CHAPTER XII
IN THE CATHEDRAL AT CORBO
Shopping was very far from the thoughts of Galva Baxendale as she madeher way up the street that ran at right angles to the promenade.Tumultuous thoughts they were, in which the figures of LieutenantMozara and the Duc de Choleaux Lasuer played important parts.
She must have walked a considerable distance, for when she glanced atthe tiny watch at her wrist she saw that it was eleven o'clock. At thesame moment the sonorous chimes of a clock reached her, and glancing upshe saw, between the gables of the houses at the end of the street, thewhite facade of Corbo Cathedral showing brightly in the sunlight.
It had been her first thought on arriving in San Pietro to pay a visitto the tombs of her ill-fated father and mother. Never having knownthem, she could not be expected to feel a very poignant or presentgrief, but the sadness of the story made a deep impression, and attimes she tried to tell herself that within the storehouse of hermemory there was a corner in which a black-bearded man, a-glitter withscarlet and gold, had place. A fancy, doubtless, and one that wouldhave had no existence had she never left her Cornish home. But theknowledge that she had been born in the palace behind the town, helpedthe illusion, an illusion of a father, and she grappled it to her soulwith all the strength of her loving nature.
Edward Sydney had, however, reasoning with the brain of your trueconspirator, been firm. There was, to his mind, a grave risk to theliving in a too demonstrative reverence for the dead. It is true hehad agreed to one visit to the tombs, as ordinary tourists, and Galvagave a little shudder at the recollection.
She had looked through tear-dimmed eyes at the marble effigies of themonarchs, at the stern cameo of her father, and the cold beauty of hermother. In the latter figure the sculptor had with a cunning handsuggested the form of a little child beneath the drapery at thebreasts. Galva had listened as in a dream to the little black-robedsacristan, whose duty it was to show the burial-place to visitors, ashe had gabbled through the history of the tragedy. He describedminutely the attack upon the palace and told of how the king and queenmet their deaths. The baby princess Miranda had her share, too, in thehistory, and it was evident that no suspicion had ever come into themind of the little sacristan that the body of the princess had notindeed been buried with the mother.
Galva noticed that the narrator carefully avoided mentioning the namesof any who had taken part in the attack, and she found it hard tobelieve that such scenes could have ever taken place in this kingdom ofgaiety and pleasure. There would have been a grim humour almost inthis listening to the details of her own death when an infant, were thecircumstances less pitiful. She had dropped a gold piece into the boxfor the masses for the dead, which the sacristan noticed, and he lookedcuriously at this pretty little tourist who gave so generously.
Then, there had been nothing to tell them from the ordinarysight-seers, and it was the only visit that Edward had thoughtexpedient. And now, finding herself alone, she felt an uncontrollabledesire to enter the cathedral and pray for a little while. She wouldnot go against her guardian's wish, but would be content to kneel inthe great nave and look through the oak screen that divided themausoleum of the Estratos from the main body of the church.
The cathedral stood on the edge of the old part of the town, and Galvawas struck by the difference in her surroundings. Apart from a groupof green-veiled American tourists, who, guide-book in hand, were gazingup at the famous rose window over the central porch, she seemed alonewith the natives of San Pietro. She looked in astonishment at the poorhouses, with their broken roofs, and their windows stuffed with ragsand brown paper, at the mean little shops and at the dirtiness andpoverty-stricken look of the people. Little dark-eyed urchins, filthyin the extreme, rolled and played in the gutters unchecked by theuntidy women who idled and gossiped in the doorways. The men loafingat the street corners were a lazy-looking set of ruffians, and thewhole aspect was most depressing.
As Galva ascended the steps of the building between the rows of raggedand crippled beggars who daily congregated there to expose theirmiseries to the charitably inclined, a conviction came to her that allthis hopeless poverty was the real result of the rule of the dissipatedold monarch who lay dying up at the Palace. The new town of Corbo withits palatial hotels and wide boulevards was a whited sepulchre, behindwhich the sores of the true San Pietro festered in hiding.
As she walked slowly up the high-roofed nave she told herself that shewas doing wrong to shirk her destiny, and that in the joys of Paris andCorbo she was apt to forget that she was God's anointed, and that thesepeople were hers. The royal blood of the Estratos leaped in her veinsas her duty was so plainly shown to her, and she took from her littlehandbag a rosary--for Galva had been brought up by Anna Paluda in thetrue Catholic faith--and registered a vow that with the BlessedVirgin's help she would be the salvation of her people, and would actto the utmost in her power in the high position to which she had beencalled.
She was in an ecstasy as she stood before the oak screen and let theivory and rosewood beads slip through her little fingers. The sunlightpierced the emblazonry of the window set high above the tombs, andthrew a pure orange stream of radiance upon the sculptured image of thebabe at the breast, and the girl watching with parted lips took it foran omen.
Then as her sight grew more accustomed to the vague dimness of thecathedral she started and gazed into the gloom at the foot of hermother's sarcophagus. Dimly outlined against the tesselated pavementknelt the black-robed figure of a woman, a woman who, as she watched,rose to her feet and looking round timidly placed a spray of whiteblossoms full in the orange light.
With compressed lips and a heart bursting with compassion Galva drewback into the shadow of a little chapel as Anna Paluda, walking withbowed head, passed her and left the cathedral.
