Part 13

And this was how I was pitting myself against Sebastian Quesada! At this thought my chagrin, my humiliation, and my self-contempt culminated in an acute agony of mortification and disappointment. I was like a man distracted and broken, when in a flash the light burst in on me.

I stooped over the girl and saw that what in my hasty glance I had mistaken for a piece of displaced frilling was in reality the covering for a cunningly constructed gag. In a moment I had torn it off and was looking on the young King's face.

"Is your Majesty hurt?" I asked, and as I spoke my fingers were busy tearing away the dress with which his captors had covered him, my hands positively trembling in excitement.

"I cannot move. Who are you? I am strapped down everywhere," he said weakly.

"By God's grace, I am come to save your Majesty;" and, without wasting time in words, I searched for the straps that bound him to the stretcher and severed them with my knife. The whole arrangement was cunningly contrived in truth; but a sharp blade cut the bonds quickly enough, and I soon had him out of the carriage. "Have you strength to ride, sire?" I said, finding he was staggering feebly on my arm.

"I don't know," he said; and then, being but a lad, the sudden revulsion of feeling proved too great a strain, and the tears started to his eyes, and he stumbled and leaned helplessly against me.

"Courage, sire; all is well now;" and I gave him a sip of brandy from my small pocket-flask. He rallied with a splendid effort, and pulled himself together. "I can try, senor," he said pluckily, and smiled. It was now more than time for us to be off. A glance back along the road showed me one of the mounted men was running toward us, the fellow I had ridden down was coming back to consciousness, while the others had recovered from their surprise and hurts, and were rallying to stop us.

My horse and the other which had galloped up with us I had fastened to the pole of the carriage, and I decided to take up the boy King on my saddle for a mile or two until he had regained sufficient strength to ride.

I mounted, therefore, helped him up in front of me, and, holding him and leading the second horse, started at the best pace we could make. After we had ridden in this cumbersome style for about a mile, my charge said he felt quite strong enough to ride. We dismounted, and I set him upon the second horse, and we were just setting forward again when he said--

"You are wearing a mask, senor?" A touch of fear was in the tone.

"I had forgotten it, sire. I did not wish to be recognised by the men from whom I took you. They might make powerful and secret enemies!" and I took it off and pocketed it.

"It is they who will fear you, not you fear them. And you did this all by yourself!" The earnest boyish admiration was so frank and free that I smiled. "Where are we going?" he asked next, and leaning across he held out his hand. "I trust you, of course, implicitly."

I grasped it warmly.

"I think we can do no better than make our way back by the Coudova road. I know it well, and we can cover most of the way at the gallop. If anything should have been heard of this, Her Majesty will be almost mad with anxiety."

"Ah, my dear mother! You are as thoughtful as you are brave, senor. What a debt do we and Spain not owe to you!"

"Forward then," I said, and urging my horse to a quick canter we pushed on rapidly.

We scarcely spoke as we rode, except when I had a word to say about the direction. I on my side had no wish for conversation, and the young King needed all his strength and attention for his horse. Twice, however, we had to draw rein to wind the horses up hills and then he asked me the question which I had been anticipating and which I did not know how to answer.

"You have not told me your name, senor?"

"And with your Majesty's permission I will for the present remain unknown. I am an Englishman, and having been a witness of the attack upon your carriage, followed in the hope of being of service."

"An Englishman!" he exclaimed, in great surprise. Then, after a long pause, "I have always read and heard what a brave nation you English are--now I know it for myself. But you must let us know your name. My mother will insist; and I--well, I should never be happy unless I knew it. I am only a boy, senor; but I shall never forget you, and never rest till I have shown what I think of your courage."

"It is more than probable I may some day ask you for some favour; but for the present permit me to remain unknown."

We galloped forward again then, and as we rode I thought the matter over. If it were known at once in the palace that Ferdinand Carbonnell had effected the rescue, there would be two immediate consequences, both likely to be disastrous to my plans. The Carlists would assuredly hear of it, and my life would be in danger; while Sebastian Quesada would know at once, and my chances of successfully fighting him would be almost hopelessly minimised.

When we drew rein the second time, therefore, at a hill just before we reached the city, I carried the plan further.

"Your Majesty was good enough to say that you trusted me; may I at once request a favour?"

"There is nothing you can ask in my mother's or my power to grant, senor, which you may not now consider granted before it is sought," he answered, enthusiastically.

"It is that you will permit me to leave you as soon as we come in sight of the Palace, sire, and that you will grant me an audience at some future time."

"Ah, you strain my gratitude, senor, with such a request," he cried with a right kingly air. "My mother will never forgive me if I let you leave me until she has thanked you. You cannot know her, if you ask this. As for the second request, where I am you will always be a most welcome guest, and my most esteemed and trusted friend." Then, guiding his horse close to me, he put his hand on my arm, and lapsing again into the boy, he said eagerly and pleadingly: "Do let my mother thank you, senor. You must."

