An Uncrowned King Chapter 3 Part 5

“Well, it seems that the O’Malachy was, as he said, one of the Sarmatian leaders, and he gave the Scythians so much trouble that they were ready to go any lengths to get rid of him. They tried fair means and they tried foul—open attacks, and bribes, and attempted assassination, but it was all no good. At last—I don’t know whether it was a lucky guess, or whether something showed them his weak point—they thought of working upon his susceptibilities. They had a decoy handy, Mdlle. Barbara Platovska, a young Sarmatian lady, brought up in Paris and trained in Scythia. She had done a good deal of work for them already, and she was as plucky and as wily as she was beautiful, so that she was a valuable instrument. Well, they sent her off with a free hand, and a pardon for O’Malachy, signed by the Emperor, in her pocket, together with a promise of employment for him in the Scythian army. Mdlle. Barbara lays her plans, and presently, travelling by night through a forest where the rebels had one of their camps, she falls into their hands. There was some talk of shooting her at once, for her face was unmistakable, and they all knew what harm she had done to their cause; but she singled out O’Malachy, and threw herself at his feet and demanded his protection. You wouldn’t find many Irishmen who would refuse to help a pretty woman in such a plight, and O’Malachy pulled her behind him, and told the rest to come on. They nearly got to blows, but at last they agreed to give the girl some form of trial, and they carried her off to their headquarters. Naturally O’Malachy kept close to her on the way, and she used her opportunity so well that before the journey was over he was head and ears in love with her. He soon discovered that the rest were determined to kill her, and the very first night that he had the chance he helped her to escape from the ruined tower in which she was imprisoned, and escorted her back to her friends. Up to that time he fully meant to go back and give himself up to his comrades, but now was Mdlle. Barbara’s chance. She never let him alone on that journey, until she had got him to promise to come in with her and surrender. He must have been pretty sick of the Sarmatians altogether—they were rather a shady lot, always quarrelling and fighting among themselves—and there was nothing to be made out of their job, and he was in love as well, and he thought she loved him, so he consented. He got his pardon and his post in the Scythian army, and he meant to get Mdlle. Barbara. But when he went to claim her she met him as she had done the other men she had betrayed, turned her back on him and told him that no traitor should ever be her husband. But she had tried that trick once too often. He had her against the wall with a revolver to her head in an instant, and then and there he made her promise to marry him. And that wasn’t all, either. He took her to the table, still with the revolver pointed at her, and made her write out and sign an account of the scene. Then he let her go, but she married him the next week. You see he could have ruined her with that paper. If it had once come to her employers’ ears that she had lost her nerve, and yielded to threats, they would never have made use of her again. Perhaps, too, the O’Malachy’s style of wooing pleased her, or she may have had a soft place for him in her heart all along. At any rate, they married, and went into partnership, and you see what a happy couple they are.”

“But how did the story get about?” asked Caerleon. “Surely it was to the interest of both of them to keep it quiet.”

“Oh, the O’Malachy let it out one evening when he had been dining—told it as rather a fine thing, I believe.”

“The old beast! to go and give his wife away like that,” remarked Caerleon, with righteous indignation.

“Well, after all, she doesn’t show up so very much worse than he does in the matter,” said Cyril. “They are rather a well-matched pair. You know what their present manner of life is?”

“Oh yes, I know. Card-sharping.”

Cyril stared. “Not unless you are speaking in parables, and alluding to political cards. They are spies of the Scythian Government, agents provocateurs, and so on. The O’Malachy is supposed to be travelling for his health, a pursuit which enables him to be pretty constantly on the move, and turn up just where his presence is required. Oh, he’s a fine old fellow! Wasn’t that rich about Balster and the infernal machine? It was an awful sell for him, though. Sorry! of course he was sorry—that Balster didn’t open it himself, and get blown up. That’s one of his little ways of employing his leisure hours, and the whole family are really otherwise engaged than in health-seeking, very much so.”

“Not all of them. Miss O’Malachy is not.”

“Well, you certainly know more about her than I do, so I can’t say. You have a queer taste in fathers-in-law, though.”

“Don’t talk rot,” said Caerleon, indignantly. “I won’t hear the girl slandered, but I can’t even make out whether I like her or not. She says the most appalling things in the coolest voice, and then apologises.”

“Well,” said Cyril, getting near the door, “when a man goes out to think about a girl, and wastes two hours of his valuable time in trying to decide whether he likes her or not, and then comes back without having found out, it looks as though he was pretty far gone already.” And Cyril quitted the room in a hurry, dexterously avoiding the boot which Caerleon hurled at him.