Chapter 17. At The Court Of St. James

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_ CHAPTER XVII. AT THE COURT OF ST. JAMES

The news of the arrival of Mrs. Oswald Carey in Boston caused some flutter in social circles. Her precise relations to the exiled King became at once a subject for speculation. Men of the world, with a taste for scandal, shrugged their shoulders and laughed knowingly. Charitably disposed people, who did not believe in bothering their heads about their neighbors' affairs, preferred to give her the benefit of the doubt. The serious question was whether society ought to open its doors to her. Her reputation as a beauty had preceded her. The American public had long been familiar with her fascinating face. Should she be welcomed as a sister or treated to the cold shoulder, which the world regards as the due of Mary Magdalene?

Girls settle everything in America. Two married women and a maiden met to discuss the propriety of inviting Mrs. Oswald Carey to five o'clock tea. One of them brought the particulars of her life vouched for by the most charming attaches of the court. Her career had been peculiarly sad. She was the victim of a most affecting romance. The man whom she loved with all the passion of which woman is capable had discarded her for another. She had been left poor and friendless. She had supported herself by painting china and by the pittance derived from the sale of her photographs, the last not of course quite the thing, but pardonable under the circumstances. Then, and not until then, she might have been somewhat unconventional.

"Girls," exclaimed the maiden, "even if she has been a little indiscreet in the past, a grand, superb woman such as she ought not to be judged by ordinary standards."

"Besides, the King is old enough to be her father," said another. "I don't believe there is anything in these stories."

"It would be a pity to offend the dear old King," said the third.

And so it was settled. Mrs. Carey accepted their invitation. She came, saw, and conquered. Her charms were sufficient to deafen all but a few of the _jeunesse doree_ to the unsavory rumors still in circulation, notwithstanding the denial of their truth by the maiden and her associates. This trio took to themselves the credit of having overcome the squeamishness of society, and as a reward for their perspicuity they considered themselves entitled to intimacy with their idol. Very speedily, as may be imagined, the clever woman took advantage of these proffers of friendship. Before a fortnight had elapsed she had drawn tears from her three auditors by a narration of the story of her life. "How sad! how pathetic! how you must have suffered!" they exclaimed together, and Eleanor Carey, weeping with them, murmured in the intervals of her sobs, "It is almost worth suffering to have such friends as you."

The dear old King! In the early days of his exile there had been much to flatter the pride of the deposed sovereign. On his first appearance at the theatre the orchestra had played "God Save the King," and a buzz of sympathetic interest spread through the audience. He had risen and bowed. For the next few days the Old Province House was beset with callers. The fashion and intelligence of the city paid their respects to royalty in misfortune. The Princess Henrietta, the King's only child, a stout, hearty-looking girl of eighteen, without beauty, made her _debut_ into society under these auspices. The first year, despite the change in their circumstances, had been passed happily and with comparative content by the exiles.

But time, in its craving for novelties, does not spare even potentates. King George the Fifth soon ceased to occupy the public attention, except in a minor degree. After their curiosity had been satisfied people began to laugh a little at the ceremonies and liveries of a court which existed only by courtesy. When the King went to the theatre the stage box was no longer at his disposal unless he paid for it, and on the opening night at the opera the claims of the family of ex-Senator Baggely, of Idaho, were regarded by the manager as superior to his. His exchequer, too, was low. He was said to be wholly dependent on what Bugbee allowed him. Rumors began to spread regarding the crown jewels. One of the best known hotel-keepers in the city was said to have a mortgage on them. The royal carriage was presently dragged by only one horse. The other, a magnificent bay gelding, was reported to have the distemper, a trifling ailment, which would last but a few days. The animal did not reappear, however, until a reporter discovered it months after among the blooded stock of a New York banker. So it went from bad to worse. Soon the King and his daughter walked upon ordinary occasions, and when they did drive made use of the public stable. A groom in livery on the box beside the driver alone distinguished the equipage. At last one day the King took the Princess Henrietta aside and said:

"My child, we must leave this place. I cannot afford to remain at the Old Province House any longer."

