Gibbs George
The Secret Witness
Marishka was shown into an antechamber in the Emperor's private suite where for what seemed an interminable time she sat and waited. At length her sponsor appeared and conducted her along a short corridor past several rooms to a white door which the Prince opened, and then stood aside as Marishka entered.
"The Countess Strahni," he announced.
Marishka, a little bewildered and frightened, advanced uncertainly, her eyes dazzled by the brilliant sunlight which streamed in at the south. As she hesitated, a voice near the furthest window spoke reassuringly.
"Come in, child," it said. "I am here."
She advanced with trembling knees, aware of an old man in a military blouse sitting in a large chair beyond a desk. The infirmities of age and suffering had bowed his shoulders and to Marishka the Emperor seemed smaller than when she had seen him last, smaller and very much older. There was a stillness about his person, a quality of resignation and quiescence that was almost statuesque. But his whiskers and mustache, carefully groomed, were brushed upward and outward from the rather heavy lip and chin, and had a military cut which comported well with the dignity of his appearance. His eyes, the right one much smaller than the left, were light gray in color, and as her own gaze caught them, very grave and kindly, like his voice, which as he spoke gave her every encouragement to be at her ease.
"You will pardon the infirmities of an old man and forgive me for not rising," he said gently. "Will you be seated, here, before me, where I may look at you?"
There was a pathetic touch of his old gallantry in the gesture which accompanied the words, and a bright flash of his eyes as Marishka came forward into the light and stood before him. Even today the Emperor was not immune from the charms of feminine beauty. Marishka did as she was bidden, sitting upon the edge of her chair before the old man, gazing at him again, without words to begin.
"His Highness has told me that you have something of importance to communicate," said the Emperor with a smile. "Your grandfather once did me a service. If there is anything that I may do–"
The quiet voice paused and she was conscious of the gaze of the gray eyes upon her in gentle inquiry.
"It is nothing that I want, Sire," she murmured haltingly. "It is something of the utmost importance that has occurred—at Konopisht—which I thought it necessary that you should know—something of the gravest moment to the State—to Austria—and to—to Your Majesty."
She paused breathless, finding speech difficult.
She saw his eyebrows upraised slightly and then contracted, while his gaze upon her grew concentrated.
"You may speak freely, child. There is no one here who hasn't the interests of my country at heart."
Marishka glanced around swiftly, her pulses throbbing. Prince Montenuovo stood beside the desk, immovable.
"Your Majesty," she almost whispered, "my information is of such a character–"
She paused again and felt the old man's gaze upon her in deeper interest and curiosity. There was a silence, but if he had had a momentary doubt of her, it was speedily dispelled, for his rather weary lips parted in a smile, as he turned to his Chamberlain. "If Your Highness will be pleased to await my call–"
Prince Montenuovo with a bow withdrew.
"Now, child," said the Emperor, bending slightly forward in his chair, "will you not tell me freely what has bothered you?"
"Your Majesty," said Marishka, plunging breathlessly into her subject, "I was stopping at Konopisht at the castle of the Archduke Franz. The Duchess of Hohenberg, formerly the Countess Chotek, was a friend of my mother's, and for many years our families have been intimate."
She saw the slight contraction of the heavy brows at the mention of Sophie Chotek's name, but she went on rapidly:
"Sire, when you know how long our families have been friendly, how kind Her Highness has been to me since the death of my father and mother, you will understand that what I am about to say—to reveal—is very painful to me. I could not speak, Sire, even now, unless the welfare of Austria and of Your Majesty were not more important to me than any personal considerations whatever."
As she paused painfully again, he encouraged her with a smile.
"Go on, child," he said.
"I was at the tennis court, playing with"—she paused and blushed prettily—"with a friend. The game finished, we—we went into the garden and sat upon the lawn in the shade of some foliage where it was cool. I did not know, Sire, nor did my companion, of the presence of royalty at Konopisht, and did not remember that I had been told not to go into the rose garden until it was too late."
"Too late?" he asked keenly.
"We were interested, talking, and not until the sound of footsteps upon the graveled walk near the arbor, did I realize how grave a violation of the hospitality of the Archduke had been committed. I should have fled, but, Sire, I could not. I was frightened. And so we stayed, hidden in the foliage by the arbor."
"So!" he broke in, his voice speaking the word with a rising inflection of intense interest. "It is well that you have come. I, too, know something of the visitors to the roses of Konopisht. The talk was not all of roses, nicht wahr?" he said quietly, with a little bitterness.
"No, Sire. The talk was not all of roses," said Marishka.
