Chapter XXXI At the Palace
“Your lady visitors call early, Ferdinand,” said Mayhew, rather drily.
“Yes, rather embarrassing, isn’t it? But what news have you for me? What happened yesterday?”
“More than enough to prove that you are a person of considerable importance, I can tell you. When I got your message by that exceedingly sharp lad, Juan, that you were arrested, I went straight to the chief, and within an hour a protest was in the hands of the Spanish Government, couched in terms calculated to make them sit up, I promise you, and very soon the whole machinery was at work to get you out. They denied all knowledge of you, however; but I expect a good deal would have happened to-day if you hadn’t been set at liberty. I told the chief this morning, however, that you were here, and he wants to see you. And that’s about all—unless you want the details.”
“Did you send any word to the Palace?”
“No, I kept that in reserve for to-day as a broadside, and, of course, I said nothing to anyone about the papers you left with me.”
“Good; just as I should have expected from you. And now, I’m going to tell you the whole mess, and just see what’s best to be done;” and I gave him a pretty full account of everything that had happened.
“You’re right, it is a devil of a mess,” was his comment when I finished. “What do you suppose Quesada’s sister can do?”
“I haven’t a notion. I’m just at the end of my wits, and can’t for the life of me see what’s to be done.”
“There’s one thing you may safely reckon on, and it isn’t a pleasant thing anyway—that that beggar is sure to have a trump card up his sleeve that will most likely outplay your best. He’s the most cunning beggar in all Spain. He’s been in heaps of tight corners before, and wriggled out just when it seemed impossible. And he won’t give in now, you bet. I tell you what he’s likely to do—he knows just as well as lots of others, that he’s the pivot of the whole Government; the one man for instance, who, in the popular view, can wage this threatened war with the States with some chance of success; and I wouldn’t be one little bit surprised if he trumps you with a change of front and declares for war. You don’t know as much as I do of Spanish politics, and can’t, therefore, understand the holy mess that would follow here if the war came. He’d be the only man able to guide things; and in such a case you might hammer at him in vain.”
“But these documents, Livenza’s statement, my own knowledge, Sarita Castelar’s evidence!” I cried, in protest.
“Strong enough in England, perhaps; but he’d deny everything; and do you think anyone’s going to care two pence about them if the nation is in danger. He’d say the letters were forgeries; pop Livenza into prison, or bribe or threaten him to change face; the lady is already safe in his charge, and as a Carlist wouldn’t be believed even if she were at liberty; and your statement would be listened to politely, and then disregarded as that of an enemy of Spain and a friend of America. I’m sorry to discourage you, but you asked my advice and that is—don’t count on your weapons as he called them, and don’t believe for a moment that you can really do him any harm. He sits too firm in the saddle.”
“But he told his sister that I could ruin him, and he showed the fear by wanting to make me fight him.”
“Mere play-acting, Ferdinand, nothing more. He wanted to get the papers back quietly if he could, and the quietest and safest way would have been to have you arrested as Carbonnell, the Carlist, and sent somewhere into the far provinces, and probably knocked on the head by the way or shot in mistake—the kind of mistake that does happen at times. His sister appears to have cut that plan short, and naturally he tells her she must get the papers back, if she could. But if she couldn’t, it didn’t follow that he wasn’t quite prepared to face you. Don’t make the mistake of thinking he will give up a jot or tittle of any plan he has, whether public or private; he never has been known to yet, and even you will never make him, strong as your case would be in any other country and against any other man. It’s part of his constitution, my dear fellow. He’s got all the energy and resource of a present day American with all the confounded pride and stiff-necked doggedness of an Old Castile noble. A rummy combination, but the devil to fight.”
“I shan’t give in,” I said, firmly. “And that I take it your advice is that I should.”
Mayhew shrugged his shoulders significantly.
“I’d make it different if I could. I’m very sorry, for I can guess what it means to you; but you’ve no chance;” and he shook his head, hopelessly. “Shall we go and see the chief?”
“I shan’t give in,” I said again; but I am free to confess that his counsel of despair had great effect upon me, and I went to the Embassy in a very despondent mood.