"What! leave the Old Province House, the residence of the colonial governors?" cried the Princess, who had picturesque and sentimental notions despite her portly appearance. "It is renouncing the last prestige of royalty. Oh, I hope your Majesty will not persevere in this determination."

The King shook his head mournfully. "Our present apartments are too expensive. Besides, I have--eh--eh--advantageous proposals from the proprietor of a South End establishment, who desires to improve the tone of his hotel and neighborhood. I think if I accede to them we may be able to have our carriage again."

"Oh, father, it is better to be poor and preserve our self-respect."

King George took a pinch of snuff and sighed meditatively. "It will be only for a little while. My party will soon restore me to the throne of England." He paused, and his voice trembled. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his watery eyes, which were blinking worse than usual. "If we do not move, Henrietta, I cannot see how we shall be able to pay the rent. You know I only have what Bugbee allows me."

"Oh, my poor father," cried the Princess, and she flung her arms lovingly about his neck, "has it come to this? I cannot bear to see you in such distress. Let me earn something for our support. I have been idle long enough. I could be a good governess, I think, with my knowledge of modern languages. Very possibly, the Waitstill C. Hancocks would engage me to teach their children. They have been very friendly, you know."

"No, no, Henrietta, I will hear nothing of the kind. What! a Princess of the House of Hanover go out to service! This is the final stroke!" He repulsed her with indignation.

"But, your Majesty, consider. If I do not do something we shall starve."

"Not if we accept the terms to which I have alluded," said the King, mysteriously.

"Do you mean, your Majesty, that you have sold yourself?" asked the Princess. For an instant a suspicion passed through her mind, which she dismissed straightway. There were those about the court who declared the monarch was a miser and had a fortune hidden away in his strong box.

"It is merely a case of fair exchange," replied King George, doggedly. "The fellow wants to raise the character of his house. He will give me lodging in return for my patronage. I do not see anything out of the way in that."

"Oh, father! I will not be a party to such a degradation," burst out Henrietta, and she began to cry.

In the end, however, the royal exodus to the South End took place, and a new era of prosperity dawned upon the House of Hanover. By his arrangement with his new landlord, the King was enabled to keep up a more imposing state. He bought fresh liveries for his retainers and refitted his carriage. There was a report that he had made money in a grain corner. His anxious expression wore away, and he gained flesh. The public took little interest in him, to be sure; but among fashionable people he was a great favorite. The coupes of the rich trundled over the pavements to his retreat at the St. James Hotel. The Court of St. James, it was called, with an obvious but happy pertinency. The King passed his day at the whist-table in the swell West End Club. He dined out frequently, and was a familiar figure at large entertainments. The Honorable Waitstill C. Hancock always treated him at his receptions (which were among the most elegant of their kind) with marked deference. It must have been very gratifying to the exiled monarch to note the courtly tone in which his host remarked, "Your Majesty, will you take Mrs. Hancock in to supper?"

Time passed, and one day the city awoke to hear that the King had gone off on a fishing trip to Florida. A splendidly furnished steam yacht, large enough, if needs were, for ocean travel, had come into the harbor in the evening, and sailed away the following morning with the royal exile on board. The Princess Henrietta had remained behind. There were rumors in circulation which tended to discredit the truth of the alleged destination of the yacht. Mariners from the docks declared her to be equipped for fighting. People remembered, too, that the King during the past few weeks had been seen to handle larger sums of money than was his wont. He had made purchases of army apparel and several silver-mounted revolvers.

A few weeks later the news of the insurrection at Aldershot and its suppression were flashed over the cable. The King, so the subsequent despatches said, was supposed to be concealed in London, and a large reward had been offered for his apprehension. The good people of Boston were somewhat surprised, therefore, one morning to hear that the incoming steamer from England had a royal freight. When the King was asked what luck he had had in fishing, he blinked his watery eyes and answered, mysteriously, "You will know presently." This was his reply to the friends who met him as he walked down the plank of the vessel. A moment after all eyes were directed to the beautiful woman who emerged from the cabin and entered the carriage with the ex-sovereign. All doubt of her identity was removed when the Court Circular of the following morning announced the arrival of Mrs. Oswald Carey. Apartments had been engaged for her contiguous to those occupied by his Majesty.

