CHAPTER X.
KING GEORGE THE FIFTH.
England was at peace; but it was the lurid peace before the storm. Allmen knew that the days were hurrying on toward an outbreak. In whatshape it should come no one knew, and the mystery deepened the sensationof expectancy and dread.
It had been publicly spoken, in the street, the press, and even inParliament, that the Royalists were conspiring for a revolution; andthis certainty had sunk deep into the hearts of the people. Theirsilence was ominous; the Royalists looked upon it as favorable.
But there were Englishmen who knew their countrymen better, and whoforeboded darkly, though without fear, of the end; and among these wasRichard Lincoln. His heart beat with the popular pulsation, and he knewthat there could be but one outcome to such a blind and recklessenterprise.
Mary Lincoln alone perceived how deep was the trouble in her father'ssoul as those surcharged hours went reeling past. Deep beyond even histrouble was her own, for though she had not confessed it even toherself, every hope of her life was bound up in the destinies of theRoyalist conspiracy.
On the afternoon of November 23d there was an early adjournment ofParliament, and her father came home more depressed than she had everseen him. Her heart grew cold in the unusual silence.
Mary waited for her father to speak, but the evening wore on, and he hadonly tried to lead her to every-day subjects.
"Father," she said at last, "there is depressing news. What hashappened? Will you not tell me?"
"Yes, there is sad news, dear--gloomy news for some. Those madmen willattempt a revolution by civil war within the next twenty-four hours."
"It is known?"
"Yes, it is all known--and all prepared for."
Mary's face changed as if a white light had fallen on it; her pitifulexcitement was evident in the quivering lips and restless hands. Shewould have cried out in her grief and pity had she been alone; but herfather's strength, so close to her, made her strong and patient.
"If it is known," she said, with forced calmness, "surely it will bestopped without bloodshed? They will arrest those gentlemen before theygo too far."
Had her father looked into the eyes that spoke more than the lips hemight have read beyond the words. But his mind was preoccupied.
"Bloodshed might be avoided by their arrest," he said, sadly; "but theevil would only be postponed, not eradicated. The conspirators haveentered the rapids: they will be allowed to go over the falls."
"Oh, father!" whispered Mary, standing beside him and holding his arm,"can they not be warned?"
Richard Lincoln, startled from his own brooding by this astoundingquestion from his daughter, turned, almost sternly, to speak of therighteous doom of traitors, but he did not say the words. At last he sawwhat a less observant eye might have seen long before--the suffering andfear in her eyes, and the lines which concealed anxiety had drawn on hisdaughter's face. Without a word she came into his arms and lay upon hisbreast and sobbed, and no word was needed that was not spoken in thefather's gentle hand on her dear head.
The hours of the afternoon went slowly by, and Richard Lincoln was gladto look forward to an unusual evening as the best means of divertingMary's mind from the subject which filled it. At seven o'clock a greatpublic meeting was to be held in Cobden Square. The platform for thespeakers happened to be built beneath the windows of Mr. Windsor's cityhouse, and the hospitable American, who was to depart next morning forhis own country, had invited a large party to hear the speeches.
Mary was glad when her father told her that he wished her to go withhim, for Maggie Windsor was the only one who knew her secret. As shedrove with her father into the square in the evening, the place wasbright as mid-day with electric lights. The crowd was already gathering,and the people were strangely silent.
At Mr. Windsor's there was a large party, and among the guests many ofthose whom Mary had met at Ripon House.
It was almost a merry gathering. The genial American gentleman and hischarming daughter had conquered even the austerity of the Duchess ofBayswater; and the Duke conversed with Mr. Sydney, swaying his goldeyeglass on its string with gracious abandon.
Geoffrey Ripon and Featherstone, who were together, saw Mr. Lincoln andMary as soon as they entered.
"Geoffrey," said Featherstone, in a bantering whisper, "behold ourdeadly enemy. Do you dare to speak to him?"
"I should rather not," answered Geoffrey, "but I suppose we must.Heavens! How pale his daughter is!"
"Come, Ripon. Mr. Lincoln sees us. Here goes to shake hands with the manwhom we must send to prison to-morrow--if he don't send us."
Geoffrey Ripon felt more like a truant schoolboy approaching a severemaster than he cared to confess even to himself, as he moved through thecrowded room toward Richard Lincoln. But when they met there was nothingin the manner of either to indicate any unusual feeling.
