CHAPTER XX
THE DEPARTURE OF THE DUKE
As Dolores and I had both anticipated, the result of her interview withher father on the subject of her affections was entirely satisfactoryto us both. The Don expressed himself satisfied, too, with theconsultation, and gave us his blessing in the good old-fashioned waystill in vogue in Aquazilia, or at any rate among the adherents of theold monarchy. We knelt at his feet to receive it. The result was aparagraph in the _Morning Post_, as follows:--
"A marriage has been arranged, and will shortly take place, betweenWilliam Frederick, only son of the late Sir Henry and Lady MaryAnstruther, and Dolores, only daughter of Don Juan d'Alta, for someyears Prime Minister of the late Queen Inez of Aquazilia."
This announcement brought us a shower of congratulations and inquiriesas to the date of the wedding.
That query I naturally left to Dolores to answer, and at my earnestsolicitation she very considerately decided, having in view my intenseimpatience in the matter, that the paternal assent--withblessing---having been given in the month of February, we should bemarried in April.
Yes, absolutely _married_! The idea took me greatly by surprise atfirst. I used to wake in the morning, and the thought would in amanner sweetly confront me. It was as if a little mischievous Cupidsat on the end rail of my bed and revelled in his work.
"William Frederick," he seemed to say, "you're going to be married.You're going to marry Dolores. What do you think of it?"
I _did_ think a great deal of it, and the thought to me was ecstasy.
I often used to wonder, as I contemplated in my mind's eye this littlewicked Cupid sitting on my bed, whether he went and sat in like manneron Dolores', and if he did, what the little imp of mischief said to her.
But time flew, long as the interval seemed at first between Februaryand April.
I did not see half as much of my Dolores as I could have wished; Mrs.Darbyshire and a host of other ladies absorbed her.
After a week or two my cousin Ethel joined her sage counsels to therest in the matter of the bridesmaids' dresses. She herself was to bethe chief of that important band, to which sundry male recruits in theshape of small boys were to be added by way of pages.
I never could quite gather how Ethel took my engagement. Hercongratulation assumed the form of a short note.
"Dear Bill," it ran, "so you've done it!
"Well, dear old fellow, I saw it was a dead certainty at Valoro, and Icongratulate you both and wish you every happiness with all my heart.
"Dear little Dolores is a right good sort, and if I were a man I thinkI should fall in love with her myself. I am sure she will make youhappy; mind you take care of her!
"There is one thing I am sure you will be glad to hear.
"Give her a season or two over an easy country to begin with, and Iassure you she will ride to hounds as well as any girl born and bred inthe Shires. Believe me, dear Bill, I am speaking seriously, and youknow me too well to think I would deceive you on such a matter.
"I leave you to teach her to shoot; I think every girl should be ableto handle a gun; it gives her something to talk about to other girls'brothers."
This was the gist of the letter, and I put it aside with a sigh,wondering whether dear old Ethel would ever marry herself. In thatmood, I regretted that I had ever lingered in those dear old corridorsat Bannington when the moonbeams slanted through the mullions of thenarrow old Tudor windows, and Ethel came down the broad oaken staircasewith a look of well simulated surprise in her eyes at finding me there,dressed early for dinner and waiting for her to surrender those redlips of hers in a cousinly kiss.
_Cousinly?_
Well, regrets were unavailing; I could not call the kisses back again,and how was I to know I was going to meet Dolores and of course fallstraightway in love with her?
That is the way a man argues himself into a comfortable state of mindwhen his half forgotten peccadilloes of meanness spring up and prickhim!
St. Nivel came round daily with his sister, and, to use his ownexpression, "took me in hand." This taking in hand meant principallymarching me off to the tailors and hosiers to order new clothes.
"A man when he is going to be married," he said sententiously, "mustmake a clean sweep of all his old clothes and start afresh. It's aduty he owes to his future wife--and his tailor!"
He of course elected himself my best man, and only regretted that I wasnot in the "Brigade" that a dash of colour might be added to theceremony by lining the church with his dear "Coldstreamers."
He was, however, getting tired of the Army. He confided to me hisintention to "chuck it" at an early date, and devote himself to acountry life entirely.
"In fact," he added, summing up the whole situation, "I mean to buypigs and live pretty," whatever that expression might mean. His ideasof matrimony were, however, almost entirely of a pessimistic order, ashe was for ever slapping me on the back and urging me to buck up,mistaking those delicious love musings which, I suppose, everybridegroom indulges in for fits of depression.
"My dear children," said the old Don to us one day, when we were alltogether, he, Dolores, and I; "my dear children, I want you to make mea promise."
"Of course we will, Padre," we both answered. "What is it?"
The "Padre" and the "dear children" were now well established forms ofaddress, and I think the old man delighted in them.
"I want you to promise me," he replied, "that you will spend _some_part of the year with me in Valoro."
"Of course we will," we chorused.
Dolores whispered a few words in my ear to which I readily noddedassent.
"Padre," she continued aloud, "we will come and spend Christmas and theNew Year with you, and we will bring Lord St. Nivel and Ethel with us.I am sure they will come. Then," she added, turning to me, "we willhave all our courtship over again."
