Mrs. Fitz Part 38

"Some day, perhaps, I shall be able to explain to you what the accident really was and how it came to happen. In the meantime I cannot do more than thank you most sincerely for all that you have done for me."

There and then I took leave of this true friend, and with a sense of devout thankfulness that I was no worse off than I was, continued the journey to the Grand Central station. When at last we came to that well-known terminus the great clock over the entrance was pointing to five minutes past six.

Our arrival there seemed an event of some importance, to judge by the demeanour of a number of people who appeared to take an interest in it.

Indeed, so much respectful attention did it excite that it seemed to be rather in the nature of an anti-climax to have to pay our Jehu.

As soon as we had entered the booking-hall no less a personage than the station-master, frock-coated and gold-laced, came up to us and took off his hat.

"Train ready to start, sir, as soon as her Royal Highness desires.

Platform No. 5. This way, sir, if you will kindly follow me."

We pa.s.sed along to Platform No. 5, engaging as we did so the good-humoured interest of the British Public. Here a special saloon was awaiting us, also a carriage for the accommodation of our friends from Scotland Yard. By a quarter past six we had started on our journey.

My companion had borne all our vicissitudes _en route_ from Bryanston Square with the greatest fort.i.tude and composure. It was no new experience for her chequered life to be exposed to the bullets of the a.s.sa.s.sin. This latest effort of the King's enemies she appeared to regard with stoical indifference. Even in the shock of the calamity itself she did not lose her self-possession. And through all our tribulations her att.i.tude of maternal solicitude was charmingly sincere.

As I came to regard her from the opposite corner in our special saloon, it was clear that a great change had been wrought in her by the visit to the magician of Bryanston Square. It was a change wholly for the better. In lieu of the overwrought intensity which had been so painful for her friends to notice, was that calm and a.s.sured outlook upon the world of men and things which had ever been her predominant characteristic in so far as we had known her.

"Irene will scold me dreadfully," she said, "for bringing you home like this."

"Surely it is the reverse of the case, ma'am. Instead of me looking after you, I really don't know what I should have done without your help."

"My poor Odo, you won't be able to hunt for a month at least."

"Perhaps it is for the best. I shall have more time to think about the dragon of socialism which is threatening to devour us all."

"Even here you have that disease"--there was a half-humorous lift of the royal eyebrow--"even in this quaint place. Why, it is a disease that is spreading all over the world. If only the dear people would understand that it was never intended that they should think for themselves; that it is so much wiser, so much less expensive, so much more profitable in every way that they should have those who are used to policy to think for them! How can Jacques Bonhomme, dear, good, ignorant, stupid fellow, know what is good for him, what is good for his country, what is good for Europe, what is good for the whole world!"

"The trouble, ma'am, as far as this island is concerned, is that our Jacques is becoming such a shrewd, sensible personage, who is learning to go about with his eyes uncommonly wide open."

"Ants and bees and dogs and horses, my good Odo, are shrewd and sensible enough, but Jacques must learn to keep his place. Everything is good in its degree, but I cannot believe that a watchmaker is fitted to wind up the clock of state any more than a common soldier is fitted to win the day of Rodova."

"Ah, the day of Rodova! I wonder if we shall find the Victor waiting for us when we get back to Dympsfield House."

I thought a faint cloud pa.s.sed over the brows of my companion.

"_Mais, oui,_" she said in a soft, low tone. "I wonder. And old Schalk. He is such a character. You will die when you see Schalk."

"A very able minister, is he not, ma'am?"

"Like all things, my good Odo," said her Royal Highness, "Schalk is good in his degree. He has his virtue. He is learned in the law, for instance, but there are times when, like poor Jacques Bonhomme, Schalk would aspire to take more on his shoulders than nature intended they should bear. But there, do not let us complain about Schalk. He is the faithful servant of an august master; do not let us blame him if he grows old and difficult. I once had a hound that grew like Schalk. In the end I had to destroy the honest creature, but of course that is not to say my father will destroy Schalk."

"Quite so, ma'am," said I, with a grave appreciation of the fine distinction that it might please his Majesty to draw in the case of Baron von Schalk.

I relapsed into reverie. What kind of a man was this celebrated sovereign? How would he harmonise with the humble middle-cla.s.s English setting to which he was on the point of confiding himself? At this stage it was vain to repine, but as I reclined on the cushions of our royal saloon, with my arm throbbing intolerably and my temples too, what would I not have given to be through with the onerous duty of entertaining such a guest!