Mary Lincoln stood near a window, from which she looked over the stillsilent but now dense crowd in the square. While she mentally contrastedthe two scenes, that within with that without, she turned her head withthe consciousness of being observed, and met the quiet eyes of Sir JohnDacre, who bowed without a smile.
Mary's strong impulse was to warn him of his danger, at any cost toherself, and she had taken a step toward him, when she was interceptedby Mrs. Oswald Carey. The Beauty was splendidly dressed, and a deepexcitement blazed in her eyes.
"We have kept places for you, Miss Windsor and I," said she, with gaykindliness. "Is your father going to speak to-night?"
"I think not," answered Mary, her old aversion for Mrs. Carey doubled onthe instant.
"Then we shall take him too. Shall we go and find him?"
Dacre was still standing by the window, and Mary Lincoln, thinking tobring him to her, asked him if the meeting had opened.
"Not yet," he said, from his corner; "but they are crowding the platformwith speakers."
He would have gone to Miss Lincoln, whose earnest nature, as well as herbeautiful face, had impressed the single-minded Royalist perhaps moredeeply than anything outside the King's own cause. But he did not move,because of his dislike for Mrs. Oswald Carey, founded somewhat on aninstinctive doubt of her honesty.
Mrs. Oswald Carey, glancing from Mary's face to Dacre's, quietlyresolved to keep these two from coming together that evening if shecould prevent it. She now urged Mary to take her to her father while she"delivered Miss Windsor's message," a word adopted on the moment; andMary had to go with her.
Meanwhile the meeting in the square had opened, and the voices of thespeakers were clearly heard in the drawing-room. It would have been ascene of singularly oppressive character even to a heedless observer;but its unexpressed and perhaps unconscious purport was deeply read bymany of those who listened from the balcony and parlors of Mr. Windsor'shouse.
Now and then came from the vast field of faces in the square a rumblingroar that swelled and died like thunder; and then came the single voiceof a speaker, stretched like a thin wire, joining roar to roar. Allthrough the proceedings there was never a laugh from the multitude.
"Listen!" cried Colonel Featherstone from the balcony, late in thenight; "here is a dramatic fellow."
The man then addressing the crowd was one who had from his firstsentence moved his audience to an extraordinary degree--one of thosemagnetic voices of the people which flames the word that is smoulderingin every heart. He had used no cloak for his meaning, like the otherspeakers; but boldly attacked the Legitimists, the Monarchy, the titlesand the privileges of the aristocracy.
"These are things of the past, and not of the future!" sounded from thedeep voice. "The England of to-morrow shall have no aristocracy but herwisest and her best, shall have no hereditary rights but the equal rightof every Englishman!"
Here followed the thunderous approval of the multitude.
"Listen!" again cried Featherstone from his advanced place on thebalcony. "Listen!"
"Will that crime be attempted?" cried the electric voice of the orato
r."Yes! I believe it will be attempted." Then there was a low murmur amongthe mass, and a changing of feet that made an ominous, scuffling sound."What then? Then it will be every man's duty to strike down the enemiesof the people--to destroy them, so that we and our children shall not bedestroyed. We do not appeal to the sword, but the sword is ours, and wecan use it terribly. Their blood be upon their own heads who dare to laytheir hands on the charter of the people's rights!"
In the wave of tremendous applause that followed these words MaryLincoln looked at Dacre, who had turned from the window. His face,always severe, was now set in fierce sternness. Again she was on thepoint of going to him to speak the warning that was burning her heart,but she saw Dacre suddenly draw himself up proudly, as if he had beenchallenged. She followed his look and saw her father meet Dacre's glanceas sword meets sword.
Every line in Richard Lincoln, from bent brow to clenched hand, seemedfilled with the meaning of the orator's ominous words.
The two men, standing almost within arm's reach, looked for one earnestmoment into each other's eyes and hearts. What might have followed, whocan say, had not the engagement been broken from without. Mary Lincolnpassed between them, and laying her hand on her father's arm spoke tohim, asking to be taken home. The father's eyes fell to the troubledface, and without speaking he went with his daughter.
Mary and her father were hardly missed out of the bright party; but oneface became smoother when they had departed--the Beauty's. The gloom ofthe public meeting brought out the brilliant elements of the gatheringwith rare effect.
