“Don’t be an ass.”
“I’m not chaffing. She did say that—honest Injun. At least, I’ve Henri de la Mole’s word for it. His sister was at school at the convent of the Virgin of Tears with Lady Monica Vale. Lady Monica supposed the other day that we were both French, which is a compliment to your accent. She said she wished she could find out ‘who was the brown man with the eyes.’ I’m a fool to have told you that though, eh? It can’t do you any good, and will probably make you worse.”
“But it has done me good.”
“Flattered your vanity. However, I haven’t told you all yet. De la Mole says the mother’s a dragon, hard as iron, cold as steel, living for ambition. She was left poor, on her husband’s death, as the Vale-Avon estates went with the title to a distant relative, and the girl’s been brought up to make a brilliant match. She’s been given every accomplishment under Heaven, to add to her beauty; and as the family’s one of the oldest in Great Britain, connected with royalty in one way or another, in Stuart days, Lady’s Monica’s expected to pull off something from the top branch, in the way of a marriage. De la Mole’s heard that the present Lord Vale-Avon has been first favourite with the mother up till lately, though he’s next door to an idiot. Princess Ena’s engagement to the King of Spain has changed everything. You see, Lady Vale-Avon and her daughter live not far from the Princess, in the Isle of Wight. When the King came a-courting to England, came also, though not exactly in his train, another Spaniard, the Duke of Carmona, and—”
“Don’t,” I cut in; “I won’t hear his name in connection with her’s. That half Moorish brute!”
“He may have a dash of Moorish blood, but he’s not half Moorish; and if he’s a brute, he’s a good-looking brute, according to de la Mole, also he’s one of the richest young men in Spain. Lady Vale-Avon—”
I jumped up and stopped Dick. “I’m in earnest,” I said. “I can’t bear to listen. I know the sort of things you’d say. But don’t. If you do, I think I’ll kill the fellow.”
“Ever met him?”
“No. The men of my house and of his have been enemies for generations. But I’ve heard of certain exploits.”
“He’s coming here to stop with his mother, the old Duchess, who’s been spending the winter at Biarritz. Another reason for you to vamose.”
“You mean, to stay. At least, he shan’t have a clear coast.”
“I don’t see how you can hope to block it.”
“I will—somehow.”
“No doubt you’re a hundred times the man he is, but—fate’s handicapped you for a show place in the matrimonial market. You are—”
“A man countryless and penniless. Don’t hesitate to state the case frankly.”
“Well, _you’ve_ said it. While the other’s rich, and a grandee of Spain. And, though de la Mole says the King doesn’t care for him, on account of something or other connected with the Spanish-American War, he’s bound to become a _persona grata_ at Court if he marries a friend of the young Queen; and, no doubt, that influences his choice.”
“Thank Heaven, Lady Monica isn’t Spanish.”
“Ah, but Spain’s the fashion now. And you haven’t heard all my news. Henri de la Mole says Lady Monica is asked to be a maid of honour for the young Queen of Spain, the one Englishwoman she’s to have in attendance.”
“At least the wedding won’t be till June. It’s only the end of February now. I’ve got more than three months.”
“You haven’t got one. Soon after the Princesses leave Biarritz, Lady Vale-Avon and Lady Monica are going to visit the old Duchess of Carmona in Spain.”
“What, they’re going to Seville?”
“If her house is there. I’m telling you what I’ve been told.”
“The principal house of the Duke is in Seville, though he has a place near Granada, and a flat in Madrid as a substitute for a fine house that was burned down.”
“Then Seville’s where they’ll be. Anyhow, they’re to see the great show in Holy Week there.”
It was as if Dick had suddenly drenched me with iced water.
For a few seconds I did not speak. Then I said, “Are you trying to break it to me that the match is arranged?”
“I told you Lady Monica wasn’t engaged.”
“And I told you I knew she wasn’t. But that isn’t to say the mother, the woman ‘as hard as iron and cold as steel,’ hasn’t planned her daughter’s future, a girl so young, and always kept under control.”
“It looks as if the wind was setting in that quarter. A person of Lady Vale-Avon’s type would hardly accept such an invitation if she didn’t intend something to come of it.”
