CHAPTER XVIII.
A DECLARATION OF WAR.
The position was so full of ludicrous absurdity owing to the monstrous distortion of my motives, and yet so embarrassing in my inability to explain things without going into the whole matter of my past relations with Elma, that I did not know whether to laugh at the absurdity or be angry at the injustice. I was angry and yet I wanted to laugh; but that did not help me to find a reply to Gatrina’s scornfully delivered indictment.
My silence and apparent confusion made the matter worse. Every second that I hesitated seemed to increase her indignation; and I could not help perceiving that my influence was running down so fast that it would soon be many degrees below zero.
My first attempt to remedy the matter was unfortunate.
“We have got suddenly on to very delicate ground, Princess, but I can only say that I did not know the Baroness was in Belgrade when I resolved to come here.”
“That means that you give the lie to a woman behind her back, Mr. Bergwyn; and that woman my friend and also an old friend of yours.” Cold, contemptuous and cutting in every syllable, her words hurt me to the quick.
“Pardon me, you must not twist my words. I am telling you no more than the truth and no less. If the Baroness told you——”
“If?” she broke in, indignantly. “Then it is my word you question.”
“No; that again has never entered my thoughts. The shortest plan will be for me to go in search of the Baroness and bring her here that this may be explained.”
“There is no need, thank you. It is not sufficiently important.”
“Will you tell me what she said?”
“No, Mr. Bergwyn, I am not a talebearer,” she answered with a quick shrug of the shoulders.
“You allow other people to carry tales to you. But that perhaps is your interpretation of consistency. Do you believe what I told you?”
“Shall we change the subject, Mr. Bergwyn? I hope your impressions of Belgrade, so far as the scenery is concerned, have been pleasant.” Her assumption of courtesy was excellent.
“Do you believe what I told you that I came here without knowing of the presence of the Baroness von Tulken?”
“The views from the higher grounds are considered to be among the finest in Europe. Have you seen them?”
I rose from my seat. “I will fetch the Baroness,” I said, bluntly.
She paused, got up, and looking straight at me, said icily:
“Can you not find some other opportunity to tell her what to say?”
I caught my breath with the pain of this and bit my lip as I gripped the back of my chair tightly. I think she must have seen something of what I suffered in that moment. Then I bowed.
“I have no answer to that, Princess. I shall leave Belgrade to-night for good. Of that you may now rest assured. Shall I take you back to the ballroom?”
But instead of placing her hand on the arm I offered, she sat down again and turned her face away from me. I stood a few moments in some hesitation and then said: “I bid you farewell, Princess;” and walked away.
“Mr. Bergwyn,” she called, when I had taken some half dozen paces. I stopped and turned. “I wish to speak to you.” She spoke without looking at me. I retraced my steps and stood by my former seat. Some moments of tense silence followed.
I broke the silence. “This has become very embarrassing to me, Princess; but I have decided upon my course. There are some things I have to tell you, but with your permission I will write them and send them by Karasch whom you can question as to the truth of that part of them which he knows. I recognise now the mistake I made in coming to the capital, and I will remedy it at once. I can easily find a pretext for my sudden departure.”
“No. You must not go. Please, sit down. Don’t you understand that we are probably being watched, although not overheard.”
I resumed my seat then; and again we were silent.
“You are angry at what I said?” she asked at length.
“No. It was much too terrible to cause mere anger.”
“I did not wish to give you pain.” Her face was still averted from me, and when I did not reply, she turned and looked swiftly at me. “I was angry but I—I did not mean it, Mr. Bergwyn.”
“I am very glad to hear that. Shall we leave it there?”
“You wish to humble me and force me to say that I am ashamed of the words?”
“God forbid I should have such a thought. But you appear so incapable of doing me anything but injustice.”
“I am not; but the position is so impossible.”
“Only if you make it so.”
“I want to believe in you, but—” she threw up her hands and sighed.
“If you would do so, it would make all the difference.”
“I am in such sore trouble that you cannot understand.”
“On the contrary, I think I know more of the trouble than you yourself. I know the motive of the Queen in regard to your marriage with Prince Albrevics.”
She started with sudden agitation. “You, a stranger to Servia, have heard that. Tell me.”
“The Prince is impossible as a ruler for the country; not a hundred men in the country would bear with him on the throne; and in that case your own claim would be sacrificed. She would have you make the marriage for that reason—that her own plans in regard to her brother’s succession may be helped.”
“Yes, that is what they have told me. It has come like a terrible and sudden blow. How did you hear it?”
“Not from one source only, but several. It is the common knowledge of those who understand these things.”