From group to group flashed Mrs. Carey, and her lips and eyes were lesseloquent than the clinging touch of her arm, which was almost a caress,as she left or tried to leave her impression of sympathy and admirationon one after another of the Royalists.
Two men she avoided, instinctively and deliberately--Geoffrey Ripon andSir John Dacre. Calculating, cool, unprincipled as she was, she fearedto meet the eyes of these two men, whose very lives she had underminedand sold.
It was eleven o'clock and most of the ladies had gone, when thebeautiful woman, attended by Featherstone, drew her soft cloak roundher in her carriage and gave her hand, without a glove, to be kissed bythe big colonel, bending in the doorway.
"Your driver knows where to go?" asked Featherstone, closing the door.
"Oh, yes; straight home," answered Mrs. Carey, smiling; "good-night."
She lived in a quiet street on the south side of Regent's Park, andthither she went. But when she reached Oxford Street she rang thecarriage bell and changed her course.
"Drive to Clapham Common," she said, curtly, "and as fast as you can."
It was a dark night, with a drizzling rain, and as the cab rattled alongthe empty streets she lay back with closed eyes, evidently thinking ofno unpleasant things. It was over five miles to her destination, andmore than once on her way her thoughts brought a smile to her lips, andonce even an exultant laugh.
On the Battersea side of Clapham Common, in one of those immense oldbrick houses built in the time of Queen Victoria, with trees and lawnsand lodges, lived a man whose name was known in every stock exchange andmoney market in the world--Benjamin Bugbee, the banker.
From his devotion to the House of Hanover, in its glorious and itsgloomy fortunes, and from his intimate business relations with the royalfamily, Bugbee had received the romantic title of "The King's Banker," aname by which he was recognized even in other countries.
Bugbee was a small, bald-headed, narrow-chinned old man, with an air ofpreternatural solemnity. From boyhood up, through all the stages oflife, he had been noted for the mysterious sobriety of demeanor whichnow marked him as an angular, slow-moving, silent and unpleasant oldman.
The devotion of Bugbee to the House of Hanover was clear enough; but thesprings of it were quite unseen until some years later, when they werelaid bare by a rigid Parliamentary inquiry. The astonishing truth wasthat this silent and insignificant old man, since the year of the King'sbanishment, had controlled with absolute power one of the greatest, ifnot the greatest, private fortunes ever accumulated in any country--thatof the royal exile, who was known to his devoted followers as KingGeorge the Fifth.
It is true that the poverty of George, in his residence in the UnitedStates, was of world-wide notoriety. The shifts of the "Court" in Bostonfor very existence, and the extraordinary measures adopted from time totime by royalty to make both ends meet were a scandal in the ears ofkings and courtiers everywhere.
Nevertheless, George was one of the richest men in the world--or atleast he had been while on the throne, and he would be again should heever become the reigning monarch of England. The enormous wealth whichhad begun to accumulate in Victoria's frugal reign had grown like arolling snowball for over a hundred years. For the latter half centurythe royal investors had, wisely enough, avoided all national bondsexcept those of the two old republics, France and America; but in thegreat cities of the earth, and notably in those that stood the leastchance of bombardment or earthquake, the heir of the Hanoverian line wasone of the largest owners of real property.
George's royal grandfather was a generous and almost extravagantmonarch; but his enormous private wealth was sufficient even for soluxurious a prince. The inheritance which had made his reign stable andpleasant he secured for his son, strictly stipulating that it was to beenjoyed by him or his heir while reigning as monarch of England.
Fatal words these of King Edward's will, for they secured the lifelongpoverty of the grandson whose welfare he had at heart. During the fewyears of George's reign the royal coffers overflowed with gold. Bugbee,the King's banker, was exhaustless as an ocean of wealth.
But the revolution that banished the King and his noblemen, among themthose who had been executors with Bugbee of King Edward's will, left thesolemn little banker absolute master of the royal fortune--until Georgeor his heir came back to reign as King of England.
For twenty years Mr. Bugbee had been in possession, or rather dominion.The poverty of the royal exile in America was well known to him; but tothe demands and petitions of George and his "Court" he turned a deafear. His conscience, he answered, would not allow him to touch one pennyof the treasure, which could only be legally drawn by a reigning King ofEngland.
