CHAPTER XII. BEFORE THEM ALL!
GREAT as was the risk and immense as were the difficulties
created by the course which Mr. Rassendyll adopted, I cannot
doubt that he acted for the best in the light of the information
which he possessed. His plan was to disclose himself in the
character of the king to Helsing, to bind him to secrecy, and
make him impose the same obligation on his wife, daughter, and
servants. The chancellor was to be quieted with the excuse of
urgent business, and conciliated by a promise that he should know
its nature in the course of a few hours; meanwhile an appeal to
his loyalty must suffice to insure obedience. If all went well in
the day that had now dawned, by the evening of it the letter
would be destroyed, the queen's peril past, and Rudolf once more
far away from Strelsau. Then enough of the truth--no more--must
be disclosed. Helsing would be told the story of Rudolf
Rassendyll and persuaded to hold his tongue about the
harum-scarum Englishman (we are ready to believe much of an
Englishman) having been audacious enough again to play the king
in Strelsau. The old chancellor was a very good fellow, and I do
not think that Rudolf did wrong in relying upon him. Where he
miscalculated was, of course, just where he was ignorant. The
whole of what the queen's friends, ay, and the queen herself, did
in Strelsau, became useless and mischievous by reason of the
king's death; their action must have been utterly different, had
they been aware of that catastrophe; but their wisdom must be
judged only according to their knowledge.
In the first place, the chancellor himself showed much good
sense. Even before he obeyed the king's summons he sent for the
two servants and charged them, on pain of instant dismissal and
worse things to follow, to say nothing of what they had seen. His
commands to his wife and daughter were more polite, doubtless,
but no less peremptory. He may well have supposed that the king's
business was private as well as important when it led his Majesty
to be roaming the streets of Strelsau at a moment when he was
supposed to be at the Castle of Zenda, and to enter a friend's
house by the window at such untimely hours. The mere facts were
eloquent of secrecy. Moreover, the king had shaved his beard--the
ladies were sure of it--and this, again, though it might be
merely an accidental coincidence, was also capable of signifying
a very urgent desire to be unknown. So the chancellor, having
given his orders, and being himself aflame with the liveliest
curiosity, lost no time in obeying the king's commands, and
arrived at my house before six o'clock.
When the visitor was announced Rudolf was upstairs, having a bath
and some breakfast. Helga had learnt her lesson well enough to
entertain the visitor until Rudolf appeared. She was full of
apologies for my absence, protesting that she could in no way
explain it; neither could she so much as conjecture what was the
king's business with her husband. She played the dutiful wife
whose virtue was obedience, whose greatest sin would be an
indiscreet prying into what it was not her part to know.
"I know no more," she said, "than that Fritz wrote to me to
expect the king and him at about five o'clock, and to be ready to
let them in by the window, as the king did not wish the servants
to be aware of his presence."
The king came and greeted Helsing most graciously. The tragedy
and comedy of these busy days were strangely mingled; even now I
can hardly help smiling when I picture Rudolf, with grave lips,
but that distant twinkle in his eye (I swear he enjoyed the
sport), sitting down by the old chancellor in the darkest corner
of the room, covering him with flattery, hinting at most strange
things, deploring a secret obstacle to immediate confidence,
promising that to-morrow, at latest, he would seek the advice of
the wisest and most tried of his counselors, appealing to the
chancellor's loyalty to trust him till then. Helsing, blinking
through his spectacles, followed with devout attention the long
narrative that told nothing, and the urgent exhortation that
masked a trick. His accents were almost broken with emotion as he
put himself absolutely at the king's disposal, and declared that
he could answer for the discretion of his family and household as
completely as for his own.
"Then you're a very lucky man, my dear chancellor," said Rudolf,
with a sigh which seemed to hint that the king in his palace was
not so fortunate. Helsing was immensely pleased. He was all agog
to go and tell his wife how entirely the king trusted to her
honor and silence.
There was nothing that Rudolf more desired than to be relieved of
the excellent old fellow's presence; but, well aware of the
supreme importance of keeping him in a good temper, he would not
hear of his departure for a few minutes.