One evening, about four weeks subsequent to the return of the royal party, the King was disturbed by the entrance of the Princess Henrietta into his _cabinet de travail_. He was engaged in footing up his gains and losses at whist during the week, and the interruption caused him to glower slightly at his daughter. But she was far too excited to observe his manner.

"Father," she said abruptly, "I can endure it no longer."

"Endure what, your Royal Highness?"

"The presence of that woman. Either she must leave the court or I will." The eyes of the Princess flashed angrily.

"I am at a loss as to your meaning, Henrietta. Do you refer to the Lady Muriel Howard?"

"You know that I do not. There can be only one to whom such language is applicable. Mrs. Carey is not a proper person to remain at court."

The King scratched his chin thoughtfully. "What has she done?"

"Done, father? Is not her reputation in the past evil enough to disqualify her for the society of your daughter?"

"You have been misinformed, Princess. Mrs. Carey is a long-suffering and much-abused woman. I do not speak at random. I know her intimately."

"So I am given to understand," replied the daughter, with bitterness. "Lady Constance Percy inquired this morning if her Majesty was well."

"You do not choose your ladies in waiting with discretion. Mrs. Oswald Carey has a husband whose existence shows at once the absurdity of your disagreeable and unfilial suspicion. I have no purpose, Henrietta, to take another consort." The King wiped his eyes with a gentle melancholy.

"And you will send her away, will you not, father? I do not wish to be disrespectful, but I cannot endure her presence."

"Send who away?"

"Mrs. Oswald Carey."

"She amuses me, child. Her great beauty is delightful to gaze at." King George put a lozenge into his mouth and sighed reflectively. He was a victim to asthma. The east winds of Boston cut him to the bone.

"Do not compel me, your Majesty, to be more explicit. I repeat, either this woman or I must leave your court."

The late ruler of England wrung his hands. "I see you are resolved to drive me to distraction. This is the final stroke. My daughter wishes to desert me. Lear," he added, piteously, "was only a touch to me. You are Goneril and Regan combined in one."

He scowled angrily at her. Just then the door was opened, and a gentleman of the bedchamber announced that dinner was served.

"Is the court in waiting?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

"This is my birthday," observed the King, moodily.

"So it is," cried Henrietta; "how remiss of me not to have spoken of it."

But her father paid no attention to her words. He was fumbling in his pocket. "How many will there be at table?" he inquired of the equerry.

"Fourteen, Sire."

"Humph! Lady Constance Percy and Lady Rosamond Temple do not drink champagne. Neither does Paran Paget. Lord Gladstone Churchill swore off yesterday." He spoke as if soliloquizing, and went through a process of calculation on the fingers of one hand. He handed a key to his retainer.

"Tell the Lord Chamberlain to have two quarts and one pint," he said. "And Lady Muriel Howard is on no consideration to have more than a single glass. Come, Henrietta."

Dinner was always served for the royal party in the main dining-hall of the hotel. The large table in the middle of the room was reserved for them. First appeared the master of the household bearing the wand of office. The King came next, followed by the Princess and her three Maids of Honor, Lady Constance Percy, Lady Rosamond Temple, and Lady Muriel Howard, all alike duennas of a certain age. The first named were sober, prim-looking persons, but Lady Muriel Howard, who wore low-neck, corkscrew curls, and carried an enormous fan, ogled the various occupants of the dining-room through her eyeglass as she advanced. The remainder of the retinue included the Duke of Wellington, an old nobleman of threescore and ten, and a half-dozen lesser peers, nearly all of whom were on the shady side of sixty. Lord Gladstone Churchill, Paran Paget, and Sir Humphry Davy, who were always in attendance on the person of the sovereign, were the only youthful spirits. It was the former of these who had furnished the romantic story of Mrs. Carey's early life to the society lady. As the royal party walked to their table a few guests of the hotel rose and remained standing until the King had signified by a glance that all should be seated.

