THE PHANTOM COACH: Collected Ghost Stories (50 page)

‘None, Your Majesty—except a despatch from Your Majesty’s Minister of War, delivered a day or two before the prisoner arrived at Brühl.’

‘How did he come? and where did he come from?’

‘He came in a close carriage, Your Majesty, attended by two officers who left Brühl the same night and whose names and persons are unknown to me. I do not know where he came from. I only know that they had taken the last relay of horses from Cologne.’

‘You were not told of his offence?’

‘I was told nothing, Your Majesty, except that Monsieur Maurice was an enemy to the state, and——’

‘And what?’

My father’s hand went up to his mustache, as it was wont to do in perplexity,

‘I—so please Your Majesty, I think there is some foul mystery in it at the bottom,’ he said, bluntly. ‘There hath been that thing proposed to me that I am ashamed to repeat. I do beseech Your Majesty that some investigation——’

His eyes happened for a moment to rest upon the card. He stammered—changed colour—stopped short in his sentence—took off his hat—laid the card upon it—and so handed it to the king.

His Majesty Frederick William the Third of Prussia was, like most of the princes of his house, tanned, soldierly, and fresh-complexioned; but florid as he was, there came a darker flush into his face as he read what Monsieur Maurice had written.

‘An attempt upon his life!’ he exclaimed. ‘The thing is not possible.’

My father was silent. The king looked at him keenly.

‘
Is
it possible, Colonel Bernhard?’ he said.

‘I think it may be possible, Your Majesty,’ replied my father in a low voice.

The king frowned.

‘Colonel Bernhard,’ he said, ‘how can that be? You are responsible for the safety as well as the person of any prisoner committed to your charge.’

‘So long as the prisoner is left wholly to my charge I can answer for his safety with my head, so please Your Majesty,’ said my father, reddening; ‘but not when he is provided with a special attendant over whom I have no control.’

‘What special attendant? Where did he come from? Who sent him?’

‘I believe he came from Berlin, Your Majesty. He was sent by your Majesty’s Minister of War. His name is Hartmann.’

The king stood thinking. His officers had fallen out of earshot, and were talking together in a little knot some four yards behind. I was still standing on the spot to which the king had called me. He looked round, and saw my anxious face.

‘What, still there, little one?’ he said. ‘You have not heard what we were saying?’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I heard it.’

‘The child may have heard, Your Majesty,’ interposed my father, hastily; ‘but she did not understand. Run home, Gretchen. Make thy obeisance to His Majesty, and run home quickly.’

But I had understood every word. I knew that Monsieur Maurice’s life had been in danger. I knew the king was all-powerful. Terrified at my own boldness—terrified at the thought of my father’s anger—trembling—sobbing —scarcely conscious of what I was saying, I fell at the king’s feet, and cried:

‘Save him—save him, Sire! Don’t let them kill poor Monsieur Maurice. Forgive him—please forgive him, and let him go home again!’

My father seized me by the hand, forced me to rise, and dragged me back more roughly than he had ever touched me in his life.

‘I beseech Your Majesty’s pardon for the child,’ he said. ‘She knows no better.’

But the king smiled, and called me back to him.

‘Nay, nay,’ he said, laying his hand upon my head, ‘do not be vexed with her. So, little one, you and Monsieur Maurice are friends?’

I nodded; for I was still crying, and too frightened at what I had done to be able to speak.

‘And you love him dearly?’

‘Better than anyone—in the world—except papa,’ I faltered, through my tears.

‘Not better than your brothers and sisters?’

‘I have no brothers and sisters,’ I replied, my courage coming back again by degrees. ‘I have no one but papa, and Monsieur Maurice, and Aunt Martha Baur—and I love Monsieur Maurice a thousand, thousand times more than Aunt Martha Baur!’

There came a merry sparkle into the king’s eyes, and my father turned his face away to conceal a smile.

‘But if Monsieur Maurice was free, he would go away and you would never see him again. What would you do then?’

‘I—should be very sorry,’ I faltered; ‘but——’

‘But what?’

‘I would rather he went away, and was happy.’

The king stooped down and kissed me on the brow.

‘That, my little
Mädchen
, is the answer of a true friend,’ he said, gravely and kindly. ‘If your Monsieur Maurice deserves to go free, he shall have his liberty. You have our royal word for it. Colonel Bernhard, we will investigate this matter without the delay of an hour.’

Saying thus, he turned from me to my father, and, followed by his officers, passed on in the direction of the château.

I stood there speechless, his gracious words yet ringing in my ears. He had left me no time for thanks, if even I could have framed any. But he had kissed me—he had promised me that Monsieur Maurice should go free, ‘if he deserved it!’ and who better than I knew how impossible it was that he should not deserve it? It was all true. It was not a dream. I had the king’s royal word for it.

I had the king’s royal word for it—and yet I could hardly believe it!

Chapter XII

Free!