I was closeted with the chief a considerable time, while I gave such account of my experiences as I deemed advisable, and was questioned and cross-questioned, and advised and congratulated in the customary official manner, and finally counselled to return to England. A pointed question from me drew the reply that this last advice was the result of a request from the Spanish Government, and I did not fail to see in it the hand of Quesada.
My answer was an evasive one, to the effect that I would go so soon as I had wound up such private affairs as I had to conclude in Madrid.
I rejoined Mayhew, feeling both ill at ease and out of temper. A half-day had passed, and I had done nothing toward effecting Sarita’s release; while the hours were flying, and no word came from Dolores. My apparent helplessness in other respects increased my anxiety to hear that she had been successful with her brother; for I was fast coming round to Mayhew’s gloomy view of the position.
Then came another complication. When we went to the Hotel de l’Opera, I found there an urgent summons from the Palace. News of my arrest and liberation had reached the young King, and he desired me to go to the Palace that afternoon. I scribbled a note to Dolores Quesada, telling her I could not wait for news from her after three o’clock—the hour appointed for the interview, and sent Mercy with it, Mayhew accompanying her.
The reply to this put the climax to my anxiety. It ran thus:
“Alas, my friend, I can do nothing. I have just seen Sebastian, who is now in a quite different mood. He laughs at the thought of your doing him any harm. ‘Let him do his worst. He can but break himself on the wheel of his own efforts;’ were his words. I am distracted with misery.”
I showed it to Mayhew, who read it thoughtfully.
“It could not be worse,” he said. “He has put the senorita in a safe place, and is going to play the trump card that I was sure he had in reserve somewhere. You should have accepted his challenge and shot him. Only one thing can beat Quesada—and that’s death.”
“I will do my best all the same,” I answered; and in this mood I set out for my interview at the Palace, revolving on the way all the possible expedients that I could adopt to win even part of my purpose against the powerful enemy who held his way with such grim tenacity and inflexible resolve.
My reception at the Palace might have flattered even Royalty itself. When I was ushered into the presence, the young King came running to me, laying aside all attempt at dignity, and smiling with pleasure as he held out his hands liked a pleased child.
“My Englishman of Podrida, at last!” he exclaimed, and he led me to the Queen Mother, who was graciousness itself.
“You have kept the words of gratitude too long prisoners in my heart, my lord. The Queen would chide you, but the mother’s heart is too full for anything but welcome for the man who saved her son.”
“I trust your Majesties will pardon me. The delay has been due to causes as full of trouble as of urgency.”
“My son has told me of your daring rescue, but I wish to hear it again from you. I am so anxious to know all, that I would have the tale even before your own anxieties which, if we can, you must let us help you to dispel.”
“I have the mask here, my lord,” cried the King, with all a boy’s eagerness, bringing it out of a pocket.
“The story is a very simple one, your Majesty,” I said, and then in as few words as I could, I told it. She listened with the closest attention, questioning me now and again on such points as interested her most, or where she wished greater detail; and when I described how the King was seized and carried into the carriage, and again how I had found him fastened down and disguised, she clasped the boy to her, and her changing colour and quickened breath gave evidence of her concern and emotion.
“And you were alone through it all?” she exclaimed, when I finished.
“Fortune favoured me or I could not have succeeded, Madame. Had not the two men following the carriage met with an accident, I could have done nothing. As it was, the surprise of my attack did what no strength of arm or skill or wit could have accomplished.”
“Do not call it fortune? It was rather the hand of Heaven guarding my dear son’s safety, and you were the chosen instrument. And should you know those miscreants again?” Her tone hardened and her eyes flashed, as she put the question; and I thought then I could discern the feeling which had had as much to do with her impatience at my delay in coming to the Palace as her desire to thank me. She was burning with all a Spaniard’s hot eagerness for revenge. But it was not my cue to strike at the agents, and my reply was guarded.
“It is possible that if they were face to face with me, I could identify them; but the thing was hurried, the work of no more than a few moments, and my English eyes are not sufficiently accustomed to distinguish between Spanish faces.”
“Ah, I am disappointed,” cried the Queen, frowning.
“But I can do more than identify the men who actually did the ill-work, Madame; I know by whose hidden hand the wires of the plot were pulled.”