As thus I sat with our train proceeding full steam ahead to Middleham, my nerves began to rise up in mutiny. Why, oh, why! had I not been firmer? What could a comparative child, without the slightest experience of any walk of life save her own extremely circ.u.mscribed one, know of the exigencies of such a situation? How could she appreciate all that was involved in it? A kind of mental nausea came upon me when I realised that I had allowed myself to become responsible for the personal safety and the general well-being of the King of Illyria during his sojourn in England.

The anxieties in which his daughter had involved us were severe enough, but in the case of her father they seemed a hundred times more complex.

Certainly they were far too much to ask of any private individual in the middle station of life. It was in vain that I invoked an incipient sense of humour. Sitting alone with a Crown Princess in a special train, with a bullet wound in your arm, is not apparently an ideal situation in which to exercise it. I might laugh as much as I liked at poor George Dandin himself. His embarra.s.sments in the pa.s.s to which his wife's infatuation for realms beyond their own had brought him might be truly comic, but the married man, the father of the family, and the county member was quite unable, in his present shattered condition, to accept them with the detachment due to the true Olympian laughter.

Not to put too fine a point upon the matter, the married man, the father of the family, and the county member was in an enfeebled mental, physical and moral state when our special made its first stop. With a startled abruptness I emerged from my unpleasant speculations. Could we be at Middleham already? Hardly, for according to my watch it was only ten minutes past seven. I let down the window and found that it was Risborough.

In about a minute the guard of the train, the local station-master, and the two detectives who were accompanying us as far as Middleham, came to the door of the carriage.

"Extremely sorry, sir," said the station-master, "but you won't be able to go beyond Blakiston. There's been a terrible accident to the 5.28."

My heart gave a kind of dull thump at this announcement.

"The driver ran right through Blankhampton with all the signals against him. The train has been smashed up to matchwood."

"My G.o.d!"

The station-master dropped his voice.

"The full number of casualties has not yet been ascertained, sir, but at least half the pa.s.sengers are killed or injured."

"How ghastly!"

"Awful, sir, awful. It is the worst accident we have ever had on the Grand Central system."

"Poor souls, poor souls!" said my companion. "G.o.d rest them!"

"We haven't had a really bad accident for twenty-two years. But this breaks our record with a vengeance. I can't think what the poor chap was doing. As good a driver as we've got, to go and do a thing like that----"

The station-master, a venerable and grizzled man with a stern, heavily lined face, suddenly lost his voice.

"Fate," said my companion with a sombre smile. "Who shall explain the workings of destiny?"

Who, indeed! Had it not been for the bullets of the would-be a.s.sa.s.sin we should, in all probability, at that moment have been both among the dead. What, after all, does our human foresight matter in the sum of things? All the same, I could not help recalling with a sense of wonder my Uncle Theodore's anxiety that we should not travel by the ill-fated 5.28.

"You will be able to go on as far as Blakiston," said the station-master, "and the Company has arranged for motor cars to meet the train to take you on to Middleham."

"What is the distance from Blakiston to Middleham?"

"About eighteen miles."

When the train went forward the current of my thoughts was altered completely. My former speculations seemed mean beyond comparison with such an event as this. Who shall read the ways of providence? A flesh wound in the arm and a late dinner were a small price to pay after all.

Upon arriving at Blakiston we found two motor cars awaiting us: one for the Princess, the other for our escort. A consultation with the chauffeurs disclosed the fact that by proceeding direct home _via_ Parlow and Little Basing instead of by way of Middleham, a matter of seven miles would be saved. Therefore, after a wire had been sent to Middleham to inform our people of this change of route, we entered upon the final stage of our adventurous journey.

In spite of the fact that we exposed ourselves to the charge of driving recklessly, even if not to the actual danger of the public, our destination was reached without further mishap. By twenty-five minutes to nine we had turned in at the lodge gates of Dympsfield House. All the windows of that abode were a blaze of light. Doubtless the royal guest had arrived and, let us hope, was enjoying his dinner.

However, no sooner had we entered the house than we were met by Mrs.

Arbuthnot. She was dressed for a gala night, very _decolletee_ in her best gown, carrying a great quant.i.ty of sail in the way of jewels--jewels were being worn that year--and with a coiffure that absolutely baffles the pen of the conscientious historian. But, alas!

Mrs. Arbuthnot was on the verge of tears.