Chapter XV
Mr. Neville and I were enjoying ourselves immensely. We were both glad to be relieved from the cares and worries of Court ceremonies; both glad of a holiday; pleased to be able to tramp through the dusty lanes, free to sleep where we would, eat and drink what and when we felt inclined.
We talked of everything while tramping, or resting, as the case might be, with the sky blue above us, or heavy with great masses of cloud; and breathed in the fresh buoyant air of the Garacian mountains, or the warmer, milder air of the valleys; and forgot, or pretended to, for a little while, that we were people who mattered.
I daresay we both talked too much; perhaps all we said was not of the wisest; but, unfettered, we chatted like schoolboys. I doubt if there was ever so perfect a companion as Mr. Neville: he seemed to know exactly the mood you were in, and to be able to broach a subject of conversation suited to it.
Of my marriage, or rather the idea of it, we spoke but little. From what I told him, he gathered that my mind was made up on the point that I must marry, and the sooner the better.
Garace was a magnificent province; and visiting it as we did gave us a very clear idea of why the Rudarlians had been so pleased at its recovery.
Wherever we went, the fields and pastures gave evidence of great fertility; they were well watered, too; but the roads were terribly bad, and one could well understand that the farmers found great difficulty in handling their produce. It struck us that the Bornians had no particular reason to boast of the way they had governed the province.
It had not been my intention to waste all the time we were on our holiday, and so Mr. Neville and I made many notes, and discussed many plans dealing with the country through which we passed. Then at night we went carefully over these, and gave them fuller discussion before finally sending them to Karena.
The Minister to whom they were sent was thankful enough for any assistance in what was rather an arduous task.
We had been ten days on our wanderings before we reached Bornia, and then by a terribly bad road over the mountains. We slept out that night, and the next day dined at Stranz, a little town two or three miles from the frontier. I should say we ate there, since the only food available was castradina—the smoked mutton which the peasants love—a coarse white cheese, and cakes or loaves of maize. Plain, very plain; food, but not a dinner.
Had we walked any distance that morning, we should no doubt have been ready to declare the eatables fit for a king; but, as it was, we had only progressed two or three miles. A delightfully mossy bank by the side of a little mountain stream had enticed us to sit and sit, and keep on sitting, or rather sprawling; hour after hour we had sat there talking and smoking, until we decided that we had lazed long enough, and sauntered down to the so-called inn. I remember we chaffed each other about want of appetite.
Having paid an exorbitant sum for a practically uneaten meal, we refilled our pipes, and went out again into the sunshine.
Stranz boasted of one street, with some two hundred houses in all; the sun, blazing down on the white walls of these, tired the eyes, especially as every movement of one’s feet caused a cloud of dust to ascend. At the end of the street farthest from the inn stood the church, and I went in to say a few words to the priest and leave a small sum with him to be spent in charity.
The worthy man would, I know, have liked me to stay a while with him, to discuss everyday affairs; but it was time for us to be moving on, so I said good-bye and stepped out to Mr. Neville.
I found him staring down the road at two figures on horseback who were approaching at a good pace.
“Shall we stay and see them go past, Victor?”
“Yes, they may be interesting.”
In a few minutes they passed, a lady and her groom; that was all I had time to notice, for I was more interested in the horses than their riders. They could not have been more than two lengths away from where we were standing, when from the other end of the street came a crowd of people yelling terribly. The hurricane of cries frightened the lady’s horse, which reared, slipped, and came down; the groom’s horse became unmanageable, got the bit between its teeth and bolted.
Through the dust we could see the crowd of men, women, and children flying towards us, and after them a single man foaming at the mouth.
“My God, he’s mad!” said Mr. Neville.
The crowd scattered in every direction, some through open doorways, some even through windows, all scrambling and pushing to get out of the way of this terrible being. As he came nearer, I could see that he was dressed as a gentleman, and that he carried a rapier in his hand. A moment later he used it, for a child, terrified, ran across the road, the madman lunged in passing, and the poor little thing fell into the gutter.
We had been so amazed at the suddenness of this scene that we had remained standing where we were. The street was empty now, save for the lady who was standing horrified in the middle of the road, the fallen horse, the still, small body in the gutter, the madman, and ourselves.
Perhaps the wounding of the child had caused the madman to pause in his mad rush, for now, bent almost double, he was creeping towards the still motionless figure of the lady, who suddenly turned, and with a little scream of fear ran towards us.
Her face was white, and her two dark eyes were turned imploringly to us, as though she knew that we could save her from this awful man.
At the same moment both Mr. Neville and I jumped forward to bar his way. I carried a stout stick, Mr. Neville had none; luckily the man lunged at me, for I was enabled to turn his point with my stick. Over the madman’s face there stole a look of really malevolent cunning. I believe, then, he fancied in his poor, disordered mind that he was fighting a duel.