The royal bill of fare was distinct from the _table d'hote._ The proprietor of the house allowed under his contract with the King a certain sum daily for the cuisine. The King was entitled to save anything he could on that amount. To-day there was a boiled dinner. Boiled chickens at one end of the table and boiled corned beef at the other followed the soup.

"How good an _entree_ would taste," whispered Lord Cecil Manners to the Earl of Kildare, casting a glance at a neighboring table, where a _vol-au-vent_ of sweetbreads was being passed by the servant.

"What was that you said, Lord Cecil?" asked the King, sharply.

"I was calling his lordship's attention to the champagne glasses," answered the peer, with a silly giggle.

"It is my birthday," explained the King. "You shall drink my health later on in the repast."

There was a flutter of congratulation around the table.

"How indecorous of me not to have remembered," said the Duke of Wellington, with old-fashioned courtesy.

"Many happy returns of the day," said Lady Muriel Howard, and she whisked her handkerchief coquettishly at her sovereign.

King George presided at one end of the table, and the Princess Henrietta at the other. The nobility were seated according to their rank. Lady Muriel Howard being the eldest daughter of the Duke of Norfolk, the first peer of the realm, sat on the King's right, and the Duke of Wellington in the seat of honor by the Princess. Midway down the table was a vacant chair, and it was noticed that the King glanced frequently with an air of impatience toward the door in the intervals of the carving. He preferred to carve the dinner himself. Two servants waited upon the company.

"His Majesty is out of sorts to day. He has given me only drumsticks," murmured Lady Muriel to the companion on her other side.

"Where is Mrs. Oswald Carey?" asked the monarch at last.

"Here she comes, your Majesty," said Lady Constance Percy, nodding toward the entrance.

Mrs. Carey, in a superb black velvet costume, cut square in front, with a Maltese cross of brilliants resting upon her bosom, swept grandly across the dining hall. She held a small bunch of flowers in her hand. The head waiter of the hotel, bowing almost to the ground, waved her toward the royal table. Everybody in the room paused to gaze at the superb beauty. The master of the household drew back her chair, but she did not stop until she reached the King.

"Sire," she said, with a profound courtesy, "pardon my tardiness, and accept, if you will, these roses in commemoration of your birthday."

The King looked delighted. "Yes, it is my birthday," he answered. "I was afraid you would come too late for the champagne."

Mrs. Carey was about to retire to her seat when the King exclaimed, "Lady Muriel, if it's all the same, I'll get you to change seats with Mrs. Carey. Am I not your sovereign?" he inquired, noticing the glum looks of the outraged maid of honor.

All through the rest of the meal Mrs. Carey and the King whispered together. "I have taken a great liberty," said she at last.

"And what is that? The only liberty that I should object to your taking would be taking yourself away."

"I have invited a party of friends to your drawing-room to-night. I had promised a sweet girl, who seems to have taken an interest in me, to chaperone a theatre party, and she is going to bring her guests here instead. Does this inconvenience your Majesty?"

"Nothing that you could do would inconvenience me," and he gurgled as he drank his champagne.

"She plays her cards well, _n'est-ce pas_," said Lady Muriel to her new neighbor, Lord Gladstone Churchill.

King George caught her saturnine expression. He turned to the master of the household at his elbow. "Did I not order that Lady Muriel Howard should have only one glass of wine?"

"She insisted on more, your Majesty," groaned the major-domo.

"Am I not King?" said the monarch, and he pounded on the table so that the glasses rang.

This incident attracted every one's attention. Conversation flagged, and presently the Princess gave the signal for rising from the table. The ladies went out in advance, each turning as she left her seat and making a low courtesy to the King. Mrs. Carey was the last in the procession. As she passed through the door, her glance fell full on a man standing a little to one side, and gazing at her intently. She faltered, but only for an instant.

"Why, Mr. Jawkins, when did you arrive? Welcome to court," she cried in a cordial, conciliatory tone, holding out her hand.

