Delphi Works of Ford Madox Ford (Illustrated) (464 page)

Macdonald really needed to be quiet and, for the matter of that, he really wanted to look at the ballet. But all the while Mr. Dexter’s voice, droned. His theme was the high morality of the American trust system. It was, said Mr. Dexter, beneficent in every department in which it dealt. It seemed to render petroleum celestial and cheap; beef a means of saving your soul, and inexpensive.

From pork the trust system seemed to have eradicated trichinosis, whilst bringing it within the range of the poorest pocket. And when it came to railways, in which for the moment Mr. Dexter was interested, there seemed to be no end to the glorious visions which in the United States they called up. To the remotest wildernesses Mr. Dexter’s railways were going to carry not only ploughs but innumerable Bibles; not only settlers but unity, concord, peace, fraternity, democracy, Christian love, flannel blankets, and the hot-air system of heating houses. Mr. Dexter positively spoke of broad plains, waving with golden wheat, where before the naked Indian had chased his prey. He spoke of churches springing up in the wilderness, and of psalms resounding where before only the icy wind could be heard screaming round granite rocks. And positively he spoke of teeming populations. And the ultimate vision that seemed to underlie all these images was that of Mr. Dexter with a seraphic countenance, the benefactor of this smiling region, ascending slowly to heaven whilst the bells rang from the steeples and the teeming populations upon their knees followed his apotheosis with tear-filled eyes.

“And it is these blessings I desire to be the means of spreading throughout Your Majesty’s unhappy country,” Mr. Dexter shouted in the young King’s ear. His Majesty sat forward in the box, with the American behind him. There was a vacuous smile upon the King’s face. He couldn’t imagine what was happening to him; he couldn’t understand a word of the American’s florid English. But from time to time he made faces at Miss di Pradella, who grinned ecstatically whenever he did so. She thought him a most agreeable child, for she had no idea at all of his kingly quality. And once the King put in her mouth, in full view of the audience, one of the chocolates with which Mr. Dexter had filled the box. And just as Mr. Dexter was beginning to turn his attention to the King’s unhappy country, Miss di Pradella made signs to His Majesty that she wanted to throw a chocolate into his mouth. The King let his huge underjaw fall open. Mr. Dexter paused for a moment; the orchestra played its loudest; upon the stage the full strength of the corps de ballet were marching round under scarlet, green, and mauve garlands, in the midst of blazes of purple, blue, and orange lights. The unfortunate Da Pinta groaned miserably, and held his dirty head in both his dirty hands. The English climate caused him to have an almost perpetual and quite unbearable toothache, and at that moment his pangs were worse than they had ever been. Miss Coward was smiling fixedly at the stage, her level teeth remaining visible all the time.

And then, Miss di Pradella’s chocolate having fallen into the King’s white waistcoat pocket, Mr. Dexter judged the moment opportune to repeat at the top of his voice: “It is these blessings that I desire to be the means of spreading throughout Your Majesty’s unhappy country.”

Macdonald sprang violently up. He was shaking all over with exasperation.

“God damn you!” he really hissed. “Go and shout your confounded information in Trafalgar Square, if you want us all to be hanged.”

Mr. Dexter looked appalled. “Really, your Excellency—” he was beginning with an aspect of anger.

“I tell you,” Macdonald said, “that if you ever mention this affair again I will kick you neck and crop out of the whole thing, and you will never get a chance of speaking to a king again in your life.”

A great deal of the complacency went out of Mr. Dexter’s manner; it was as if he were an inflated toy John Bull, and had been pricked with a small pin.

“I am open to admit that I have been imprudent,” he said. “I hadn’t realised the seriousness of it all. I apologise fully.”

“Then don’t do it again,” Macdonald exclaimed. “I’ll come and see you to-morrow morning and let you know if I can take you on again.”

A really great rage possessed him. Mr. Dexter was panic-stricken; he was even a little pale, and there was no doubt about his contrition. But Macdonald hurried his own little contingent out of the box, and his rage was extraordinarily increased by the fact that Mr. Dexter, in his bright blue suit, and the Marquis da Pinta, in his shabby black with tarnished silver epaulettes and silver buttons, escorted them apologetically down the brilliant stairs and into the more brilliant light of the porch.