“Tell us that, and you will add a thousand times to the obligation that Spain and we owe you, my lord,” she exclaimed, strenuously. “Who is the arch-traitor?”
“I shall have need of your Majesty’s patient indulgence.”
“And you will not ask it in vain, Lord Glisfoyle, if you do not seek it for these villainous Carlists, who would have robbed me of my son and dealt this foul blow at Spain.” Then with a quick thought, she asked: “But how comes it that you, an English nobleman, here in Madrid no longer than a few weeks, can have learnt these things?” I believe I could detect a touch of suspicion in her manner; and the King looked up sharply into her face and then across at me.
“By a coincidence in regard to my name, your Majesty. I came to Madrid but a short time ago to join the staff of the British Embassy; I was not then Lord Glisfoyle; and by a chain of coincidences some of the plans of the misguided Carlists became known to me.”
“Do you mean you knew of this intended plot against my son?”
“There are always rumours and reports, Madame, and such gossip was, of course, current in your capital—and equally, of course, well known to your Government and officials. But this was different; and the definite tidings came to me at a time and in a form which made it impossible for me to act otherwise than as I did.”
“What was your name then, if not Lord Glisfoyle?” she broke in.
“Ferdinand Carbonnell, the younger son of my late father.”
“Ferdinand Carbonnell! Ah, then——” the sentence remained unfinished, and I stood in silence watching her and waiting for the conclusion. I could guess her thought.
“Ferdinand Carbonnell is a well-known Carlist leader, Lord Glisfoyle,” and she spoke in a tone that augured but ill for my success.
“And for that Carlist leader I was mistaken, your Majesty, and working through that strange mistake, Providence enabled me to rescue your son from a far worse fate than that which any Carlist ever designed. In following this strange double career I carried my life in my hands, risking misunderstanding at the hands of your Majesty’s agents, and putting my life to the hazard of any Carlist discovery of my real character.”
“You cannot doubt him, mother,” cried the King, protestingly.
“You have said too much or too little, my lord. I beg you to speak frankly.”
“I would ask your Majesty by whose advice it was that your son came to be in such a case as made this attempt possible?” I said; and the question went home, for she started quickly.
“By the advice of my Ministers, who felt that our confidence in the people should be shown in a way which all could see for themselves. Do you propose to arraign my Government on a charge of treason?”
“I do not arraign your Government as a whole, your Majesty; but what if it were proved to you that one of them, discontented with his present power and influence, great though they be, had aimed to make them greater; had thought that under the Republican form of Government there were wider scope for his ambition; and had planned, therefore, a double stroke of policy—say, for instance, the removal of your son from the Throne, using the Carlists for his purpose, and at the same time preparing to crush their power when he had used them, employing the very pretext of the plot as the cause of his drastic measures of repression? What if there be a man in your confidence who designed to overthrow the Monarchy, and climb on the ruins of the Throne to the place of supreme power in the country as President of a Republic to be proclaimed? What if these plans were all laid and settled in every detail; and yet made with such consummate skill and shrewdness, that even the crumbling of the corner-stone—this attempt on His Majesty—still left him higher, firmer, and stronger in position and influence than ever? What if the subtle organisation by which this Carlist rising has been crushed almost in a day was the outcome, not of a desire to save His Majesty’s throne from attack, but of an intention to break down what—should the Monarchy be no longer in existence—would have been the one remaining possible obstacle to this man’s success? Would your Majesty say that these Carlists or the arch-plotter were the more to be feared, the more culpable, the more dangerous?”
I spoke with rising vehemence, and my daring words frightened both my hearers. The Queen was almost pale when I ended.
“You cannot make this good, my lord. I cannot believe it.”
“Yet every word is true and can be made good. The man I mean is your most powerful Minister—Senor Sebastian Quesada.”
“It cannot be. It is impossible,” cried the Queen. “You frighten me, my lord. What proofs have you?”
The intense impression created by my charge, emboldened me to go a step farther and place all on the cast. The Queen was so agitated, and the young King so deeply and keenly moved by my words, that I could not fail to see what weight would attach to any request I put while they were in that mood; and taking my fortune boldly in both hands, I resolved to risk everything on the chance of my being able to prove my charge against Quesada. Mayhew’s words of despondent caution recurred to me, but my ears were deaf to everything save the one absorbing purpose that swayed me.