"Go on, then," he continued. "Spare me no word of what you heard or saw. Nothing."
And Marishka, composing herself with an effort, obeyed the command.
CHAPTER III
THE HABSBURG RAVEN
The Emperor heard her through until the end, with a word here, a sudden question there, the gravity of the girl's disclosures searing more painfully the deeply bitten lines at eye and brow. But he did not flinch. It seemed that grief and pain had already done their worst to that frail body. For whatever this Habsburg's failings, fear was not one of them. There was resolution too in the clenching of the freckled fist upon the chair arm and in his footsteps as he started up from his chair and walked the length of the room. Bowed though his shoulders were with the weight of his years, he was still a figure to respect—a personality. Marishka watched furtively, waiting for him to speak again as he strode back and forth, but his brows were deeply tangled in thought and his shoulders were more bent than ever. It almost seemed that he had forgotten her presence.
But at last he turned toward where Marishka, who had risen and was still standing, was awaiting his pleasure. He came straight toward her and extended his fingers. She sank to her knees to kiss them, but he caught her by the hand and restrained her.
"You have done well, Countess Strahni," he said quietly. "The men of your House have always been brave soldiers and good citizens, the women comely and loyal, and you, my child, have today done much to continue the honorable traditions of your family. Austria is, for you, as she is for us all, the Mother, whom God blesses in the loyalty of her children. As for those"—and his brows clouded—"who follow the devices of their own hearts, those who consider neither the family law nor the human law–" He paused, turned and sank into his chair, leaning forward again intently as the new thought struck him. "Who was your companion, Countess?"
Marishka flushed a little but said quietly,
"A gentleman—an Englishman–"
"So!" again the rising inflection, followed this time by a slight frown. "An Englishman!"
"A friend of mine, Sire," she went on with an access of dignity. "Herr Renwick, an attaché of the British Embassy–"
"Ah, I understand. He has told?"
"He has given me his promise to reveal nothing until I had been at Schönbrunn and then only with my permission."
"I see," said the Emperor with a frown. "He is discreet?"
"He has a reputation for discretion, Sire; I think he may be trusted."
"So," said the Emperor. "Where is he now?"
"I was to communicate with him later."
"Giving him permission to speak?"
"Yes, Sire."
"It is a pity," he muttered, as though meditating aloud. "We have washed enough linen in public. And this–" He turned abruptly toward her. "You have influence with this Herr Renwick?" he asked keenly.
Marishka was painfully embarrassed.
"A little, Sire, I think."
"You have served Austria well today, Countess Strahni. You can serve her again if you can prevent this Herr Renwick from communicating with Sir Herbert Southgate.... This is no concern of England's."
"I will do what I can, Sire. But the matter, it seemed, was of grave importance to Herr Renwick. He is an able diplomat and most intelligent."
The Emperor regarded her almost wistfully.
"It would be a pity," he said, "if Herr Renwick should be discredited at the Austrian court–"
"It would ruin him, Sire," said Marishka apprehensively; "if he tells what he knows, he would only be doing his duty."
"He must not tell, child," said the Emperor gravely. "This is Austria's secret and her sorrow. You realize that, do you not?"
Marishka bowed her head, painfully.
"Yes, Sire."
"You will promise me to do what you can?"
She looked into the face of this tired old man and a great pity for him swept over her.
"I will, Sire. I will ask him not to tell—demand it of him even if–"
She paused and hid her face in her hands, unable to say more, trying to hide the true nature of the sacrifice he was asking of her.
The Emperor understood and laid a kindly hand upon her shoulder.
"I understand, my daughter. I pray that no bitterness may come between you, on account of this. Responsibility comes to you early, and yet you cannot—must not shirk it."
"And if he refuses–?" she pleaded.
The wrinkled face broke into a smile, the gray eyes were bright in admiration.
"I am sure," he said gallantly, "that Herr Renwick could refuse you nothing. Were I younger–" He paused with a sigh and smiled again. "I am not sure even now that I am not a trifle jealous of this discreet Englishman of yours." And, then, aware of her intense embarrassment, "But I am sure that you will succeed."
"I shall try, Sire," she murmured.
And still he seemed loath to let her go, walking toward the window where he stood in the sunlight looking down upon the lovely gardens beneath him.
"Perhaps you did not know, Countess, that this visit to the roses of Konopisht has caused us some concern here in Vienna. Berchtold, who went yesterday to Konopisht, will, of course, discover nothing. The Duchess of Hohenberg is a very clever woman. You know her as a friend. If her loyalty to her friends is as sincere as her ambitions for her children, then you can surely have no cause for complaint. Friendship begets friendship, but those who love Austria may not serve other gods—or goddesses. You have considered these things, and however difficult the task—have chosen?"
