exhibited even the slightest whiff of sex. Skelton could always be counted upon to ask a question others considered too rude to pose, but that invariably made the pages of their next editions.
“Royal highness,” Knaggs began, “it is bandied about that the relationship between you and Professor Herrmann is more than professional. That your association is similar to that of man and wife but without benefit of clergy, as the Professor is rumored a Jew and you, as you have stated, are a Moslem. Please tell us that such a terrible rumor is untrue so that the Packet may lay all talk of such licentiousness to rest. Tell us instead that your love is pure.”
The reporters whistled and applauded. Billings of the Mail clapped Knaggs on the back. Feigning the highest indignation, Alexander walked to within a foot of the shabby little man and raised his hands for silence.
“I need not offend the princess by translating such odious charges. These rumors are simply that. Cheap and disgraceful innuendo! Yes, I am in love—but it is the love of an affectionate father toward a devoted daughter. To suggest that there is anything unseemly between the Great Herrmann and a pure, unmarried woman, well, this is simply too much! I am sorry, gentlemen, but this interview is at an end!”
Alexander took the hand of the princess and helped her down from the trunk. The reporters began to shout questions at the pair, but Alex brandished his cane and refused to answer. With Seamus running interference, the pair made their way through the crowd toward a waiting barouche. Standing before it was a beautiful young woman, as delicate as the princess was bold, as pale as she was dark.
“Miss Adelaide Scarcez, then?” Alexander asked.
“Yes, Professor. I am Adelaide Scarcez.”
“Well, for the love of God, get in the carriage. These ink-stained shits have gotten all they need from us. They can make up the rest.”
They boarded the coach and drove out from the pier, the press still waving their notebooks. When they reached the Town Quay, Princess Noor spat out the side of the coach and heaved a disgusted sigh.
“For Christ’s sake, Alex. When the hell do I learn English?”
Adelaide was amazed. Ever since the telegram had come affirming her engagement, she had kept up with all news and publicity about Professor Herrmann and his assistant. In every story and interview, he had spoken for her. Now, not only did she speak for herself, but did it in unaccented and colorful American.
“Please forgive the princess, Miss Scarcez. Having slept though this morning’s breakfast, I’m afraid she is hungry—and when she is hungry she is apt to become irritable, poor lamb.”
“I hope you won’t think me rude,” Adelaide said. “But, such an elaborate deception …”
“Rude? Not at all. You see, the princess is in reality what you over here call a ‘red’ Indian. On this continent, such a revelation would likely meet with little resistance. Indeed, she would probably be greeted as a new and exotic figure in entertainment. But in America, where, alas, much prejudice exists against our native brethren—and where most of our bread is buttered—it was necessary to create a new persona for her. Besides, this ‘Egyptian princess’ stuff has been a goldmine of publicity. Tell ’em it’s something they shouldn’t see and they’ll crawl over glass to see it.”
“That’s right, Alex,” Lady-Jane said, “talk about me like I’m not here.”
“My dear, I wouldn’t think to do such a thing. It’s only that Miss Scarcez might want to hear our story without the usual pound of salt with which you flavor your language.”
“He’s quite the bullshitter, dearie. You mean salt like that, Alex? Bullshitter?”
“Just so,” Alex said.
“Good. He doesn’t ask for much, honey. Just to be worshipped as a god and a little smoked salmon on Sundays. Really, Alex, this mute business has me about at my limit. When can I order my own beer?”
“As far as that goes, your highness, never. You are a good Moslem girl—alcohol must never pass your lips. As to your language, while we are here, I have engaged the great Scots character actor, Sir Wilfred Brodie, to train you in crafting an authentic Arabian accent. Beginning tomorrow, he will appear daily at two, dressed in one of his celebrated disguises. I believe he described it as ‘Wilkins the Bookseller.’ You will take instruction from him until three. With all the wogs in this country, the last thing we need is for you to holler for a cab and some kaffir to cry out, ‘She is not Arab! Allah will be avenged!’ Once we board the ship back home, you can talk your lovely head off as long as you sound like the Grand Poobah of Whatsis.”
“Piss,” Princess Noor said, and sat back in a sulk.
“As to your duties, Miss Scarcez, they are simple. Your background in the dance will be used to aid the Princess in the preparation of her steps and the development of new routines. You will also supervise her wardrobe, take notes and letters, and serve as her chaperone. Under no circumstances are you to leave her side in public or allow her to venture abroad unescorted.”
“In other words, ducky,” the Princess said, “you’re a spy.”
Adelaide’s stomach flipped over.
As the coach bumped along, Princess Noor sat with crossed arms and glared at the lovely new hire. If she had learned anything at all in the brothel, it was that men liked variety. They’d have an Irisher one night, a Negro the next, and the Red Rose of Omaha on payday. She had even heard about a man who had passed the afternoon with her, then spent the night at the Bucket of Blood in the arms of one Jenny Turpin, a girl with one leg and a wall eye. Definitely trouble, she thought. Same size as me but all the rest is poles apart. Black eyes versus green; black hair versus red; red skin versus paper white; hot versus cool. All different from me. Far too different.
When the barouche pulled into Blechynden station, Princess Noor stepped from it almost before it stopped and headed down the platform.
“Well, Miss Scarcez,” Alexander said, “your duties have been described. I suggest you begin to carry them out.”
Adelaide hesitated for a second and then leaped from the carriage. Walking quickly, she overtook the Princess, who had found a vendor near the London tracks and was already in the act of buying a roasted potato.
Adelaide was at a loss. Did she smile approvingly; or did she stand stone-faced like a sentinel charged with guarding a valuable property? Should she sign? She knew she couldn’t speak.
Princess Noor-Al-Haya pulled tuppence from her purse and handed it the vendor. He thanked her and wrapped the potato in a page of newspaper. The princess took it in her
glove and raised it to her mouth. Its steam temporarily obscuring the beautiful darkness of her face, she looked into the eyes of her chaperone and bit hard into the skin.
28
JULIUS MEYER HAD NEVER FELT SUCH FRUSTRATION.
The young Omaha woman who had been chosen as court interpreter was accurate in her translations; and she helped her client answer his questions quickly and accurately.
Yes, your honor, the Ponca had lived well on the Niobrara. No, the new territory had not been fit for plowing. Yes, my children had died of the disease that decimated one hundred fifty eight of us. It is true that my son and daughter had begged to be buried in the earth of our ancestors. Of course, I wish to live in harmony with the whites.
But where, he wondered, was the passion and intensity of Standing Bear, the depth of his emotion? When his voice rose in anger, the tone of Susette LaFlesche remained calm and even. When his words lowered to a whisper, she delivered them loud and clear.
But emotion had not been absent in the voice of Andrew Poppleton, attorney for the defense.
On the final day of the trial, Poppleton’s summation lasted three hours. He visited and revisited the legal points, arguing that the Dred Scott decision of 1857 had no bearing on the case, as the fourteenth amendment of the Constitution had rendered it moot. Under its protections, any American had the right to bring suit against any other—even such an esteemed personage as General George Crook and the government he represented. Only denying the Indian’s humanity could keep him from such rights.
“I have believed it to be my duty,” Poppleton told the judge, “to thank God that I was born under the shield and protection of this North American Republic—which has solved so many problems and which in God’s time will solve so many more. But is it possible that this great government, dealing with this feeble remnant of a once-powerful nation, claims the right to place them in a condition which to them is worse than slaves, without a syllable of law? I don’t believe that the courts will allow this—that they will agree to the proposition that these people are wild beasts.”
The lawyer turned and pointed toward the chief. His voice rose in anger.
“This man not a human being? This man who wandered for sixty days through a strange country without guide or compass, aided by the sun and stars only, so that the bones and ashes of his kindred may be buried in the land of their birth? And if he is not a human being, then what is he? Are we to say that the Ethiopian, the Malay, the Chinaman, the Frenchman and every nationality upon the globe without regard for race, color, or creed, may come here and become a part of this great government, while the primitive inhabitants of this soil are alone barred from the right to become citizens? No! It is a libel upon all who have risked their lives to bring that gospel which Jesus Christ proclaimed to all the wide Earth, to say that this is not a man!”
Now shaking with rage, Poppleton thanked the court and took his seat. Standing Bear smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder.
Judge Dundy called for order.
“With the arguments presented, these legal proceedings are now at an end. However, the plaintiff wishes to make a final address to this court. It is highly irregular—and I imagine that this is the first time in our history that such a request has been made. But with the assent of the legal advisers on both sides, I have decided to grant it. Mr. Julius Meyer?”
Julius rose from his seat.
“As prearranged, Mr. Meyer, you will now interpret for the plaintiff.”
Julius walked toward the plaintiff’s table. Susette LaFlesche gracefully exchanged places with him, squeezing his hand as she passed him. Standing Bear now rose—his Speaker at his side—and raised his right hand before the court.
“This hand is not the color of yours, but if I pierce it, I shall feel pain. If you pierce your hand, you too, feel pain. The blood that flows from mine will be the same color as yours. I am a man! God made us both.”
Standing Bear then turned from the judge to face the crowded courtroom. Julius’s voice rose and fell with his.
“I have a vision. I seem to stand on the bank of a river. My wife and little girl are beside me. Before me, the river is wide and impassable—there are steep cliffs all around, the water is quickly rising. In desperation, I scan the cliffs and finally spot a rocky path to safety. I turn to my wife and child and shout that we are saved! We will return to the Niobrara that pours down between the green islands where lie the graves of my fathers.”
The chief slowly turned back toward the bench and stretched both arms toward the judge, Julius mimicking his every gesture.
