"BEYOND DOVER"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 17 May 1939, Page 10

"BEYOND DOVER"

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

COPYRIGHT.

By

VAL GIELGUD.

(Author of “Death at B

roadcasting House,” etc.)

CHAPTER. XV. (Continued). ‘•Perhaps that’s my real justifical- - said Hugo Brandon slowly. "What else can I do, if I don’t risk my life to recover my birthright? Princelings can go and work in motor factories and like it, apparently! We only know one job, Sally. It may be that there’s no room for kings in the world. If it's true, men who were born to be kings must be —got rid of.” "You’ve enough money to live on,” said Sally weakly. “Like the less reputable Russian Whites, and self-styled princes, who make aristocracy stink from one casino to another! No, Sally—not good enough. Besides ” He stopped, and the girl looking down saw that he was twisting the heavy gold signet ring on his finger round and round and round, as though it were a talisman. “Go on,” she said softly.

“I was eleven when the War ended and the Revolution began,” said Hugo Brandon. “A thin, very plain, small boy, with his ears sticking out, curly hair of which he was bitterly ashamed, and spectacles. My mother and I were at Bratza— at the Summer Palace, which lies beside a lake in the middle of pine forests, above the town. A strange person—my mother, not a bit like your novelists’ great ladies, Sally. Even now, when she is a really old lady, she is still very gentle and rather stupid; but a great lady all the same. She and my father loved each other.” His fingers sought and found Sally’s, and held them tight. She could feel the heavy ring against her flesh. “Of course we knew things had been going badly for some time. My father had sent us to Bratza because it was the traditional headquarters of the Guard Hussars, his favourite regiment, in which he had served as a subaltern. The king’s escort always were 'drawn from its squadrons. “I remember so well the day my father came back. There was a mist low down over the lake —it was autumn—and the leaves were turning. I was up in the Long Gallery with my mother. You must know, Sally, that that gallery was where all the portraits of the Kings of Styria used to hang. The collection was famous. I believe there was none like it in the world, except, of course, for the collection in Madrid. That was where I used to have my history lessons, with the portraits in front of me. I knew the stories of all of them; the first Maximilian who died on Crusade; Henry, the Hammer of the Infidels, who rode with Sobieski to the relief of Vienna; Ferdinand, who led the fleet that broke the power of Venice over the Islands; Charles, the Law-maker; Rudolph the Cruel—thirty-nine kings, Sally, side by side along that dark panelled wall. I believe it is true that not more than seven died in their beds. There was a space at the end for my father’s portrait. , It would be there still —but the republicans made a bonfire of the lot! But you can’t destroy several hundred years of history with half an hour of fire. That's what they don't understand; what I've come back to teach them."' He was silent for a moment, moistened his lips with his tongue, and went on:

“I walked up an down the shining parquet floor with my mother, and wondered why she had taken me up there. Now I think it must have been with the idea of giving herself courage; of persuading herself that a line which had lasted so long must be able to last for ever. Bui whatever it was I know that we never heard my father come in. We just turned at one end of the gallery, and there he was; with mud .splashes thick on his boots and breeches, and a face like grey paper with dreadful dark patches below his eyes.

“He told us, speaking like a sleep walker, and swaying a little on his feet, that revolt had broken out in the Capital, and mutiny at the Front; that he’d come to Bratza to collect loyal troops to tacke the situation, and to say goodbye to us. And my mother put her arms round his neck, and Flanescu —he wasn’t tubby then —came in to say that the Hussars were paraded in the Courtyard. " 'Very well,’ said my father, Til go out and talk to them.’ and Flanescu said urgent, ‘Take the boy, sir, take the boy!' And my mother put my hand into my father’s, and we went out together on to the balcony. "It didn’t work, Sally. He spoke to them, and they sat there on their horses, and looked straight in front of them. And when he had finished, they still sat silent. And the colonel called for cheers for the King, and there was another dreadful silence, and one of the subalterns yelled out: 'Dismiss, damn you! The game’s up! Long Live the Republic!’ And he ripped oil’ his epaulettes, and showed bows of red ribbon underneath. The regiment dissolved there under our eyes, and went riding anyhow out of the courtyard, with the men trying to manhandle some of th'e officers. And the old colonel broke his sword, and shot himself dead’, to prove, I suppose, that there was still one officer and gentleman in Styria!” “But Hugo, that’s terrible.” "It was just the beginning. Sally. My father took mo back into the gallery. and there was my mother, crying, but quite quietly, and Flanescu scarlet in the face with rage. And my father put on his kepi, and kissed me and iny mother, and touched Flanescu’s shoulder, and stood for a moment in front of his own father’s portrait. Then he saluted, rather limply, as if his hand was too heavy for him. and went out; and we heard his spurred boots clinking down the staircase.” "What happened to him?” "He rode alone towards the Capital, and some mutineers caught him. Next day they panicked—there was a rumour of loyalist counter-revolution—-and shot him. But he died on that balcony. Sally. After that he didn't care any more —not even for us. It was Flanescu and Lord Bannockburn who got us out of the country. The Thing that was his life was over. I’ve got to get that Thing back —or I shall never begin to live at all! Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Sally. "There must be something more important than human lives, even than human happiness,” went on Brandon passionately. “There arc worse things than pain and misery and death. There must be —or life is just a bad joke, a

grotesque game played by a lunatic! it’s not I myself being King of Styria that’s, important. But the idea of Kingship that’s something. And the idea of the service of a great tradition, that's something more. You may not be able to justify these things in words, but you can feel them —here and here!”

