Part 16 (1/2)
CHAPTER TWELVE.
”AN OPEN SCANDAL!”
At Klosterneuberg, six miles from Vienna, Leitolf kissed her hand in deep reverence, taking sad leave of her, for on arrival at the capital she would probably be recognised, and they both deemed it judicious that she should be alone.
”Good-bye,” he said earnestly, holding her hand as the train ran into the suburban station. ”This meeting of ours has been a strange and unexpected one, and this is, I suppose, our last leave-taking. I have nothing to add,” he sighed. ”You know that I am ever your servant, ever ready to serve your Imperial Highness in whatsoever manner you may command. May G.o.d bless and comfort you. Adieu.”
”Good-bye, Carl,” she said brokenly. It was all she could say. She restrained her tears by dint of great effort.
Then, when he had gone and closed the carriage door, she burst into a fit of sobbing. By his absence it seemed to her that the light of her life had been extinguished. She was alone, in hopeless despair.
Darkness had now fallen, and as the train rushed on its final run along the precipitous slopes of the Kahlenberg, little Ignatia placed her arms around her mother's neck and said,--
”Mother, don't cry, or I shall tell Allen, and she'll scold you. Poor, dear mother!”
The Princess kissed the child's soft arms, and at length managed to dry her own eyes, a.s.suming her hat and veil in preparation for arrival at the capital. And none too soon, for ere she had dressed Ignatia and a.s.sumed her own disguise the train slowed down and stopped, while the door was thrown open and a porter stood ready to take her wraps.
She took Ignatia in her arms and descended in the great station, bright beneath its electric lamps, and full of bustle and movement. She saw nothing more of Leitolf, who had disappeared into the crowd. He had wished her farewell for ever.
A fiacre conveyed her to her father's magnificent palace in the Parkring, where on arrival the gorgeous concierge, mistaking her for a domestic, treated her with scant courtesy.
”His Imperial Highness the Archduke is not in Vienna,” was his answer.
”What's your business with him, pray?”
The Princess, laughing, raised her veil, whereupon the gruff old fellow, a highly-trusted servant, stammered deep apologies, took off his hat, and bent to kiss the hand of the daughter of the Imperial house.
”My father is away, Franz? Where is he?”
”At Wartenstein, your Imperial Highness. He left yesterday,” and he rang the electric bell to summon the major-domo.
She resolved to remain the night, and then resume her journey to the castle. Therefore, with little Ignatia still in her arms, she ascended the grand staircase, preceded by the pompous servitor, until she reached the small green-and-gilt salon which she always used when she came there.
Two maids were quickly in attendance, electric lights were switched on everywhere, and the bustle of servants commenced as soon as the news spread that the Archd.u.c.h.ess Claire had returned.
Several of the officials of the Archducal Court came to salute her, and the housekeeper came to her to receive orders, which, being simple, were quickly given.
She retired to her room with little Ignatia, and after putting the child to bed, removed the dust of travel and went to one of the smaller dining-rooms, where two men in the Imperial livery served her dinner in stiff silence.
Her father being absent, many of the rooms were closed, the furniture swathed in holland, and the quiet of the great, gorgeous place was to her distinctly depressing. She was anxious to know how her father would take her flight--whether he would approve of it or blame her.
She sent distinct orders to Franz that no notice was to be given to the journals of her unexpected return, remarking at the same time that he need not send to the station, as she had arrived without baggage. If it were known in Vienna that she had returned, the news would quickly be telegraphed back to Treysa. Besides, when the fact of her presence in the Austrian capital was known, she would, as Crown Princess, be compelled by Court etiquette to go at once and salute her uncle the Emperor. This she had no desire to do just at present. His hard, unjust words at her last interview with him still rankled in her memory.
His Majesty was not her friend. That had recently been made entirely plain.
So, after dining, she chatted for a short time with De Bothmer, her father's private secretary, who came to pay his respects to her, and then retired to her own room--the room with the old ivory crucifix where the oil light burnt dimly in its red gla.s.s.
She crossed herself before it, and her lips moved in silent prayer.
A maid came to her and reported that little Ignatia was sleeping soundly, but that was not sufficient. She went herself along the corridor to the child's room and saw that she was comfortable, giving certain instructions with maternal anxiety.
Then she returned to her room accompanied by the woman, who, inquisitive regarding her young mistress's return, began to chat to her while she brushed and plaited her hair, telling her all the latest gossip of the palace.