Best Short Stories Omnibus - Volume 2

II

IIWhen the official organs confirmed the news that had been current as a rumour for some considerable time, namely, that Prince Constantin Lubomirski had been appointed Chancellor of the Russian Empire, nobody was in the least astonished. He was one of those men born to rule, and his rapid advancement in the last two years, from an Under-Secretary in the War Department to the absolute leadership of the empire, was but a natural outcome of his indomitable will and powerful, unscrupulous mind.

He might, however, in spite of both those stern qualities, have remained in subordinate positions all his life, but for his sudden accession to wealth, the origin of which was not absolutely known, but which came to him about a couple of years ago, and which enabled him to throw himself body and soul into the vortex of political life. From that hour his attainment of the highest position in Russia became but a question of time, and now his rapidly approaching marriage with Maria Alexandrowna Barteniew, and his appointment to the Chancellorship, added the long expected finishing touch to his brilliant career.

Maria Barteniew, the handsomest girl in St. Petersburg, had, it was said, been in love with him for over two years, in fact, long before his sudden accession to wealth and pre-eminence, but the death of her uncle and guardian, the rich banker, Count Blöwitz, under exceptionally sad circumstances, had plunged her into mourning, and delayed her marriage for some time. But now all preparations were completed, and the wedding, which was the talk of St. Petersburg society, was to take place in the spring.

Aye! it had been a brilliant, a glorious time, that followed those fearful weeks of suspense and intermittent remorse, before the fatal plunge was taken, and Constantin Lubomirski became a traitor. But fate had fought his battle for him. The only witness to his crime was dead, and the papers were locked up, hidden away in a desk that no one —Maria Alexandrowna had said it—had the right to touch. No one—except Stefan Barteniew, who was so far away, in Okhotsk in Eastern Siberia, and surely Prime Lubomirski, with his new wealth, and rapidly growing influence, could find it no hard matter to keep him there. And Stefan, who was secretary to the governor of Okhotsk, though he begged for and was entitled to leave of absence, found month after month elapse, and his petitions put aside, and worse than all, his letters to his sister at home unanswered ; it seemed as if some powerful agency were at work to keep the young man an exile from his country.

The newly-appointed Chancellor sat in his sumptuously furnished study, pondering over these things. At last his ambition was satisfied; he had risen so high that not one unfulfilled wish was left to him now, and Maria Alexandrowna, the beautiful girl for whose sake he had risked so much, and sinned so deeply, was in less than six weeks to become his wife.

And then, with Stefan still away—who knows ?—he might even persuade her to let him open that desk, to destroy those papers—that terrible receipt—and then he would be free from this ceaseless, racking t*****e that night and day haunted him as a spectre, the spectre of his treachery, of his lost honour, the dread of discovery that any moment through chance, or a young girl’s curiosity, might hurl him from his exalted position to the worst degradations a country can impose on its citizens.

“Will your Excellency receive Lord Ellaby?”

The valet’s official voice broke upon Constantin’s meditations, and he rose to greet Her Britannic Majesty’s ambassador, as his lordship, apparently too excited to remember any formalities, rushed into the room at the heels of the lacquey.

“Your Excellency,” he said, “a terrible blunder has been committed by your infernal bloodhounds in Siberia. But I can tell you my government will put up with nothing of that character, and, if any of you dare to harm one hair of that boy’s head, I warn you that it may lead to most disastrous consequences.”

Prince Lubomirski was aghast at the usually so impassive Englishman’s demeanour; moreover, he had not the slightest idea of what the ambassador was talking about.

“Would it not be better, your Excellency,” he said with a slightly sarcastic smile, :if you were to tell me the facts of the case!”

“H’m, certainly, certainly,” said Lord Ellaby, suddenly recollecting the unseemliness of his conduct, “I venture to hope your Excellency knows nothing of this confounded business. Perhaps this letter will explain; it comes from my son, sir, at present detained in one of your infernal prisons.”

