An Uncrowned King: A Romance of High PoliticsGrier, Sydney C.
General
An Uncrowned King: A Romance of High Politics
Grier, Sydney C.
British -- Foreign countries -- Fiction; Kings and rulers -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Political fiction
“All I can say,” replied the O’Malachy, spreading out his hands with a
deprecatory gesture, “is that I sent cigars, and that the police
fellers found an infernal machine. You must make what you can of ut.”
“Oh, don’t harp on the subject, Caerleon,” put in Cyril, seeing that
his brother was not satisfied. “Can’t you see that it’s very naturally
disagreeable to the O’Malachy? When do you expect your son,
O’Malachy?”
“In two or three days, Lord Cyrul. I am greatly pleased that he will
be so fortunate as to meet you here.”
“Oh, but we shan’t be here,” said Caerleon, seizing his opportunity.
“We must not forget that we are trespassing on your kindness all the
time we occupy these rooms. We will clear out to-morrow, if you like.”
“That you won’t,” returned the O’Malachy. “Why, when I was hearing in
the town yesterday that your friend was in Parrus, and knew that you
would be wanting to come back here, I went straight to the landlord,
and got um to clear out another room for Louie, without any fuss at
all. So now the place is plenty big for both of us, and I will think
that you are offended with us if you turn out before you have seen all
you want of the neighbourhood.”
“Since you are so kind,” said Caerleon, “we will certainly stay on for
the present.” Here a frown from Cyril reached him, and an almost
imperceptible “Don’t!” and he added rather lamely, “That is, if you
are quite sure we are not inconveniencing you--or Miss O’Malachy.”
“My dear marquis,” said Madame O’Malachy, “let me assure you that your
society is already doing my husband far more good than the waters
here. As for my daughter, how should you inconvenience her?”
“Oh no; why should I need two rooms?” asked Nadia, gloomily, and
Caerleon could get nothing but monosyllables from her during the
remainder of the evening. When the guests were gone, however, she
turned to her parents as she was leaving the room.
“You may be interested to know,” she said in her clear hard voice,
“that Lord Caerleon has no intention of going to Thracia, nor of
accepting the Thracian crown. I am not in the habit of helping you in
your work, but I thought that this piece of news might possibly lead
you to alter your plans a little.”
“Many thanks, my daughter,” said Madame O’Malachy, while her husband
laughed softly. “In what way are our plans to be changed?”
“Surely you can leave Lord Caerleon and his brother alone, now that
you know this, and not seek to involve them in any danger?”
“Mademoiselle,” said the O’Malachy, rising and standing with his back
to the stove, “may I remind you of one small fact? We have not, as you
remark, the honour of your assistance, and I regret to say that this
necessarily deprives you of any pleasure you might derive from sharing
our confidence. Whatever plans your mother and I may have in view, we
do not feel inclined to risk their reaching Lord Caerleon by
communicating them to you.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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