The first American King

“I will point out some of the notables,” said General Mainwarren to the Professor and Kearns; “they will no doubt interest you, especially such as are descendants of those known to you in your time.”

The scene was the great Court ball, held in the magnificent salons of the Summer Palace, ablaze with light and beauty. The sumptuous decorations, the masses of flowers, the resplendent uniforms, the glittering crosses and orders upon the breasts of many of the men, the Court dresses, the blaze of jewels—composed a scene of the utmost brilliancy and splendor.

And the women! American women have ever been famed for their grace, their ineffable chic and their beauty, and certainly the race, as viewed from this ball-room floor, seemed by no means to have declined. Kearns, who had been a regular attendant at the opera in the old days, considered himself quite a judge of feminine loveliness. He remembered to have heard it urged by captious foreigners that the American woman’s weakest points were her walk and her voice. These defects seemed to have received attention, for in the noble bearing of the heads of these women, the graceful sweep of their walk, their sweet vocal intonations, there was no ground left for the most captious critic to stand upon. Decidedly, thought Kearns, both the walk and the voice had been cultivated to perfection under the regime of royalty.

“The notables,” he said in answer to General Mainwarren’s words. “Ah, yes! By the way,” he added with sudden animation, “could you point out to me the—the—distinguished Baron Gold.”

“Baron Gold—Baron Gold,” repeated General Mainwarren, “let me see if I can discover him for you.”

He glanced about the ball-room.

“There he is!” he exclaimed, after a brief search.

Kearns and the Professor followed the direction of the General’s glance and saw an old man, with gray eyes, sunken cheeks and high forehead, engaged in conversation with a white-moustached gentleman, in the uniform of the diplomatic corps, who sat at his side.

“So that is Baron Gold?” said Kearns.

“Yes,” answered General Mainwarren, “that is Baron Gold, one of the great Trust magnates and at one time Chancellor of the Exchequer. His country seat is Gorgan Court and his arms are an eagle with beak elevated and talons outspread, and the motto: ‘I dare and I do.’ That’s correct, I believe, Colonel?”

“Quite,” answered Colonel Cuming.

“‘I dare and I do,’ eh?” said Kearns reflectively. “Very appropriate!”

“Ah,” exclaimed General Mainwarren, “see the party passing opposite to us. He with the white hair, slightly in advance of the rest, with the Star of the Empire upon his breast, is His Grace, the Duke of Marquanna, Chancellor of the Realm, often styled the American ‘Warwick,’ since he lent such powerful hand in the establishment and formation of the Empire. He takes his title from his beautiful country seat, bearing the family name of Marquanna. His arms are a gerfalcon, rising over an argent field, with the motto: ‘Gold is tried by Fire, but Men are tried by Gold.’”

“An excellent motto, too!” commented Kearns. “‘Men are tried by gold!’ eh? Well; the handsome and able ancestor of this particular Duke could certainly have left behind some striking illustrations of that fact had he been pleased to do so.”

“The Duke,” continued General Mainwarren, “is growing somewhat old and infirm and, while he yields not one jot of his power and authority, certain of the more arduous routine duties of his office of Chancellor he delegates to the Vice-Chancellor, Lord Ashley, who is there on his left hand. You are already acquainted with him.”

“What manner of man is Lord Ashley?” questioned Kearns. “He interests me.”

“Lord Ashley, Vice-Chancellor and Master of the Imperial Household,” replied General Mainwarren, “is a soldier who earned a reputation for daring and dash during the early part of the late war with Russia. He was severely wounded at the battle of Pedrofski and retired during the rest of the campaign. His actual military rank is Captain of the Imperial Guards—a position which carries with it the brevet rank of Lieutenant-Colonel.”

“Who are these Guards?” asked Kearns.

“They are His Majesty’s body-guard, and consist of three regiments,” said the General. “They are attached to the different imperial palaces. The men are all picked for their splendid physique, and the uniforms are magnificent.”

“So I see,” assented Kearns, his eyes still following the Duke of Marquanna’s party. “And who are the four persons behind the Duke?”