Prince Lubomirski took the letter from the irate ambassador; it ran as follows:—

DEAR OLD DAD,—

When you receive this, I shall no doubt be under arrest, for I am going to throw myself wilfully into the jaws of the bear, knowing full well that you can easily get me out of the scrape. As you know, I sailed round to Okhotsk in the Arethusa, intending to ask Barteniew to join me in some big game shooting; I thought, of course, he would have no difficulty in obtaining leave of absence for a month or so, and was perfectly aghast when he told me that not only would he be quite unable to accompany me, but that he had been the subject of most mysterious conspiracies from headquarters, and had not been allowed to leave his post now for two years.

He was looking terribly anxious and worried, moreover the climate was beginning to tell on his lungs; to make a long story short the Arethusa is as fast a yacht as was ever built on the Clyde, and I persuaded him to take French leave on her, see his friends at home, and find out what games his enemies, if he has any, are up to.

Briefly, then, we are going to make a bolt of it—Stefan and I—having previously exchanged our respective identities, namely, he will wear my clothes and use my passports and papers, while I don his uniform and become Stefan Barteniew for the time being. If we are suspected and stopped on our way, I shall allow myself to be meekly led back to Okhotsk, leaving it to you, my dear old Dad, to get me home again; while Barteniew, in the guise of the Hon. Winter Ellaby, will proceed on his way, get on board the Arethusa, and remit you this letter as soon as he arrives in St. Petersburg.

So on receiving this, please take the necessary steps at once to get me out of the hole, for I am sure these beastly Russians won’t treat me any too well when they find out their mistake.

—Ever your affectionate son,

WINTER S. ELLABY

The letter dropped from Prince Lubomirski’s hand. During the few moments that it had taken him to read it, he had fully realised its deadly import. Stefan Barteniew was in St. Petersburg at this moment, that was absolutely clear from the fact that Lord Ellaby had received this letter. Perhaps at this very moment he was with his sister; she was giving him the key ; his hands were on the fatal papers——

“I trust Prince Lubomirski,” said the English ambassador, interrupting the Chancellor’s protracted reflections, “that your government does not intend to pursue this matter any further. Whatever grievance you may have against young Barteniew I have nothing to do with. My boy has helped him to get out of your clutches, as any Englishman who had the chance would. I am willing privately to indemnify Russia to what extent she may choose to impose. I should not even mind my son sitting in a Christian prison for a week or so, by way of punishment for his escapade; he has no cause to blush for what he has done, and——”

“Pray, your Excellency, say no more,” said the Chancellor, who mastered himself with a mighty effort; “the whole thing evidently originated from a mistake made by Stefan Barteniew, whose conscience could not have been quite clear, or he never would have taken fright so easily. No doubt there was some good reason why he was refused leave of absence, and your son has acted very foolishly in persuading him to defy his superiors. Nevertheless, I shall immediately wire to Okhotsk, and your Excellency may rest assured that no harm shall come to Mr. Winter Ellaby, who seems a most chivalrous and plucky young man.”

Her Britannic Majesty’s ambassador, fully satisfied, thereupon tendered a graceful apology for his son’s hot-headed escapade, and his own anxiety, that had made him almost forget himself, and took his leave five minutes after, leaving Constantin Lubomirski almost broken down with the strain of the last half-hour.

The blow had been hard, all the more terrible as it was so wholly unexpected. Fate that had been so persistently his ally, had suddenly turned against him.

Surely something could yet be done to avert the terrible catastrophe. The Russian police were so prompt, and he, Constantin, so powerful. But no! no! it was too late, Stefan was with his sister even now, and a vision rose before the proud man’s eyes of the lad sitting at the desk, with his sister close to his elbow. “Maria, look at these,” he was saying, “careful plans of the citadel of Odessa! How came they in our uncle’s bureau? Sold to him, no doubt, by some traitor. Here is the receipt for one million francs, and signed Constantin Lubomirski.”

Oh! the horrible vision, it would not be chased away. The subsequent exposure, the terrible disgrace, and, worst of all, the vision of a young girl’s eyes rose before him—a girl’s eyes wherein he had been wont to see the light of true confiding love, now distorted by a look of loathing and contempt for that vile abject thing that had been her lover.

“Pity, Maria, pity! I was poor then. It was for your sake, and I have suffered so. Pity! Pity!”

And Prince Lubomirski with a loud groan fell forward on his desk, and he lay there for awhile in merciful oblivion of his crime and its punishment.

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