In Brief Authority Part 25

"I thought I'd come up and see how you were getting on, my dear," began the latter, after sinking into the chair Daphne had brought forward for her, and recovering her breath. "I hope you are happy here--and--and well treated?"

"Quite, thanks, Court G.o.dmother," said Daphne.

"But you shouldn't sit moping here by yourself like this."

"Her Majesty doesn't like me to come down until she sends for me,"

explained Daphne; "and she hasn't to-day. But I haven't been moping, Court G.o.dmother; I've been listening to the swallows. They're discussing their plans for the winter, and they _can't_ make up their minds where to go, poor darlings!"

"That's only what you _fancy_ they're talking about," said the Fairy sharply; for the gift of understanding bird-language is comparatively rare, and only possessed by those who have a strain of Fairy blood in their descent. "You can't possibly _know_!"

"I didn't till I came here, and then I suddenly found I could. Princess Ruby declares I make it all up--but I don't. I can even understand what some of the animals have to say, and its rather fun sometimes. The other morning in the Gardens I heard a tortoise telling a squirrel----"

"I daresay, I daresay," interrupted the Court G.o.dmother, who had not come there to hear the small talk of any tortoise; "I find their conversation wearisome myself--and so will you when you've been here a little longer. And so you're comfortable here, are you?" she went on, looking round the chamber, which had walls of mother-o'-pearl with hangings of delicate s.h.i.+mmering blue-green at the window and round the small ivory four-post bed. "Well, this room looks very cool and pleasant. And you've pretty dresses to wear, it seems. I like that one you have on--most becoming, though it wants an ornament of some kind to set it off. But perhaps you don't care for jewellery?"

"I do," said Daphne, "very much. But I haven't any now, you see."

"But you had once, hadn't you? I seem to recollect the Queen telling me she bought something--a pendant, I fancy she said--from you before you came to Marchenland. Or was it somebody else?"

"No, it was me," said Daphne. "It was very decent of her, because I was in rather a hole just then--with a debt I couldn't possibly have paid otherwise--and the pendant was no use to _me_, you see--not a thing I could ever have worn."

"So you wasted your money in buying an ornament which was unsuited to you, eh?"

"I didn't buy it, Court G.o.dmother," said Daphne, and proceeded to explain--much as she had done at "Inglegarth"--how it came into her possession. The Fairy questioned her about her father, but she had little information to give. Even his name was uncertain, as it seemed he had only moved into his last rooms shortly before his death. All his landlady could say was that it was something foreign which she could not p.r.o.nounce. But she had gathered from certain things he had let fall that he had led a wandering life as a musician, and had at one period been a riding-master. She believed that, in the latter capacity, he had met his young wife, Daphne's mother, and that it had been a runaway marriage.

She died soon after giving birth to Daphne, and left him so broken-hearted that he did not care to make any fight against illness when it came to him, but rather welcomed a death that meant re-union.

"But all I _really_ know," concluded Daphne, "is that that pendant belonged to him, and that my adopted Mother took care of it for me till I was grown up. And I think he would not have minded my selling it when I wanted the money so badly."

"Well, whether he would have minded or not," said the Fairy, "you _did_ sell it--and a sorry bargain you made of it, too! I'll be bound, now, that you've told the whole Court about it long ago!"

"I have told no one, Court G.o.dmother," said Daphne. "Why should I tell them about my own private affairs? I shouldn't have said anything to _you_, if you hadn't heard of it already from her Majesty."

"You were wise to hold your tongue," remarked the Fairy, greatly relieved. "For I may tell you that, if the Court once heard that the Queen bought that jewel from you, it would prejudice them very seriously against her. And I am sure you would not wish _that_."

"Of course I shouldn't wish it," said Daphne, a little haughtily.

"Though how I could prejudice her Majesty by telling anybody of an instance of her kindness to me, I really don't know. She's scarcely worn the pendant herself, and now she's given it to Prince Clarence. But n.o.body knows that it was once mine, and you can be quite sure that n.o.body ever will, from me."