“Careful, Victor!” I heard Mr. Neville say.
“All right, I am going to try to disarm him; be ready to seize him if I succeed.”
I spoke in English, so that the man, even if he had any glimmering of reason, would in all probability not understand.
It was quite extraordinary to me that any man as mad as he could fight with so much skill; perhaps the madness lent him additional craftiness, but he must have been a fine swordsman when sane. As it was, he gave me more to do than any man I have ever fought with, and more than once came near wounding me; but I got him into the position I wanted and disarmed him, his sword flying through the window of a house near by.
As the weapon left his hand, Mr. Neville’s arms were round him, and in a few seconds he was bound and helpless.
My first thought was for the child; he was not dead, but the rapier had inflicted a nasty wound in his shoulder. However, as he was in the capable hands of his mother, who evidently possessed the knowledge of how to treat wounds of the less serious nature, I turned away relieved.
I found the lady by my side, and one of the most musical voices that I have ever heard gave me thanks.
“Ah, monsieur, how can I ever thank you and your friend enough?”
I felt that I was blushing furiously—quite ridiculously—why, I have no idea, as it was not common to me. My companion told me afterwards that I stammered like a schoolboy and looked as awkward.
“Madame—mademoiselle——”
“Not both, monsieur, only the latter.”
“Mademoiselle, it was nothing, there was little danger to me.”
“It was the bravest deed I have ever seen, in spite of your desire to belittle it, and I thank you again.”
Until now I had not really looked at her, but my mind seemed to clear suddenly, and I knew her rather than saw her. I find it hard to recall my first impressions, I realised that strictly speaking she was not beautiful, yet she was beautiful. Whether it was the expression, or subtle emanations from a beautiful soul, I cannot say, but that is what I think. I was absorbed, confused by the strength of her personality. I do not suppose it would affect all people in the same way, perhaps it answered to similar strata in my own.
It was with an effort that I returned to what had occurred, and to what she had said.
“Mademoiselle, I belittled it, as I have the advantage of being a good swordsman. My companion, who stood by unarmed, was far more worthy of commendation.”
“I have already tried to thank him.” She smiled, and I noticed that her teeth were adorable. “He is English, I think, and it is so difficult to thank Englishmen properly—they always seem ashamed of doing anything brave.”
“That is so; but your horse, mademoiselle, is, I am afraid, in rather a bad way.”
We walked over to where the animal now stood. I bent to examine the strained fetlock, while his mistress stroked his nose and talked to him encouragingly.
“It is quite impossible to ride him,” I said, looking up.
“Oh dear! and it is most unlikely that there will be another horse in this place.”
“But your groom, surely he will return soon?”
“I doubt it, and even if he were to, I could not ride his horse, as it is practically unbroken.”
“Then,” said Mr. Neville, who had rejoined us, “we must get you some kind of conveyance, unless you live within walking distance.”
“The walking would be less painful, monsieur, from what I know of the carriages in this part of the country.”
“You could rest here at the inn,” I said.
“Could they give me something to eat, do you think?” She looked at our faces and laughed gaily. “No, that were too much to expect; then I must walk, if only for the sake of the work these good people neglect while we remain here.”
There were certainly more people interested in us than the occasion merited, and there was a curious open-mouthed look about most of them.
“Mademoiselle will accept our escort?”
“Gladly, monsieur, if I do not take you out of your way.”
“All ways are the same to us, save the one we shall travel in your company.”
“And that will be atrocious.”
“Impossible,” said Mr. Neville.
“Then come; but first let me give orders about my horse, and for my groom when he returns.”
It only took a few minutes to arrange these things and to gather up our belongings; and we started. I stopped for a few minutes at the house where the wounded child lay and gave his mother a coin or two to pay for necessities, as I had seen the poverty of the place. I also stopped for a moment to say a word to the priest, and ask him to look after the child. Then I rejoined the others, who had walked slowly on.
“Monsieur loves children?”
“Indeed, yes.”
“Perhaps you have some of your own?”
“I am unmarried, mademoiselle.”
We walked a little way in silence, I could feel my companion taking stock of me.
“Might I know the names of those to whom I am so indebted?”
“Why, of course, how stupid of me to forget—Mr. Neville, and I am Victor Stevens.”
“But not English, too, surely?”
“No, I am a Rudarlian.”
“Then I ought to hate you.”
“Not so, since we are no longer enemies.”
“Nor are we friends. Ah, I wonder whether you know to what extent this country suffers.”
“In what way, mademoiselle? I thought the terms of peace were not ungenerous.”
“No, indeed, they were far from that, but even so the people suffer, by the extra taxation entailed. Oh, I know that Bornia declared war, but it was the fault of a corrupt Court, not the wish of the people.”
