"The Countess Belvane," said an attendant, and her ladyship made a superb entry.
"Good morning, Countess," said Hyacinth.
"Good morning, your Royal Highness. Ah, Wiggs, sweet child," she added carelessly, putting out a hand to pat the sweet child's head, but missing it.
"Wiggs was just telling me a story," said the Princess.
"Sweet child," said Belvane, feeling vaguely for her with the other hand. "Could I interrupt the story with a little business, your Royal Highness?"
At a nod from the Princess, Wiggs withdrew.
"Well?" said Hyacinth nervously.
Belvane had always a curious effect on the Princess when they were alone together. There was something about her large manner which made Hyacinth feel like a schoolgirl who has been behaving badly: alarmed and apologetic. I feel like this myself when I have an interview with my publishers, and Roger Scurvilegs (upon the same subject) drags in a certain uncle of his before whom (so he says) he always appears at his worst. It is a common experience.
"Just one or two little schemes to submit to your Majesty," said the Countess. "How silly of me—I mean, your Royal Highness. Of course your Royal Highness may not like them at all, but in case your Royal Highness did, I just—well, I just wrote them out."
She unfolded, one by one, a series of ornamental parchments.
"They are beautifully written," said the Princess.
Belvane blushed at the compliment. She had a passion for coloured inks and rulers. In her diary the day of the week was always underlined in red, the important words in the day's doings being frequently picked out in gold. On taking up the diary you saw at once that you were in the presence of somebody.
The first parchment was headed:
SCHEME FOR ECONOMY IN REALM
"Economy" caught the eye in pale pink. The next parchment was headed:
SCHEME FOR SAFETY OF REALM
"Safety" clamoured to you in blue.
The third parchment was headed:
SCHEME FOR ENCOURAGEMENT OF LITERATURE IN REALM
"Encouragement of Literature" had got rather cramped in the small quarters available for it. A heading, