Chapter XII: Murdered Faith

“We really ought to buy something at the refreshment-stall,” said the Grand-Duchess; “but what is one to do with cakes in a hotel?”

“We might have tea here instead,” said Queen Ernestine. “Usk, perhaps you can find us a table in a quiet corner?”

A bazaar was being held on behalf of some object connected with the English church, and the Queen, escorted by Usk, had met the Grand-Duchess of Schwarzwald-Molzau and her daughter making the round of the stalls. One of the lady members of the committee, who was hovering at the Queen’s heels with the view of directing her attention to the most desirable, and expensive, articles on each stall, heard the remark about tea, and appeared suddenly in front of the party, her whole aspect eloquent of a desire to be addressed.

“Perhaps you can help us, Miss Waverley?” said the Queen, with a smile. “We should like to find a table a little more private than this one.”

“I can show you the very place, Ma’am,” replied Miss Waverley breathlessly. “There is a little nook here where your Majesty can see all that goes on without being seen, if your--if the gentleman will just help me to move this table.”

“Which of us is anxious to see all that is to be seen?” asked the Queen, as Miss Waverley hurried away to order the tea. “I think it must be you, Helene. Sit here, dear, where you can watch the people. Do put those parcels on the floor, Usk, and sit down.”

“I’m trying to decide whether Miss Waverley takes me for your equerry or your footman,” said Usk. “In either case she will be very much scandalised if she catches me sitting down. I think I had better receive the things from her and present them. Does your Majesty wish to be served on the knee?”

“I wish you to sit down in the place that is left for you, and to amuse the Princess Helene while her mother and I have a talk.”

“Ma’am, I obey,” and Usk took the seat pointed out to him. “How will your Grand-Ducal Highness please to be amused?” he asked of Helene.

“Why are you talking in this way? It is not at all like you,” she said wearily, and he noticed that the pale little face looked thinner, and that the eyes were heavy. “Why should you make this pretence?”

“Because the world is full of pretence, and we can’t get away from it,” he answered, bitterly enough. Her eyes sought his face in a moment.

“Oh, I am sorry,” she said quickly. “I ought to have known that there was something wrong. I see it in your eyes.”

“I had rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind. But I might say the same thing to you. Something has gone wrong, hasn’t it?”

“Ivan Petrovitch has found out that I call him the Tartar, and papa is so angry. He made me apologise to him.”

“And how did he take it?”

“Oh, as one would expect. He only said smoothly, ‘I hope the Princess Helene will think better of me when she has more opportunity of judging,’ but his voice made me shiver. What did he mean?”

“Well, you know,” said Usk, as her eyes met his again with that look of horror in them, “I told you----”

“Don’t say you told me it was a foolish thing to do. I know it, but I am quite unhappy enough without that.” She sat looking out between the draperies which shaded their corner, but her eyes seemed to see nothing of the gay room and the busy people. Then she turned suddenly to Usk again. “I am very rude and absent of mind,” she said. “You must forgive me, please. I wanted to tell you that I saw your beautiful lady yesterday.”

“Miss Steinherz?” growled Usk.

“Who else could it be? She is very, very beautiful, and her beauty is uncommon--original--how shall I say it?--witchlike?--oh no, that has a bad meaning in English, has it not? Spirit-like? ah, that is it. She is an Undine--before she had found her soul, of course.”

“Why do you say ‘of course’?” asked Usk. Helene started.

“Oh, I beg your pardon. What could I have been thinking of? Please forgive me, I ought not to have said such a thing. It was merely a silly thought of mine. Do forget it, please.”

“I think it was the truth,” said Usk bitterly. “At least, if she has a soul, I have not found it, but I don’t think she has.”

“Oh, don’t say that. She is so beautiful.”

“Judge for yourself. I have fought against it a long time, but now it is forced upon me. She does not love me, and only tolerates me near her to make another man jealous.”

“Oh no, no!” Her tone was sharp with pain. “You love her, and yet you can say this to me--almost a stranger!”

“I have not dared to say it to myself before, but it’s better to face it,” was the stubborn reply. “I oughtn’t to sadden you with it, I know, but I can’t talk to my uncle and aunt about it.”

“It will not sadden me, if I can help you. See, you have misunderstood Miss Steinherz, have you not? She conceals her love, perhaps, she is shy and proud? Perhaps even she coquets with you; she shows kindness to another suitor for the sake of teasing you? That is foolish, it is even wrong; but the heart is there, and loves you. You do not understand women very much, perhaps? So often they think it undignified, unwise, to let the love they truly have be seen. That is it, is it not? not--not what you say. A good woman could not act in that way, and she must be a good woman if you have chosen her to love out of all the world.”

“I wish I could think so!” said Usk, in a tone of such misery that Helene’s eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, if only I could help you!” she said. “I can only pray--pray that the good God will show you her heart full of love for you, that you may learn how you have misjudged her. Think how you will be obliged to humble yourself before her when you discover the truth!”

“I shouldn’t mind that,” said Usk, with the ghost of a smile.

“I’m afraid our tea-party won’t add very largely to the profits of the refreshment-stall,” said the Grand-Duchess. “I think we have eaten one cake of five centimes between us. Lenchen, darling, you are over-tired. Eat one of these cream-cakes, to please me.”

“I can’t, mamma. I am not hungry.”

“I can give them a five-franc piece, if you like, madame,” suggested Usk, “and ask them to add the change to their profits.”

“Ah, that is a good idea. And if you see our _chasseur_, Lord Usk, perhaps you will kindly tell him to call up the carriage.”

Neither Queen Ernestine nor Usk spoke much as they returned to the hotel, for both were thinking of the conversation at the tea-table; but as soon as Usk had put down his parcels, and betaken himself to Nicholson’s rooms, the Queen turned impulsively to her husband.

“Oh, Cyril,” she said, “they are going to sacrifice that poor child!”

“Little Helene? Is it all settled?”

“They have not told her yet, but I can’t help thinking that she begins to perceive the truth. There is a look in her eyes----”

“But why doesn’t the Grand-Duchess break it to her, and let her have time to get accustomed to the idea?”

“She is afraid. The child has such a horror of Ivan Petrovitch that Adelheid thinks it would nearly kill her. She has always been so delicate, you know.”

“But it will be much worse, surely, if it comes upon her suddenly?”

“So I should think, but I can see that Adelheid is afraid both of Ivan Petrovitch and her husband. Ludwig is bent upon the marriage. He has never cared very much for Helene; she has always been her mother’s child. And he thinks he sees the romantic strain coming out in her.”

“No doubt of that, I should say. It is really curious how it reappears once or twice in a generation.”

“Yes; and Ludwig can never forget his cousin Ernest Albrecht, who died long ago. He was originally intended to marry Adelheid, you know, but they allowed him, after years of waiting, to resign his rank and betroth himself to dear Sister Chriemhild at Brutli. Ludwig is determined never to allow anything of the kind while he is head of the family.”

“Still, he might find the girl a more attractive husband of her own rank than that unspeakable Scythian. Has the Grand-Duchess pointed that out to him?”

“Ah, but Ivan Petrovitch is also determined upon the match. I hope I don’t misjudge him, Cyril--or rather I hope I do, for Helene’s sake--but it seems to me that he sees the child’s horror of him, and enjoys it. It gives him actual pleasure to play upon her sensitive nature, and watch the torture it inflicts upon her.”

“Pah! it makes one sick!” said Cyril, rising hastily, and walking up and down the room. “But what can we do, Ernestine? We can’t interfere to prevent a marriage which the girl’s own parents have arranged.”

“I thought you might be able to think of something.”

“Nothing would be any good, except to provide a more eligible suitor, and where is he to be found? You could hardly wish me to make definite proposals on Usk’s behalf when he has no eyes for any one but Félicia?”

“No, certainly not. Besides, Ludwig would not think him at all eligible. I only wish he might. It is wonderful how Helene has taken to him. She seems to open out like a flower in the sunshine. Adelheid was quite delighted at first, but to-day she asked me to arrange that they should not meet much. She is afraid that Ludwig might think they were falling in love.”

“Really these complications seem hopeless. I suppose Usk will see before long that Félicia is simply fooling him, but I don’t in the least think he will turn to Helene for consolation. He will be very hard hit.”

“And the woman who treats him in this way will marry Michael!”

“Well, if she jilts Usk for him, we must infer that she loves Michael,” said Cyril drily.

“Loves his crown, perhaps. But that is uncharitable. Still, what hope can there be of her exercising a good influence over him? Oh, Cyril, isn’t it terrible to see everything going wrong around one, and not to be able to put it right?”

“I thought you believed that, after all, things were better managed than you could arrange them yourself?”

“I know. I am wrong to be so faithless. But one cannot see how all this is to end.”

Usk walked away from the Villa Bougainvillea with bent head and compressed lips, and crossing the Avénue de la Gare, took the direction of the Cornice Road. Félicia had befooled him once more. It was arranged that he should come to the Villa at a certain time in the afternoon, as he had done each day since their reconciliation, more with the object of asserting his rights than because he felt any special pleasure in Félicia’s society. To-day, as he approached the house, he had caught a distant glimpse of a motor-car dashing off in the opposite direction, and it was hardly with surprise that he heard the servant say that madame and mademoiselle were not at home. There was a meaning look in the man’s eyes, and for a moment Usk thought of asking him where the ladies were. But he rejected with disgust the idea of bribing a servant to spy upon Félicia, and moreover, there in the drive were the marks of the wheels of the automobile, conclusive evidence. Conscious that the man was watching his face with malicious interest, he remarked merely that he would look in again later, and walked slowly down the steps with head erect. But when he was out of sight of the door, he gave up the pretence, and his pace quickened insensibly. He must walk on and on until he was away from every one, and could think over this last treachery and all that it implied. Crowded streets and close-set houses, villas in gardens, desolate building-land with straggling beginnings of avenues and terraces here and there--they were all passed at last, and he was breasting the slope of the mountain. Past the Observatory, up a farther ascent, and he came upon a quiet spot enough, though four roads met there. He left the road and plunged into the wilderness of low scented bushes, hating the perfume they gave out as he crashed through them. Mounting a hillock, he found a spot bare of bushes, and flung himself on the turf, invisible to any one passing along the road. For a time he could only lie there writhing in impotent passion, digging his feet into the ground, and tearing up handfuls of grass and tiny flowers and flinging them away. The instinct of destruction was strong upon him. He loathed the beauties round him and the beauty outspread in front--the long slopes clad in every shade of green, grey-green of olives, light-green of carob, dark-green of orange and lemon-trees, bright-green of pistachio, stretching down to the almost painful blue of the sea, from which the eye sought relief gladly in the white of the town opposite and the grey of the castle crowning the hill above the harbour. It gave him no pleasure, even when the breeze ruffled the olives suddenly into silver, and revealed gleams of gold among the orange-groves. He hated the whole prospect for its very beauty. It was like Félicia, beautiful, changeful, cruel.

After a time the keenness of the pain which possessed him became a little dulled, and he found himself resolving upon his future course. To depart at once from Nice, leaving a scathing letter of farewell for Félicia, was the plan which suggested itself first, but it was obviously incomplete. He had realised now that he had nothing to hope for from her in the way either of justice or tenderness, and it would be a mistake to allow her to declare that he had gone away in a fit of jealousy without giving her a chance of explaining matters. No, he must see her again, distasteful as the thought was. She would try, no doubt, to entangle him again in her sophistries, to wind him round with that net of cajolery into which he had walked with his eyes open, but this time it would be in vain. Never in his life had he felt so miserable, so degraded, as during the past week, when Félicia had been everything that was tender and affectionate. He had deteriorated morally since he had condoned her faithlessness for the sake of her beauty and her fascinations, but he was not the man to regard such deterioration with equanimity. He would free himself from the toils and turn his back upon Félicia for ever, returning to England wiser, if poorer, robbed, as it seemed, of one whole side of his life. He had no doubt as to his own course, but he must make it clear to Félicia that he was leaving her finally--must place the issues before her so plainly that she could not evade them or wriggle out of her responsibility.

How this was to be done was the question. The moral agony through which he had passed seemed to have blunted his mental powers. His reasonings ended abruptly, as though he had come suddenly to a blank wall or fallen from a height; and though he struggled with himself, he could not arrive at any decision. He was still lying on the turf, utterly spent, his hands gripping the clods he had torn up, when a voice behind him said, “Lord Usk!”

He turned angrily and sprang to his feet, enraged that any one should have observed him in this dark hour. Behind him stood a tall lady very elaborately dressed in black. Her face, with its strongly marked features and dark eyes, was handsome, though worn, and her abundant black hair was still without a thread of grey. Usk knew her well. She was the Princess Dowager of Dardania, who had shown a good deal of interest in his sister Philippa and himself two years since at Ludwigsbad.

“I must apologise for intruding upon you,” said the Princess, as he stood speechless, “but I saw you from my windows--with a telescope,”--she pointed to a house just discernible among the trees on one of the upper slopes,--“and I ventured to follow you. Perhaps you would not mind coming a little lower down the hill? There is a spot where we can be quite sheltered from observation, and I should not like the dear young friend for whose sake I am here to know what I had done.”

Usk obeyed in silence. Speech seemed to have forsaken him, and he could only follow the Princess, and sit down on the turf opposite her, as her gesture invited him to do.

“We need not beat about the bush,” she said. “You, like me, have a particular interest just now in King Michael of Thracia,--I because his fickleness is breaking the heart of the dear girl who is my one comfort, you because he has chosen for the time being to set his affections upon your _fiancée_.”

Usk bowed, and opened his lips to speak, but the Princess held up her hand.

“Wait, if you please. I sympathise with you sincerely, but chiefly for reasons with which you are not at present acquainted. Bad as his conduct is, Michael is not wholly to blame. He is inspired by others, who have taken advantage of his weakness of character to serve their own ends. Don’t interrupt me,” as Usk, who began to see whither this was tending, raised his head again, “but listen. The whole affair is the work of your uncle, Count Mortimer. I don’t say that he is working for his own aggrandisement in any vulgar sense, but with his incurable instinct of intrigue, he has seen how to reap advantage from Michael’s inconstancy.”

“Before you go any further, madame,” said Usk firmly, “I may as well tell you that nothing you can say will make me doubt my uncle’s good faith.”

An angry shadow crossed the Princess’s face. “Perhaps you will at least have the politeness to hear what I have to say before you decline to believe it,” she said. “I am doing Count Mortimer all possible justice, and distinguishing him absolutely from the common herd of adventurers, when I say that the prospect of securing Miss Steinherz’s millions in his own family had no charms for him. It was much too simple and obvious. But when the preposterous claim which the young lady has chosen to put forward came to his knowledge, then he saw an opening for his peculiar talents. You do not need me to tell you that Miss Steinherz’s claim is utterly hopeless, judged by the family laws of the houses both of Albret and Hohenstaufen. The marriage in London is invalid on the face of it, and of the asserted marriage at Vindobona not a single witness has come forward. Even if it could be proved to have taken place, it was invalid without the sanction of the Emperor and the King of Cantabria, as well as of the Pope. But strange things are sometimes done in the name of expediency, and your uncle thinks that for the sake of her millions Miss Steinherz might possibly be admitted into a family which is in chronic want of money, to settle a difficulty which demands large sums. Here, then, is the state of the case. Michael, engaged to my dear Sonya, whose dowry would put an end to all his difficulties, is deliberately exposed to the charms of Miss Steinherz, who is betrothed to you, and he succumbs, but cannot marry her since she is not of royal blood. Now steps in Count Mortimer. To provide Michael with a bride of German descent, and furnish the needed money without expense to the Three Powers, will give him a claim on their gratitude, which is just what he needs for the furtherance of his private ends. Your love, your interests, have no part in his scheme. He does not broach his idea until Miss Steinherz’s claim has been definitely rejected by the house of Albret, and then he approaches the Emperor, his constant patron in the past. The Grand-Duke of Schwarzwald-Molzau is sent to report on the affair. You have wondered, perhaps, why King Michael has absented himself for nearly a week from the Villa Bougainvillea, while you have been received there. It was simply because the Grand-Duke was sending his report to Vindobona, and waiting for the answer. To-day it has arrived, and he is authorised to see Miss Steinherz and find out what extent of recognition will satisfy her. You have still time, but only just time, to put an end to the affair. If Miss Steinherz is satisfied with the acknowledgment that her father was morganatically married, she will receive no more, naturally, and Michael cannot marry her. If she stood alone she would not get that; but in view of her betrothal to you, I think it might be conceded. But the idea is that the marriage shall be retrospectively recognised as fully legal, and the girl raised by letters-patent to the status of a Princess of Arragon; and things have gone so far now that you can only prevent this through your uncle.”

“And how is that to be worked, madame?”

“Go straight to Count Mortimer, and tell him”--her nostrils dilated, and there was something tigerish about her mouth--“that every detail of his plot for establishing himself in Palestine is in my hands. I know of everything, down to the penny subscription among the poorest of those he has deluded to purchase a crown and royal robes for the ‘Prince of the Captivity,’ as they call him. The whole proceedings at every meeting of the conspirators are reported to me, their agents are known and followed everywhere. If he renounces this marriage project of his I will take no further steps. When Michael marries Sonya I can afford to laugh at Count Mortimer and his puny tricks in the East. But if he goes on I will hand over all my information immediately to Prince Soudaroff, and he may guess how much hope he has of success, even of safety, after that. There is my message, which will restore happiness to you, and also to the poor girl who is breaking her heart for Michael. Will you deliver it?”

