Part 66

“I can’t be got rid of in an hour.”

“You could to-morrow.”

“I’m afraid you can,” sighed the Cherub, “and that, though I shall do my best, I may be powerless to help you.”

“What if it were known that he saved the King yesterday?” Pilar asked her father.

“The King is going away to-morrow. You know, he’s off to England in a few days. Besides, the incident to-day will be hushed up. The King will know, of course, and a few others; but it will be kept out of the papers,—anyhow, until they’ve got their hands on both the men concerned.”

“I’ve still got to-night,” I said, “and it’s not eleven yet. I hoped that in the confusion Monica had given her mother and Carmona the slip, and that if I waited here I might find her again. I thought she might try to get back to the chapel where we had our talk, trusting that I’d look for her there. But she didn’t come, and I searched everywhere in vain before I tried watching the crowd pass through the Court of Oranges. Now, I’m certain that Carmona or Lady Vale-Avon must have pounced upon her while I was surrounded, and forced her away. No doubt they’re at home long ago. Why shouldn’t I appeal to the English consul, and say that the Duke of Carmona’s detaining an English girl in his house against her will?”

“No use,” said the Cherub. “She’s under age, and she’s with her mother, who’s visiting the Duchess.”

“Then I’ll go to Carmona’s door and make such a row that they’ll be obliged to let me in.”

“You’d get into a police cell instead. A man’s house is his castle, especially when it’s a palace and he’s a Duke.”

I was silenced. I knew the Cherub was right; but it seemed monstrous that in this twentieth century such tyranny should divide a girl from her lover.

When I had thought for a moment I said, “Anyhow, I shall go to the house and try to bribe a servant. Once in, I’d not come out without Monica. I’ve done two satisfactory things to-day by bribery and corruption, and I don’t see why I shouldn’t bring it off the third time.”

“The Duke’s servants have been in the employ of the family for years, and their fathers and grandfathers before them. No money would bribe them to deceive their master and mistress,” said the Cherub.

“I shouldn’t have thought either the Duke or his mother capable of inspiring such devotion.”

“It isn’t devotion—it’s fear. To an unfaithful servant in that house—well, almost anything might happen.”

“Have you any advice to give me, then?” I asked, in despair.

The Cherub shook his head. “The prudent thing would be to go away to-night, and trust Lady Monica’s loyalty. She can’t be forced into marrying the Duke, you know; and if she breaks the engagement he’ll have to let her alone, for dignity’s sake.”

“That might be prudent; but of course I won’t do it.”

“Of course you won’t,” returned the Cherub, as if it went without saying.

“Very well, then; matters are desperate, and desperate remedies must be tried; things can’t be worse than they are. I shall hang about Carmona’s house early in the morning, and when the first person comes out I’ll go in. If I don’t come out, you will know what’s become of me; and I don’t suppose in these days even a Duke can kill a man without getting into trouble?”

“He would merely have you arrested as a housebreaker,” said the Cherub.

“Well, I should have seen Monica first, and perhaps have got her on the right side of the door.”

“We’ll have a go at the business together,” said Dick. “It would be more sociable.”

“All right, thank you,” said I. “Then something’s settled; and these best of friends can go home and sleep.”

“Sleep!” echoed Pilar scornfully. “Oh, if I were a man, and could do something to punish the Duke!”

“I wish you could set your bull at him,” said Dick. “Only, now I think of it, it’s his bull still.”

Try as we might, it was impossible to persuade either Colonel O’Donnel or Pilar that they ought to return quietly to bed, if not to sleep. No, they would do nothing of the kind. Besides, no properly disposed person within ten miles of Seville would lie in bed that night. Processions would go on till early morning. Many people would watch them, or spend the hours till early mass in prayer in the cathedral, which would be open all night. Why should not the O’Donnel family do as others did?

There was no answer to this; and it was finally arranged that, if they wished to rest at all, it should be at the hotel in the Plaza de San Fernando, where we had dined. That was to be the rendezvous; and the Cherub would engage the verger we knew to watch the Duke’s house in the morning, bringing news of our fate to the hotel—if we did not bring it ourselves.

Never—if I live beyond the allotted threescore years and ten—shall I forget that strange night of Holy Thursday in Seville.