"I have more than private reasons, sire. Permit me to press my request." I spoke firmly, for my mind was made up: and perceiving it, he gave way.

"But how shall I know when some senor incognito asks for an interview that it is my friend?" and he laughed.

"We were close to Podrida when I was fortunately able to rescue you; if I send you word that the Englishman of Podrida desires an audience, you will know."

"The Englishman of Podrida!" he repeated, smiling. "The Englishman of Podrida. Yes. That will do. No. Stay, I have a fancy, and will make a request in my turn. You wore a mask. Give it me as a keepsake, and it shall be the sure password to me. When an Englishman wants to see me concerning a mask, I shall know it is you, my Englishman of Podrida;" and he laughed, almost boisterously, as I handed him the silken mask. "But my mother will be sorely disappointed," he added, his face falling.

"There is only one other point, sire. You will do me a further favour if you will suppress the fact that it is an Englishman who has been so fortunate as to help you, and if in giving any version of the facts you will keep that for your own knowledge and for her Majesty's ears only."

"Surely none but an Englishman would ask that," he answered; but he gave me the promise, and a quarter of an hour later the Palace came in sight, and we halted.

"I shall see you again soon. I shall be all impatience."

"If your Majesty keeps to the arrangements for your attendance at the Opera to-night, a scrutiny of the crowd who will welcome you may discover my face among those present. It would be a wise and reassuring step."

"I shall be there, of course," he said, and gave me his hand.

I watched his boyish figure as he rode sharply forward and entered the Palace gates, the sentries saluting with a start of surprise; and then, turning my horse aside, I made my way back to the stables, and from there drove to my own rooms.

I was naturally elated, and indeed exultant, at the success of my scheme of rescue. Come what might, I had made firm friends at the Palace, a result that might be of incalculable value in the crisis that I knew was at hand. But I had still much to do, and in truth scarcely knew what step to take first.

I held in my possession the proofs, in Quesada's own handwriting, of his complicity in the abduction plot, and had seen for myself the precision of his information and the deadly reality of his plans against the young King; but how could I bring it home to him? He would deny everything, and my word against his would be no more than a puff of air against a cannon ball.

Gradually one group of questions disentangled themselves from the rest as of chief importance. How to secure Sarita's safety? I knew that Quesada had everything in readiness to strike a crushing blow at the Carlists, not only in Madrid, but in other centres of disaffection. I believed that he had laid his plans for this in order to stamp out the whole agitation when once the King was out of the way; but how would he act now that half the scheme had failed? More than that, how would Sarita herself act? There was but one means to find this out--to see them both with the least delay; and in the meantime to warn Livenza to fly.

I changed hurriedly into evening dress and drove to Livenza's house; and there I found strange news awaiting me. The place was in possession of the servants only. My uneasiness may be imagined when I learned that the reason for this was nothing less than a visit from Quesada himself.

"The colonel was ill, and the young doctor was in attendance when I came this afternoon," I said to the servant. "How came he to recover so quickly as to be able to leave the house?"

"I do not know, senor. The Senor Quesada came here about an hour and a half since, and insisted upon seeing my master. The doctor protested, but the senor prevailed; and some ten minutes later the doctor left the house and has not returned. Senor Quesada remained some time with my master--he was here perhaps half an hour in all--and some few minutes after he left my master went out. I know no more."

Remembering the doctor's address, I drove there at once, and what he told me made matters appear not better, but worse.

"You did not tell me there was any political intriguing involved in this work," he said, with some indignation. "A pretty mess for me it may be, with mighty ugly consequences. Had I known, I should have left the fees for someone else to earn."

"There is nothing of the kind," I answered pretty sharply. "You can come to no harm. I will hold you harmless."

"Thank you for nothing. I know Senor Quesada's influence and power to hit hard, and I don't know yours."

"This was a matter between Colonel Livenza and myself. Will you tell me what passed this afternoon?"

"Senor Quesada came there in a devil of a temper, and when I tried to stop him seeing my patient, his reply was the pretty one that if I attempted to resist him a minute longer he'd pack me off to gaol for a Carlist. And by the Lord he meant it too: for he hadn't been closeted with Livenza five minutes before he came out to me and told me I was either a dupe or a conspirator, and that if I wasn't out of the house in a twinkling he'd take the latter view and act on it; and that there was much more in the thing than I seemed to think."

"And you left?"

"I'm not quite such a mule as to prefer a gaol to my present quarters, thank you."

"You have not had your fees," I said, pulling out my purse to pay him.

"And don't want any, if you please."

"You explained, of course, that I had retained you?"

"I told him everything that had passed, and thank my patron saint I got out of the place without a police escort."