Jawkins bowed stiffly, not seeming to see Mrs. Carey's hand. "Yes, I am come," he answered, "but small thanks to you, madam."

Dissimulation was not one of Jawkins's accomplishments.

"This is no place for a scene," she said, in a low tone. "If you wish an interview with me there will be an opportunity later. The drawing-room begins at ten. You will see me there." She smiled and showed her teeth ravishingly, despite the serious purport of her words.

"It is the King I wish to see, Mrs. Carey, not you," Jawkins replied significantly.

"Ah, indeed?" said the beauty, and she followed the Princess up the staircase.

The rest of the royal party remained only a few minutes in the dining-room. The King enjoyed a stroll through the corridor after dinner. He liked to chat with the habitues of the hotel and watch the billiard-players. To-night the Duke of Wellington and young Paget were in special attendance.

The King stepped up to the cigar counter. "Something mild and not too expensive," said he.

The attendant indicated several brands for his selection.

"Three for a quarter?" asked the ex-ruler, as he picked up three ten-cent cigars.

The man nodded, and the King, having presented a cigar to each of his companions, lit his own. His eye presently fell upon a pile of trunks, all of the latest and most improved manufacture, and marked with the letters "J. J." "A new arrival, I see," he said to a denizen of the hotel who knew everybody, and who derived pleasure from the prestige of conversing with royalty.

"Yes, your Majesty. A--a--a subject of yours, if I mistake not. He signs himself 'Jarley Jawkins, London.' Will your Majesty honor me with a light?"

"Jarley Jawkins!" cried the King. "It must be the individual caterer of whose wealth we have heard so much. His attentions to my friends during the interregnum deserve recognition. Several of them have been saved from absolute want by his generosity."

"That is the gentleman," whispered the other, indicating Jawkins, who was smoking in apparent unconsciousness and watching a game of pool. "I saw him just now talking with the famous beauty, Mrs. Oswald Carey."

"With Mrs. Carey?" exclaimed the King. "I have never heard her speak of him." The incident disturbed him little. He was too much absorbed by the idea of Jawkins's wealth. He hoped to be able to borrow some money from him. He turned to Paget and charged him to see that Jawkins was invited to the drawing-room that evening.

Meanwhile Mrs. Carey had retired to her own chamber, which she was pacing in some perturbation of spirit. The presence of Jawkins was a veritable spectre at the feast. The expression of his face haunted her. She felt certain that he meant mischief. What was it he purposed to do? He had asked to see the King. Probably he had discovered that it was she who betrayed the conspiracy to the government, and was determined to revenge himself by exposing her. She smiled at the thought, and the picture rose before her of the monarch pouring out protestations of love at her feet on the night when that band of gallant gentlemen were laying down their lives at Aldershot to restore his throne. If this was all that Jawkins had wherewith to prejudice her with the King, she need not fear the astute manager. But she could not feel wholly free from dread. She was aware that Jarley Jawkins was not a man to be trifled with.

She went down to the parlor where the royal reception was to be held, so as to be in time to receive her own guests. It was early, and no one had yet arrived. The windows were open in order to cool the atmosphere. The floor had been covered with white linen drugget. At one end of the room, on a dais, stood a throne. A grand piano was in a corner. A colored waiter put his head inside the door, and, announcing that the musicians had arrived, inquired if they were to tune up at once.

"You must see the Lord Chamberlain," answered Mrs. Carey. She felt sad this evening, and the tawdry character of this entertainment was contrasted in her mind with the traditions of drawing-rooms at Buckingham Palace.

A cornet-player, a fiddler, and a female pianist entered, and the squeak of their instruments in process of reconstruction soon jarred upon her nerves. She started to leave the room, but encountered the Princess Henrietta and her maids of honor at the door, who each regarded her with a haughty look. One or two peers were loitering in the corridor putting on their gloves. At its further end a group of chambermaids were ensconced to view the arrivals. The musicians struck up "Rule Britannia," and Mrs. Carey, looking back, saw that the ladies had seated themselves. The reception was about to begin. She joined the others, and the nobility speedily arrived. Before many minutes the King appeared, attended by the Lord Chamberlain, a fuzzy little man in red stockings and pumps, and mounted the throne.

