Long Live the King!

The office hours having been explained to him, the salary arranged, and various other minor details settled to their mutual satisfaction, Max and Mr. Brockford left the office together.

"I cannot tell you how thankful I am to you for what you have done for me," said the former when they were in the street once more. "It seems all the kinder for the reason that I am an entire stranger to you."

"One Englishman can never be an entire stranger to another in a foreign country," said Brockford oracularly. "We always feel called upon to do the best we can for each other. Besides – "

He stopped abruptly, as if he had suddenly changed his mind, and did not feel inclined to put his thoughts into words. Five minutes later they had reached his own office.

"You will feel rather lonely on your first night in a new country," he said. "Won't you dine with me, and spend the night at my house? I am a bachelor, and live on the Island of Paquetá. I shall have much pleasure in taking you back with me. No, don't thank me! You can do that later on if you like. You are staying at Candido's Hotel, I fancy you said? In that case, if you take the first turning to the left, and then the next to the right, and afterwards continue straight on, you will reach it. I shall expect to see you at half-past four."

Without giving Max time to accept or decline his invitation, he retired into his office, leaving him free to make his way back to his hotel. This he did with a heart overflowing with gratitude for the kindness he had received.

"I certainly can't grumble at my luck now," he said to himself, as he walked along.

Punctual to the moment he returned to Mr. Brockford's office. This time he entered it with the air of a man who occupied an assured position in the world. Even the clerks, having had evidence before them that their employer was well disposed towards the stranger, treated him in a different fashion to what they had done when he had first made his appearance.

"You are punctual," said Mr. Brockford, as soon as he was admitted to his presence. "It is a good omen in a country like this, where everything is put off to be done at a future date; a business habit of that description cannot be too highly commended. Though I fear, however well we start, we all fall into evil ways in the end. Even our friend Montezma, who is an excellent business man in his way, is no exception to the rule. Now, if you are ready, let us be off."

Then they set off in the direction of the quay. As they passed through the city Max had an opportunity of seeing how well his companion was known. He was occupied almost continually receiving and returning salutations. Reaching the waterside they descended a flight of steps, at the foot of which a neat steam launch was awaiting them. They took their places and were soon steaming down the bay, bound for the Island of Paquetá, one of the loveliest spots in Rio Bay, and ten miles distant from the city.

As Max was soon to discover, Mr. Brockford's residence was on a par with his reputation. It was a charming place in every way, exquisitely quiet and restful after the bustle and excitement of the city. The house itself, a long one-storied building, surrounded by a deep verandah, was comfortably, but not ostentatiously, furnished. In the dining-room were several good pictures, among others a view of Carisbrooke Castle. It was by a well-known artist, and Max stood for some little time before it.

"Is not this Carisbrooke?" he inquired, turning to his host, who was mixing a cool drink at the sideboard.

"Yes, Carisbrooke," the other replied, turning round. "When I was a boy I lived in the Isle of Wight, not a mile from the ruins. Do you know the place?"

"We drove over there one day when I was last at Osborne," said Max, without thinking. "It was one of the jolliest excursions I can remember."

Brockford looked at him sharply. The description of man who talked of staying at Osborne with all the assurance of an old friend did not often come within the sphere of his existence. For the second time he wondered what Max's history could be.

That evening's entertainment was destined to linger in Max's memory for many a long day to come. In his diary I find a note setting forth the fact that he looks upon his acquaintance with Mr. Brockford in the light of one of, if not the best, pieces of good fortune he met with during his life in Brazil. He might well say that. Next morning he returned with his host to the city to enter upon his new employment. The day's work at an end, he was able to call upon his benefactor, in order to inform him that it had not proved so difficult as he imagined it would, and that he felt quite capable of carrying out the work expected of him. By the end of the week he had settled down to his business life, and was feeling moderately comfortable and happy in his new surroundings. A surprise, however, was in store for him.

One afternoon, a month or so after he had entered Montezma's office, a note was brought to him by a diminutive nigger. It emanated from Mr. Brockford, who was anxious that Max should pay him a call on his homeward journey that afternoon, if he could do so without inconvenience to himself. Max sent a reply by the messenger, to the effect that it would give him great pleasure to do as his friend asked; and in due course he arrived at Messrs. Brockford, Brent, & Kerton's place of business. The day's work was over and the clerks were preparing for departure. The senior partner, however, was still in his sanctum.

