CHAPTER XVII.
THE USE OF FRIENDS.
THERE was a moment’s hush of expectation when the Cavaliere had hurled his charges at his son-in-law. Prince Romanos met them characteristically.
“Princess,” he said, turning to Zoe, “do you believe that I murdered my wife?”
“No, I don’t,” said Zoe.
“Then I am content. If one so skilled in the knowledge of the human heart—a woman, too—can acquit me, what more can I ask?”
“This is all very pretty and poetical,” said Wylie impatiently, “but merely as a matter of curiosity, Prince, we should like to know what defence you propose to offer if your father-in-law publishes throughout Europe the accusation he has just made.”
“Ah, there I am helpless. I put myself wholly into the hands of my friends. I did not murder my wife, but malicious circumstances have forced me into such a position that I realise it must appear that I did. The Cavaliere Pazzi has provided me with a motive, with instruments, with a deep-laid plan. How can I prove that I am innocent of this crime, which I abhor from my very soul?”
“You can hardly expect us to prove it for you, Prince,” said Maurice, with unusual sharpness.
“Your Highness will pardon me.” It was Professor Panagiotis who spoke, rising and coming forward impressively into the midst of the group. “I am here, at my own request, to represent the interests of Emathia, which would be gravely jeopardised if the Cavaliere Pazzi made his accusation public. I beg that it may not be supposed I have been in the Prince’s confidence all along. I could wish it had been the case, but his Highness was otherwise advised.”
“In other words,” drawled Prince Romanos, “I was considerate enough to keep my marriage concealed from the Professor as well as from the public, knowing that it would disturb his tranquillity, and might lead him to disturb mine.”
“From the Cavaliere’s words,” the Professor went on, “it would not be guessed that the proposal of an alliance with the Grand Duchess Feodora came, not from the Prince at all, but from the Scythian side. I welcomed it, I own, for it promised to guarantee the continuance of Emathian independence, and the establishment of a hereditary dynasty. Unfortunately, my master and I were working against one another, since he had the validation of the actual marriage in view, and I an entirely new one.”
“But,” cried Zoe, “the Scythian Government must have known all about the marriage. I know Donna Olimpia told me that the Dowager Princess of Dardania was present at it.”
“That is undoubtedly the case, madame. The proposal of a more august alliance was merely a bait to entrap my master and his servants into complete subservience to Scythia. But it is only since the death of the lady concerned that the Scythian negociator has mentioned certain unpleasant rumours that had reached his ears, and asked for a definite contradiction of them.”
“Aha, Mr Professor!” burst from the Cavaliere. “So you would transfer the crime from your master’s shoulders to those of the Scythian Government, would you? Well, they are broad enough; but you forget that the murder was committed by members of the Prince’s own guard.”
“By men in the uniform of members of the Prince’s guard,” corrected the Professor. “No, monsieur, I should not be so foolish as to insinuate that the Scythians, any more than my master, were clearing the way for him to a marriage with the Grand Duchess. You have not the happiness of being Orthodox, but I appeal to those present who know something of our tenets. They will support me in assuring you that second marriages are looked upon with extreme disfavour by our Church, and in no case would one be contemplated for a member of the Imperial family.”
“That’s true. I had not thought of it,” cried Maurice, while the Cavaliere sat stupefied.
“Then now you have merely to show who did commit the murder, Professor,” said Wylie, in his driest tone.
Professor Panagiotis seemed unwontedly embarrassed. He wiped his brow, as though his forensic effort was proving exhausting, and played with a button of his coat. Then he spread forth his hands with a liberal gesture implying that now he was making a clean breast of everything.
“Your Highnesses, I approach this point with hesitation, since it must appear to you that you have been treated with insufficient confidence. But I ask you to consider my master’s eagerness to see his marriage acknowledged and his dynasty established. In view of this, you will not be surprised to hear that the question of the construction of the Emathian railways became involved with the other negociation.”
“Surprised? Not a bit!” said Wylie. “We all knew that there must be a quid pro quo. But I imagine that the Prince was not satisfied with only one bid. There is another Power interested in Emathian railways as well as Scythia.”
“Exactly, Colonel,” said the Professor, in a tone of relief; “and the present complications arise from my master’s anxiety to obtain the best terms he could—the utmost in the way of recognition against the smallest possible concession. In this endeavour I am proud to acknowledge that I supported him—but unfortunately I was ignorant of the fact of his marriage, which was known to the Pannonian agents. He informs me that even before the unhappy event which we all deplore, attempts had been made to bring pressure upon him by threatening the safety of his wife.”