In the early years of the King's exile, Bugbee had sent considerablesums to his royal master, which he alleged were from his own purse; butthough he had since continued these, the annual amount had been reducedto a beggarly allowance.
Still the old banker was the most trusted agent of the Royalists; andweak George himself regarded with a vague respect, almost like fear, theinflexible integrity which controlled the conscience of this mostdevoted subject.
Mrs. Oswald Carey did not hear the city clocks, which "clashed andhammered" the midnight hour, as her cab rolled up the tree-lined avenueof the pretentious house of "The King's Banker."
The driver rang the bell; and as the door almost instantly opened, Mrs.Carey, from the cab, saw several men in the wide hall, some sitting andothers standing, like men in waiting.
A tall flunkey took the card, closed the door, and Mrs. Oswald Carey hadto wait in the cab a full minute. Then the door opened, and down thewide steps of the porch hobbled Mr. Bugbee, with gouty, tender feet, thetop of his bald head shining under the lamp.
"I had almost given you up," was his greeting; and as he helped theBeauty from the cab there was an unquestionable welcome in his gratifiedsmile. That they had met before, and intimately, was evident in themanner of the reception. The truth was that Mrs. Oswald Carey and herhusband were old connections of the banker, the husband through monetarydifficulties and the wife through complications of her own, in which oldBugbee had, for some reason or other, assisted her more than once. Sheknew that her husband was in the old man's power, but she neverpretended to know it. On his side, old Bugbee was a foresighted worker.For years past he had seen that the day of the King's return would come,and for that day he meant to be prepared in more ways than one. In hiscunning old
brain he had some plan laid away in which he had provided apart for this beautiful and utterly unprincipled woman.
"Am I too late?" asked Mrs. Oswald Carey.
"Only too late for supper," was the dry answer of the old banker, butthe tone was pleasant.
Through the hall, where those in waiting stood respectfully as shepassed, the banker led her to a small, luxuriously furnished parlor onthe ground floor. As she threw aside her wraps and sank into a softchair, old Bugbee opened the door of an inner room, and turned to her:
"These are your apartments," said he.
The Beauty looked around, but said nothing, only nodding her head.
"You are very tired?" questioned old Bugbee.
"No; not very. But I should like some supper--and a glass of wine."
Mr. Bugbee touched a bell and gave an order.
"It is almost midnight?" she asked.
"It is after twelve--ten minutes. The morning of the great day hascome."
And the old banker looked into the eyes of the young Beauty, and almostsmiled in response to her low, derisive laugh.
"He came to-day, then?" she asked.
"Yesterday," corrected Mr. Bugbee; "at noon, he landed from mysteam-yacht, in the very heart of London. So much for the internationalpolice."
"Do they know?" said Mrs. Oswald Carey. "Does Sir John Dacre know?"
"Sir John Dacre helped the King into his carriage when he landed. Heknows that he is here, and expects to meet him at Aldershot to-morrow."
While pretending to move and speak as if quite at ease, Mr. Bugbee wasobviously nervous and unsettled. Mrs. Carey observed this, but withoutappearing to do so.
"Where is your husband?" Mr. Bugbee asked quietly, with his face turnedfrom Mrs. Carey, whose side view he had before him in a low mirror. Hesaw her move in her chair, and slowly look him all over, and then glancedown as if considering her answer.
"He is on the Continent--at Nice, I think."
She had dined with him that day, but did not know that from the dinnerOswald Carey had come straight to Mr. Bugbee's house to keep anappointment with the wily "King's Banker," who wished to know how theBeauty had spent the day, and whom she had seen.
"What a liar she is!" muttered old Bugbee, but he smiled at himself inthe mirror, as if approving his superior astuteness.
"Then there is no danger of his making a noise about your absence fromhome to-night. Some husbands would be alarmed, and might apply to thepolice."
Mrs. Carey looked up to see if Bugbee were serious; and then she laughedheartily and rather loudly, while he held up his hands with an alarmedexpression.
"Hush!" and the frown of the old man was something to remember. "Theyobserve as much formality as if he were in Windsor Palace."
"Well--he will be there to-day, will he not?" and Mrs. Carey lookedinnocently at the banker.
He came closer and bent his broad, bare poll to her as he spoke:
"No! He will never see Windsor again."
"But the Royalists--will they not raise the King's flag to-day?" Stillthe guileless surprise in her face, which had its effect on old Bugbee.