"I'm glad you've come, Mortimer," he said, as they shook hands, "for I want to have a little talk with you? Sit down, will you? You'll find a cigar in that box."

Max seated himself, lit a cigar, and wondered what was coming next.

"By the way, you're still staying at Candido's, are you not?" the other inquired, in what was intended to be a matter-of-fact tone.

Max replied that he was still occupying his old room, and went on to add that he thought of looking for another elsewhere, as the hotel charges made rather too large an inroad into his slender resources.

"Well, I've a little suggestion to make to you before you do that," said Brockford. "I'm a bachelor, as you know. Now what I am going to propose is that you shall come over and take up your abode with me. I like you; I've already told you that we'd be first-rate company for each other; and if you don't mind putting up with my faddy ways, I fancy we should hit it off admirably together. What have you to say to my arrangement?"

For a moment Max was too overwhelmed to say anything.

"Good gracious!" he cried at last, "do you know what you are offering me? Do you realise what it means to a man like myself, situated as I am now, to be asked to share a home like yours? Mr. Brockford, your kindness overpowers me. I don't know what to say to you."

"Say nothing at all, or, at any rate, only say that you will accept my offer," he answered. "You have no idea what a kindness it will be to me."

"You hide your own kindness too well," said Max. "I do not know how to thank you. And I haven't the pluck to refuse."

"I should not allow you to do so," the other replied. "No, we've settled it very well, I think. Have your things ready to-morrow afternoon, and we'll take them over in the launch with us."

True to the terms of their agreement, Max next day transported himself and his belongings to Brockford's island home. His life for the future seemed all smooth sailing. After the heat and bustle of the city, it was infinitely soothing at night to be able to cross to the island, and to stretch oneself out after a good dinner on a lounge chair in the broad verandah, and do nothing but listen to the sighing of the wind in the palms overhead, and the musical splash of the wavelets on the beach. He was not only bettering himself in this way, but the fact that he was living with a man so highly respected in the city was doing him a large amount of good from a social point of view. It was generally felt that if Brockford were prepared to stand sponsor for him, he might very well be admitted by other well-known men to their houses and to intercourse with their families.

CHAPTER IX

From the moment that Mr. Brockford took Max to live with him the latter's lot in life seemed to change. Hitherto, apparently, no one had been aware of his existence; now scarcely a day passed in which he did not receive some sort of invitation from people who, as a rule, prided themselves upon their exclusiveness. Their favour may possibly have been due to the fact that he was of a different type to that to which they were accustomed. At any rate, his handsome face, charming manners, tall graceful figure, and insouciant cavalry swagger, possessed a fascination for them which they seemed incapable of resisting. It was not long before he had made himself extremely popular, not only with the English portion of the population, but also with the Spanish.

"Be careful, Mortimer, my boy," Brockford would say to him, when he greeted him on his return from a ball or similar social function. "When you have seen as much of this little corner of the world as I have, you will know how dangerous women can be, and how they have it in their power to mar a man's career at its commencement. Many an excellent young fellow have I seen out here, only too anxious and ready to make his way in the world; then he has fallen in love, been egged into matrimony, only to find himself shelved and done for by all save his wife's relations, as soon as the knot was tied. I don't want that to happen to you."

"You needn't have any fear on my account," answered Max with a laugh. "I'm not very likely to fall in love. I have been inoculated, and I fancy I am proof against the infection."

"No man is proof against it," replied Brockford solemnly. He was well acquainted with the traps and pitfalls of Rio society, and he did not want the man, to whom he had taken such a liking, to make a fiasco of his life, just when there seemed a good chance of his succeeding in it. He need not have bothered himself about it just then, however, for another factor had been imported into the problem, and, before the week was over, Max was down with fever. For some time he lay at death's door, but, thanks to his wonderful constitution, he managed in the end to pull through. It was a near enough chance, however, to cause his friends a considerable amount of anxiety.

Indeed, from what I have since learned, there was one period in the course of the fever when the gravest apprehensions were entertained for his safety. All things considered, it was perhaps as well for him that Brockford was with him during his delirium. Although even then, he did not altogether reveal his secret, he said enough to show his friend that, in his old life, he had been something more than the mere cavalry officer he pretended.

"From the very first I felt sure there was some mystery about him," said the latter to himself one evening, when he had left the sick-room for a well-earned rest. "I don't fancy, however, that I have quite got to the bottom of it yet. But there, it's his secret and not mine, and, if he doesn't care to tell me, why should I bother myself?"