"It has been bitter, Sire. I can never go back to Konopisht."
"I am sorry. A terrible lesson awaits Sophie Chotek. I have been sorely tried. As for the Archduke Franz—a reckoning—a reckoning–"
She saw the old man pause and start a pace back from the window, toward which he stared, wide-eyed and immovable. There, upon the sill of the window, a black bird had suddenly appeared and hopped awkwardly to and fro. It seemed perfectly at home, and not in the least frightened, peering into the room with its head cocked upon one side, a baleful purplish glitter in its eye.
In a flash Marishka remembered the legend which connects every misfortune of the House of Habsburg with the appearance of this bird of ill omen: the flight of ravens at Olmütz, the raven of the ill-fated Maximilian at Miramar, the raven of the Archduchess Maria Christina on the eve of her departure for her future kingdom of Spain, the raven which came to the Empress Elizabeth on the afternoon before the day of her assassination,—all these incidents so closely connected with the royal figure before her, passed quickly across her mind as they must have crossed that of the Emperor. He sank into his chair and she followed his gaze through the window again. The somber bird had gone.
Marishka stood in silence, not daring to move, aware of the terrible undercurrent of thought which must be racking the mind of her sovereign, this man of sorrows, who stood upon the brink of the grave and peace, and yet who must still live and suffer until the curse of the Countess Karolyi should be utterly fulfilled.
"Sire," she muttered after a moment, "can I–"
He stirred, and raised a pallid face to hers. It was quite composed now, but marked with a sadness inexpressible.
"You may leave me now, child. I am a little tired. If you will touch the bell upon the table–"
He paused as she did so, and a servant entered.
"You will tell Prince Montenuovo that the audience is concluded," he said.
Marishka fell upon her knees before him, and touched his fingers to her lips.
"May God bless Your Majesty," she murmured half-hysterically, scarcely knowing what she said, "and give you peace."
She was aware of his smile as she arose.
"Go, Countess," he said, "you have done well. Keep this secret at whatever the cost to yourself. Those who love Austria must now be prepared to suffer for her. My blessing, child."
She obeyed the gesture of his hand and followed the High Chamberlain into the outer corridor.
Marishka's first thought, upon emerging from the palace, was that she must find Hugh Renwick at once. A new idea of her duty had been born in her. The importance of keeping this secret of theirs from England had not seemed as obvious before her visit to Schönbrunn. The thought of her lover's possible refusal of her request now seemed appalling. As she remembered his sober face last night in the automobile, when this topic had caused her a moment of unhappiness, it seemed that his refusal to accede to her request was more than possible. She had liked Hugh Renwick because he was strong, honest, reliable, serious,—qualities she had not found abundant among the younger men of the ancient families of her country. She loved him now because, against many obstacles, he had at last carried her heart by storm. But she realized that the very qualities she had most admired in him were the very ones that would make her present task most difficult.
He had given his word not to reveal the secret to his Ambassador without her permission. That was his promise, given, she knew, grudgingly, and only because he felt for the moment that her duty took precedence over his own. But was it, after all, merely a question of precedence? And would he, now that he had kept his promise so far, insist upon doing his manifest duty to his own country? Fears assailed her that she might not be able to prevail. His love for her was untried. How far might she rely upon it in this inevitable conflict between them? And if he refused her!
The motor car of the Prince carried her to the apartments of the Baroness Racowitz, where, after a rapidly thought-out explanation of her sudden visit which seemed satisfactory, she wrote a note to Hugh Renwick, asking him to come at once to her, addressing it to his apartments in the Strohgasse and telling the servant if he was not at home to take it to the Embassy. This note dispatched, her mind somewhat more at ease, she joined the Baroness at luncheon.
Baroness Racowitz, her father's sister, was a woman of liberal views. Educated in England, she had absorbed some of the democratic spirit of the West, and so looked with favor upon the suit of the young Englishman who had won his way into Marishka's heart. Today, however, in spite of the confession which trembled upon her lips, Marishka remained silent. And the mere fact that she did not speak added conviction of the danger which threatened her happiness and Hugh Renwick's.
As the afternoon waned she grew apprehensive, and it was not until evening that he came. His appearance did little to reassure her.
"Your note did not reach me until a few moments ago," he began soberly. "I went upon a mission to the ministry which has kept me all day."