Macdonald took leave of no one, but, pushing his way through the illuminated crowd that blocked all those pavements of pleasure, he went solitarily away. He was hardly thinking, he was just cursing, and it was as if each footstep that he took was a separate stamp of rage. It appeared to him that he had been outraged, rendered ridiculous, and intolerably fatigued. He had crossed over the Circus, and was walking fast along the Quadrangle when he had a sense of a sort of pink companionship. And there indeed was Miss di Pradella, swinging along easily beside him. He stopped short and said irritably:

“What do you want?”

She had a little air of abashment and unhappiness. “I want my fifteen pounds,” she said.

He felt nervously in his pockets. “I haven’t got any money,” he exclaimed. “Come to-morrow for it.”

“But I must have it to-night,” she answered. Macdonald said: “Oh, hell! Can’t you trust me?” And then he laughed. “No, of course, you can’t trust anybody — I understand.”

She did not contradict him, though she added, as a sort of instigation, “If I don’t take money home to-night I shall be turned into the streets.”

And then Macdonald regained his good temper. “Oh, well,” he said, “you’re probably worse off than I am. Come on, and you shall see how I live.”

“But the money?” Miss di Pradella exclaimed.

“Oh, I have got thousands of pounds at home,” Macdonald said. “And you shall have as much as you want if you’re a good girl.”

He felt as if he were telling fairy tales to a child. And, for the remainder of the short transit, he interested himself in her commonplace history, which she gave up to his questioning as if she were describing a railway journey, dispassionately.

She had been born in Vienna. She had joined a troupe of travelling actors. She had been a general utility girl at fifteen shillings a month with her keep. Then in Hamburg the company had failed; a girl-friend in London had written that she could find her excellently paid work.

“But I don’t like the life,” she said. “I have been here a fortnight, and I want to go back to Hamburg and be an actress again. When you have paid for your flat and everything here, it is too expensive.”

“You want to go back to Hamburg?” Macdonald asked. “Oh yes,” she answered open-mindedly, “unless I could find something better to do here.”

They were passing again under the narrow tunnel where they had first met. Macdonald stood still.

“Now supposing,” he said, “I set you up in a flat and paid all your expenses?”

“I should like it very much,” she said without enthusiasm. “Would you pay for my washing? I like washing. Lots and lots of linen.”

“Oh, I pay for everything,” Macdonald answered.

He was vaguely aware that a woman with a deep black veil was watching them from the end of the passage. Her figure in the shadow seemed dimly familiar to him.

“Of course I’d set you up respectably,” he said, “and look after you. You could have proper dancing lessons. But come along. We can talk about that to-morrow.” They passed the dark figure in the dark shadow and turned to the right in the mews, that was lit by an old yellow gas lamp.

“It’s very quiet here,” Macdonald said; and he unlocked his door and threw it open. “Come along in.”

He switched on the brilliant lamp. And then suddenly he exclaimed: “By God! that was my wife!”

And he ran back out of the door again as quickly as he could. But the dark figure was gone.

It wasn’t to be seen on the broad pavements of Regent Street, though he followed for some minutes several solitary ladies in black. Then he gave it up and returned to Miss di Pradella.

In the brilliant illumination she was sitting on the table, where his shirt had been laid out. She was swinging her legs and, having taken out of her reticule a novelette of the cheapest kind, she was reading with engrossment. All round the walls hung Macdonald’s garments on their nails. But to Macdonald’s surprise, in place of his bed of straw there stood a shiny black and brass bedstead, the sheets and blankets being covered with an eiderdown quilt of an astounding, vermilion brightness. There was even a square of carpet on the floor. And upon the pillow was pinned a square of paper. Macdonald crossed to it, and before Miss di Pradella had come out of her romance he read the words: “With the compliments of Mr. Edgar T. Salt, Chauffeur to H.M. the King of Galizia.”

This was in copperplate; but beneath it were pencilled the words:

“To show that I
am
some use. N.B. — There is a hot bottle in the bed.”

Macdonald said: “Well, well, it’s a queer world!”

Miss di Pradella looked up from her book. “I’ll get you the money now,” he said. And he drew out from a valise a leather case containing bank notes. He counted three into the girl’s hand.

“I shan’t give you twenty,” he said, “because you’d probably only be extravagant, and there is no need for that if I’m going to look after you.”

She slipped slowly down from the table and looked at him reproachfully and seriously.

“You had better give me another,” she said, “because you’re a married man.”

“But what’s the connection?” Macdonald asked.