“I cannot believe it; I cannot. She is goodness itself to me, and has always been my friend. To me more than a sister; and I love her and trust her as one. I cannot believe it!” Her distress and pain as she spoke were intense. “They tell me that even now she and the King are prepared with the proclamation in favour of her brother, and only wait for my marriage to issue it. But it cannot be true.”
“I only tell you what I am assured is true.”
“What am I to do? Whom can I trust if not the best friend I have ever had?” She spoke almost wildly in her agitation.
“If as you think we are being observed, Princess, may I counsel you to shew less feeling and excitement? Let me speak while you collect yourself. You must face the position calmly, for there is yet another danger that threatens you. There is a scheme to marry you to the Duke Barinski——”
“You know of that, too!” she interposed. “How do you learn all these secrets?”
“Let me put a question to you,” I said, as a thought occurred to me. “Who told you of the Queen’s intentions in regard to Prince Albrevics?”
“I cannot tell you that.”
“Then I will tell you. It was the Baroness von Tulken.” There was no need for her to say in words that my guess was right. Her start and glance did that.
“I am almost afraid of you,” she said.
“I don’t wish that; but I would rather have fear than mistrust. These things have been told to me plainly by those who seek to get the money I am able to control. It was only a guess that the Baroness had told you; and I will give you her motive. She desires to influence you to marry the Duke Barinski under the pretence that the marriage would reconcile the rival interests of the two contending families, and, having Russia behind it, would render the throne secure.”
Her surprise at my knowledge of these things was so great that it appeared to dwarf the significance of the news itself.
“It is wonderful,” she exclaimed.
“The wonder is rather that while so many people know of all this, you yourself have remained ignorant of it so long. Can you bear that I tell you still more?”
“Is there more to tell? I am already filled with amazement.”
“Do you know the intentions of the army leaders? I mean so far as they affect you?”
“Affect me, Mr. Bergwyn? They cannot affect me.”
“Your eyes and ears have been dulled by the conditions and restrictions of the Court life. What I tell you is now for your hearing alone. The army will declare against the family of which you are a member, and will change the succession to the Throne. When that moment comes it will be fraught with peril to you in common with all the Obrenovics.”
“No, no, the army is loyal. I have heard whispers of some such treachery; but there is no ground for them.”
“That I know is the Court view—mine is the true one.” I spoke as deliberately and impressively as I could.
“This very question has been discussed at the Palace within the last few days, a warning to the same effect was conveyed to the King and Queen; but they have made wide and searching inquiries; and we know there is no ground whatever to doubt the army’s loyalty. You have been misinformed.”
“If there were any reason to doubt it, I should not speak positively, Princess; but there is none.”
“Why do you wish to frighten me?”
“I wish only that you shall know the truth.”
“But if all you say were true, do you realise what my position would be and what my duty would be?”
“It is because I realise the peril that encircles you that I speak so plainly. All the parties concerned—the Court, the army and the Russian—are struggling for their own objects; and however that struggle may end, you stand to lose all. If the Court wins, you will be set aside; if the Russian, you might gain the throne for a while, but the country would be convulsed by a revolution; if the army win, then as a possible Obrenovic claimant to the Throne, you would be an obstacle in their path and can judge what your position might then be.”
She sat thinking intently. “If you are right, then there is no one about me whom I can trust,” she said, slowly. “Everything is a sham and everyone I have believed in false. Do you wish me to think this?”
“I do not know all those whom you trust; but that you need someone to advise you in such a crisis is but too clear.”
“You think I am helpless because I am a girl, I suppose?”
“Don’t let us slur this thing with personal consideration. It is far too grave, Princess. Of the Queen’s intentions I can give you no proofs; but of the other dangers, I believe I can. Will you let me try? Can you bring yourself to be at my house to-morrow at midday?”
She looked at me in blank astonishment at the suggestion.
“You can bring with you anyone who is in your confidence. It is open to you as one in the Queen’s confidence to leave a card upon me. That will serve as an excuse, if you do not consider the issues too grave to be subject to any mere conventions. I do.”
“If it were anyone else who proposed such a thing——”
“But it is not,” I interposed; “so don’t refuse at once. If you do not come you can send me word.”
“Of course, I trust you,” she said with the old simple directness, to my intense delight. “But there are so many reasons——”
She paused. “I know that,” I replied. “But believe me they are nothing compared with those which should weigh with you. I shall hope to get you proofs of the army’s intentions.”
“How?”
“You must leave that to my contriving.” At that moment I became aware that someone was coming quickly toward us through the conservatory between us and the ballroom. “Someone is coming. Take no notice,” I whispered rapidly, and then in a loud tone: “I shall carefully consider all you have said, Princess, and thank you for your patience with me.”