“But a man bars our passage. If he says I cannot pass, I cannot. The long struggle will have been in vain. My wife and child and I will sink beneath the flood. I am weak and faint and sick. I can fight no more.
“You, your honor, are that man.”
The courtroom remained silent for several minutes. Then the quiet was broken by the sound of men and women softly weeping. General Crook rose from his chair and straightened his tunic. Slowly, he walked toward Standing Bear. The general looked deep into the chief’s amber eyes and took the red right hand in both of his. The eyes of both old warriors were full.
The crowd began to stomp and applaud; some left their seats and surrounded the two men, shaking their hands and clapping them on the back. The young boys at the rear of the courtroom cheered.
Judge Dundy ordered his bailiffs to restore order. When calm at last returned, he told the assembly that he would take the issue under advisement and render his decision in the coming days.
His gavel came down. Court was adjourned.
29
AS SHE SAT IN THE ORCHESTRA OF THE EGYPTIAN, ADELAIDE Scarcez felt a grudging respect. Compars Herrmann was nothing if not thorough.
The dossier he had provided to her contained all that a spy could want and more. Even as angry and conflicted as she was about her assignment, Adelaide marveled at the detail:
HERRMANN, ALEXANDER. Magician. Known throughout the world as THE GREAT HERRMANN, formerly as ALEXANDER THE GREAT. Born 10 February 1844, Bromberg (Bydgoszcz), Prussia. Youngest of sixteen children born to SAMUEL HERRMANN and ANNA (MEYER) HERRMANN. American citizenship, 1876. Successor to COMPARS HERRMANN (brother), known in America as CARL HERRMANN, also known internationally at THE GREAT HERRMANN. Born 23 July 1816, Karlsbad, Germany.
The file included height, weight, and personal habits, strengths, and weaknesses, even favorites of food and drink. Yes, very thorough. But when she turned to page one of the second dossier, Adelaide quickly went from impressed to uneasy.
Below the name SCARCEZ, ADELAIDE, she read a biography of herself every bit as detailed as that of Compars’s own brother: her birthplace; her parentage; the professional engagements she had had as a dancer; her appetites (“occasionally dips snuff, large capacity for sweets”), and even a partial list of the lovers she had taken since leaving school:
1873: Truitt, John, Carriage Driver. 1874: C. Denham, animal keeper. 1874-1875: Harold E. Ponfritt, theatrical producer …
The devil deserved his due. Compars was as masterful a blackmailer as he was a conjurer, exerting the same effort to extortion that he applied to performance. For him, no detail was too small, no incident too private to be investigated and exploited.
And just as he did on the stage, he left nothing to chance. When she turned to page four she found the contract detailing the terms of her employment. It, too, left little to the imagination:
Miss Adelaide SCARCEZ will, under the terms of this indenture,
carry out the following duties:
1. She shall act as secretary to Mr. ALEXANDER HERRMANN. In such capacity, she will perform such tasks as expected of that office plus any additional and/or related work required by Mr. Herrmann.
2. She shall observe all actions of Mr. Herrmann relating to his stage performances, most especially changes in his long-established and original act (see appendix) and the discussion or imminent performance of anything referred to as
a SUBSTITUTION TRUNK, SUBSTITUTION BOX or any other device which may be construed as such.
3. She shall gather any and all information about the Herrmann staff, most especially the employee known as PRINCESS NOOR-AL-HAYA, including, if possible, name, birthplace, country of origin, criminal record, incriminating detail, and romantic history.
4. Under no circumstances will Miss Scarcez reveal her association with her true employer, his actual identity, his occupation, his motivation, or his relationship to Mr. Alexander Herrmann.
Nowhere in the document was Compars named. The terms of employment referred only to the “Balaclava Corporation.” Even if the document were to fall into the hands of the police, outside of accusations that would lead to her ruin and against which she had no defense, there would be no way to associate him with either the extortion or the espionage. After nearly a halfcentury of making fools of the world, Compars Herrmann was not about to make one of himself.
Adelaide returned the contract to her leather portfolio and looked up at the stage. Watching Alexander rehearse the Inexhaustible Bottle, she was awed at his dexterity and concentration. All morning she had wondered if, had its origins not been tainted, she might not actually enjoy this job. Like dance, magic was exhilarating, filled with mental and physical challenges and colorful characters backstage. Alexander himself was a charming and considerate boss; conceited like Compars, yes, but still capable of giving someone else credit for an idea or making a joke at his own expense.
And never had she seen any man so personally magnetic. At previews, the audience had consisted overwhelmingly of women: some with husbands and sweethearts, others with girlfriends or on club outings. At the conclusion of the show, his dressing room would always be crowded with female well-wishers. As he took their gloved hands in his, Adelaide could almost feel the radiance of their blushing faces. Yet their gentlemen seemed to take no offense. They shook his hand heartily, offering compliments and congratulations as if they were old lodge brothers.
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