An Uncrowned King Chapter 3 Part 4

Once more Cyril drew dark inferences from his brother’s words, but he made no remark, and at the appointed time they presented themselves in Madame O’Malachy’s salon, where a most cordial welcome awaited them. They were the only guests, and it fell naturally to Caerleon to escort his hostess to the table and to sit beside her, a privilege for which he was not as grateful as he ought to have been, for he could hear Cyril and Nadia wrangling busily throughout the meal. Guessing that his brother was treating Mdlle. O’Malachy to a little fin de siècle philosophy, he had no difficulty in imagining the light in which it would strike her, and his anxiety to hear what she was saying in reply distracted his attention a little from her mother, who conversed vivaciously in French, addressing him as “mon cher marquis” in a way that reminded him vaguely of the Molière he had read when at school.

“I am longing that you should know my son,” she observed at last. “He is of the same age as your brother, and I have a presentiment that they will be friends. Louis is a true enthusiast, and it is this trait in his character that has caused us no small anxiety. My husband has perhaps told you that until a short time ago the unfortunate boy was an officer in the Scythian army. Would you believe that he has resigned his post in order to join the Thracian revolutionists?”

“Indeed?” said Caerleon, much interested; “and has he joined them yet?”

“No, but he intends to do so as soon as possible. Imagine his throwing away all his prospects like this! It is madness.”

“Come now, Barbara,” put in the O’Malachy from his end of the table. “Louie is a very decent feller, and he may make his way yet. You wouldn’t believe that I meself began life as a leader in the Sarmatian insurrection, would you?” he asked, turning to the young men with an air of extreme innocence.

“No, indeed,” said Caerleon, dimly conscious that Cyril started, and pursed up his lips as though to whistle.

“It’s true, then. When I left Ireland as a young man, after a little difficulty with the Government connectud with the troubles of ’48, I took, though it is not I should say ut, a prominent part in the Sarmatian affair, and yet here I am now, a colonel in the Scythian army. I learned wisdom, you see. The Scythians were not so bad as I had thought them, and the Sarmatians were a good deal worse, and so ut happened that I changed sides, perhaps with a little persuasion of another kind addud on,” and he glanced waggishly at his wife, who laughed rather nervously, and remarked that the candles were burning low.

“But have you never visited England since 1848?” asked Caerleon. “Surely there can be no danger of your being arrested now? I hope I may have the pleasure of welcoming you at Llandiarmid yet.”

“Yes,” said Cyril, “if you began as a Sarmatian revolutionist and end as a Scythian officer, we may hope to see you in a comfortable berth in the Constabulary yet, O’Malachy.”

“Ah, but there’s another businuss since ’48,” said the O’Malachy. “You know Balster, the feller that was made Irush Secretary two or three years ago? When I heard he had got the Irush Offus, I sent um a present of a box of cigars, the brand I always smoke meself—he had admired them greatly when I met um at Ludwigsbad some time before. Well, would you believe ut? Sure ’twas a mighty queer piece of work—the police opened the box when ut got to Doblun, and they found dynamite in ut. So then they accused me of trying to blow the man up, and I daren’t set foot in me native land. I was sorry, of course; but how was ut me fault?”

“Do you mean to imply,” asked Caerleon, “that the police took the cigars out and put dynamite instead of them?”

“All I can say,” replied the O’Malachy, spreading out his hands with a deprecatory gesture, “is that I sent cigars, and that the police fellers found an infernal machine. You must make what you can of ut.”

“Oh, don’t harp on the subject, Caerleon,” put in Cyril, seeing that his brother was not satisfied. “Can’t you see that it’s very naturally disagreeable to the O’Malachy? When do you expect your son, O’Malachy?”

“In two or three days, Lord Cyrul. I am greatly pleased that he will be so fortunate as to meet you here.”

“Oh, but we shan’t be here,” said Caerleon, seizing his opportunity. “We must not forget that we are trespassing on your kindness all the time we occupy these rooms. We will clear out to-morrow, if you like.”

“That you won’t,” returned the O’Malachy. “Why, when I was hearing in the town yesterday that your friend was in Parrus, and knew that you would be wanting to come back here, I went straight to the landlord, and got um to clear out another room for Louie, without any fuss at all. So now the place is plenty big for both of us, and I will think that you are offended with us if you turn out before you have seen all you want of the neighbourhood.”

“Since you are so kind,” said Caerleon, “we will certainly stay on for the present.” Here a frown from Cyril reached him, and an almost imperceptible “Don’t!” and he added rather lamely, “That is, if you are quite sure we are not inconveniencing you—or Miss O’Malachy.”

“My dear marquis,” said Madame O’Malachy, “let me assure you that your society is already doing my husband far more good than the waters here. As for my daughter, how should you inconvenience her?”

“Oh no; why should I need two rooms?” asked Nadia, gloomily, and Caerleon could get nothing but monosyllables from her during the remainder of the evening. When the guests were gone, however, she turned to her parents as she was leaving the room.

“You may be interested to know,” she said in her clear hard voice, “that Lord Caerleon has no intention of going to Thracia, nor of accepting the Thracian crown. I am not in the habit of helping you in your work, but I thought that this piece of news might possibly lead you to alter your plans a little.”

“Many thanks, my daughter,” said Madame O’Malachy, while her husband laughed softly. “In what way are our plans to be changed?”

“Surely you can leave Lord Caerleon and his brother alone, now that you know this, and not seek to involve them in any danger?”

“Mademoiselle,” said the O’Malachy, rising and standing with his back to the stove, “may I remind you of one small fact? We have not, as you remark, the honour of your assistance, and I regret to say that this necessarily deprives you of any pleasure you might derive from sharing our confidence. Whatever plans your mother and I may have in view, we do not feel inclined to risk their reaching Lord Caerleon by communicating them to you.”

Nadia’s face grew crimson, but she threw her head back proudly as she bade her parents good-night and left the room.

“There is a little fool for you!” said Madame O’Malachy with lazy contempt.

“What did you mean by making signs to me at dinner?” asked Caerleon of Cyril, when they were alone together in his room.

“Any one with ordinary common-sense would have seen that I meant you not to accept the O’Malachy’s offer, but to go on at once, away from here.”

“But why in the world? You said nothing of this before.”

“Because I did not know who he was, but at dinner it suddenly flashed upon me that he was the hero of a story which I heard when I was in Pavelsburg. Old Dostelsky, who helped in putting down the Sarmatian rebellion, told it to two or three of us in the smoking-room one night.”

“Something spicy, I suppose? Come, let us hear it.”