Sophy of Kravonia: A Novel

  XIX

  THE SILVER RING

  It was late at night, and quiet reigned in Volseni--the quiet not ofsecurity, but of ordered vigilance. A light burned in every house; menlined the time-worn walls and camped in the market-place; there werescouts out on the road as far as Praslok. No news came from outside, andno news yet from the room in the guard-house where the wounded King lay.The street on which the room looked was empty, save for one man, whowalked patiently up and down, smoking a cigar. Dunstanbury waited forBasil Williamson, who was in attendance on the King and was to pronounceto Volseni whether he could live or must die.

  Dunstanbury had been glad that Basil could be of use, but for the resthe had listened to the story which Zerkovitch told him with an amused,rather contemptuous indifference--with an Englishman's wonder why othercountries cannot manage their affairs better, and something of atraveller's pleasure at coming in for a bit of such vivid, almostblazing "local color" in the course of his journey. But whether Alexisreigned, or Sergius, mattered nothing to him, and, in his opinion, verylittle to anybody else.

  Nor had he given much thought to the lady whose name figured soprominently in Zerkovitch's narrative, the Baroness Dobrava. Such apersonage seemed no less appropriate to the surroundings than the restof the story--no less appropriate and certainly not a whit moreimportant. Of course he hoped Basil would make a good report, but hismind was not disturbed; his chief hope was that the claims of humanitywould not prolong his stay in Volseni beyond a few days. It was apicturesque little place, but not one for a long visit; and in any casehe was homeward bound now, rather eager for the pleasures of the Londonseason after his winter journey--the third he had made in the interestsof a book on Russia which he had in contemplation, a book designed torecommend him as an expert student of foreign affairs. He could hardlyconsider that these goings-on in Kravonia came within the purview of aserious study of his subject. But it was a pleasant, moonlit night, theold street was very quaint, the crisis he had happened on bizarre andamusing. He smoked his cigar and waited for Basil without impatience.

  He had strolled a hundred yards away and just turned to loiter back,when he saw a figure come out of the guard-house, pause for a moment,and then advance slowly towards him. The sheepskin cap and tunic madehim think at first that the stranger was one of the Volsenian levy; thenext moment he saw the skirt. At once he guessed that he was in thepresence of Baroness Dobrava, the heroine of the piece, as he had calledher in his own mind and with a smile.

  Evidently she meant to speak to him; he threw away his cigar and walkedto meet her. As they drew near to each other he raised his hat. Sophybowed gravely. Thus they met for the first time since Sophy washed herlettuces in the scullery at Morpingham, and, at the young lord'sbidding, fetched Lorenzo the Magnificent a bone. This meeting was,however remotely, the result of that. Dunstanbury had started her careeron the road which had led her to where she was.

  "I've seen Mr. Williamson," she said, "and he knows me now. But youdon't yet, do you, Lord Dunstanbury? And anyhow, perhaps, you wouldn'tremember."

  She had been a slip of a girl when he saw her last, in a print frock,washing lettuces. With a smile and a deprecatory gesture he confessedhis ignorance and his surprise. "Really, I'm afraid I--I don't. I'vebeen such a traveller, and meet so many--" An acquaintance with BaronessDobrava was among the last with which he would have credited himself--orperhaps (to speak his true thoughts), charged his reputation.

  "Mr. Williamson knew me almost directly--the moment I reminded him of mymark." She touched her cheek. Dunstanbury looked more closely at her, avague recollection stirring in him. Sophy's face was very sad, yet shesmiled just a little as she added: "I remember you so well--and your dogLorenzo. I'm Sophy Grouch of Morpingham, and I became Lady Meg'scompanion. Now do you remember?"

  He stepped quickly up to her, peered into her eyes, and saw the RedStar.

  "Good Heavens!" he said, smiling at her in an almost helpless way."Well, that is curious!" he added. "Sophy Grouch! And you are--BaronessDobrava?"

  "There's nothing much in that," said Sophy. "I'll tell you all aboutthat soon, if we have time. To-night I can think of nothing butMonseigneur. Mr. Williamson has extracted the bullet, but I'm afraidhe's very bad. You won't take Mr. Williamson away until--until it'ssettled--one way or the other, will you?"

  "Neither Basil nor I will leave so long as we can be of the leastservice to you," he told her.

  With a sudden impulse she put her hands in his. "It's strangely good tofind you here to-night--so strange and so good! It gives me strength,and I want strength. Oh, my friends are brave men, but you--well,there's something in home and the same blood, I suppose."

  Dunstanbury thought that there was certainly something in having twoEnglishmen about, instead of Kravonians only, but such a blunt sentimentmight not be acceptable. He pressed her hands as he released them.