“This is the rare palm, Prince. Oh, someone is here.” It was Elma’s voice, and she added with gentle spite: “Why, it is Gatrina and Mr. Bergwyn. I thought you had gone an hour ago. I am so sorry to intrude. Come, Prince, let us go back. We are in the way.”
“Not in the least, Baroness,” I answered. I had risen and saw that her companion was Prince Albrevics, and further that he was partially intoxicated.
“I have been looking for you everywhere, Gatrina,” he said in a surly tone, his voice a little thick and unsteady with liquor.
“I have been here by the Queen’s desire,” she replied.
“Then you’ve been long enough, and can come away by mine.”
He had been a handsome man in his day, and his figure still retained something of soldierly strength and uprightness. But the features had the heavy, sodden look of dissipation.
“We have finished our conference, I think, Mr. Bergwyn?”
“How very fortunate we just timed our coming not to disturb them, Prince, wasn’t it?” said Elma, with a sweet, significant smile.
“Yes, I think we have finished, Princess;” and with a bow to me she put her arm on his and went away.
Elma laughed loudly enough for all to hear; and when I turned to her she met my look with a glance of studied defiance.
“You must be careful of him, Mr. Bergwyn. He is a very jealous man, passionately devoted to Gatrina and—one of the only real swordsmen in Servia.”
“Will you sit down a moment. I have something to say.”
“Shall I take dear Gatrina’s place? Do you really think I am worthy to fill it?” she asked in spiteful banter.
“No, I don’t,” I answered, brutally. I couldn’t help it in my vexation. “But I wish to speak to you alone.”
“Just like old times, isn’t it?” She laughed, as she settled herself comfortably in the chair and looked smilingly at me, as though we were about to have a chat on the terms of the most confidential friendship. As I did not speak at once, she affected nervousness and said with a pout: “You look dreadfully stern. If you are going to be disagreeable, I shall not stay. I want you to be like your old self.”
“I am going to say something that should please you.”
“At last? Oh, that will be delightful,” she exclaimed, rapturously; but her eyes were full of doubt, surprise and suspicion. “You have not said a single nice thing to me since you came.”
“But before I say it, let me request you not to make any incorrect statement as to the reasons for my coming to Belgrade.”
“Incorrect? What have I said that is incorrect?” she cried with innocent surprise.
“That I came, not on business, but to see you.”
“I only told Gatrina,” she said, laughing coquettishly, as though she had the right to tell the world if she pleased; and then added with significant insinuation: “You must have got very intimate with her if she told you my secrets. I’m afraid I shall really have to warn the Queen that you are a dangerous man for her advocate to be on such confidential terms with.”
“I am not discussing that. I am merely asking you not to repeat that statement to anyone.”
“But isn’t it true?”
“No. And you know it is not,” I replied bluntly.
“Then I am lost in amazement. You certainly did not come on the business of the loan; you are much to shrewd for that. And if you didn’t come to see me, whom did you come to see?” A most excellent assumption of surprise veiled this thrust.
“I came as an American financier, Baroness, looking after my own interests.”
But she laughed and shook her finger at me. “Fie, Mr. Bergwyn, fie. I did not look to you, the apostle of stolid truth, for such a statement.” Then with a change to reflective seriousness. “If it was not for me, then it must have been for Gatrina. That’s why I told her what I did and gave her a peep, just a little peep, into the past. But I have not shewn her your letters—yet. Not one of them; not even the least impressive of them. I could not do that; they are all sacred in my eyes. My most precious possessions.”
“What is your object in all this—this burlesque?”
“Reduced to plain direct questions are you now? But don’t you think you could answer that yourself? I’ll give you one answer. I want you on my side and I don’t intend, if I can help it, to let the Queen’s advocate win you over for the Queen. No, I don’t; although she has the advantage of having been rescued by you. You needn’t try and look as if that were not true; because it is, and I know that it is. And if you think a moment you will see what a service I am rendering her in letting people think you came here for my sake. Think of the scandal it would cause if it were known that you, the American man of millions, had rescued her and then followed her to Belgrade. It would ruin her—and people are very particular about reputations in this Court. The Queen is obliged to be on account of her own past.”
“Perhaps you know how the Princess came to be in need of a rescuer?”
She laughed again lightly. I was growing to hate her laughter.
“Of course I do, seeing that Duke Barinski and I planned it all. The marriage with him would have taken place in Maglai, if she had not, most unfortunately for us, escaped.”
“Why not. You have probably told her already that that brigand story was a fable and that we were at the bottom of it all. You shewed me you knew it all, this evening; and I don’t think so poorly of you as to dream you had not got proofs which satisfied you. I know what money can do in Belgrade.”