So saying, the kindly old fellow returned once more to the sick-room to minister as patiently to the wants of his restless patient as if he had been a nurse all his life. Strangely enough, as Brockford has since told me, it was of myself that Max talked most. "His constant cry," said the latter, "was something to this effect: 'As I cannot win her for myself, I will not spoil Paul's life. No! Paul shall have his chance with her!' and so he would continue for hours at a time. Sometimes he would vary it by informing the world that 'Paul should have her, for he could make her happier than I could ever do.' Then he would suddenly sit up in bed and call wildly for a horse, adding that he had made an appointment to meet the Princess in the Park, and must not, on any account, keep her waiting."

At last consciousness returned, and little by little he grew stronger, until, in due course, he was pronounced to be out of danger. Some time, however, elapsed before he was in a position to return to his duties. He had now been in Brazil upwards of eighteen months, and was beginning to regard himself as an old inhabitant.

On the day that he was sufficiently recovered to be able to return to the office he was invited to dine in the evening at the house of his employer.

It was a jovial party that sat down to dinner. The old merchant kept a liberal table, and he and the Señora, between them, did the honours with regal dignity. The two pretty daughters of the house laid themselves out to be charming, the younger, Estrella, taking care that Max wanted nothing. After dinner they adjourned to the verandah, where a lovely view of the city, stretched out on the plain below, and of the harbour was obtainable. Max was in the best possible spirits, and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the society of the pretty Estrella, who was seated beside him, fanning herself, as only a Spanish girl can, with a coquettish lace fan, and airing her scanty knowledge of the English language. The elder sister, Maraquinha, who was an accomplished musician, was playing a variety of dreamy melodies in the room behind them. The Señora had gone to sleep, according to custom, and Brockford and the merchant were smoking like volcanoes, and talking politics, at the further end of the verandah.

When a young man, whose heart has once been shattered, is willing to admit that he has admired another young woman, ever since he set eyes on her, it is only natural to suppose that his heart is still capable of feeling some emotion. Though Max was not in the least in love with the pretty Señorita, he could not but confess that he entertained a sincere regard for her. A great love, such as he had felt for the Princess Ottilie, for instance, could never come to him again; but he asked himself why, if it were true that he had decided never to return to his old life, he should not choose a wife from the people with whom he had thrown in his lot, and settle down to a quiet married life in his new home? Moreover, he was quite aware that Montezma was anxious that his daughters should marry, and he felt confident enough of the old man's liking for himself to be sure that, in spite of the difference in nationality, the union would be far from distasteful to him. On the contrary, it was just possible that – but there he came to a sudden stop. He had got on to dangerous ground, where it behoved him to walk warily.

At last it became time for Brockford and himself, if they wished to get back to the island before midnight, to bid the family good-bye. They accordingly entered the house to take a stirrup cup, and it was then that an event occurred which was destined to cause Max more uneasiness than anything that had happened since his arrival in Brazil, the fever excepted. They were standing beside the table in the dining-room, when Maraquinha, who, as I have already explained, had hitherto been occupied at the piano in the drawing-room, made her appearance, carrying in her hand an illustrated newspaper.

"Señor Mortimer," she cried, with a smile upon her face, "are you aware that we are fortunate enough to possess a portrait of yourself?"

At first Max did not realise the importance of her words. She was of a jocular disposition, and his first thought was that, following her favourite pastime, she had made a caricature of himself.

"I am honoured indeed, Señorita," he said. "I trust the likeness is a flattering one."

"You shall judge for yourself," she answered. "Here it is."

So saying, she opened the paper she had brought with her, and placed it on the table before him. One glance was sufficient to show him that it was a reproduction of an old photograph of himself, taken by a London firm of photographers shortly after he had joined his regiment. Underneath was printed "The Missing Crown Prince of Pannonia."

As Max looked at it, he felt himself grow deadly pale. A great fear lest it should be noticed swept over him, and for a moment, do what he would, he could not recover his self-control. At last, almost by a superhuman effort, he managed to get himself in hand, and, while pretending to look more closely at the picture, said:

"All things considered, it is not a bad likeness, is it? I wonder if I were to go to England, and pretend to be the original, whether they would let me take his place in society. He does not look so tall as I am, but the likeness is certainly remarkable."

"So like that, without a very great stretch of imagination, we might even take it to be the same person," said Maraquinha suspiciously.

"Permit me to see it?" said Brockford, stretching his arm across the table.