“You had better give me all the twenty pounds,” she repeated, “because I shall go back to Hamburg to-morrow, I’ve never come between a married man and his wife, and I never will.”

“Well, it
is
an extraordinary old dark forest of a world,” Macdonald said. “Who would have suspected that all these virtues and benevolences were hidden in its depths? We’re an extraordinarily high-minded set of people, it seems to me.”

“I don’t understand you,” Miss di Pradella said; “and this
is
a very funny place.”

“There, there,” Macdonald said comfortingly; “of course I seem too good to be true. But then so does Mr. Salt, and so do you.”

“No, I’m not good,” she said.

“Well, get along home, and pay your bills,” he replied “It’s all right. You shall have your flat and your washing — oceans and oceans of washing! And you shan’t come between anybody and anything.”

‘Is that true?” she asked.

“Oh, upon my word of honour,” Macdonald answered. “Now get along.”

And suddenly she once more threw her arms round his neck.

“Du bist herzensgut,” she whispered in his ear.

“Oh, go away!” Macdonald said cheerfully. “But I am glad you’ve recognised that, all the same.”

When Miss di Pradella had gone, he sat down and wrote to his wife that he wasn’t carrying on a vulgar intrigue with the girl, but that it was part of the business in which he was engaged. Then he went out and posted the letter. He quite thought that his Countess would believe him.

In the brilliant light he lay gazing for a long time at the bright almanac on the bare wall. A spot of high colour, he thought that the lady it showed, with the green laurel wreath in her hair, stretching out her arms to an approaching automobile, resembled distantly Lady Aldington.

“Well!” he exclaimed, “you wouldn’t say that this blazing place was a dark forest. But it is, all the same.” Then he turned out the light.

CHAPTER V
I

IN spite of agitated letters of invitation from that gentleman, it was fully a week before Macdonald called upon Mr. Dexter. And it was a very tiresome week for him. He had to take the measure of the Galizian exiled court. And it took him a long time to realise that that court really hadn’t any measure at all. The immense rambling house in Lowndes Square was exceedingly untidy, and Macdonald was given the run of it in a way that seemed to him to show a lack of any reasonable precaution. An English butler usually opened the door to him, and then there appeared to be an entire absence of any other servants. On his first visit Macdonald really was ushered by some sort of under-footman with a silver chain round his neck into the drawing-room, where there sat the Queen-Mother, three old French duchesses, and two young English priests. But after that first visit Macdonald seemed to be turned loose in the large house. No one knew where the King was. The Marquis da Pinta generally had the toothache so badly that he could give no information. If Macdonald went into the room immediately on the right of the entrance, he would find the rather gloomy diningroom untidy with the remains of meals generally upon the table. Behind this was a room that someone seemed to have begun to arrange as a bedroom. It contained at least an immense bedstead that was a real forest of twisted mahogany pillars. Whilst, on the floor, with their faces to the walls, were a number of pictures. On the left of the hall there was a large room, the entire floor of which was covered with books, all deep in dust. This the Queen- Mother once mentioned as the library. Apparently it was the butler’s business to see that Her Majesty had a diningroom in which, at irregular intervals, she had meals of some sort; that she had the large drawing-room in which to sit with the three duchesses and the two priests; and no doubt she had a bedroom. One of these days, apparently, they were going to give state dinners and begin the business of semi-royal entertaining. But, although they had been in England nearly ten months, Macdonald could not discover that they had done anything more than receive a number of callers. It might have been considered that the household was going through a period of protracted mourning, only Macdonald was quite sure that there wasn’t any one in the house with sufficient energy to have given any such order.

On the Sunday — Macdonald having arrived in London on Saturday — there could not have been any talk of business. The Queen-Mother during Macdonald’s formal call talked only of the sermon she had heard, of the English climate, and of the persecution that the religious orders were undergoing in France. And Macdonald spent the rest of the afternoon in arranging for the well-being of Miss di Pradella. On the Monday, when Macdonald came in from a protracted motor ride along the river by Kingston and back to the Surrey hills, in the course of which they were three times stopped for exceeding the speed limit, having dropped the two young ladies at their respective addresses, the King and Macdonald returned to Lowndes Square. They found the drawing-room in possession of an English princess and her husband, together with two or three other ladies. The royal personage told a good many entertaining stories of her experience in making tours in Canada, India, and the Straits Settlements. This was quite agreeable, but it did not lead up to any business conversation. Macdonald spent the evening in taking poor Da Pinta to a new dentist, whom they knocked up in the midst of an evening party that he was giving. On Tuesday the Queen-Mother was in retreat in preparation for the feast of the Assumption of the Virgin. On Wednesday, being that feast itself, she was out the whole day paying a round of calls and dining at the Spanish Embassy. On Thursday the house was full of Brazilian notabilities, and just before dinner the Queen-Mother hurried off to take her share in the ceremony of perpetual adoration at the Brompton Oratory.