“Russian money, you mean.”
“Yes. Russian money, or any other,” she returned, parrying my thrust with the lightest air of indifference.
“It has not bought the support of the army for this Russian scheme of yours.”
“Ah, I heard that Colonel Petrosch’s jackal, Captain Nikolitch, had been closeted with you.”
“You take a deep concern in my movements.”
“I feel a deep interest in all that affects you. But you know that. Besides, it is my business to learn things. We have many agents, and Belgrade is only a small place.”
“Agents?” I said hastily.
“Agents or spies. I will call them spies, if you prefer. The point is that we have them—everywhere. I am one if you like. They form one of the main institutions of government in the Balkans. And in the Servian army they abound in all ranks and all regiments.”
“Whatever I have thought of you I have never pictured you as a Russian spy.”
She bit her lip and clenched her hands and her cheek flushed.
“It is very easy for a millionaire to sneer,” she retorted, speaking deliberately; then with rising passion, she continued: “What would you have had me do? God knows I had little enough choice. I was an adventuress, living on my wits; a cheat if you will to keep my mother and myself from the gutter. Then I was detected; and wherever I looked, the finger of contempt met me. What chance had I? I took the only thing that offered—a husband; my looks, as I thought, gave me that; and I found him—what? A Russian spy. But it was not my looks he sought but my brains, my courage, my recklessness. I could do the work, and do it well; and when he died I was in too deeply to withdraw.”
She paused and her bosom laboured with her vehemence.
“No, I won’t pretend—to you. I could have withdrawn, of course, had I wished. But I did not, for it gave me not only all that a woman is supposed to care for, dress, money, and influence; but also what a woman is not supposed to crave—power. I was feared; and it is by fear I stand where I do. I could have married again, not once but a dozen times; I have been wooed until men cried that I was ice. And to them I was. What were men or marriage to me? I had tried marriage; and as for my heart, it lay in my breast like a dead thing—for the sake of the past.”
She looked searchingly at me as I made no reply.
“I am not acting now. I was when I first came to you yesterday; hoping or fearing I know not which or what. I have had to learn to act to play any part at will. To fawn, to coquet, to jest, to lure, to lie, to appear false when I was true, and true when I was false. A spy must learn these things—they are the tricks of the life. But I will not lie to you. That I promise you. I have told you all plainly that you may know me for what I am.”
I had risen in the hope of stopping her. “I beg you to say no more,” I said.
“I have not quite finished. Please sit again. I have to speak of you and Gatrina—the Queen’s advocate.”
“I would rather you say nothing.”
“I have a purpose in telling you the truth. You have to take a side either with or against me. If you are against me, I will fight you fairly—but I will use every weapon I have. I know that you came here to follow Gatrina; I know that you saved her; my instinct tells me why you followed her—and I tell you bluntly, she can be nothing to you.”
“I neither accept nor deny any conclusions you draw,” I said, with a smile.
“I need no confirmation from you. I have questioned Gatrina. I knew how it was with her before you came; and when I left your house yesterday, your dog gave me the clue to everything. We have agents even in Samac and Poabja, Mr. Bergwyn; and when your man Karasch was traced to your house—after a week spent in inquiries here in Belgrade—the rest was easy. The telegraph runs to Samac; and Poabja is but a short hour’s ride from there.”
“Why are you so bitter against the Princess?”
“I am not bitter against her—unless you force me. She must act in the Russian interest—that means she must marry Duke Barinski. But I have other motives, private and personal, far stronger than those of policy, that make me tell you you must not and shall not think of her.”
“And what do you seek from me?”
“You may join with us in effecting that marriage, or you may not, as you please. But what you must do is to convince Gatrina beyond question that your coming here has no connection whatever with what passed at the time you rescued her. I have prepared the way for that.”
“You are very thoughtful, no doubt, but I don’t understand you.”
“I have told her that once we were betrothed and that you have come here in search of me. You can confirm that.”
“What do you mean?”
“By renewing the old relations—for the time—and making the matter public.”
“You want me to act that lie in order to deceive her?”
“To convince her of the necessity of marrying the Duke Barinski.”
I had to clench my teeth to keep my indignation under.
“I will not do it,” I said, clipping the words short.
“Then we are to fight, Mr. Bergwyn,” she said, as she rose. “I shall find other means and take further steps. I shall poison her against you, if I have to shew her your letters in proof of what I told her. Will you give me your arm? I am sorry you make me your enemy and hers—it may mean danger for her.”
“We will see,” I replied; and having led her back to the ballroom I got away from the Palace as soon as I could, to think over the latest and most strange development of the situation.