The Cavaliere raised his haggard face with supreme disdain. “Bah! you are trying to lead us astray. Pannonia had no candidate in whose favour my daughter’s removal was desirable.”
“No, the plot was more subtle than that. According to my information, obtained by careful inquiry, the group of discreditable persons who were managing the affair in the interests—though without the ostensible support—of Pannonia plotted deliberately to murder the lady concerned and her child, and to cast the blame upon her husband. If he allowed himself to be intimidated, they would obtain all they could desire in the way of concessions; if he refused, they would denounce him publicly—not so much for the murder as for the heterodox marriage, and stir up the populace to revolt. Pannonian property would be damaged, Pannonian interests endangered, and Pannonia would demand from Europe a mandate to restore peace. Once in Therma, you may guess how soon she would quit it.”
“Then Prince Romanos accepted the first condition, and granted the concessions?” said Maurice coldly. “You are surprised that I should know this?” as the Professor’s eye wandered to his master’s. “Colonel Wylie and I guessed that something of the kind was on foot when we discovered a few days ago that a Pannonian geological expedition, which had been giving us a good deal of trouble, was really surveying for a railway.”
“The Prince temporised—nothing more,” replied the Professor breathlessly. “With your Highness’s assistance, we hope so to arrange matters that Pannonia gains only a very small portion of what she expected. I am about to speak frankly, for you will understand that my concern is for Emathia, and that if you, sir, had been elected High Commissioner instead of Prince Romanos, my endeavours would have been equally engaged on your behalf. It is quite open to you, I acknowledge it freely, to take your stand on the charges brought by the Cavaliere Pazzi, and claim that my master has shown himself unworthy of the confidence of Europe. It is extremely probable that if another election were held you would take his place. But I have received a friendly warning from Czarigrad, from a Greek occupying a very high official position there, that the present Liberal Roumi Government regards the semi-independent status of Emathia with keen dislike. A contested election, either now or at the end of my master’s five years of office, would be the signal for a determined attempt to bring the country again under Roumi rule. There would be representative institutions, of course, such as they are, but Emathia, for which we have fought and laboured, to see her emerge triumphantly as a self-existent state, would once more be merged in the dominions of Roum. All the work of the last twenty years—of my lifetime—would be lost.”
“This is very serious,” said Maurice. “Do you think that if the election is not contested at the end of the five years things will be allowed to go on?”
“There would at least be no excuse for interrupting them, sir. If we could point to five years of peace and advance, and a contented people—but it demands sacrifices. And first of all, the Prince will make every amends in his power to the memory of the lady whom he so truly loved and so deeply mourns.” The Cavaliere, who had been sitting sunk in his chair, looked up sharply. “The marriage, so unfortunately concealed, will be made public, and insisted upon in every possible way. The child whose life has been so wonderfully preserved will be brought forward as heir of the Christodoridi and his father’s natural successor on the throne, and the body of his mother, whom I may now without offence style the Princess of Emathia, taken from its present resting-place and deposited with all honour in the vaults of the metropolitan church. Do you ask how we propose to face the public opposition? There will be none. Once it is known that Prince Romanos married the heiress of Maxim Psicha, and that their son unites in his own person the princely crowns of Emathia and Illyria, the match will be received with enthusiasm.”
“And the murderers of my daughter?” asked the Cavaliere in a hollow voice.
Embarrassment returned upon Professor Panagiotis. “For the sake of Emathia, it is suggested that we all consent to certain sacrifices, monsieur,” he said, after some hesitation. “It will be impossible, I fear, to extricate ourselves from the late negociations without conceding to Scythia and Pannonia an influence in our domestic affairs which we shall find very irksome. We look confidently to Prince Theophanis and his family for pecuniary help in making that influence as small as possible. My master resigns his natural desire for vengeance, since you will see that to accuse Pannonia of plotting the murder of his wife would precipitate instantly the crisis we hope to avert. Is it too much to ask you to exercise a like self-restraint?”
“In order that Romanos Christodoridi may be left in peaceable possession of the throne he has disgraced? I tell you, Mr Professor, I will tear him from it!”
“Will you ruin your grandson’s future, monsieur?”
“Shall I buy a throne for my grandson at the price of his mother’s blood? I would rather bring him up in a garret! No, I refuse your bribe!” he turned upon Prince Romanos. “Your plan is clear to me now. I will do you justice; you did not want to have to kill your wife. Her acknowledgment that your marriage was invalid would have been sufficient to clear the way to your Grand Duchess. But she refused to become a party to the dishonour you wished to bring upon her——”
“Pardon me, monsieur. The lady’s honour is vindicated in the fullest possible way by my proposal,” said the Professor.