I made such apology to him as I could, and left him, quite unappeased and still full of indignation, and drove in all haste to Quesada's house, feeling very anxious. Matters were moving very fast, much faster than I had anticipated, and I saw that I must play my card boldly.

I half expected he would deny himself, but I was shown in without hesitation, and his sister came to me. She was looking very troubled and pale, I thought; but she greeted me with her customary warmth and cordiality.

"You have not been to see us since your return from England, Senor Carbonnell. That is not how we interpret friendship in Spain."

"I have been back only two days, senorita, and they have been very full ones. I pray you to excuse me. And even now I have come to see your brother on business."

"That is engagingly frank, at any rate," and she tossed her head.

"I am very clumsy in my phrase, I fear; but very anxious. Do not think it is not a pleasure to me to see you."

"Do you English generally seek pleasure by avoiding it?"

"Scarcely so; but with us self-denial is sometimes counted a virtue," and I made her an elaborate bow to point the compliment.

"Have you practised the same self-denial with all your Madrid friends?" and a sharp little glance told me her meaning.

"I am unfortunate indeed; for all my Madrid friends are making the same complaint."

"I am surprised. For they have not all the same ground as I have. Do you know how much I wish to be your friend, senor?"

"I know that I could not rank your friendship too high."

"Ah, you fence with me; but it is useless, I know. And the time may come when my friendship may be of more account to you than a mere well-turned phrase."

"It must ever be one of my choicest possessions," I answered, wondering what on earth she meant now.

"Sebastian is not at home just now, but he will be here soon. Do you think you are wise in seeing him?"

"I have come for that purpose, senorita," I said, firmly.

"What have you done to alienate him? Don't you know that although he can be a true friend--and he wishes above all things to be one--he can also be a much more powerful enemy?" There was no mistaking her tone now for any but one of solicitude for me. What had he been telling her?

"I should have made poor use of my intercourse with him if I did not know that," I answered. "But will you tell me exactly what you mean?"

"No--I cannot; except that you have angered him sorely in some way, and if you are not careful will stand in great danger."

"That must be as it will, senorita. But I was wrong to put that question to you. I should rather put it to your brother himself, and I will do so."

"Could you not leave Spain for a while?"

At that moment we heard the sounds of someone in the hall outside the room; and the senorita drew a quick breath, bit her lip, and turned to listen.

"That is Sebastian. Oh, senor, be careful, and do what he may suggest to you; be advised by him. You have rendered us such a service he will not forget it, of course he never can. But do not anger him. I too am your friend; and I can help you. Do, do let us be your friends. I can do much with him, and for my sake he will, I know, do what he can. When I think of your possible danger, it strikes me to the heart; it kills me. Let me beg of you," and her agitation was so great that she was scarcely coherent. "But there is one thing you must not try to thwart him in. Oh, I scarcely know what I am saying," and she wrung her hands in such manifest distress that I was deeply surprised.

"I am in no danger, senorita," I answered calmly, to reassure her. "But if I should be, the knowledge of your warning and of your offer of help will always be a welcome thought." To my yet deeper surprise my words appeared to affect her profoundly, and she seized my hand and pressed her lips upon it, the tears in her eyes.

Scarcely a reassuring preface for my interview with her brother, who entered the room a moment later. He gave me a sharp, penetrating look, glanced, I thought angrily, at his sister, and exclaimed in a tone of surprise, "Dolores!" and then, after a pause, "You had better leave us." He held the door for her to leave, and as he closed it behind her he turned to me and said, with a questioning frown on his forehead--

"Are you here as a friend, or in what capacity?"

"I have much to say to you," I returned calmly. "And we can best ask and answer that question mutually when the interview is over."

I met his look with one as firm as his own, and he sat down at his writing-table and waited for me to open the ball.

*CHAPTER XVII*

*WAR TO THE KNIFE*

I did not keep Sebastian Quesada waiting, but plunged at once into my business.

"I do not think our interview need be a very long one, and I will state my object at once. It concerns Sarita Castelar. I know that preparations for decisive action against the Carlists have been made, and that all is in readiness for the signal from you. I have just heard very terrible news in the city to-night, concerning a mad wild act of theirs, and being anxious for a reassurance on the senorita's account, I have come to ask you for it."

"You will do more wisely not to interfere in our political matters," he answered curtly, with a frown at the mention of Sarita.

"I am obliged, of course, by your friendly counsel; but excuse me if I say I have not come for advice, but information."

"I have none to give you;" and his tone was even sharper than before. It was as stern and hard indeed as his look was dour. But in a moment a great change came. His eyes softened and his face brightened, and, using the tone of our former intercourse, he added: "Why can't we remain friends, Carbonnell? Why do you come to me like this? It is but an hour or two since we parted, and nothing can have occurred since that need estrange us; and there was no cloud between us then. Don't you think I wish to be your friend now as I did then?"