"At any rate, the ladies won't talk till after breakfast, and
since they got home only at five o'clock they won't breakfast yet
awhile," said he.
So he made Helsing sit down, and talked to him. Rudolf had not
failed to notice that the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim had been a
little surprised at the sound of his voice; in this conversation
he studiously kept his tones low, affecting a certain weakness
and huskiness such as he had detected in the king's utterances,
as he listened behind the curtain in Sapt's room at the castle.
The part was played as completely and triumphantly as in the old
days when he ran the gauntlet of every eye in Strelsau. Yet if he
had not taken such pains to conciliate old Helsing, but had let
him depart, he might not have found himself driven to a greater
and even more hazardous deception.
They were conversing together alone. My wife had been prevailed
on by Rudolf to lie down in her room for an hour. Sorely needing
rest, she had obeyed him, having first given strict orders that
no member of the household should enter the room where the two
were except on an express summons. Fearing suspicion, she and
Rudolf had agreed that it was better to rely on these injunctions
than to lock the door again as they had the night before.
But while these things passed at my house, the queen and
Bernenstein were on their way to Strelsau. Perhaps, had Sapt been
at Zenda, his powerful influence might have availed to check the
impulsive expedition; Bernenstein had no such authority, and
could only obey the queen's peremptory orders and pathetic
prayers. Ever since Rudolf Rassendyll left her, three years
before, she had lived in stern self-repression, never her true
self, never for a moment able to be or to do what every hour her
heart urged on her. How are these things done? I doubt if a man
lives who could do them; but women live who do them. Now his
sudden coming, and the train of stirring events that accompanied
it, his danger and hers, his words and her enjoyment of his
presence, had all worked together to shatter her self-control;
and the strange dream, heightening the emotion which was its own
cause, left her with no conscious desire save to be near Mr.
Rassendyll, and scarcely with a fear except for his safety. As
they journeyed her talk was all of his peril, never of the
disaster which threatened herself, and which we were all striving
with might and main to avert from her head. She traveled alone
with Bernenstein, getting rid of the lady who attended her by
some careless pretext, and she urged on him continually to bring
her as speedily as might be to Mr. Rassendyll. I cannot find much
blame for her. Rudolf stood for all the joy in her life, and
Rudolf had gone to fight with the Count of Hentzau. What wonder
that she saw him, as it were, dead? Yet still she would have it
that, in his seeming death, all men hailed him for their king.
Well, it was her love that crowned him.
As they reached the city, she grew more composed, being persuaded
by Bernenstein that nothing in her bearing must rouse suspicion.
Yet she was none the less resolved to seek Mr. Rassendyll at
once. In truth, she feared even then to find him dead, so strong
was the hold of her dream on her; until she knew that he was
alive she could not rest. Bernenstein, fearful that the strain
would kill her, or rob her of reason, promised everything; and
declared, with a confidence which he did not feel, that beyond
doubt Mr. Rassendyll was alive and well.
"But where--where?" she cried eagerly, with clasped hands.
"We're most likely, madam, to find him at Fritz von
Tarlenheim's," answered the lieutenant. "He would wait there till
the time came to attack Rupert, or, if the thing is over, he will
have returned there."
"Then let us drive there at once," she urged.
Bernenstein, however, persuaded her to go to the palace first and
let it be known there that she was going to pay a visit to my
wife. She arrived at the palace at eight o'clock, took a cup of
chocolate, and then ordered her carriage. Bernenstein alone
accompanied her when she set out for my house about nine. He was,
by now, hardly less agitated than the queen herself.
In her entire preoccupation with Mr. Rassendyll, she gave little
thought to what might have happened at the hunting lodge; but
Bernenstein drew gloomy auguries from the failure of Sapt and
myself to return at the proper time. Either evil had befallen us,
or the letter had reached the king before we arrived at the
lodge; the probabilities seemed to him to be confined to these
alternatives. Yet when he spoke in this strain to the queen, he
could get from her nothing except, "If we can find Mr.
Rassendyll, he will tell us what to do."