“I will deliver it to Count Mortimer, madame.”

“You exhibit no superabundant gratitude, Lord Usk. Surely if I restore you your bride and her fortune, and also give you the opportunity of saving your uncle from the consequences of his own imprudence, I deserve thanks, at least?”

Usk smiled involuntarily. It did not seem to strike the Princess that he could have any hesitation in marrying Félicia, although Félicia was moving heaven and earth to enable her to marry King Michael. Probably her fortune was expected to obviate any distaste he might feel.

“Surely, madame, success and the applause of your own conscience would be reward enough?”

“Your uncle has been speaking against me!” she cried angrily.

“Indeed, madame, I have never heard him express anything but the highest possible admiration for your talents.”

“You are too polite. It would be well not to imitate your uncle too closely in his cleverness, lest you should do so also in his fate. Is it allowable to ask what you intend to do about Miss Steinherz?”

“I have not made up my mind, madame. But I shall not forget to deliver your message. May I have the honour of escorting you home?”

She declined the offer with a gesture, and, descending into the road, walked slowly towards the house in the trees, while Usk turned his steps again towards Nice. This new information gave him the crowning test of which he had vaguely felt the need. After all, it was just possible that Félicia might even now care for him enough to decide in his favour rather than lose him altogether, and she should determine matters for herself. The hour of struggle on the hill-top had not been wasted, for he had made his decision. He would not be her slave any longer.

Félicia gave a little scream when he was suddenly announced at the Villa. She was in a small upstairs sitting-room, which was sacred to her and Maimie, and she was wearing a black gown with white ruffles, which gave her a most incongruously Puritan look. Usk’s lip curled in spite of himself as he saw that her hair was dressed to correspond with the gown, for it was evident that she was ready to receive the Grand-Duke. Maimie, no doubt, had suggested the pose, so well carried out, of the daughter only lately bereaved, turning wistfully for consolation to her dead father’s family. Usk himself knew too much to be anything but an intruder at this moment.

“I wasn’t just expecting you,” Félicia gasped.

“I won’t stay unless you wish it,” he returned. “If you will just tell me whether you intend to marry King Michael or me, I shall know whether to go or not.”

“But I can’t tell you right now,” objected Félicia, taken aback, “because--why----”

“Because you don’t know. You’ll marry Michael if you can get him, and if not, then you’ll put up with me. But I don’t care for being put up with, and if you mean to think of Michael still, I will go.”

“Well, then, you’re just horrid!” cried Félicia angrily. “I guess I’ve told you ’most a dozen times that I like you best, but if I’m a princess I must marry according to my rank.”

“Won’t do, Fay. If you stick to me I’ll stick to you, princess or no princess; but if not, I prefer to depart now rather than later.”

There were genuine tears in Félicia’s eyes. “You won’t understand, Usk,” she said, “and I don’t see but it must seem strange to you. I don’t pretend to be romantic--American girls aren’t generally that, I guess--but I like you, really. If they reject my claim after all, I’ll just settle down real happily with you, and you’ll forget all of this.”

“And if they acknowledge it, you’ll settle down happily with me all the same?”

Félicia looked down. “I guess I won’t just have things in my own hands then,” she said.

“Oh yes, you will, if you choose. If you’re engaged to me, I’ll take good care that you don’t marry any one else.”

“You don’t know the temptation of a crown, Usk,” said Félicia softly.

“I know my father tried it, and was jolly glad to give it up.”

“Oh, your father!” The tone was eloquent. “But for me, Usk!”

“Very well; if you prefer your crown, say so, and I’ll go.”

“You’re real tiresome, fussing me like this. Do just wait a little.”

“Not another hour,” said Usk.

“Say, Fay!” Maimie burst into the room, “come right down; the Grand-Duke’s here. Don’t stop to prink. That gown is just distracting already.”

“Now, Fay, decide,” said Usk. “If you make up your mind to stick to me, it’s natural for me to be with you when you receive the Grand-Duke, and to explain to him that we are engaged. If you tell me you don’t want me to be there, I shall know you are giving me up.”

“Do tell!” cried Maimie. “Who asked you to make conditions, Lord Usk? Send him off right away, Fay.”

“You said you cared for me,” urged Usk. Félicia wavered.

“Félicia Steinherz, if you give in now I’m done with you,” said Maimie, and Félicia unhooked Usk’s ring from her bangle, and threw it at him.

“I just hate you both!” she cried; “but I’ve concluded which to choose.”