His hand rose and touched first his breast, then his throat. “Make the value of human life your standard,” he said, “and you become one with every poor devil who has no more than his life to lose. You must work and pay for privilege, Sally. For a King’s privilege you must be ready to die!” And .there was something in his voice that justified the extravagances of his phrasing, or so it seemed to the girl who sat beside him, and while he spoke had lived with him through a complete cycle of disillusion and defeat and death. "I’m glad I’m coming with you.” she said. CHAPTER XVI. It was fortunate for Sally that she, too, was tired. For when she went to bed that night, her condition of mind was pitiably confused. What had begun as a simple roman policier was turning very rapidly towards high adventure. And though on the whole she found it a change for the better, she felt less confident of being able to take up her cues in the new role. But what was far more baffling was the change in Hugo Brandon. The soil of lorcula, the air of Styria —and no doubt also the cheering of the garrison of the air base which had welcomed his landing—had acted upon him like some charm. He was no longer a young aristocrat at a loose end, sensual and arrogant and overbearing, rie was a missionary, a crusader, a conquistador, going forward under a ragged banner to the sound of an old song. To Sally he seemed infinitely more attractive; and simultaneously to have become infinitely remote. Her problem with the Brandon'of the Cosmopolite and the Meurice had been to prevent herself from being overwhelmed by his physical attraction and his charm. Her problem with the ArchDuke Ottokar Maximilian was that she longed to hand herself over to his' service, while she realised that there could be no place in his service for a chit of a girl, whose principal accomplishment lay in using a typewriter. True, he seemed to like to have her near him, to talk to her, to pat her hand or her shoulder, rather as if she were an unusually intelligent pet dog. But he had ceased altogether to try and make love to her, thought Sally sleepily and rather indignantly, just at the moment when she might well have been extremely gratified had he done so ... it was no good .... she gave it up. In the room with the candles a little French clock struck eleven. Casimir Konski leaned over, poked Flanescu urgently in the ribs, poked Flanescu down on to the floor, and brushed his hands together. The Arch-Duke, who had been leaning over the balcony, came back into the room.

"Anything else before I go to bed?" he asked abruptly. “I'm sleepy." The Commandant sprang up, and stood stiffly to attention. Hugo laughed, , “No, no, Colonel,” he said, “all friends here together, I hope?—look at Flanescu there!” The Roumanian was buttoning up his | tunic clumsily, stretching and yawning. "Who pilots Miss Martin and myself to Duvornik in the morning?” asked Hugo. The Commandant looked towards Casimir Konski. “The colonel has offered to pilot you and Leopold himself,” said the latter. “Leopold! I’m grateful to you, colonel, but Miss Martin comes with me.” .“Impossible, Highness.” “I don’t like that word, Casimir.” “Nor do I. Unfortunately this time it must be used. Miss Martin must come to Bratza with me. The jewels must be delivered to Von Auffenburg oy a woman. That arrangement must stand.” “Rather too many ‘musts’ from you to me, Casimir." - Casimir shrugged, and looked at the tips of his shoes. "This isn't the moment for ceremony and good manners, Hugo. Come off your high horse! The girl will be safe enough. Surely that I’m going to Bratza myself is guarantee of that. I never take needless risks with my valuable life. I'm too fond of it.” "So far, so good,’ replied Hugo. “I think I'll come with you to Bratza.” “Then most regretfully I use another must,’ Highness. You must go to Duvornik. Are you forgetting the radio station? We agreed in Paris that the key to every really modern revolutionary movement since the Bolshevik Coup in ’l7 has been the proper use of the wireless. Tomorrow at noon the high-powered station at Duvornik will be in the hands of our sympathisers. At half past twelve precisely, you go to the microphone and address the country. You can be sure of your audience —it's the regular time for a favourite dance-band session! But your personal attendance is essential.” Hugo walked up and down the room, evidently thinking deeply. "Yess. - he said finally. "I can't dispute that argument. But I warn you, Casimir, I hold you personally responsible for Miss Marlin's security, till I join you in Bratza. You follow me?" Casimir stood up. and bowed formally. "Perfectly, Highness.” "Then we take off at nine o’clock, colonel?” “I shall be at your Highness’s service.” "Capital. Goodnight, gentlemen.” ■ The tension relaxed with the closing of the door. “His Highness is very positive, very decided, for so young a man,” said the Commandant, pouring himself out another glass of plum brandy. “It is just because he is young,” said Casimir Konski. "Today has gone a little to his head. I can understand it, but the success of our plans cannot be imperilled by the whims of a boy!” “I tell you, Casimir, you’re making a mistake,” said Flanescu petulantly. “You forget the blood in his veins. His Highness is not one of your deracines outcasts of the political underworld. You underrate him." (To be Continued.')