The King himself Macdonald had entirely at his own disposal. There was never any difficulty about finding him. If he wasn’t at Mr. Salt’s garage, Macdonald had only to telephone to his own office, and the King would be certain to be there or halfway between those two places. Upon the whole, Macdonald found him to improve upon acquaintance. He certainly hadn’t any vices at all, just as he was entirely undeveloped. He reminded Macdonald fairly exactly of the boys of fourteen that he had known when he was at school at Harrow. And the extraordinary dullness which must have distinguished his upbringing hitherto was shown in the avid curiosity with which he explored any and every kind of machine. But, indeed, he appeared to know absolutely nothing at all, so that it astonished him beyond measure when, having run out of petrol, near Reigate, Macdonald suggested to the King that he should go into a local garage and purchase a can; for the King positively did not know how you bought things over the counter. But, on the other hand, he was quite pleased to acquire knowledge, and he displayed almost as much curiosity as to the workings of the British Constitution and the elements of political economy as he had done with regard to the inside contents of the new bonnet of the latest car supplied by the Resiliens Company. Probably this was because all these things had about them something mechanical. And once he had discovered that money would buy things, he asked quite timidly to be allowed to purchase a cheap American clock, in order to pull it into pieces. This he did on the homeward road, and he was quite as happy as he was when he was pinching Miss di Pradella’s arm to make her scream.

For his part he was entirely ready to agree to any of Macdonald’s schemes for a future government of the kingdom of Galizia. He agreed to anything with all the more readiness since he took not the least interest in the matter. But since the Queen-Mother must obviously remain as Regent for several years to come, the King’s acquiescence was of no value to Macdonald. It was on the Friday morning that Macdonald really took Da Pinta to task. The new dentist having much relieved his pain, that nobleman, who now suffered only from malaria, was able to take a comparatively intelligent interest in the counter-revolution. And Macdonald was able to get him to see that it was absolutely indispensable that he should have a business interview with the Queen-Mother.

The Queen-Mother had the strongest possible objection. The festivities of the week being at an end, the normal calm had descended on the royal house, and that afternoon Her Majesty was seated in her drawing-room with only two of the French duchesses. But she had three priests.

She had represented to Da Pinta that she could not possibly leave her guests to have a private interview with anybody. But the Marquis was able to counter that objection by suggesting that, as the drawing-room was eighty feet deep, there was nothing to prevent Her Majesty’s withdrawing with Macdonald into one of the windows, where they would be entirely out of earshot of the tea- party, which the King might honour with his presence.

Thus, at last, Macdonald found himself face to face with the royal lady, whose countenance showed every sign of bad temper.

“Your Excellency,” she said, “I know nothing at all about these matters. I have told you already many times that I leave them entirely to yourself and to the excellent Da Pinta.”

Macdonald, who was upon perfectly familiar ground as soon as it came to persuading dilatory royal persons to take important steps, immediately lost himself in a flood of apologies. It was abominable of himself, he said, so to inconvenience Her Majesty, but nothing but the extreme urgency of the moment and the necessity of having the benefit of Her Majesty’s wisdom, experience, and advice would have emboldened him to withdraw Her Majesty from her charming circle of amiable guests....

With her head slightly upon one side, the Queen listened whilst Macdonald expatiated on the subject of her own merits and sagacity. Her pendulous, whitish features with the heavy eyes, the white eyebrows, and the deep folds in the cheeks relaxed little by little beneath the well-trained flattery of this amiable and charming young man. At last, with a motherly and condescending gesture of the hand, she exclaimed:

“Well, well, what is it you want me to do?”

Her Majesty seemed always to be dressed in rather shabby and rather untidy black. But, as if in revenge, her broad bosom appeared to be defended by an armour of diamonds set in silver, and her gouty white fingers were covered with rings with large jewels. And there was about the heavy lines of her face such a potentiality of ill humour that she might very well be classed as royal. It was as if, though she could not trouble you in anything material — as if, though she could no longer order you to execution or confine you in oubliettes, she could nevertheless extraordinarily worry you by one or two words of scorn, supposing, of course, that the opinion of her circle mattered at all to yourself. And, indeed, she was really not at all a disagreeable woman, though she loved money, ease, and deference.