“Yes, because she is the heiress of Maxim Psicha. But she was also my daughter, and she was foully murdered by her own husband’s order. I can see it all—that last interview, the demand for her acquiescence in her own disgrace, her staunch refusal, the angry departure of the dastardly husband, the arrival of his bloodthirsty instruments! I see it, and as I see it Europe shall see it also.”
“Europe will ask for proof,” said Prince Romanos. “I may tell you that my wife and I parted the best of friends.”
“Europe will ask for proof of that. Where is the letter that the nurse says she was writing when the murderers came?”
“I do not know. I saw no letter.”
“No, and no letter will ever be seen. Shall I tell you what that letter contained? It was an appeal to me, her father, to come to her help, as I had offered to do, and take her away from Therma, where her life was not safe unless she consented to your repudiation of her. If that was not the letter, what was it?”
“Lady, what is the secretary man saying to the Lord Romanos?” Danaë had sat inert and uninterested while the Professor talked, but her instincts told her who was the man to be feared, and since the Cavaliere burst again into the fray she had been kneeling with her face pressed to the window watching his fiery gestures. Now, as his eager hands approached the Prince’s throat, as though he would have torn a confession from him, she opened the window and stepped in. Her entrance broke the tension which held the listeners, and Prince Romanos smiled, not very naturally.
“Here is an unbiassed witness, at any rate,” he said. “Why not ask her about the terms my wife and I were on?”
Professor Panagiotis responded eagerly. “Girl, what can you tell us about the Prince and his wife? Did he appear to be fond of her?”
“By no means, lord,” was the prompt reply.
The Cavaliere laughed harshly. The rest gasped, and Prince Romanos sprang up and gripped Danaë roughly by the shoulder.
“Speak the truth, girl! Was I unkind to her?”
“Not unkind, lord, but you kept her in awe of you, as a wife should be kept. She trembled at the sound of your step.”
He laughed as his father-in-law had done, and dropped back into his chair. “Go on. Perhaps I beat her?”
An affirmative was trembling upon Danaë’s lips, but Zoe, out of pure sympathy and nervousness, threw herself into the breach, remembering the girl’s earlier exploits.
“Think, Kalliopé, and tell us exactly how it was. Not just when they had a quarrel now and then, perhaps, but as it was generally. To us,” with a gallant attempt to bring the matter home to her handmaid’s mind, “what you have said is horrible, and makes us think the Lord Romanos one of the worst of men.”
“Does it, lady?” in intense astonishment. “I said it for his glory. I could not bear any one to know how he was in thrall to her. But she bewitched him, one knows that.”
“This seems a new view of affairs,” observed Wylie. “He was not cruel to her, then?”
“Cruel, lord? If you had seen them as I so often saw them, he so mild and anxious to please her, and she frowning and ill-tempered! But that is always the way with witches. Only the unfortunate who is bewitched can see any beauty in them, but he pines away for love.”
Danaë had carried the inquiry into such new regions that Maurice returned with difficulty to a previous question. “The Princess was writing a letter on the morning she was murdered, you say, Kalliopé; but it can’t be found. Have you any idea what became of it?”
“I have it in my room, lord—hidden in my mattress.” Again she had the pleasing consciousness of having caused a sensation.
“Go and fetch it at once,” said Maurice, in a tone which sent her flying. Once in her own room, the letter was easily found, but as she pulled it out of its hiding-place, her fingers came in contact with one of the golden plaques of the Girdle of Isidora. A moment’s pause, and she took it out also, fastening it round her waist under her apron, as she had done before. Things seemed so strange to-day that it might possibly be needed. Then, parrying Linton’s questions, she went sedately back to the Prince’s house, and handed the letter to Maurice.
“I kept it, lord, because I thought my little lord might grow up and none know who he was, nor believe me when I told them. But if I said, ‘Here is writing in the hand of his mother,’ they could doubt no more.”
The proof seemed less obvious to her hearers than to herself, but Maurice took the paper gravely. “This is addressed to you, Cavaliere,” he said, handing it to him. Seizing it eagerly, the Cavaliere read it through, arriving at the abrupt ending with obvious disappointment.
“I was wrong in one point, I confess it. It is clear that there was no open quarrel. My daughter was not offered the choice between death and disgrace. She writes to me that she is convinced her husband will soon acknowledge her openly. He had pledged himself afresh that very morning, accompanying the pledge with a gift of so much significance that she durst not describe it on paper, but hoped to show it me before long at the Palace.”