“The taller one of the first two,” answered General Mainwarren, “is the Earl of Vandergilt, one of the heads of the great Transportation Trust, and the smaller, stouter man at his side, with the white side whiskers, the rubicund countenance and nose like the beak of the eagle is Sir Mancey Carew, a great legal light, raconteur, and right-hand man of the Earl. See how his eyes twinkle and his lips purse; he is about to tell a story!”

“And the other two?”

“The nearest one to us,” answered General Mainwarren, “is Sir Keypoint Horgan; the person at his side I do not know. Do you, Colonel?”

“Yes,” replied Colonel Cuming. “He’s a comparative new-comer at the Court. He’s an Englishman, with important financial interests here. Failing to attain distinction in his native land, it is said, he decided to become a naturalized American subject. The King has recently created him a Baronet and he now rejoices in the title of Sir Walder-Asta.”

“There seem to be many notables present,” remarked Kearns.

“Yes,” replied General Mainwarren. “The nobility from all parts of the land are here. See the group over there to our right. There is Sir Marlington Blackhouse, the famous cotillon leader, and Lady Terry Montbel and Lady Olive Harrifellow, each noted as a beauty and a sportswoman; Sir Hatmeadow-Hatmeadow Nailer, Lady Phillippe Shield and Lady Dotter Dalmer, all three from the middle country; Sir Charles De Olde, from the West, and Lady Jacques Jardinier, from the city which, I believe, you were wont to term the ‘Athens of America.’”

Further conversation was temporarily interrupted by a stir, a buzz and a general rising as the King and Queen, accompanied by their suites, made their entrance and crossed the floor to a raised dais at the further end of the ball-room where two magnificently draped throne chairs were reserved for them. The band burst forth with the National Anthem, once known as “My Country, ’Tis of Thee,” now styled “God Save the King.” The King and Queen took their seats and the ball was resumed.

In appearance the Queen was tall and slight of figure almost to the point of girlishness, with pale, regular features and well-poised head. The face reflected an amiable disposition, joined to a certain pride and determination, but it suggested more of sorrow and resignation than of contentment and happiness. As she sat under the full light of the brilliant ball-room, her regal jewels a-glitter, her noble profile sharply outlined, she looked graceful, beautiful, every inch a queen, yet unhappy.

The Professor and Kearns gazed upon her with mingled admiration and interest.

“The Queen,” whispered the latter to General Mainwarren; “what of her?”

“Is she not gracious and beautiful!” answered the General in lowered tones. “Who is she? She was, before her marriage to the King, an Archduchess of Austria—the youngest daughter of the Austrian monarch.”

“She is popular and happy?”

“Popular, yes—with her sweet and gracious ways she has crept into the hearts of the people and for that reason is regarded by many as one of the strongest bulwarks of the throne. But happy; alas, no!”

“And why not?”

“Never did any mediæval monarch cling more strongly to the maxim that ‘The King can do no wrong,’ or more fully demand the liberties and immunities claimed by kingcraft, than this King who sits upon the American throne. His profligacy and licentiousness, his all too many and too flagrant intrigues, have deeply shocked the Queen, who is naturally possessed of strong religious and moral sentiments. There is an estrangement of long standing between them. They are together only when some public function demands and she maintains a surrounding of her own, entirely apart from the King’s, devoting her attention largely to the education of the two young princes. Ah, there is little Beatrice!”

All looked as General Mainwarren spoke and saw approaching in their direction Beatrice Cuming in company with four other ladies. The members of the party seated themselves a slight distance away.

“Who is that beautiful girl taking her place beside your daughter?” asked the Professor of Colonel Cuming.

“Ah!” exclaimed Kearns explosively; “so the man of science has an eye for feminine beauty, eh! Look out, Professor, that in spite of your hundred odd years, you don’t get enmeshed. Let me see this beauty. Whew! But the man is right. Beautiful! Why, she’s a dream—a lovely dream! What eyes—what teeth!”

“Who is she?” repeated the Professor.