Sergius Michailovitch drew from his breast pocket a long document upon parchment.

“I am certainly not going to read anything,” the Queen said.

“It is only necessary,” Macdonald answered pleasantly, “that Your Majesty should sign and seal it. Of course Your Majesty may be signing and sealing away your entire fortune. But it is not for me to object to that.”

Sleepily the Queen-Mother beckoned towards her Da Pinta, who was watching them anxiously from the tea- table. And Da Pinta came towards them, his whole untidy personality stiffened and his shoulders shrugging up to his ears.

“What does this document contain?” the Queen- Mother asked. “You have read it?”

Da Pinta bowed very deeply and very stiffly. “Excellent Majesty,” he exclaimed, “it contains the new constitution of the kingdom of Galizia. The provisions of this constitution...”

“Pass the constitution,” the Queen-Mother said. “Only I warn you that if I find that in practice it works out as anything disrespectful to myself, I shall make my son abdicate at once.”

“Excellent Majesty,” Da Pinta protested, “is it to be imagined that I, who have sanctioned this constitution in your name, should allow to pass anything that in practice could appear to be disrespectful to Your Majesty?”

“I do not think you would,” the Queen-Mother said. “What else is in the document?”

“That, Your Majesty,” Da Pinta said, “confers upon this gentleman, the Count Sergius Mihailovitch Macdonald, one of the aides-de-camp of His Imperial Majesty of Russia and a Commander of the First Class of the Order of Alexander II...”

The Queen-Mother looked at Sergius Mihailovitch with a sleepy interest.

“So you have got the Order of Alexander II?” she said. “That is very respectable. Of course I confer upon you anything that you desire.”

“But Your Majesty had better hear,” Da Pinta said. And he pulled out from his pocket a very old and shabby spectacle case, from which he took out a pair of glasses. He began to read short-sightedly.

“Your Majesty confers upon Count Macdonald and myself the supreme command of all forces, whether by land or sea, whether ecclesiastical or financial, of the Galizian counter-revolution.”

“I do not know about the financial control,” the Queen said.

“It means,” the Marquis said, “only the control of paying out money. Your Excellent Majesty may, of course, at any time pay anything that Your Majesty wishes.”

“I certainly wish to pay nothing,” the Queen-Mother exclaimed. “Not a single penny! Pass all powers that I confer on you, too. — Da Pinta, you look extraordinarily comic in your spectacles.”

Da Pinta said: “For the rest of the document I should like His Majesty to hear what it is.”

The King had come in and was holding over his hands, as he stood beside the distant tea-table, a skein of wool that the Duchesse de Creil, a very old woman, was winding into a ball.

“His Majesty,” Da Pinta said, “has already studied and sanctioned the constitution, but it is well that he should hear of the concessions of Crown lands that have to be made.”

“Well, go and fetch him,” the Queen said.

Da Pinta appeared to be becoming more and more business-like. He no longer drooped so much, his moustache appeared to grow spiky; his beard stuck out more bravely. And it was with positive briskness that he walked down the long room towards the King.

“That poor, faithful Da Pinta,” the Queen said to Macdonald; “do you see how he is becoming alive at the thought of regaining his confiscated land?”

Still brisk, Da Pinta returned, clicking his heels as he walked, and behind the young King slouched along with his hands deep in his pockets.

“These are the concessions,” Da Pinta said; and he began once more to read.

“Your Majesties confer upon the Count Macdonald and myself all such portion of the Crown lands in the province of Galegas as shall be found to contain any minerals or any oil of the kind known as petroleum. These minerals and this oil shall be worked by such persons as the Count Macdonald and myself shall agree to. One-tenth of the gross profits of such mines and oil wells shall be the royalty to be paid by such persons to the Galizian Crown. During the first ten years of these workings one-half of these royalties shall be diverted to the repayment of the adventurers in the scheme of putting Your Majesties again upon the throne. But this repayment shall not continue for more than ten years from the day upon which Your Majesties shall be proclaimed, whether or no the amount repaid shall exceed or fall short of the sums advanced by the adventurers. Count Macdonald and the Marquis da Pinta in no case to receive any more than the sums personally advanced by them.”