"God save George the Fifth, King of Great Britain and Ireland, Emperor of India, Sultan of Egypt, and Defender of the Faith," cried the Lord Chamberlain, and the drawing-room began. It was the Chamberlain's duty to present to the sovereign each person who had never been at court before. Invitations had been sent to all Englishmen in the city and to certain carefully selected Americans. The guests began to arrive rapidly, and in half an hour the apartment was filled. All the English people wore regular court costume, but the strangers were permitted, as a special favor, to appear in ordinary evening dress. The duty of introducing the Americans devolved upon the proprietor of the hotel.

Mrs. Carey kept on the lookout for her friends. About 10.30 and an instant, among the names announced, she heard "Mr. Abraham Windsor, Miss Windsor." It was as if she had received an electric shock. She had neglected to inquire who were to compose the party. For an instant she was too surprised to think, then she looked and saw the King talking with evident admiration to her pretty rival. Her hate returned, and with it the wound of her despised love bled afresh. Stepping forward, she said in her most congratulatory tones, "How charming! we meet again, Miss Windsor, but under different circumstances." There was a suppressed triumph in her tone. The young girl had to take the proffered hand, but it was plain enough to Mrs. Carey that if Maggie had known whom she was to encounter at court the meeting would never have taken place. Their eyes met, and in those of the American there was scorn and pride. "How do you do, Mrs. Carey," was all she said.

Her father came to Maggie's rescue. "Why, Mrs. Carey, your most obedient! This is like old times," and he proceeded to monopolize the beauty.

"Isn't she entrancing!" whispered the aesthetic maiden, Mrs. Carey's friend, in Miss Windsor's ear.

"I have met her before," she said, quietly.

"Have you! Oh, in England, of course."

But Maggie did not heed her words. The noise of voices at the door attracted her attention. The crowd was giving way before the wand of the Lord Chamberlain, and it was evident from the commotion that something unusual was about to take place. She looked and saw two men advance with eager step and fall on bended knee at the foot of the throne amid a buzz of excitement.

"My Sovereign and my King," they cried together.

"Rise, Duke, rise," said George the Fifth, wiping with genuine emotion his watery eyes, and he stepped down to clasp the hands of an old man with a bald head, whom Maggie recognized to be the Duke of Bayswater.

"Rise, Featherstone, rise," said the King to the other.

"Most Gracious Sovereign, I kiss your hand." Featherstone it was, and he pressed his lips against the knuckles of the sometime King; but the words were spoken coldly, like words of duty. Lost in amazement at this unusual scene, Miss Windsor had failed to observe a young man follow soberly and even sadly in the footsteps of the other two and stand aloof, though expectantly. Her eyes and those of the King must have fallen upon him almost at the same moment. The heart in her bosom leapt wildly. Pale and worn as he was, she recognized Geoffrey Ripon.

"Lord Brompton!" exclaimed the King, and he grew confused, for the peer did not kneel as the others had done. "Lord Brompton, I am glad to see you," and he remounted the throne.

"Sire, I have come to bring you a legacy from John Dacre," said Ripon, and he drew from his breast as he spoke a smoke-stained and tattered piece of the royal banner and laid it at the foot of the throne. "This is from Aldershot, sir."

A murmur spread through the room, and the color mounted to the King's face. "Sirrah, I do not understand you. I am your King."

"As for myself," said Geoffrey, without regarding the monarch's frown, "I return this, which my ancestor more than a century ago first unsheathed in fealty to the House of Hanover." He took from its scabbard the sword with which Maggie had girded him that day when he courted her in the haunted chamber of Ripon House, and snapped the blade in twain. He flung the pieces on the ground and turned to leave the room. At the first step he encountered the glance of the woman he loved bent upon him with an expression in which pride and tenderness were strangely intermingled. He bowed low to her, and was gone. _

Read next: Chapter 18. Two Cards Played

Read previous: Chapter 16. Mrs. Carey's Husband

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