"In a Court like this, my child," said the Fairy, almost apologetically, "one cannot be too careful. But I can see you are to be trusted." And, after some conversation on less dangerous subjects, she retired.

Her worst fears had been confirmed; she could no longer doubt that Daphne was Prince Chrysopras's daughter. She wondered now how she could ever have doubted it. But this const.i.tuted her Daphne's official G.o.dmother. As such, was it not her duty to see that she had her rights?

If she did her duty to her G.o.dchild it might entail very unpleasant consequences to herself--consequences from which she felt herself shrinking as much as ever. Might they not be avoided? Daphne evidently had no suspicion of her claims. And, as the Fairy reminded herself, "What the eye does not miss the heart will not grieve for." The child was quite happy and contented as she was. If the Marshal still had any ambition to resume his power, he would have no scruples about removing any rival.

"I should only be exposing her to danger," thought the Court G.o.dmother.

And there were the poor King and Queen to be considered, and the Baron and the Astrologer Royal, who would all go down in the general _debacle_ if the truth were allowed to come out. She was bound to think of _them_. So far as she could see, the only result of disclosure would be to establish the Marshal as Monarch--and they had had quite enough of him as Regent.

So, as it is seldom difficult to discover insuperable objections to any course that one has strong personal reasons for avoiding, the Fairy easily persuaded herself that she owed it to others to remain silent.

The secret was safe enough. Both Queen Selina and Daphne could be depended on not to betray it now. It was better for everybody concerned--particularly the Court G.o.dmother--that it should remain unknown for ever.

Still, her conscience smote her a little with regard to Daphne. She was so well fitted to be a Queen--it seemed hard that she should forfeit the crown that was rightfully hers. "But that's entirely her own fault!" the Fairy told herself. "Xuriel read the stars quite correctly. He foretold not only the very spot where she would be discovered, but the sign by which she was to be recognised. If she chose to part with the jewel to another, she must take the consequences. _I_'m not responsible!"

And yet, after all, Daphne _was_ her G.o.d-daughter, if she could not be openly acknowledged as such. Something must be done to make up to the poor child for all she had lost. And here the Fairy had a positively brilliant idea--why not marry her to Mirliflor? But almost immediately she remembered with dismay that she had been making a very different matrimonial arrangement for him. That, however, was before she knew what she knew now. The case was entirely altered--she could not possibly allow him to commit himself to an alliance with a daughter of these usurpers. That must be prevented at all hazards, and fortunately he had taken no irretrievable step as yet. "Unless I'm much mistaken," she thought, "he will forget all about Princess Edna if he once sees Lady Daphne. She ought to be lovely enough to satisfy even _his_ ideal. But if he doesn't see her soon, it may be too late to save him."

Like most Fairy G.o.dmothers, she possessed the power of impressing any _protege_ of hers who was not more than a couple of hundred leagues away with a perfectly distinct vision of anybody or anything she chose. She had made not a few matches by this means in her best days, and some of them had not turned out at all badly. But it was a long time since she had last exercised any of her occult faculties. To do so demanded a concentration of will-power and psychic force which told on her more and more severely as she advanced in years, and she had resolved to abstain from any practices that might shorten the life to which she had every intention of clinging as long as possible.

"But I must risk it--just for this once," she decided. "Yes, I'll make him dream of her this very night."

Meanwhile Queen Selina had informed her daughter of the brilliant future that awaited her, and was not a little annoyed at Edna's failure to express the least enthusiasm.

"I wish G.o.dmother wouldn't meddle like this in my affairs," she said. "I suppose I shall have to see this Prince Mirliflor now if he comes; but it is not at all likely that he will have any of the qualities that appeal to _me_."

"My love!" remonstrated Queen Selina. "He will be the King of Clairdelune some day!"

"He may be, Mother," returned Edna. "But that is a consideration which I shall not allow to affect me in the slightest."

"Of course not, my dear," said her Mother, feeling that Edna could be safely trusted to look after her own interests. "You are free to decide exactly as you please. I shall put no pressure on you whatever."

"My dear Mother," returned Edna, "you would gain nothing by it if you did."

