The King's Men Part 35

Mrs. Carey lost control of herself for the first time that day.

"How dare you speak thus to me? I, who was--who am your--"

"Oswald Carey's wife," Jawkins spoke contemptuously.

"Your King's wife!" cried Mrs. Carey. Jawkins laughed and threw back a curtain. Behind it stood the King. He did not look at her, but waved her from him with his hand. She looked at him a minute or two, but then left the room. As the door closed behind her the King looked up.

"Well, Jawkins, it's done."

"Yes, your Majesty."

"She was a devilish fine woman." Jawkins started to go.

"Stay, Jawkins, a moment. Ah! you told me you had made a good mint out of--Are you in funds over here?"

"Quite, your Majesty."

"Jawkins, my bankers are devilish slow. I wish you could manage to advance me a few thousands or so."

CHAPTER XIX.

A WOMAN'S END.

The great cafe of the Trimountain Hotel is one of those interiors which can only be seen in America. Lit at night by a single electric glow, softened and unified in pa.s.sing through the ground-gla.s.s ceiling, it is brilliant with mirrors and cut-gla.s.s and china. At one end of the room is the long bar, glittering with all that can make a bar attractive, served by a score or more of the prettiest of bar-maids; along the sides of the room are rows of little tables in carved oak and cherry, each unlike the other, each a work of art; in the corners and upon the walls is a collection of paintings and statuary hardly rivalled in any of the private mansions of Boston. The centre of the room, save for a fountain playing in a jungle of flowering vines, violets, and rare orchids, is a polished expanse of inlaid floor, where one may walk and smoke.

As Geoffrey walked in he pa.s.sed the news-stand by the door. Here are shown the photographs of the favorites or celebrities of the day, etchings of the latest pictures, play-bills of the theatres and operas, pictures of women and horses. Everywhere about that day he was met by the semblance of the woman he had just seen; photographs in every size and att.i.tude, in every dress, colored, plain; taken in street dress, in house dress, in dinner dress, in _robe de chambre_, full length and half length, high-necked, low-necked, very low-necked; on the handkerchief boxes and the perfumery cases were still gaudier pictures, with the Carey collar, the Carey perfume, the King's favorite cigarette, and whatever else had any use or service for a pretty woman. Geoffrey noticed all these things as he pa.s.sed on, but was struck a moment later by the appearance of a man he thought he knew.

The man wore the dress of a gentleman, but travel-stained and untidy; he was sitting alone at one of the little tables, with head bowed down upon his breast; before him stood gla.s.ses and a crystal decanter half filled with brandy. Geoffrey started with surprise, and would have turned back, but the man saw him and recognized him. It was Oswald Carey.

The two men looked at each other a minute without speaking. Finally Carey spoke, in a hoa.r.s.e voice, not his own of older days:

"Have you seen my wife?"

Geoffrey started, less at the question than at the manner in which it was asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Where is she? At the palace--at the court?"

"Yes."

"d.a.m.n her," said Carey.

Geoffrey was silent.

"Where did you see her last?" muttered the other.

"Here--in this hotel."

"In this hotel?"

"This morning."

"Is she--is she not with the King?"

"I believe--I do not know," answered Geoffrey. He turned to go. As he looked at the other, standing there, white-faced, worn, with the glitter in his reddened eyes, this man whom he had scorned, there was something in him like the ruin of a man after all. Geoffrey, too, was alone, and his heart warmed to him. It was he who had married Eleanor Leigh, not Geoffrey. "Carey," said he, "you can do nothing here. I am going to the West. Come with me."

Carey looked at Ripon, puzzled; then, with a broken sob, he grasped his hand and staggered to his seat. Ripon noticed for the first time that the man was crazy with drink.

"Thank you," said he. "I must stay. I have something to do here first.

You know that she betrayed you? that it was her treason condemned you and Dacre?"

Geoffrey nodded.

"And you, Ripon"--Carey pulled the other close to his lips and spoke almost in a whisper--"you are the only man that woman ever loved. I know it."

Geoffrey could make no answer. Again he rose to go.

"Where are you going?"

Geoffrey smiled and waved his hand vaguely. "To the West."

"Why?--I thought--you came over in Windsor's yacht--" The other stopped, embarra.s.sed. Geoffrey was touched by his interest.

"Carey, will you give me a gla.s.s of your brandy?"

Geoffrey poured it out. "Miss Windsor is married."

"Who told you so?"

"Your wife."

Carey brought his fist down s.h.i.+vering on the table. "And you believe her?"

"Miss Windsor told me almost as much herself."

"Almost!" Carey burst into a wild laugh. "Here's to her!" he cried, holding up his gla.s.s. "Ripon, you are the last gentleman who will ever drink with me. I suspect you are the only one who would now. And here's my last toast: Long life to your wife--and death to mine. d.a.m.n her!

Can't you see she lied?"

Carey rose from the table and staggered out of the room. It was already the afternoon of a garish, shadeless day, and people stopped to look at Carey's terrible pace as he strode along the sidewalk. As Ripon had seen, he was insane with drink, or would have been but for one dominant thought in his mind.

As Carey walked along the busy street, hardly a shop window, not a bookstore, not an ign.o.ble news-stand, but had displayed his wife's picture. It was _Mrs. Carey_, _Mrs. Oswald Carey_, _Mrs. Carey and the ex-King_, everywhere. One infamous pictorial publication had a bare-necked portrait of the "notorious Eleanor Carey" side by side with that of "Jim Dingan, the Lynn pugilist." As he entered Was.h.i.+ngton Street, the newsboys were crying, "Horrible crime in New York! Scandal in high life! Mrs. Carey leaves the court!" and Carey read the caption outlined on the bulletin boards.

He felt in his coat pocket, where he carried a small revolver he had purchased, and hurried along more rapidly. His gait was quick and firm as an athlete's on the course. No trace of intoxication now.