“You’re certain the invitation’s been accepted?”
“Certain. Angèle de la Mole has been with her brother in Spain, and Lady Monica’s been asking her advice about what to take and what to wear. The Duke himself is in Paris, buying a new automobile; at least, so his mother says; but other people say he’s at Monte Carlo. Anyhow, he’s expected here in time for the ball.”
“What ball?”
“Didn’t I tell you? A masked ball the old Duchess is giving in honour of Princess Ena. A grand affair it will be, says de la Mole. There’s been jealousy about the invitations, which have been carefully weeded.”
“You and I’ll accept,” said I.
“We’re not likely to have the chance.”
“Sometimes a man must make a chance. I shall meet Lady Monica at the Duchess’s ball.”
“All right. Suppose you go in the garb of a palmer?”
“Eh?”
“I was thinking of another first meeting, case not dissimilar, you know, Romeo and Juliet. My poor, mad friend, there’s more hope for a Montague with a Capulet than for a Casa Triana with a friend of the future Queen of Spain, and the daughter of a Lady Vale-Avon.”
“Romeo won Juliet.”
“It wasn’t exactly a fortunate marriage. See here, if you’re going in for the part of Romeo, it’s no good asking me to play Mercutio.”
I looked at Dick and smiled. “I shall ask nothing,” I said. “Yet—”
“Yet, you know mighty well, if you want a Mercutio, I’ll be ready to take up the rôle at a moment’s notice all for the sake of your _beaux yeux_. Well, you’re right. There’s something queer about you, Ramón, which makes us others glad to do what we can, even if it were to cost our lives. If you’d been a king in exile, you’d have had no trouble in finding followers. From your French valet to your Russian soldiers; from your English chauffeur to your American friend, it’s pretty well the same. I expect you’ll get to that masked ball.”
“If I don’t, it won’t be for lack of trying,” said I.
“But—”
“But what—”
“This affair of yours is going to end in tragedy—for someone,” said Dick.
III
THE GUEST WHO WAS NOT ASKED
During the next two or three days I found more to do. I got Dick to introduce me to his friend Henri de la Mole, not as Christopher Trevenna, but under my own name, and when he and his sister had been interested in what they chose to think a romance, I was able to learn through them that, curiously enough, Lady Vale-Avon had arranged for her daughter to appear at the ball as Juliet.
The costume, it seemed, decided itself, because there happened to be among Lady Vale-Avon’s inherited and most treasured possessions, an interesting pearl head-dress of the conventional Juliet fashion. This had been sent for from England; and if I could succeed in getting to the ball, as I fully intended to do, I should have little difficulty in identifying the head that I adored.
Had I not taken de la Mole more or less into my confidence, he would have done nothing to further my interests; but, if I really have any such power as Dick Waring hinted, I used it to enlist de la Mole upon my side. Finally he not only agreed, but offered to help me enter the Duchess of Carmona’s house as one of her masked guests. He had been asked to stand at the door that night, and request each person, or in any case the man of each party, to raise his mask for an instant. This, in order to keep out reporters and intruders of all sorts; and his promise was to let me pass in unchallenged. I might count on his good offices, not only in that way, but in any other way possible, for “all the world loves a lover,” said he. And he wished me the best of luck, though he looked as if he hardly expected me to have it.
Probably it was foolish and conceited, but I could not resist playing up to the rôle Dick suggested. She was to be Juliet. I would be Romeo.
By this time, no doubt, the Duchess’s invited guests had their costumes well under way; I had to get mine, and the only way to have something worthy of the occasion was to go to Paris for it. I did go, and was back in Biarritz in two days.
The rest moved easily, without a hitch. The night of the ball came. I dressed and went alone, rather than drag Dick into an affair which might end disagreeably.
I did not put myself forward, but stood for a while and watched the dancers, waiting for my chance.
Carmona had arrived the day before. I had never met him, but what I had heard I did not like; and having seen him once or twice in London, at a distance, he was recognizable in a costume copied from a famous portrait of that Duke of Alba who loomed great in Philip the Second’s day. Because of a slight difference one from the other, in the height of his shoulders, he was difficult to disguise; and though the arrangement of the costume was intended to hide the peculiarity, it was perceptible.