  "I rejoice at the chance that brings us here. You can have everyconfidence in Basil. He's a first-rate man. But tell me about yourself.We have time now, haven't we?"

  "Really, I suppose we have! Monseigneur has been put to sleep. But Icouldn't sleep. Come, we'll go up on the wall."

  They mounted on to the city wall, just by the gate, and leaned againstthe mouldering parapets. Below lay Lake Talti in the moonlight, andbeyond it the masses of the mountains. Yet while Sophy talked,Dunstanbury's eyes seldom left her face; nay, once or twice he caughthimself not listening, but only looking, tracing how she had grown fromSophy Grouch in her scullery to this. He had never forgotten the strangegirl: once or twice he and Basil had talked of her; he had resented LadyMeg's brusque and unceremonious dismissal of her protegee; in hismemory, half-overgrown, had lain the mark on Sophy's cheek. Now here shewas, in Kravonia, of all places--Baroness Dobrava, of all people! Andwhat else, who knew? The train of events which had brought this aboutwas strange; yet his greater wonder was for the woman herself.

  "And here we are!" she ended with a woful smile. "If Monseigneur lives,I think we shall win. For the moment we can do no more than holdVolseni; I think we can do that. But presently, when he's better and canlead us, we shall attack. Down in Slavna they won't like being ruled bythe Countess and Stenovics as much as they expect. Little by little weshall grow stronger." Her voice rose a little. "At last Monseigneur willsit firm on his throne," she said. "Then we'll see what we can do forKravonia. It's a fine country, and rich, Lord Dunstanbury, and outsideSlavna the people are good material. We shall be able to make it verydifferent--if Monseigneur lives."

  "And if not?" he asked, in a low voice.

  "What is it to me except for Monseigneur? If he dies--!" Her handsthrown wide in a gesture of despair ended her sentence.

  If she lived and worked for Kravonia, it was for Monseigneur's sake.Without him, what was Kravonia to her? Such was her mood; plainly shetook no pains to conceal it from Dunstanbury. The next moment she turnedto him with a smile. "You think I talk strangely, saying: 'We'll do thisand that'? Yes, you must, and it's suddenly become strange to me to sayit--to say it to you, because you've brought back the old things to mymind, and all this is so out of keeping with the old things--with SophyGrouch, and Julia Robins, and Morpingham! But until you came it didn'tseem strange. Everything that has happened since I came to this countryseemed to lead up to it--to bring it about naturally and irresistibly. Iforgot till just now how funny it must sound to you--and how--how bad, Isuppose. Well, you must accustom yourself to Kravonia. It's not Essex,you know."

  "If the King lives?" he asked.

  "I shall be with Monseigneur if he lives," she answered.

  Yes, it was very strange; yet already, even now--when he had known heragain for half an hour, had seen her and talked to her--gradually andinsidiously it began to seem less strange, less fantastic, more natural.Dunstanbury had to give himself a mental shake to get back to Essex andto Sophy Grouch. Volseni set old and gray amid the hills, the King whosebreath struggled with his blood for life, the beautiful woman who wouldbe with the King if and so l
ong as he lived--these were the presentrealities he saw in vivid immediate vision; they made the shadows of thepast seem not indeed dim--they kept all their distinctness of outline inmemory--but in their turn fantastic, and in no relation to the actual.Was that the air of Kravonia working on him? Or was it a woman's voice,the pallid pride of a woman's face?

  "In Slavna they call me a witch," she said, "and tell terrible talesabout this little mark--my Red Star. But here in Volseni they likeme--yes, and I can win over Slavna, too, if I get the opportunity. No, Isha'n't be a weakness to Monseigneur if he lives."

  "You'll be--?"

  "His wife?" she interrupted. "Yes." She smiled again--nay, almostlaughed. "That seems worst of all--worse than anything else?"

  Dunstanbury allowed himself to smile too. "Well, yes, of course that'strue," he said. "Out of Kravonia, anyhow. What's true in Kravonia Ireally don't know yet."

  "I suppose it's true in Kravonia too. But what I tell you isMonseigneur's will about me."

  He looked hard at her. "You love him?" he asked.

  "As my life, and more," said Sophy, simply.

  At last Dunstanbury ceased to look at her; he laid his elbows on thebattlements and stood there, his eyes roaming over the lake in thevalley to the mountains beyond. Sophy left his side, and began to walkslowly up and down the rugged, uneven, overgrown surface of the walls.