In such happy thoughts the time sped away. Don Juan, as an act ofgratitude for what he called "a dutiful acquiescence" to his wishes,purchased a town house for us in Grosvenor Square.
"During the season," he added meditatively, "perhaps you will find alittle room for me"--most of the best bedrooms measured about 25 by40--"that is all I need. After consideration, I have decided that itwould be too much to ask you to have any of my dear snakes. If I bringany with me, I shall board them out at the Zoo."
The tenant of my manor house by the Solent, when he heard I was goingto be married, called upon me at my club.
"My dear fellow," he said, "I'm a sportsman; I couldn't think ofkeepin' on your house when I know you'll want it to settle down in.I've seen another across the water that'll suit me just as well, andyou shall have your own again before the weddin'."
He was a kind-hearted man and sent me a wedding present--a silverbootjack to take off my hunting boots with. He said it might be usefulto both of us, which was a distinct libel on Dolores' dear little feet.
At last the eve of our wedding came and Claridge's Hotel was filledfrom basement to roof, principally with the relatives of both families.For a bevy of Dons with their wives and daughters, all kindred of mylittle Dolores, had crossed the Atlantic, glad of the excuse to visitLondon, and a contingent from France of the old _noblesse_, hermother's relatives, had arrived to do honour to the nuptials of thelittle heiress. And because she was already a large possessor of thegoods of this world they brought more to swell it; gold, silver, andprecious stones in such quantities that it took two big rooms atClaridge's to contain them, and four detectives to watch them, two byday and two by night.
But among these presents were two which puzzled me greatly--they cameanonymously--a _riviere_ of splendid diamonds for Dolores, a splendidmotor car for me.
Had she been but a poor relation I fear her display of wedding giftswould have been but a meagre one. As it was, perhaps St. Nivel's tersecomment on the "show," as he called it, was nearest to the truth.
"Bill," he said confidentially, "all this splendour is simply_barbaric_."
> But nobody grudged little Dolores her grand wedding, nor themagnificent gifts, for every one loved her.
I was sitting calmly at breakfast on the morning of the day precedingour wedding, with my mind filled to overflowing with the happinessbefore me, when St. Nivel burst in upon me.
"Look here, Bill," he cried, flourishing a newspaper before my eyes."Look here, _some one_ has got his deserts at last!"
I took the paper from him and read the paragraph he pointed to; it washeaded--
"Tragic Death of the Duke of Rittersheim."
I paused, put down the newspaper, and looked at St. Nivel.
"Yes," he said, interpreting my look; "you will be troubled with him nomore in this world; he's dead. Read it and see."
I took up the paper and read on--
"MUNICH, _Tuesday_.
"Considerable consternation was caused this morning in the Castle ofRittersheim and its neighbourhood upon the fact becoming known that HisSerene Highness the Duke had passed away during the night. It appearsthat the Duke has been in bad health ever since his return from Englandtwo months ago, where he had the misfortune to break his arm; hesuffered also the loss of a very dear friend, in Mr. Summers, anAmerican gentleman who, for some time, had been acting as hissecretary, and whose body, it will be remembered, was found under verymysterious circumstances, at the time the Duke left England, in atunnel on the Great Western Railway, just after the Bath express hadpassed through, in which train it is known Mr. Summers had beentravelling with an elderly gentleman. A rumour concerning theconnection of Mr. Summers with a murder which had taken place in theBath train seems to have preyed on the Duke's mind, and he has beenunable to sleep for some weeks past.
"It is presumed that for this reason he had commenced the habit ofinjecting morphia, as a large hypodermic syringe, with an empty morphiabottle, were found beside his dead body. The general opinion is, thathe succumbed to an overdose."
"Well, what do _you_ think," asked St. Nivel, as I laid down the paper,"accident or suicide?"
"It is impossible to say," I replied. "Nobody can tell, and I shouldthink that will be one of the problems which will go down to posterityunsolved."
"As unsolved, I suppose," he answered, "as the mystery of your old ladyof Bath?"
That was a subject I had barred since my pledge to Don Juan. "Who cantell?" I answered with a shrug of the shoulders, "I have given it up.I never think of it."
"_I_ do, though," replied my cousin, "and I also recollect, very oftenwith mingled feelings, the way in which the finding of that manSummers' body in the tunnel was hushed up, and no further efforts madeto connect him with the murder of poor Brooks."
"I don't see that any good purpose would have been served," I answered,"if they _had_ connected him with it. He could not have been tried andhanged."
"No, certainly not, but there would have been the satisfaction in_knowing_. But I believe your deceased friend the Duke of Rittersheimworked that. In my opinion he threw a cloak of some sort over the Bathcase too, and I don't suppose you will ever discover the truth of it."
"No," I answered solemnly, "I don't suppose I ever shall."
And I don't suppose I ever should but for one of those little chanceswhich occur in a man's life, trifles in themselves, but leading on togreat discoveries.
The next day after that little talk, amid the pomp of a great wedding,almost regal in its magnificence, I took Dolores to be my little wife,to have and to hold from that day forth in sickness and in health, forricher, for poorer, until death we two doth part.
And from that time I walked as on air, and forgot the murky cloudswhich had darkened my horizon in the days before I found my happiness.