"I have been worried," she began nervously. "I went to Schönbrunn this morning–"
"I know it," he broke in quickly. "Otway, of the Embassy, saw you leaving in the Prince's car."
Something in his tone, in the avidity with which he had seized upon her phrase, warned her of the truth.
"Oh, Hugh," she cried, "you have already told!"
His voice sank a note lower, and its very earnestness seemed to make the barrier between them the greater. "This morning when I left you, I wrote a complete statement of what happened at Konopisht, and gave it to a servant with instructions to deliver it at the Embassy at a certain hour. When I tell you that I was bidden to the Ministry this afternoon, closely questioned and detained in violation of all precedent, you will understand that from my own point of view, I acted wisely."
"You mean–"
"I mean that larger forces than yours and mine have taken control of the situation."
"Then your message has been delivered?"
"Yes."
"Oh, I cannot believe it of you–" she said, staring at him in anguish.
He smiled gently.
"I have only done my duty–"
"Your duty!" she said bitterly. "And what of your duty to me? You promised–"
"Merely," he put in quickly, "that I would wait until you had been to Schönbrunn."
"No, no, you promised," she said, with rising anger. "It was my secret—not yours. I have never given you permission to reveal it."
"Nor having been to Schönbrunn would have given it now, Marishka," he said firmly.
"And knowing this, you use subterfuge, an unmanly recantation—break your promised word–"
"I have broken no promise, Marishka, listen–"
"Nothing that you can say–"
She rose, her face hidden in her hands. "Oh, you have done me a damage—irreparable! I too have promised–"
"The Emperor!"
"My sovereign—he asked this secrecy of me and you—the man I–"
"Marishka, I love you," he pleaded, trying to take her hand. "Anything but this! Can't you understand? I would have betrayed my trust. The situation you placed me in was impossible. Great mischief is brewing in Europe. Could I sit idly by and let my country be in ignorance of it? God knows what is to happen, but whatever comes your country and mine can have no quarrel—any more than you and I can have. England is strong. No nation in Europe can endure without her friendship. Can't you see? I have done Austria no wrong—a service, rather, Marishka; and you–"
"You can do me no further service, Herr Renwick," she said coldly, rising.
He was on his feet too, his face pale, regarding her steadily.
"I cannot believe that you are willing to blame me for doing my duty. Love can only exist in an atmosphere of respect, Marishka. Could you have cared for me if I had been willing to seek your favor at the expense of my own honor? Could you? Think."
"Those who can thrive politically upon the misfortunes of my country are my country's enemies—and mine," she said coldly.
"I have done your country no harm—nor you. Listen, Marishka," he pleaded tensely. "Look at me. I love you, dear, with all my heart and soul, I love you. You cannot forget what happened to us yesterday. I will not give you up–"
"You must—I pray that you will leave me, Herr Renwick," and she moved past him toward a door.
Renwick straightened. Whatever hopes he had had in his heart that Marishka might forgive him for acting without her consent, her action left no doubt as to her present intentions. The bitterness the girl's fatalism had predicted yesterday had fallen upon them quickly. But he would not despair. As the girl was yet to learn, Renwick was not one who despaired easily. But his years of service had given him discretion.
"I cannot believe that you are quite in earnest," he said quietly. "I will call upon you again when you have had time to weigh my action impartially–"
"I shall not be at home to you."
"Nevertheless," he said coolly, "I shall come."
Her shoulders moved disdainfully. "It should be enough that I–"
"Marishka," he broke in again and came toward her, "at least give me a chance to speak to you again—tomorrow–"
The curtains beside her parted abruptly as she fled, leaving Renwick staring helplessly at the embroidered hangings.
He stood awkwardly for a moment, like a figure suddenly frozen, and then dropping his arms to his sides turned and sought his hat and stick. For the present at least there seemed nothing else to do. He descended the stairs, a deeply puzzled frown upon his brows, and went out into the darkness of the street.