  The moon was sinking in the sky; there would be three or four dark hoursbefore the dawn. A man galloped up to the gate and gave a countersign inreturn to a challenge; the heavy gates rolled open; he rode in; anotherrode out and cantered off along the road towards Praslok. There waswatch and ward--Volseni was not to be caught napping as Praslok hadbeen. Whether the King lived or died, his Volsenians were on guard.Dunstanbury turned his back on the hills and came up to Sophy.

  "We Essex folk ought to stand by one another," he said. "It's the merestchance that has brought me here, but I'm glad of the chance now. Andit's beginning to feel not the least strange. So long as you've need ofhelp, count me among your soldiers."

  "But you oughtn't to mix yourself up--"

  "Did you act on that principle when you came to Kravonia?"

  With a smile Sophy gave him her hand. "So be it. I accept yourservice--for Monseigneur."

  "I give it to you," he persisted.

  "Yes--and all that is mine I give to Monseigneur," said Sophy.

  Any man who meets, or after an interval of time meets again, anattractive woman, only to find that her thoughts are pre-empted andtotally preoccupied, suffers an annoyance not the less real because hesees the absurdity of it; it is to find shut a gate which with betterluck might have been open. The unusual circumstances of his newencounter with Sophy did not save Dunstanbury from this common form ofchagrin; the tragic element in her situation gave it a rather uncommonflavor. He would fain have appeared as the knight-errant to rescue suchbeauty in such distress; but the nature of the distress did not seemfavorable to the proper romantic sequel.

  He made his offer of service to her; she assigned him to the service ofMonseigneur! He laughed at his own annoyance--and determined to serveMonseigneur as well as he could. At the same time, while conceding mostamply--nay, even feeling--Monseigneur's excuse, he could not admire hispolicy in the choice of a bride. That was doubtless a sample of howthings were done in Kravonia! He lived to feel the excuse morestrongly--and to pronounce the judgment with greater hesitation.

  Sophy had given him her hand again as she accepted his offer inMonseigneur's name.--He had not yet released it when she was called fromthe street below in a woman's voice--a voice full of haste and alarm.

  "Marie Zerkovitch calls me! I must go at once," she said. "I expectMonseigneur is awake." She hurried off with a nod of farewell.

  Dunstanbury stayed a little while on the wall, smoking a cigarette, andthen went down into the street. The door of the guard-house was shut;all was very quiet as he passed along to the market-place where the innwas situated. He went up to his room overlooking the street, and, takingoff his coat only, flung himself on the bed. He was minded thus to awaitBasil Williamson's return with news of the King. But the excitement ofthe day had wearied him; in ten minutes he was sound asleep.

  He was aroused by Basil Williamson's hand on his shoulder. The youngdoctor, a slim-built, dark, wiry fellow, looked very weary and sad.

  "How has it gone?" asked Dunstanbury, sitting up.

  "It's been a terrible night. I'm glad you've had some sleep. He awokeafter an hour; the hemorrhage had set in again. I had to tell him it wasa thousand to one against him. He sent for her, and made me leave themalone together. There was only one other room, and I waited there with alittle woman--a Madame Zerkovitch--who cried terribly. Then he sent forLukovitch, who seems to be the chief man in the place. PresentlyLukovitch went away, and I went back to the King. I found him terriblyexhausted; she was there, sitting by him and whispering to him now andthen; she seemed calm. Presently Lukovitch came back; the Zerkovitchesand the German man came too. They all came in--the King would not hearmy objections--and with them came a priest. And then and there the Kingmarried her! She spoke to nobody except to me before the service began,and then she only said: 'Monseigneur wishes it.' I waited till theservice was done, but I could bear no more. I went outside while theyshrived him. But I was called back hurriedly. Then the end came verysoon--in less than half an hour. He sent everybody away except her andme, and when I had done all that was possible, I went as far off as Icould--into the corner of the room. I came back at a call from her justbefore he died. The man was looking extraordinarily happy, Dunstanbury."

  "They were married?"

  "Oh yes. It's all right, I suppose--not that it seems to matter muchnow, does it? Put on your coat and come to the window. You'll see asight you'll remember, I think."

  Together they went to the window. The sun had risen from behind themountains and flooded the city with light; the morning air was crisp andfragrant. The market-place was thronged with people--men in line infront, women, girls, and boys in a mass behind. They were all absolutelyquiet and silent. Opposite where they were was a raised platform ofwood, reached by steps from the ground; it was a rostrum for the use ofthose who sold goods by auction in the market. A board on trestles hadbeen laid on this, and on the board was stretched the body of the King.At his feet stood Lukovitch; behind were Max von Hollbrandt, Zerkovitch,and Marie. At the King's head stood Sophy, and Peter Vassip knelt on theground beside her. She stood like a statue, white and still; butDunstanbury could see the Red Star glowing.

