“Well, we heard no more of the duels. But there is a black mark down against my name in Sigismund of Hercynia’s books, and when we got back to Thracia there was the piper to pay in quite a different matter. Drakovics always persists that it was my fault; but I never professed to be either a thought-reader or a prophet, and how in the world was I to guess that as soon as the wedding festivities were over, the Princess of Weldart would definitely break with her husband, and come and quarter herself upon us at Bellaviste? She said that she had kept up appearances hitherto for her daughter’s sake, but that it wasn’t necessary any longer, now that Princess Ernestine was safely married. Even granting that, Otto Georg and I couldn’t quite see why we were to be victimised instead of the Prince of Weldart; but there she was, and we had to make the best of her. She is a terrific woman—ought to have been abbess of some convent, or perhaps the head of a band of canonesses, as she is a Lutheran. At any rate, she did away with the slight hope there was that the marriage might turn out a success. The little Queen had been in abject terror of her husband at first, but she seemed to be beginning to believe that he meant to be kind to her, and then her mother arrived. It was unfortunate, too, that she arrived with a strong prejudice against your humble servant—derived from the Queen of Mœsia, of course. I should have thought that I was too lowly an individual to be honoured with such persistent enmity; but she persuaded Queen Ernestine that I was Otto Georg’s evil genius, and made her frantically jealous of my influence over him. She did not care a straw for him herself, and let him know it; but she could not bear to see that he made a friend of me.”
“But surely,” suggested Caerleon, “in such a delicate matter, the obvious thing was for you to retire?”
“That was how it struck me; but as often as I broached the subject, Otto Georg swore that if I forsook him he would abdicate. He said that Thracia would be intolerable if he was left to the tender mercies of the Queen and her mother on one side and Drakovics on the other. So I stayed on, and the Palace has been divided between two opposing parties ever since. I don’t mean to say that it’s all the Queen’s fault. Otto Georg is neither a saint nor an angel, and he has declared more than once that his wife must take the first steps in the most unmistakable way if he is ever to be reconciled with her again. She won’t do that; but once or twice she has seemed to soften a little, and I believe he might have gone in and won if it hadn’t been for that pig-headed obstinacy of his. I daren’t say much to him, for it’s a ticklish thing interfering between man and wife at the best of times; but I believe a workable compromise might have been arranged on the basis of his getting rid of me, and the Queen’s getting rid of her mother.”
“But surely the Princess is not at Bellaviste now?”
“No; she went too far when she began to interfere with Drakovics. Some time ago she took it into her head that Milénovics, our Public Works Minister, had insulted her by not turning up at a visit of inspection she made to the bridge of boats which is being constructed across the river above Bellaviste. She hadn’t given him any notice, but that didn’t signify. At any rate, she demanded of Otto Georg that he should be dismissed. I went to see Drakovics about it on the King’s behalf, and I can tell you that old man was ‘riz’ to some purpose. He refused to send any message through me, and went to the King at once with an ultimatum—either the Princess must go or the Ministry would. Otto Georg was quite satisfied to get rid of his mother-in-law; but we should have found the Queen and her mother very hard to persuade if the Powers had not stepped in. Pannonia knew that there was a good deal of discontent in Thracia already, owing to the number of Germans who have been imported to fill various offices, and that if Drakovics went, another revolution was only a matter of time. So she gave a gentle hint to Hercynia, and Sigismund brought pretty strong pressure to bear upon his aunt. He sent her an invitation to visit his Court, which was virtually a command, and she had to go. Of course she and the Queen put it all down to me, but I really can’t plead guilty in this case. One must not risk needless revolutions with a young dynasty like this of Otto Georg’s. By the bye, Caerleon, do you ever have any communication with that precious father-in-law of yours?”
“I can’t say that I have,” returned Caerleon, with some constraint in his tone. The fugitive Irish rebel of 1848, who was spending his old age as a spy in the employ of Scythia, was not a relative of whom he could reasonably be expected to be proud.
“He doesn’t apply to you for money? I had an idea—you have no house in town, and you don’t make much show here—that he might be living upon you all this time.”
“Oh no, quite the contrary. I wrote to him soon after we were married, suggesting, as delicately as I could, that he should accept a suitable income from me, and retire from the Scythian service. Nadia was extremely anxious that he should have the chance of leading a decent life for his few remaining years. But my letter was returned—not unopened, but unanswered—and since then we have heard no more of him.”
“Then he is at his old tricks again—I thought so. He has been in Thracia for some time, avowedly drinking the waters at Tatarjé. I told you that there was a good deal of discontent about, and no doubt he is doing his best to suck some advantage out of it for his employers. But I don’t believe that any section of the people would join in a plot the object of which was merely to restore Scythian supremacy, though it would not surprise me if there was another revolution the first day that they found any one to rally round. If you came to Thracia, now——”
“But how is it that the O’Malachy ventures to set foot in the country? I should have thought Drakovics would have had something to say to that.”