* * * * *
It had been arranged that Senor Luazo and his nephew should dine thatevening at Venta Villa, and Galva looked forward with no littletrepidation to re-encountering the amorous lieutenant.
As she entered the drawing-room where Edward and Anna awaited thecoming of their guests, the long mirror facing the door and between thetwo French windows showed her a picture of a radiant girl in a simplerobe of a soft clinging blue material and with dark hair coiledturban-wise around a shapely head.
Edward looked up as she entered and smiled his admiration. He was fastgrowing accustomed to his changed mode of life, and he was beginning totake as a matter of course things which a few months ago he scarcelyknew existed.
It was very pleasant to be standing there on the white bearskin rug infront of the fire waiting to extend the hand of welcome to Senor Luazoand Lieutenant Mozara. He smiled to himself grimly as he thought whateither of these distinguished personages would think if they could lookback a while and see a bowed little figure shuffling across LondonBridge.
Seated in a low wicker chair Anna Paluda was watching with folded handsthe flickering of the firelight on the Dutch tiles of the hearth. Shelooked very dignified in her black silk dress--Anna never worecolours--relieved by a touch of Honiton lace at throat and wrists.
The room was small, cosily so. The carpets and curtains were of a richterra-cotta and the furniture was brocaded in a dull yellow. Delicatechina showed richly in the shadowy recesses of a cabinet, and thelittle cluster of electric bulbs shaded in yellow silk gave a softlight. The two long windows, reaching to the floor, looked like panelsof blue-black velvet in which the lights of the yachts anchored in thebay gleamed like diamonds. One could catch a glimpse also of a balconyon which were pots of shrubs and little green painted tables.
Galva was relieved to find that Mozara greeted her as usual. In fact,he was so attentive to her during dinner that she found herselfwondering if she had not taken his remarks of the morning tooseriously, and whether he had not been in fun half the time.
The dinner, well served and admirably cooked, was a success, and it wasabout ten o'clock when Mozara ma
de an excuse to leave them, pleadinganother appointment. Galva had hoped that he wished the episode of themorning to be forgotten, but as she stood by the drawing-room doorbidding him "good-night" he touched on the subject.
"Did you find the shop you wanted, Miss Baxendale?"
She felt the colour come to her cheeks, but the soldier was waiting foran answer.
"No, I'm afraid not--it was rather a disappointing morning."
"It was to me," he said; "but we are friends, I hope, Miss Baxendale,eh? Our appointment for to-morrow holds good, I hope?" And Galva hadlooked serious for a moment, then smiled sunnily in answer.
Once clear of Venta Villa, the lieutenant turned, and the arc lampsshowed the cunning ferocity of his sallow face as he shook his fist atthe house he had just left.
"_Friends_!" he hissed. "Yes, my work will be easier if we arefriends."
Then he hurried on to keep his appointment with Dasso.
* * * * *
After Galva and Anna had retired, Edward sat smoking with his guest inthe little library of the villa. He thought it a good opportunity totalk over the state of affairs, and he opened by remarking on therumours of the king's health that had been rife in Corbo the last fewdays.
The old gentleman stroked his long white beard meditatively for amoment.
"It cannot be long now," he said at last; "the good God ease hispassing. The princess must hold herself in readiness, for at themoment the breath leaves the body of Enrico, Dasso, who has manyfriends in the army, will hasten to the Palace, and will cause himselfto be proclaimed king. I know that, in this, he has a secretunderstanding with Spain herself. Miranda--I mean Galva--must be therealso, Mr. Sydney; the people must choose."
"And what will Spain say to that?"
"Spain, my dear sir, is powerless where an Estrato is concerned.Enrico's nephew even must bow to her claim. Believe me there will beno difficulty; but it is better to be in time and not to allow Dasso tomount the throne at all. It might be harder to dislodge him oncethere, than we imagine."
The old man paused for a moment and drew his chair nearer to Edward.
"I saw him look at her very hard that evening they met at my house.They say," his voice sank to a whisper, "that Gabriel Dasso's was thehand that struck down the royal victims that night fifteen years ago.It is said that he and one other alone of all the band of conspiratorswent right through with it. That other, a Senor Orates, shot himselfwithin a week."
"And the people--do they know this?"
Senor Luazo made an expressive gesture with his hands.
"Fifteen years is a long time, Mr. Sydney, and the people of San Pietrohave a short memory. There are a few of us old ones, we who knew theking and his queen, who do not forget. We have been unconsciouslyawaiting this day for fifteen years. I wonder if Dasso saw anylikeness when he looked at her? There _is_ a likeness, elusive indeed,but at times I see the eyes of Queen Elene as I have seen them look onthose she liked. If Dasso saw it too, he will be dangerous. I wouldlike to come to an issue with Gabriel; regicide that he is, he isreceived everywhere. His crime has never been brought home to him, andin any case is regarded as a political one. It has made my blood boil,senor, to see him at my table."
Long after Senor Luazo had left, Edward sat gazing into the dying fire.The windows of the library looked inland, and by turning his head hecould see the row of lights in the Palace windows. He thought of thedying king and of how the affair that looked at first like being acomedy, might at any moment now develop into a tragedy.