Courts and camps, they say, are the best schools, and Renwick had not lived his thirty years in vain. He had known since last night what he must do in England's service, and he had also known what havoc that service must work in Marishka's mind. He had foreseen the inquietude of the Austrian government at his possession of this state secret, and had known that his relations with Marishka must be put in jeopardy. He knew that she must request his silence, that he must refuse her, and that no woman's pride, put to the test, could brook such a refusal. Like Marishka, he had had a brief hope that this love might survive the ordeal put upon it, but he had not been long in discovering that the Emperor's request to Marishka had made his action seem unpardonable. And yet he had known as he knew now, that no other course had been open to him. Since Marishka's early visit to the Palace, an undercurrent of events had moved swiftly. The fact that he had received a note from Baron Lichteveld asking him to call at the Ministry, the interview between them full of allusions on the Baron's part which showed a complete knowledge of the situation; a veiled request, a veiled threat, to both of which Renwick had appeared oblivious. These, and an uncomfortable sense that he was being detained, had at last made Renwick open his lips. The information of which he was possessed, he had told the Baron, was in the hands of those who would at the proper time place it before the British Ambassador. The firmness of his attitude had brought the interview, apparently pleasant and quite unofficial, to a sudden ending, and Renwick had left the Ministry, aware that his own official position in Vienna had suddenly become precarious.
His statement was now at the Embassy, and its astounding contents had been read by his Chief. He made his way thither, somewhat dubious as to the thrill of his achievement, aware of a shadow about him, the ghost of yesterday's joy, which made all success save the intimate personal one that he most craved, flat, stale, and unprofitable. In the darkness of the street he was aware, too, that he was being observed and followed, but he went boldly toward his destination, sure that as a member of the staff of the British Embassy, his person at least partook of the official immunity of his Chief.
But there were other forces arrayed against him with which he had not reckoned. At a deserted and unlighted corner he found his progress blocked by two figures who attempted to engage him in a conversation. Now thoroughly awake to a personal danger which no official immunity could minimize, he was at once upon his guard, moving quickly into the middle of the street. The two men followed him, and another whom he had not seen came upon him from the rear. He dodged the blow of a stick which caught him a stinging blow upon the forearm, but he sprang aside, striking a furious blow full in the face of one of his antagonists and leaping out of harm's way as the third came on; and then, finding discretion the better part of valor, took to his heels, emerging into the Ringstrasse some moments later, with no greater damage than a bruised arm and the loss of his breath and hat.
The Embassy in the Metternichgasse fortunately was not far away, and he reached the building without further mishap, now fully aware of the desperateness of his enemies, whom he did not doubt were employed by those whose interests in his secret were more important even than those of the Austrian government. Who? It was obvious. There were other agencies at work, which drew their information from high sources with which they had little in common. A little bewildered by the rapid march of events, but now certain of the web of intrigue and hostility of which he was the center, Renwick entered the office of the Embassy, breathing a sigh of relief that he was again for the present safe within its familiar portals.
The Ambassador was at his desk in his private office, and Renwick went in to him immediately, the grave faces of his Chief and Captain Otway, the military attaché, assuring him that his information had already been received and discussed.
"Ah, Renwick," said the Ambassador, rising, "glad you've come. We were beginning to fear that something had happened to you. Why, what's the matter? You're as white as a sheet–"
"Am I, sir? Oh, it's nothing. You got my message?"
The ambassador nodded and then quickly, "Give him a drink, Otway." And then as the other moved across the room to obey, "You were attacked—in the street?"
Renwick laughed. "Oh, don't bother, please. I'm quite all right—just a bit of a breather—that's all. You see—I ran for it. Safer, I thought. I could have done for the beggars, if I'd had a heavier stick, but I didn't want to make a rumpus. You see, I did well in putting the thing on paper."
"Are you hurt?"
"Merely a bruised arm. Little chap with a stick—behind me."
"Most extraordinary! I can hardly believe that the government would dare–"
"It isn't the government, sir, I'm afraid," he said, with conviction, as he took his whiskey and soda. "There are others who have more to lose than the Emperor's party by this revelation–"
"Yes, that may be so," replied the Ambassador judicially, pacing the floor. "Perhaps you're right, Renwick. But now that you're safe, we should only concern ourselves with the greater issue. Tell me again in your own words all that has happened since yesterday morning."
Renwick obeyed, and it was far into the night before he finished, while the faces of his auditors grew grave again. The security of this well ordered office, with the familiar tokens of distant peaceful England all about them, made a prosaic background for the visions which were flashing through the minds of these three Englishmen. Even now, to Renwick, as he related his experience again, the whole thing seemed incredible, and the reiterated questions of his Chief, who was a prudent man, might have shaken a less convincing witness. But Renwick had dreamed no dream, and the returning ache in his arm left no room to doubt the actuality of his experience.
"You have done England a service, Renwick," said the Ambassador at last, magnanimously. "It isn't often that such crumbs of information are offered us—in such a way. But we will take them—and digest them overnight. I want to sleep on this matter. And you—you will stay here tonight, Renwick. It will be safer. Until tomorrow, gentlemen–"
And so he dismissed them.