“That,” answered Colonel Cuming, “is the lady to whom you heard Beatrice refer—Miss Dorothy Brandon, a distant cousin of Beatrice and one of the maids of honor to Her Majesty, the Queen.”

“And are the other three ladies also maids of honor?” asked Kearns, with a sly glance at General Mainwarren.

“No,” answered the General, smiling; “not exactly maids of honor, although each holds position at the Court. The tall brunette, with the bold dark eyes, and the tiara of diamonds flashing above her dark hair, is the Countess Brooke, one of the most handsome women and, I might perhaps add, credited with being one of the most dangerous intrigantes of the Court. She has a clever and a dangerous tongue and is sometimes styled ‘the Babbling Brooke,’ after a certain famous beauty of one of the old-time English Courts, whom this lady in many respects strongly resembles. You see, history repeats itself.”

“And the other two ladies?”

“The shorter brunette, with the heavy dark brows, the brilliant red lips and the big brown eyes is the Baroness Maquehaye, a great leader of fashion and a wonderful entertainer. Her garden-party of last Spring is still talked about. The tall, rather plump blonde lady, on the other side of the Countess, is Lady Hadley-Barton, famed for her social ambitions. Ah, I see there is going to be an addition to the party.”

As the General spoke two army officers, each clad in the dashing uniform of the Imperial Guard, advanced and greeted the ladies. One of them was a man of magnificent physique, tall, and lithe, with clear, flashing blue eyes and a sweeping blond moustache; the other was shorter, dark, with kindly brown eyes and of sinewy, well-knit figure.

“A pair of remarkably clean-cut, fine-looking men,” commented Kearns, “although I have no doubt that uniform helps matters along a good deal. Who are they?”

“You see in them,” answered General Mainwarren, “two of the bravest and most dashing young officers of the army. Both of them performed deeds of daring in the late war with Russia which made their names ring throughout the country and made them the objects of the usual popular idolatry which the American people have ever been wont to lavish, for a short time at least, upon their heroes. See that peculiar-shaped star which each wears among the decorations on his breast. It’s the Star of Columbia, the most coveted decoration of all the many decorations which this Court boasts. It’s the decoration which is conferred only for special valor in actual face of the enemy. Both these men wear it and both have earned it. They’ve been recently ordered to Court to join the Imperial Guard. Here they’re show-pieces. Shame to it that gallant soldiers should not be put to better uses! The taller of the two is Captain Stanley Mortimer; the other, Captain Ralph Swords.”

The two officers talked for some time in lively strain with the ladies of the party, the brunt of the conversation being borne by the Countess Brooke, who leveled several witching glances at the tall guardsman. Then Captain Mortimer offered his arm to Dorothy and, followed by Captain Swords escorting Beatrice, he led the way to the dancing-floor. From the orchestra came the opening strains of a waltz.

Although the dancers were already taking their positions upon the floor, Beatrice insisted upon stopping as they passed her father’s party and, following her usual impetuous methods, hurried general presentations ensued. Miss Brandon smiled upon the Professor and murmured a few pleasant words; and Captain Mortimer extended a frank, soldierly invitation to Kearns to visit him at his quarters next day. Then the two couples passed on to mingle a moment later in the maze of waltzers.

More bewitching grew the sensuous strains of the waltz, faster and faster flew the steps of the dancers, as Captain Stanley Mortimer, holding Dorothy lightly clasped, circled the floor. He had caught her step to a nicety and they whirled in perfect rhythmic unison. Her breath was upon his cheek, a loosened strand of her hair touched his lips, her form nestled more closely in his arms. As the last bars of the music died away, her eyes met his in one fleeting, upward glance—half coy, half enraptured—and he slowly bent his head in a motion that was almost a caress.

But as they danced, a pair of black eyes, flashing under heavy dark brows, had watched with unfriendly glances, and the dainty lace handkerchief between the jeweled fingers of the Countess Brooke was defaced by two jagged rents.

Captain Mortimer led Dorothy back to her seat.

“The fourth waltz is to be mine?” he murmured.

“As you will,” she whispered back.