"Yes; they will strike to-day at Aldershot--and they will be defeated."
"How do you know? Have they not plenty of men?"
"Men? Men are only in the way. They have no money."
"And the King? Will he be taken?"
"He will not be there," and Mr. Bugbee drew close to the Beauty again.
"Where will he be?" she asked.
"Here--with you! You will save him by detaining him."
She sat still, and looked at him with a steady stare. She knew quitewell what purpose the old banker had in mind, and what she had comethere for. But she meant to play her own game, not Bugbee's.
Her own game was to get the old King under her own influence, whether hewent to reign in Windsor or to rust in America. She knew his characterwell, and she had little doubt of her power if she could only get thereins. From that position she knew enough, too, to overcome all scruplesof conscience in the King's conscientious banker.
Bugbee was playing against two possible results--the success of the Kingor his death. Either was ruin for him. Investigation would follow,whether George were a king or a corpse. So long as he remained in exilethe Republicans would never attempt to confiscate the private fortune ofthe banished monarch; while, on the other hand, the royal exile wouldnot venture to appeal to the courts against his banker, thereby exposinghis enormous wealth to the cupidity of the Republicans.
"You have gone too far," said Mrs. Carey, steadily looking at thebanker; "I shall do nothing of the kind. My reputation--"
"Shall be quite safe--your husband being at Nice," and old Bugbee's wasthe guileless face now.
"Humph!"
"No one else will miss you for two days."
"Ah! for two days. And then?"
"Then you go home; you have been visiting your American friends, or anyother friends out of London."
"Yes; that is all very well," Mrs. Carey said quietly. "And he--theKing?"
"He will return to America at once, leaving this house in two days, whenall is quiet, to go on board the steam-yacht which brought him over."
Mrs. Carey said nothing more for nearly a minute.
"Where is that yacht now?" she asked at length.
"In London;" and the old banker dovetailed his fingers and stood with asmile as if ready for all questions.
"And for my services--my assistance in this game of yours--"
"Pardon me," interrupted Bugbee, sententiously, "it is not a game ofmine. It is my plan to save the King from certain destruction."
"Well, whatever it is," said Mrs. Oswald Carey, impatiently, "for mypart of it I shall have--what?"
"Ten thousand pounds," answered old Bugbee, dropping the words slowly.
"When?"
"When the King is safe--when he is gone. In two days' time."
"That will not do!" and there was a ring of purpose in the Beauty'svoice that made the old banker's heart beat quicker, and made him keenlyattentive. She repeated: "That will not do! He may not go to America, orhe may not remain here. He may be captured, or he may be killed. He maygo to Aldershot to-morrow, despite all your plans. You know he intendsto go. But I--I shall have risked everything, whether you win or lose,and at your bidding. Oh, no, my dear Mr. Bugbee, it will not do at all."
"What do you want, then?" asked the old man.
"I want the money now, and I want just double the sum you have named."
"You cannot have--"
"Then I shall go home;" and Mrs. Carey rose and began to arrange hercloak, but keeping her eyes on old Bugbee's face. Both were playing forthe same stake, though only one knew it. Mrs. Carey read the oldbanker's purpose, but Bugbee had no idea that she had any outlook beyondthe purchase money--twenty instead of ten thousand pounds. He wassecretly not displeased at the demand, which seemed an indication of hersincerity.
"You shall have the money," he said, having pretended to consider. "Ishall write a check now."
"I want the money; I do not want a check." And she remained standing.
Old Bugbee smiled as he went out. In a few minutes he returned, andfinding her still prepared to go, took the cloak from her, and placed inher hand twenty crisp Bank of England notes.
The entrance of the tall flunkey prevented Mrs. Carey from speaking herpleasure, but she looked it at the banker.
"You are wanted, sir," said the erect flunkey.
Old Bugbee hurriedly left the room, and as soon as the door had closed,Mrs. Oswald Carey ran to a large mirror, where she smiled at herself,and concealed her treasure in her dress.
Then she went into the rooms which the old banker had said were hers;and some minutes later, when the banker returned and she came towardhim, he smiled approval at the few supreme touches that had made herbeauty positively radiant. Her dress was cut low and square, and a softgauze of exquisite texture covered her bosom. This had been concealedthroughout the evening by a skilful a
rrangement of rich lace. There wasa single red rose in her hair.