I looked at him in considerable surprise. His overtures did not touch me in the least; I was searching for his motive and could not find it.

"Before you and I can speak again of friendship, there are matters which must be explained," I answered, coldly. "Since I saw you this afternoon, you have impliedly accused me of complicity in this Carlist business: I have that from the doctor whom you frightened away from Colonel Livenza's house. You have also intervened in the quarrel between Colonel Livenza and myself--a quarrel which had its origin in an errand on which you sent him."

He listened closely, and was too skilled in masking his looks to give any indication of the effect of my words. But I thought he was surprised when I stopped, having said so little.

"Your quarrel with Livenza was the outcome of the scene at the Cafe de l'Europe, where the hot-headed fool insulted you."

"No, that was the open cause. The real one was the result of his coming to Senorita Castelar's at the time I was there--a visit timed by you."

"Livenza is in love with the senorita, and hopes to marry her; and you know how some of us Spaniards feel on such matters. But what is this to me?"

"You had given me good news to carry to her, you knew when I was going, and you sent Livenza there. What happened afterwards was the direct consequence."

"It is preposterous!" he cried, with a shrug of the shoulders. "As if I could be responsible for what two angry men do when they quarrel. Really!" and he laughed. Clearly he was relieved that I had nothing worse to say. "I am glad at any rate that you have not hurt each other." This with a scarcely veiled sneer.

"When a man who professes to be my friend deliberately tries to embroil me in an affair which may cost me my life, I do not dismiss it with a shrug of the shoulders and a laugh, as something too trivial to be noticed. But if you will give me the information I came for, I will go."

"I have no information to give you;" and he got up.

"To that I answer I am not going without it, nor without an assurance and a proof of Sarita Castelar's safety--and safety without any entangling complications;" and I looked at him as I said the last sentence with a meaning that did not escape him.

"The only information I can give you is that which to-morrow will be public property; that our police and soldiery are even now engaged in hunting out these reckless traitors and conspirators who have carried their audacity to the point of abducting our beloved young King. All those who have had a hand in this dastardly scheme will suffer, and if the Senorita Castelar has been mad enough to meddle with such treason, no power in the State can save her from the consequences."

But instead of being impressed by his vehemence I smiled.

"And you say _all_ would suffer?"

"Every man, woman, and child concerned. I have this moment come from a Council of State."

"And the master mind who planned this coup and by whose help and information it was alone possible?" As I half unsheathed this sword of attack, his own weapon leapt at once from the scabbard, and he answered hotly--

"Is one Ferdinand Carbonnell, senor?" He spoke with grim significance, meeting my look with eyes full of fire and threat, and his misinterpretation of my meaning was wilful. "A name that at a word from me will be full of peril for its owner. We Spaniards love our King with a force which the people of other countries cannot fathom."

There was no mistaking his meaning. He knew of the coincidence which had bound up my name so closely with the Carlist intrigues, and he was threatening to saddle the responsibility upon me. Nor was it by any means an empty threat in the present temper of the loyalists. Once get me packed away into a Spanish gaol on such a charge, and I might whistle either for the chance of a fair trial or an opportunity of even communicating with the outside--to say nothing of approaching the King. The scent of personal danger began to come near; and I recalled how on more than one occasion he had warned me against meddling with Carlist matters.

He watched me closely in the short pause, and then broke it to say in a tone conciliatory and temperate--

"I am still willing to be your friend. Leave Madrid to-night and cross the frontier with all speed, and all may be well. I cannot answer for what my colleagues will do when they know who Ferdinand Carbonnell is, and that he is a member of the British Embassy staff. Be advised and go while there is time."

He had flashed the sword of danger in my face, and now, like a clever tactician, dangled the chance of escape before me.

"Do I understand you to mean that, knowing thoroughly who I am and that I am absolutely untouched by these matters, you yourself would be so mean a liar as to say that I am Ferdinand Carbonnell the Carlist?" I spoke with the galling sting of slow, precise deliberation; and even his practised self-restraint could not repress a start of anger nor prevent his sallow face turning pale at this thrust. But my anger had betrayed me into a bad blunder--I saw it the moment the words were out of my lips; and as he recovered himself he shrugged his shoulders and threw up his hands as he faced me. It was a declaration of war from me, and as such he treated it. His tone was as level as my own--stern, official, and hard.

"I know nothing of yourself or your history except what you have told me. You say you came here a few weeks since, and yet I find your name known everywhere. You rendered my sister a service, and then used it to work your way into my confidence. In that confidence I have said many things to you, which you may have used for these Carlist purposes. I gave you my confidence and my friendship because I believed all you told me. If my faith in you was wrongly placed, you have had opportunities of getting information. Things have, I know, leaked out, but I have never thought of you before in this connection. For aught I know to the contrary--for I know only what you have told me, I repeat--you may be this other Ferdinand Carbonnell."