Thus, then, a little after nine in the morning the queen's
carriage drove up to my door. The ladies of the chancellor's
family had enjoyed a very short night's rest, for their heads
came bobbing out of window the moment the wheels were heard; many
people were about now, and the crown on the panels attracted the
usual small crowd of loiterers. Bernenstein sprang out and gave
his hand to the queen. With a hasty slight bow to the onlookers,
she hastened up the two or three steps of the porch, and with her
own hand rang the bell. Inside, the carriage had just been
observed. My wife's waiting-maid ran hastily to her mistress;
Helga was lying on her bed; she rose at once, and after a few
moments of necessary preparations (or such preparations as seem
to ladies necessary, however great the need of haste may be)
hurried downstairs to receive her Majesty--and to warn her
Majesty. She was too late. The door was already open. The butler
and the footman both had run to it, and thrown it open for the
queen. As Helga reached the foot of the stairs, her Majesty was
just entering the room where Rudolf was, the servants attending
her, and Bernenstein standing behind, his helmet in his hand.
Rudolf and the chancellor had been continuing their conversation.
To avoid the observations of passers-by (for the interior of the
room is easy to see from the street), the blind had been drawn
down, and the room was in deep shadow. They had heard the wheels,
but neither of them dreamt that the visitor could be the queen.
It was an utter surprise to them when, without their orders, the
door was suddenly flung open. The chancellor, slow of movement,
and not, if I may say it, over-quick of brain, sat in his corner
for half a minute or more before he rose to his feet. On the
other hand, Rudolf Rassendyll was the best part of the way across
the room in an instant. Helga was at the door now, and she thrust
her head round young Bernenstein's broad shoulders. Thus she saw
what happened. The queen, forgetting the servants, and not
observing Helsing--seeming indeed to stay for nothing, and to
think of nothing, but to have her thoughts and heart filled with
the sight of the man she loved and the knowledge of his
safety--met him as he ran towards her, and, before Helga, or
Bernenstein, or Rudolf himself, could stay her or conceive what
she was about to do, caught both his hands in hers with an
intense grasp, crying:
"Rudolf, you're safe! Thank God, oh, thank God!" and she carried
his hands to her lips and kissed them passionately.
A moment of absolute silence followed, dictated in the servants
by decorum, in the chancellor by consideration, in Helga and
Bernenstein by utter consternation. Rudolf himself also was
silent, but whether from bewilderment or an emotion answering to
hers, I know not. Either it might well be. The stillness struck
her. She looked up in his eyes; she looked round the room and saw
Helsing, now bowing profoundly from the corner; she turned her
head with a sudden frightened jerk, and glanced at my motionless
deferential servants. Then it came upon her what she had done.
She gave a quick gasp for breath, and her face, always pale, went
white as marble. Her features set in a strange stiffness, and
suddenly she reeled where she stood, and fell forward. Only
Rudolf's hand bore her up. Thus for a moment, too short to
reckon, they stood. Then he, a smile of great love and pity
coming on his lips, drew her to him, and passing his arm about
her waist, thus supported her. Then, smiling still, he looked
down on her, and said in a low tone, yet distinct enough for all
to hear:
"All is well, dearest."
My wife gripped Bernenstein's arm, and he turned to find her
pale-faced too, with quivering lips and shining eyes. But the
eyes had a message, and an urgent one, for him. He read it; he
knew that it bade him second what Rudolf Rassendyll had done. He
came forward and approached Rudolf; then he fell on one knee, and
kissed Rudolf's left hand that was extended to him.
"I'm very glad to see you, Lieutenant von Bernenstein," said
Rudolf Rassendyll.
For a moment the thing was done, ruin averted, and safety
secured. Everything had been at stake; that there was such a man
as Rudolf Rassendyll might have been disclosed; that he had once
filled the king's throne was a high secret which they were
prepared to trust to Helsing under stress of necessity; but there
remained something which must be hidden at all costs, and which
the queen's passionate exclamation had threatened to expose.