"You are to present a petition," old Bugbee said, as if givinginstructions. "Have you thought of it?"
"Trust me," she said, smilingly. "I am ready."
Leaning on the arm of the King's banker, Mrs. Carey ascended the widestairs and on the first floor entered a small parlor. Through an opendoor she saw, in a great room beyond, three men, two of whom were bowingobsequiously, as if taking their leave.
The third person was the King.
Mrs. Oswald Carey smiled inwardly as she took in the points of thisextraordinary figure, which was so like, yet so absurdly unlike, theprints with which all the world was familiar.
King George the Fifth was dressed in a splendid court suit, his breastblazing with orders, and his coat and waistcoat literally covered withgold embroidery. He was a short, heavy man, about fifty years of age,with a large, oval head, made still more large and oval by a greatdouble chin, and by the soft fatness of his cheeks. His hair had beenred, but was almost gray, and he was bald on top. He was closely shaven,showing a heavy, sensual mouth, out of all proportion to a small andrather fine nose. But his eyes gave the expression, or want ofexpression, to his face; they were set very far apart, and they weresmall, round and prominent, with white eyelashes.
Had his legs been proportionate to his body he would have been a largeman; but they were very short. As he stood, in laced coat, breeches andbuckled shoes, he was laughably like a figure on a playing-card--thefigure in profile.
When the two men had backed out, the banker led Mrs. Carey into thepresence. Then both intruders bowed reverentially. The King had sat downand he remained seated, paying not the least heed to the courtesies, butclosely regarding the lady, whose extraordinary attractions had struckhim at first sight.
Mrs. Carey advanced timidly and sank kneeling at his feet; and still theroyal eye graciously scanned the beautiful petitioner. Once she raisedher face to speak, but meeting the gaze of the King her suffused eyessank again.
"She is quite overcome, Bugbee," said the King in a husky voice, as oddas his appearance.
"The sight of her King has overpowered her, your Majesty," answered oldBugbee, in a low tone of solemn awe.
"Come now," said George, encouragingly, and he touched the soft chin inraising her face: "Speak! What may we do for so fair a subject?"
"Oh, my King!" exclaimed the Beauty, clasping her hands, "I come withwords only for your own ear."
An unquestionable frown shadowed Bugbee's face at the audacity of thewoman. George's little eyes rested on the face of the speaker, as if hehad not comprehended. The old banker remained standing in his place.
"I am bound, your Majesty, only to speak my message to you alone." Shewas so evidently excited and her pleading was so eloquent that the Kingwas at once deeply interested.
George had raised her by taking her hand, and now he looked vaguely fromher to old Bugbee.
"It is a message. You said a petition," said the King, dubiously, to hisbanker.
"Your Majesty, I thought--"
"Leave us, Bugbee," interrupted George, with a wave of his hand, notlooking at the banker. "Let us hear this fair messenger."
Old Bugbee bowed and backed till he reached the door, hardly knowingwhether to be pleased or indignant. He ought to have made the womanexplain her plan to him before she entered the King's presence. Now hemust wait, while she was free to act as she chose.
When the door closed on the banker Mrs. Carey's whole manner changed.She drew near the King and excitedly laid her hand on his arm.
"Oh, your Majesty! I have come to save you! You are betrayed!"
"Betrayed!" repeated George, trying to grasp the idea, while his littleeyes were quite expressionless.
"Betrayed!" sobbed Mrs. Carey, "and all is lost except your Majesty'slife and liberty."
"How do you know this? Why does not he know?" and the alarmed Georgenodded at the door.
"I do not know, your Majesty. I only know that I know it, and that Ihave come here to save you at the risk of my life; but what is my lifeto the precious life of my King?"
"Betrayed!" repeated George, as if the meaning of the word were slowlycoming to him out of a fog. "But to-morrow--to-day--my men will proclaimthe restoration."
"Oh, my King! to-morrow--"
"To-morrow I shall be King!" re-echoed George, while his glance wanderedround the room, as if seeking to escape from the bore of excitement."Betrayed! No, no; my men--"
"Your men, Sire, to-night will be dead or in prison," said Mrs. Carey,with increased firmness, reading the puerile nature and seeing the valueof emphasis.
"I am to join my gentlemen at Aldershot at noon," muttered the King.