I have told my story up to this point from my own personal experience, relating in their order, quite simply and faithfully, the things I myself heard and saw. I can do this, however, no longer. Respecting those matters that happened when I was not present, I can only repeat what was told me by others; and as regards certain foregone events in the life of Monsieur Maurice, I have but vague rumour, and still more vague conjecture upon which to base my conclusions.

The king had said that Monsieur Maurice’s case should be investigated without delay of an hour, and, so far as it could then and there be done, it was investigated immediately on his return to the château. He first examined Baron von Bulow’s original despatch, and all my father’s minutes of matters relating to the prisoner, including a statement written immediately after the departure of a stranger calling himself the Count von Rettel, and detailing from memory, very circumstantially and fully, the substance of a certain conversation to which I had been accidentally a witness, and which I have myself recorded elsewhere.

The king, on reading this statement, was observed to be greatly disturbed. He questioned my father minutely as to the age, complexion, height, and general appearance of the said Count von Rettel, and with his own hand noted down my father’s replies on the back of my father’s manuscript. This done, His Majesty desired that the man Hartmann should be brought before him.

But Hartmann was nowhere to be found. His room was empty. His bed had not been slept in. He had disappeared, in short, as completely as if he had never dwelt within the precincts of the château.

It was found, on more particular inquiry being made, that he had not been seen since the previous evening. Overwhelmed with terror, and perhaps with remorse, he had rushed out of Monsieur Maurice’s presence, never to return. It was supposed that he had then immediately gathered together all that belonged to him, and had taken advantage of the bustle and confusion consequent on the king’s arrival, to leave Brühl in one of the return carriages or
fourgons
that had brought the royal party from Cologne. I am not aware that anything more was ever seen or heard of him; or that any active search for him was judicially instituted either then, or at any other time. But he might easily have been pursued, and taken and dealt with according to the law, without our being any the wiser at Brühl.

Hartmann being gone, the king then sent for the prisoner, and Monsieur Maurice, for the first time in many weeks, left his own rooms, and was brought round to the state apartments. Seeing so many persons about; seeing also the flowers and flags upon the walls, he seemed surprised, but said nothing. Being brought into the royal presence, however, he appeared at once to recognise the king. He bowed profoundly, and a faint flush was seen to come into his face. He then cast a rapid glance round the room, as if to see who else was present; bowed also (but less profoundly) to my father, who was standing behind the king’s chair; and waited to be spoken to.

‘
Vous êtes Français, Monsieur?
’ said the king, addressing him in French, of which language my father understood only a few words.

‘
Je suis Français, votre Majesté
,’ replied Monsieur Maurice.

‘
Comment!
’ said the king, still in French. ‘Our person, then, is not unknown to you?’

‘I have repeatedly enjoyed the honour of being in your Majesty’s presence,’ replied Monsieur Maurice, respectfully.

Being then asked where, and on what occasion, my father understood him to say that he had seen His Majesty at Erfurt during the great meeting of the sovereigns under Napoleon the First, and again at the Congress of Vienna; and also that he had, at that time, occupied some important office, such, perhaps, as military secretary, about the person of the emperor. The king then proceeded to question him on matters relating to his imprisonment and his previous history, to all of which Monsieur Maurice seemed to reply at some length, and with great earnestness of manner. Of these explanations, however, my father’s imperfect knowledge of the language enabled him to catch only a few words here and there.

Presently, in the midst of a somewhat lengthy statement, Monsieur Maurice pronounced the name of Baron von Bulow. Hereupon the king checked him by a gesture; desired all present to withdraw; caused the door to be closed; and carried on the rest of the examination in private. By-and-by, after the lapse of nearly three quarters of an hour, my father was recalled, and an officer in waiting was despatched to Monsieur Maurice’s rooms to fetch what was left of the bottle of seltzer water, which Monsieur Maurice had himself locked up in the sideboard the night before.

The king then asked if there was any scientific man in Brühl capable of analysing the liquid; to which my father replied that no such person could be found nearer than Cologne or Bonn. Hereupon a dog was brought in from the stables, and, having been made to swallow about a quarter of a pint of the seltzer water, was presently taken with convulsions, and died on the spot.

The king then desired that the body of the dog, and all that yet remained in the bottle, should be despatched to the Professor of Chemistry at Bonn, for immediate examination.

This done, he turned to Monsieur Maurice, and said in German, so that all present might hear and understand:

‘Monsieur, so far as we have the present means of judging, you have suffered an illegal and unjust imprisonment, and a base attempt has been made upon your life. You appear to be the victim of a foul conspiracy, and it will be our first care to sift that conspiracy to the bottom. In the meanwhile, we restore your liberty, requiring only your
parole d’honneur
, as a gentleman, a soldier, and a Frenchman, to present yourself at Berlin, if summoned, at any time required within the next three months.’

Monsieur Maurice bowed, laid his hand upon his heart, and said:

‘I promise it, Your Majesty, on my word of honour as a gentleman, a soldier, and Frenchman.’

‘You are probably in need of present funds,’ the king then said; ‘and if so, our secretary shall make you out an order on the treasury for five hundred
thalers
.’