  Lukovitch seemed to have been speaking, although the sound of his voicehad not reached them through the closed window of the topmost room inthe inn. He spoke again now--not loudly, but in a very clear voice.

  "The King lies dead through treachery," he said. "In Slavna the Germanwoman rules, and her son, and the men who killed the King. Will you havethem to rule over you, men of Volseni?"

  A shout of "No!" rang out, followed again by absolute silence. Lukovitchdrew the curved sword that he wore and raised it in the air. All thearmed men followed his example; the rest, with the women and youngpeople, raised their right hands. It was their custom in calling Heavento witness.

  "God hears us!" said Lukovitch, and all the people repeated the wordsafter him.

  Dunstanbury whispered to Basil: "Do they mean to fight?" An eagernessstirred in his voice.

  "Listen! He's speaking again."

  "Whom then will you have for your King, men of Volseni?" askedLukovitch. "There is one on whose finger the King has put the silverring of the Bailiffs of Volseni. With his own hand he set it therebefore he died--he set it there when he made her his Queen, as you haveheard. Will you have the Bailiff of Volseni for your King?"

  A great shout of "Yes!" answered him.

  "You will have Sophia for your King?"

  "Sophia for our King!" they cried.

  Lukovitch raised his sword again; all raised swords or hands. The solemnwords "God hears us!" were spoken from every mouth. Lukov
itch turned toSophy and handed his drawn sword to her. She took it. Then she kneltdown and kissed the King's lips. Rising to her feet again, she stood fora moment silent, looking over the thronged market-square; yet she seemedhardly to see; her eyes were vacant. At last she raised the sword to herlips, kissed it, and then held it high in the air.

  "It was Monseigneur's wish. Let us avenge him! God hears me!"

  "God hears you!" came all the voices.

  The ceremony was finished. Six men took up the board on which the Kinglay, carried it down from the rostrum, and along the street to theguard-house. Sophy followed, and her friends walked after her. Still sheseemed as though in a dream; her voice had sounded absent, almostunconscious. She was pale as death, save for the Red Star.

  Following her dead, she passed out of sight. Immediately the crowd beganto disperse, though most of the men with arms gathered round Lukovitchand seemed to await his orders.

  Basil Williamson moved away from the window with a heavy sigh and agesture of dejection.

  "I wish we could get her safe out of it," he said. "Isn't it wonderful,her being here?"

  "Yes--but I'd forgotten that." Dunstanbury was still by the window; hehad been thinking that his service now would not be to Monseigneur. Yetno doubt Basil had mentioned the wisest form of service. Sophy's own fewwords--the words for which she cited Heaven's witness--hinted atanother.

  But Basil had recalled his mind to the marvel. Moved as he had been byhis talk with Sophy, and even more by the scene which had just beenenacted before his eyes, his face lit up with a smile as he lookedacross to Basil.

  "Yes, old fellow, wonderful! Sophy Grouch! Queen of Kravonia! It beatsMacbeth hollow!"

  "It's pretty nearly as dreary!" said Basil, with a discontented grunt.

  "I find it pretty nearly as exciting," Dunstanbury said. "And I hope fora happier ending. Meanwhile"--he buckled the leather belt which heldhis revolver round his waist--"I'm for some breakfast, and then I shallgo and ask that tall fellow who did all the talking if there's anythingI can do for King Sophia. By Jove! wouldn't Cousin Meg open her eyes?"

  "You'll end by getting yourself stuck up against the wall and shot,"Basil grumbled.

  "If I do, I'm quite sure of one thing, old fellow--and that is that yourwooden old mug will be next in the line, or thereabouts."

  "I say, Dunstanbury, I wish I could have saved him!"

  "So do I. Did you notice her face?"

  Williamson gave a scornful toss of his head.

  "Well, yes, I was an ass to ask that!" Dunstanbury admitted, candidly.It would certainly not have been easy to avoid noticing Sophy's face.

  At six o'clock that morning Max von Hollbrandt took horse for Slavna.His diplomatic character at once made it proper for him to rejoin hisLegation and enabled him to act as a messenger with safety to himself.He carried the tidings of the death of the King and of theproclamation--of Sophy. There was no concealment. Volseni's defiance toSlavna was open and avowed. Volseni held that there was no trueStefanovitch left, and cited the will of the last of the Royal House aswarrant for its choice. The gauntlet was thrown down with a royal air.

  It was well for Max to get back to his post. The diplomatists in Slavna,and their chiefs at home, were soon to be busy with the affairs ofKravonia. Mistitch had struck at the life of even more than hisKing--that was to become evident before many days had passed.