"No, no!" cried Mrs. Carey, and her beautiful hands clasped his armbeseechingly. "Your Majesty will be lost if you attempt to go--all whogo there will be lost."
There was a depth in her voice at these words that carried conviction.
"Your Majesty must escape from England to-night!"
"Impossible!" cried George, with some dignity, but more irritation.
"Oh, listen to me, Sire!" she sobbed, "and do not despise my wordsbecause I am only a weak woman."
Here the small eyes of the King rested on her again, and the royal handsoothed her back to calmness by stroking her beautiful hair.
"Everything is known," she continued, "except that your Majesty haslanded. If that were known all were lost. President Bagshaw hassurrounded Aldershot with soldiers. There are twenty to one against theRoyalists."
"But the King's name will change them;" and as he spoke George seemedreally to believe his words. "When Colonel Arundel proclaims me King,as Dacre says he will--"
"Oh, Sire! Sire!" sobbed Mrs. Carey, now really touched by the vividpicture that appeared of her own treachery; "even that is known to thePresident--and all the soldiers who are to kill Colonel Arundel havealready received his instructions!"
This precise and terrible statement staggered George, and a look ofsimple alarm came into his eyes.
"Then what is to be done?" he cried, in a bewildered way.
"Your Majesty must escape this night--this hour. You are not safe onemoment in London; you know not who might betray you. The steam-yachtwhich brought you to England lies ready this moment to receive you."
George tried to think; but he could not. He walked about nervously.
"Let us have Bugbee here!" he exclaimed, with a burst of relief.
"No! I implore your Majesty! Do not trust any one--even him. He may betrue as steel--I do not doubt it. If he be true he will not object toyour escape. But not knowing all, he may advise delay--and delay isdestruction."
"What shall I do, then? Tell me, tell me, child. What shall I do?"
There was a pitiful confession of weakness in the words and manner ofGeorge as he spoke. He had come to a woman, unmanned, and set her mindabove his--had placed himself in her hands. And never were woman's handsreadier for such a gift. He felt their caressing care before she spoke;already the renunciation was beginning to bear fruit for the weak one.
"You will call Mr. Bugbee here, Sire, in a few moments, and tell himwithout a word of explanation that you are going on board the yachtto-night."
"But it is so strange--"
"Kings have a right to strange fancies," she said smiling, but speakingwith a firm tone. "You will simply tell him, Sire, that you wish to godirectly to the yacht--now."
"Yes, I will do that," said George; and with royal brusqueness he said,"call him here!"
"I will send him, Sire--for I am going now," and she spoke slowly andsadly.
"You are going? No! You are not going until I am quite safe--until Ihave gone on board the steamer." George's tone was deeply earnest, andthere was actually a kind of wail in his petition.
"I came to save my King; and now he is safe, my duty is done."
Still he urged his deliverer not to leave him till he had left the land;and after much entreaty she consented to ride with the Kin
g to thevessel, and thence to be driven to her home. It was half an hour laterwhen she descended to her parlor, and found Mr. Bugbee impatientlyawaiting her, as she had expected. With lightning words she explainedthe situation, and bade Bugbee order his private carriage.
"But this false alarm will be known to-morrow," cried Bugbee, wrung withwrath and perplexity. "He will learn that it is all a lie, and then--"
"There is no false alarm, man!" hissed the Beauty in the banker's ear."It is all true--every word!"
"How did you learn it? Who is your informant?"
"President Bagshaw. Is that sufficient?"
The old banker gazed on Mrs. Carey with a dazed look, which graduallyfaded into one of intelligent admiration.
"I begin to understand," he said, slowly. "But why not have told me?"
"Because _I_ wanted to save the King this time," answered Mrs. Carey."You don't object, do you? I assure you it does not interfere with anyplan of yours."
Mr. Bugbee could not see that it did, nor, even if it did, could he seehow he could help it now. He had not gauged this woman rightly. She hadoutwitted him, and he saw it.
"You will order the carriage at once, won't you?" said Mrs. Carey,taking up her cloak.
"Yes, at once," and Bugbee rang the bell. "But he returns at once toAmerica?" he asked in a low voice.
"That is his purpose--and mine," said the Beauty.
In less than half an hour Bugbee departed in a fly in hot haste toprepare the yacht for the royal guest; and some minutes later George theFifth handed Mrs. Oswald Carey into the banker's closed carriage, andthe pair were driven off to London.