That night the Court G.o.dmother retired early, and spent a long and strenuous vigil in calling up a vivid recollection of Daphne as she had seen her that afternoon, and imprinting the vision on her G.o.dson's sleeping brain. She was unwell in consequence all the next day, but she was easier in her mind after having prevented any untoward effects her counsels might have had upon Mirliflor. It was rather a strain upon her to face the Royal Family again, but she forced herself, for her own sake, to treat them with as much outward respect as before.

She had begun to think that the worst was over when an envoy suddenly arrived in hot haste from Clairdelune bearing a formal proposal from Prince Mirliflor for Princess Edna's hand, and the information that he was following shortly to plead his suit in person.

He had also entrusted the messenger with a short despatch to his G.o.dmother, which she read with impotent fury. It was a somewhat involved and incoherent letter, expressing his thanks for the vision, for which he could not doubt he was indebted to her, but intimating that she had convinced him so forcibly that Princess Edna possessed qualities infinitely more precious than the most exquisite beauty, that his determination to win her had already been irrevocably fixed.

"Prefers her to Lady Daphne, does he?" she said to herself, as she realised that she would be forced to speak out now if he was to be saved from such an alliance. "Then he must _marry_ her, that's all! I can't and won't turn all Marchenland topsy-turvy on _his_ account! I've done all I could for him, and I shall leave him to go his own way. I'll go up to bed before he arrives, and I expect it will be a long time before I'm able to come down, for I feel sure I am going to be ill--and little wonder!"

Queen Selina was so elated by the Prince's message that she ordered it to be publicly announced at once. The Court, whom she informed herself, expressed the greatest delight, and, as for the old Court Chamberlain von Eisenbanden, he was almost lyrical in his jubilation.

"This is indeed a glorious day, Madam!" he cried. "It has long been my dream to see the reigning houses of Marchenland and Clairdelune united, but of late I had begun to despair that it would ever be accomplished!

And from all I have heard of Prince Mirliflor, her Royal Highness is almost as much to be felicitated as he!"

"Thank you, Baron," replied the Queen. "We are all most pleased about it. Though I shall be very lonely without her. You see," she added, raising her voice for the benefit of such of her ladies-in-waiting as happened to be within hearing, "there is no one else here who is any companion for me. I can't make intimate friends of any of my ladies, as I could of the dear old d.u.c.h.ess of Gleneagles, for instance, or even the Marchioness of Mus...o...b... Ah, my dear Baron, our English aristocracy!

You've nothing to approach them in a country like this--nothing!"

"I can well understand," he said, "that your Majesty must feel the loss of such society."

"I miss it, Baron," Queen Selina confessed, without untruthfulness, seeing that she always _had_ missed it. "It is only natural that I should. The d.u.c.h.ess is such a sweet woman--a true _grande dame_! And the Marchioness, though only a peeress by _marriage_, _such_ a clever, talented creature! They would both have so rejoiced to hear of our dear Edna's engagement--she was such a favourite of theirs, you know! I remember the d.u.c.h.ess always prophesied that she would make a brilliant marriage."

These particulars were thrown in mainly for the edification of the Court, but Queen Selina had almost brought herself to believe them, and, in any case, none of her own family was at hand just then, so she was safe from contradiction.

The announcement of Prince Mirlinor's proposal had no sooner reached Count Rubenfresser's ears than he drove over to the Palace, to ascertain from Edna herself whether the report had any truth in it. He succeeded in obtaining a private interview, and at once put his question.

"It is only true so far as that the Prince has proposed to me by letter," Edna informed him. "Whether I shall accept him when he appears will depend entirely upon circ.u.mstances."

"You _won't_ accept him, Princess," said the Count, drawing himself up to his full height, which was now well over seven feet. "Or, if you do, he will never wed you. _I_ shall see to that!"

"Really, Count!" protested Princess Edna, feeling secretly rather pleased. "I don't quite see what it has to do with _you_."

"Don't you?" he replied. "I _might_ want to marry you myself. I've been thinking of it lately."