“His Majesty was good enough on the day, when under Providence I was able to snatch him from the hands of his enemies, to promise to grant me such request as I might prefer. You, Madame, to-day, with gracious sympathy at the mention of my cares and anxieties, expressed the generous desire to help me. May I entreat you then, remembering what I have done, to grant me a favour should I make good my words, and bring home to the real traitor this treachery against your august family and your throne?”
“You would make conditions, my lord?”
“Your Majesty, I am but a suppliant.”
“What is this favour?”
“That your Majesties will be graciously disposed to pardon the unfortunate dupes who have been misled by the man who has used them for his own purpose?”
“It is impossible, Lord Glisfoyle, utterly impossible. You cannot mean this. Stay, I have heard a possible reason for this strange request. I have heard your name coupled with one of the most daring of these Carlists—a Senorita Castelar—by whose influence we are told Ferdinand Carbonnell, the Englishman, took up the role of Ferdinand Carbonnell, the Spanish Carlist. Has this anything to do with this favour you ask?”
“Your Majesty, the dearest wish of my life is to make the Senorita Castelar my wife; as the farthest thought of hers would be to make me a Carlist. I trust that my acts have shown this for me, rendering mere protests needless.”
“Mother!” cried the young King, eagerly, like the staunch little champion of my cause that he was.
“These are matters of deep state importance, and we cannot follow only our inclinations,” said his mother in rebuke; and the tone was hard and unpromising. “We cannot make any such promise as a condition; but if you prove your charge—and put to the proof it must be—the double claim you will have upon us will make it hard to resist whatever you ask. I can say no more.”
“I leave the appeal to your Majesty’s heart,” I answered, with a deep obeisance. “And I will make good my words now and here.” I drew out then the compromising letters in Quesada’s handwriting, and placing them in the Queen’s hands, I told her at great length and with all possible detail the story of the Minister’s treachery.
To this narrative she listened with even more engrossed attention than to my former one of her son’s rescue; and as I drove home point after point and saw them tell, I felt that I was winning her to my side all reluctantly and dead against her prejudice in her Minister’s favour, until she herself admitted that the route of the young King’s drive and the lack of guards on that eventful afternoon had been suggested by Quesada himself.
At the close she was so overcome that, feeling embarrassed, I asked leave to withdraw; but she detained me and gradually put aside her weakness.
“I still cannot believe it, Lord Glisfoyle; but it shall be tested to the uttermost and every means of investigation shall be exhausted. On that you have my word. And now——” she had got as far as that when there came an interruption, and a message was brought that an immediate audience was craved by one of the Secretaries of State on a matter of the deepest urgency.
“You will not leave the Palace, my lord. I wish to see you again,” and I withdrew to an ante-room to await her pleasure. I was satisfied with what I had done; and as I sat thinking over the interview, I noticed signs of much excitement and commotion; messengers kept coming and going quickly; high dignitaries and officials were hurrying this way and that, and the number of people in the great chamber increased largely, all talking together in clusters, scared in looks and excited in manner, although subdued in tone.
Presently the infection of the general excitement spread to me, and looking about me I caught sight of one of the two officers who had come to me at the Hotel de l’Opera on the night of the King’s rescue, Colonel Vasca, and I went up to him.
“Is there any special news to cause this commotion?” I asked, when we had exchanged greetings.
“Is it possible you have not heard it? The Minister of the Interior, Senor Quesada, has been assassinated within the last hour in his own house.”
“Quesada dead!” I exclaimed in profound astonishment. And then by a freak of memory Mayhew’s words recurred to me—“Only one thing will ever beat Quesada—and that’s death.” “How did it happen? Who was the assassin?” I asked.
“Some villain of a Carlist, it is believed, in revenge for the blow which the Government have just struck at them. But they will pay a heavy price for so foul a deed.”
My heart sank within me at the news. I realised in an instant what it must mean to my poor Sarita and everyone leagued with her, and I went back to my seat overwrought and half-distracted. She had indeed sown the wind to reap the whirlwind, and I could not hope to save her.
When at length the summons came for me to return to the Queen Regent, I followed the messenger almost like a man in a dream.