“That may be so, but still I do not see why there should be enmity between the two nations; rather should the leniency of the terms of peace augment the friendship that brave foes should have for one another. It is not as though we had demanded part of Bornia’s territory, we merely regained our own province.”
“I know, I know! Please don’t think that we are ungrateful, but it hurts me so to think of many precious lives being lost, and so much treasure wasted to satisfy the venom of one man.”
“You mean?”
“Why, Prince Alexis; it is common property that he and his clique engineered the war. He is dead, so we must speak no ill of him, but he was at the bottom of everything. I believe it was his personal hatred to King Victor which made him go to the lengths he did. But there, do not let us spoil our walk, tell me of your King; you know him, perhaps?”
“Mr. Neville has spoken to him many times,” I said.
“Oh, please tell me of him; I am afraid that he is too perfect from all accounts.”
“You have set me a hard task, to describe him would take too much thought for an old man, mademoiselle; but I may tell you that he is not ugly, and possesses certain good qualities.”
“He is a good King, and—messieurs, you have told me your names, and courteously refrained from asking me for mine. I am Princess Irma, eldest daughter of the King of Bornia.”
“Your Royal Highness has our homage and thanks,” said Mr. Neville, bowing.
“Ah, please no ceremony, forget my rank, and just think of me as the girl you so bravely saved. But I had to tell you.”
As for myself, I was too astonished to say a word, my longing for romance had indeed been answered with a vengeance; but it had placed me in rather a queer position, for I could not now retain my incognito with any feelings of satisfaction: it would hardly be honourable. I must tell her, of course, but it was not the thought of that which made my blood course so strongly through my veins, it was a gust of sheer delight that I had at last met one whom I could treat as an equal, who could be my companion and whom, if it was so willed, I could learn to love. My eyes swept over her perfect figure as she turned from Mr. Neville to me. Her carriage was magnificent, with the grace and dignity which became a Princess, and the womanly charm and sweetness which became her sex; her whole expression was radiant with youth and the joy of living.
“Princess, I must crave forgiveness for having deceived you. I told you my name was Victor Stevens, I am——”
“King Victor II. of Rudarlia. Your Majesty must think me strangely obtuse, to have imagined that a shaven moustache could hide his identity.”
And this delightful girl went off into a peal of laughter, in which after a moment Mr. Neville and myself joined.
“Your eyes are too keen, Princess,” I said.
“I knew your Majesty’s face so well that I recognised you almost immediately.”
“But surely we have never met before?”
“No, but I have seen your photograph many times.”
“And I yours, but I did not know you.”
“That is hardly to be wondered at, as the Court photographers are notorious flatterers.”
“And yet you knew me?”
“Your Majesty is a much more important person than I, and therefore more easily to be remembered.”
“May I ask where you are staying, Princess? There is no Royal residence near here, is there?”
“No, I am visiting the family of one of the ladies-in-waiting.”
“I was wondering how far we might accompany you; for, although you have been so kind with regard to my nationality, others might be less so.”
“Prince de Sagresse is one of your Majesty’s admirers; he does not belong to the Court.”
“Then, Princess, you have no objection to our walking as far as his gates with you?”
“It will be a pleasure to me,” she said shyly. “But will not your Majesty come farther than the gates? The Prince would be highly honoured.”
“I shall be delighted.”
“And Mr. Neville?”
“Mr. Neville has given a great deal of his life to me, Princess, he would not now interfere with my happiness.”
This sounded so like a compliment that our companion blushed slightly. I, however, did not mean it to be such, for to me it was a great delight to have some one of my own age, to whom I could talk naturally without the necessary thought that I was the King. It was an experience that was absolutely novel, and I knew that I should enjoy myself immensely. Besides which, there was the reason for my tour to be considered, and I confess to feeling very much interested in Princess Irma.
I fancy we all felt rather sorry when the turreted wall of the old château came in sight; the two miles had proved very short ones, and almost before we knew it we were standing near the gate.
The situation, from my point of view, was not uninteresting, for I had not the least idea as to how the old Bornian noble would receive the King of a country which such a short while before had been hostile. We had not long to wait, however; for, as we came in sight of the terraces in front of the house, an old white-haired gentleman came down them to greet the Princess, his face betraying a slight, well-bred surprise upon seeing her on foot, and accompanied by two gentlemen, both of whom were strangers to him.
We fell a little behind, as the Princess explained to her host the incident which had brought about our acquaintance. She then evidently explained who we were, for he came towards us with every mark of pleasure and diffidence.
I stepped forward and held out my hand.
“Prince, Her Royal Highness has perhaps told you, that, having accompanied her to your gate, we pressed for the pleasure of an introduction to her host.”