There was a Rudolf Rassendyll, and he had been king; but, more
than all this, the queen loved him and he the queen. That could
be told to none, not even to Helsing; for Helsing, though he
would not gossip to the town, would yet hold himself bound to
carry the matter to the king. So Rudolf chose to take any future
difficulties rather than that present and certain disaster.
Sooner than entail it on her he loved, he claimed for himself the
place of her husband and the name of king. And she, clutching at
the only chance that her act left, was content to have it so. It
may be that for an instant her weary, tortured brain found sweet
rest in the dim dream that so it was, for she let her head lie
there on his breast and her eyes closed, her face looking very
peaceful, and a soft little sigh escaping in pleasure from her
lips.
But every moment bore its peril and exacted its effort. Rudolf
led the queen to a couch, and then briefly charged the servants
not to speak of his presence for a few hours. As they had no
doubt perceived, said he, from the queen's agitation, important
business was on foot; it demanded his presence in Strelsau, but
required also that his presence should not be known. A short time
would free them from the obligation which he now asked of their
loyalty. When they had withdrawn, bowing obedience, he turned to
Helsing, pressed his hand warmly, reiterated his request for
silence, and said that he would summon the chancellor to his
presence again later in the day, either where he was or at the
palace. Then he bade all withdraw and leave him alone for a
little with the queen. He was obeyed; but Helsing had hardly left
the house when Rudolf called Bernenstein back, and with him my
wife. Helga hastened to the queen, who was still sorely agitated;
Rudolf drew Bernenstein aside, and exchanged with him all their
news. Mr. Rassendyll was much disturbed at finding that no
tidings had come from Colonel Sapt and myself, but his
apprehension was greatly increased on learning the untoward
accident by which the king himself had been at the lodge the
night before. Indeed, he was utterly in the dark; where the king
was, where Rupert, where we were, he did not know. And he was
here in Strelsau, known as the king to half a dozen people or
more, protected only by their promises, liable at any moment to
be exposed by the coming of the king himself, or even by a
message from him.
Yet, in face of all perplexities, perhaps even the more because
of the darkness in which he was enveloped, Rudolf held firm to
his purpose. There were two things that seemed plain. If Rupert
had escaped the trap and was still alive with the letter on him,
Rupert must be found; here was the first task. That accomplished,
there remained for Rudolf himself nothing save to disappear as
quietly and secretly as he had come, trusting that his presence
could be concealed from the man whose name he had usurped. Nay,
if need were, the king must be told that Rudolf Rassendyll had
played a trick on the chancellor, and, having enjoyed his
pleasure, was gone again. Everything could, in the last resort,
be told, save that which touched the queen's honor.
At this moment the message which I despatched from the station at
Hofbau reached my house. There was a knock at the door.
Bernenstein opened it and took the telegram, which was addressed
to my wife. I had written all that I dared to trust to such a
means of communication, and here it is:
"I am coming to Strelsau. The king will not leave the lodge
to-day. The count came, but left before we arrived. I do not know
whether he has gone to Strelsau. He gave no news to the king."
"Then they didn't get him!" cried Bernenstein in deep
disappointment.
"No, but he gave no news to the king," said Rudolf triumphantly.
They were all standing now round the queen, who sat on the couch.
She seemed very faint and weary, but at peace. It was enough for
her that Rudolf fought and planned for her.
"And see this," Rudolf went on. "'The king will not leave the
lodge to-day.' Thank God, then, we have to-day!"
"Yes, but where's Rupert?"
"We shall know in an hour, if he's in Strelsau," and Mr.
Rassendyll looked as though it would please him well to find
Rupert in Strelsau. "Yes, I must seek him. I shall stand at
nothing to find him. If I can only get to him as the king, then
I'll be the king. We have to-day!"
My message put them in heart again, although it left so much
still unexplained. Rudolf turned to the queen.
"Courage, my queen," said he. "A few hours now will see an end of
all our dangers."
"And then?" she asked.
"Then you'll be safe and at rest," said he, bending over her and
speaking softly. "And I shall be proud in the knowledge of having
saved you."
"And you?"
"I must go," Helga heard him whisper as he bent lower still, and
she and Bernenstein moved away.