“It was a piece of jewellery,” said Prince Romanos hastily. “You will be at no loss to imagine what it was—since she received it as an earnest of her hopes? The crown which she was never to wear—alas! I had pleased myself with having it made for her to my own design.”
“Did Petros know of it?” asked Zoe. “Because if he did, it might supply a motive for the murder.”
“I have no reason to think he did. But stay—the drawer in which she placed it was broken open and the jewel stolen by the murderers. It certainly looks——”
“Kalliopé,” interrupted Zoe, “do you think Petros can have murdered your mistress for the sake of the jewellery the Prince had just given her?”
“Oh no, my lady; he had no part in her death. And as for the jewel——” she hesitated, and looked at Prince Romanos for guidance. “Am I to tell all, lord?”
“Most certainly. Always tell the truth,” he said bluffly. To his utter stupefaction, Danaë unclasped the Girdle of Isidora from her waist, and laid it on the table.
“I would fain have spared you this shame, lord,” she said sadly. “Lady,” she turned to Zoe, “my lord gave this holy thing to the schismatic woman, and hailed her as Orthodox Empress. When she was dead, I took it from where I had seen her put it, and hid it, that it might be safe for my little lord’s wife when he grows up.”
“My girdle!” Danaë’s voice was drowned by Eirene’s shriek of joy as she sprang forward and seized the jewel. “At last, at last! Now we may hope for success!” she murmured, fondling the girdle and kissing it as if it were a living thing. Danaë’s eyes blazed, and she threw herself forward to tear it from her. Prince Romanos pushed her back, not too gently.
“Be still, girl! That belongs to Princess Theophanis.” Then to the rest, “There is some mistake. This girdle came to light in the course of the destruction of the old Scythian Consulate, after the visit which Prince Theophanis and Colonel Wylie and I paid to the operations. You will remember,” he turned to Maurice, “that I was about to join you when this terrible event occurred. The girdle was handed to me just before I started, and I promised myself the pleasure of restoring it to Princess Theophanis with my own hands. My wife teased me to show it to her, and I allowed her to put it on, and left it in her charge till the afternoon. I thought it had disappeared with the crown, but now I see it was not so.”
There was a moment’s awkward silence, which Wylie broke abruptly. “Kalliopé,” he said to the girl, who had stood looking with angry eyes from one to another while Prince Romanos spoke hastily in French, “why do you say now that Petros took no part in the murder? You told us before that you were afraid he would kill the child as he had killed the mother.”
These were not Danaë’s exact words, but she was too eager to answer to resent them. “I misjudged him, lord,” she replied quickly, glad to put herself right as far as possible with regard to Petros. “He laid no hand upon the Lady. He has told me so himself since, and I ought to have known that he would not overstep his orders.”
“His orders!” Everyone in the room seemed to echo the words, and Danaë stood aghast at what she had done.
“The orders of Prince Romanos?” asked Maurice.
“No, lord,” very low.
“Whose orders, then?” There was silence.
“Kalliopé, you must tell us,” cried Zoe impulsively. “Who gave these orders, and what were they? You can’t mean that you knew of a plot against your mistress, and never warned her?”
“A plot, lady mine? There was no plot. My lord and——” she broke off hurriedly. “My lord’s father heard of the schismatic woman who had bewitched my lord and was holding him in her snares, and he commanded Petros to bring her to Strio, where she would be kept safe, and do no more harm.”
“And you knew of this?” cried Zoe.
“I came to Therma from Strio on purpose to help in the doing of it, lady.”
“Kalliopé, you had a hand in this horrible murder!”
“No murder was intended, lady. The Despot desired only to put the woman where the Lord Romanos would not find her. But there was some mistake. Petros told me that among his helpers there were those who would willingly see her slain, and I warned him to do no more than he was commanded. He assured me all was well, and I helped to open the gate, not knowing that the evil men of whom he had spoken would be with him after all.”
“Kalliopé!” There was such disappointment and misery in Zoe’s cry that Prince Romanos sprang forward.
“Don’t waste your pity on this wretched girl, Princess. She is trying to take us all in. Can you conceive a person of my father’s standing initiating such a plot? It is preposterous, and she shall confess her falsehood on her knees.”
In his excitement he had spoken in Greek, and now he tried to seize Danaë. She shook herself free from him with flashing eyes. “You know little of your father, lord, if you refuse to believe me.”
“I know more of him than Eurynomé the nurse-maid. On your knees, girl! and confess that you have lied.”
“But not more of him than his daughter. Yes, lord, I am your sister. Not Eurynomé the nurse-girl, but Danaë, daughter of the Despot Agesilaos Christodoridi and of the Lady Xantippe his wife.”