“Your Majesty honours me by expressing such a desire. As it is, my house and household are at your service; the longer your Majesty will make use of it, the greater our delight.”
“For an hour or two, Prince, if we may; so that we can become better acquainted.”
We did not carry a great deal of unnecessary clothing with us; so, after making ourselves as presentable as we could, we were conducted to a delightful room gay with flowers, and which gave evidence of feminine occupation. One of those comfortable rooms in which you feel at home immediately, with no stiff chairs to make you think of ceremony. From a big divan, smothered in cushions, a girl uncoiled herself as we entered; uncoiled is rather an unkind word to use, but it was gracefully done, and swiftly. Her face looked familiar to me, and for a little while I could not recollect where I had seen it; she was an extremely beautiful girl—suddenly it flashed across my mind. I looked again and remembered.
“I would ask your Majesty’s permission to present my daughter Sonia.”
“We have already met, Prince; have we not, mademoiselle?”
“Oh!” she cried, after looking at me intently.
“How is the ankle?” I asked gravely.
“Oh!” and then to her father, who looked slightly puzzled, she said, “You remember that I hurt myself when staying on the Garude, father? It was His Majesty who helped me and was so kind.”
“I lost a handkerchief, I remember,” I said, laughing.
“I have it yet. I kept it as a souvenir.”
“I only had the memory of a delightful afternoon to keep, mademoiselle.”
“Then I had the best of it, as I had the handkerchief as well.”
I was just going to make some laughing reply to this when I caught Mr. Neville’s eye. There was a distinctly quizzical look in it, and it flashed across me that I had spoken to him about a girl on a mossy river bank, in terms which I could not now recall without reflecting on the folly of extreme youth. I remembered how, at that time, I seemed to be absolutely wrapped up in Sonia, how I imagined that without her my whole life must inevitably be wrecked: and now? Well, she was a charming, beautiful girl, but I did not even fancy that I was in love with her.
At this moment the Princess returned. She had made a rapid change in her toilette, and clad in some light-coloured gown she looked radiant, even beside Sonia, whom many, or rather most people, would have called the more beautiful.
The hour that I had intended to stay passed all too quickly, it ran into two, three, four, without my being aware of the lapse of time. Tea had been brought out to the terrace where we were sitting; and, after the days we had spent in not over-clean inns, the delicate linen and china and perfect service were very acceptable; but it was the charming company which was the greatest delight.
The Princess and I had worked out to the satisfaction of both of us, or nearly so, our exact degree of relationship. We differed, I remember, on the point of whether it was tenth or eleventh cousinship, three times removed; Mr. Neville finally solving it in his quiet, dry way, when we appealed to him.
“It is simplicity itself; you are undoubtedly Uncle and Aunt.”
Some little while after this, Sonia made a remark about the beauty of the sky; and I realised, then, how long we had been sitting there—it was past six o’clock. Upon rising to take my leave of them, I felt genuinely sorry, so much so that when the Prince remarked that the roads were very bad, that it was a good twelve miles to the next town, and that they would consider it the highest honour if I would spend the night there, I only hesitated for a moment before accepting their offer.
I did not hesitate longer, because I knew that, even if I wanted to, I should find it very difficult to tear myself away from an atmosphere that was so happy and delightful.
As I resumed the seat that I had vacated, I was ridiculously glad to see the pleased smile with which Princess Irma greeted my decision.
After a dinner which was only ceremonious by the attendance, for our costumes were not those of full evening dress, we strolled out to enjoy the perfection of the moonlit garden.
I do not remember ever having felt so extraordinarily happy before, I am almost sure that the moon must have had an effect upon me, for I went to my room that night in a state of mind bordering upon the hilarious. I had a few minutes’ conversation with Mr. Neville before turning in; I fancy he was as pleased to see me happy as nothing else could have made him.
“My dear old tutor, isn’t she splendid?”
He looked at me gravely, and without twitching a muscle answered:
“She is one of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen, I no longer wonder that the idea of kingship was abhorrent to you.”
“Eh?”
“It must have been a terrible wrench to give up all thought of her; and to think that she retains your handkerchief, it is really romantic, but rather pathetic.”
“I don’t mean Sonia.”
“No?”
There was infinite surprise in his voice. I looked at him quickly—a twinkle had crept into his eyes.
“You knew that I did not mean Sonia quite well, but don’t you think the Princess is simply ripping?”
“Yes, I do, my dear boy, Her Royal Highness seems to be a very noble type of womanhood.”
“I say, do you think it is worth while going to Sonale?”
“There are three other sisters.”
“I don’t care if there are forty. I don’t want to see them now; but I do want to stay on here for a few days, and I know the Prince would be very pleased. Suppose we do.”
“It would be most agreeable, Victor.”
“Then we will,” I said.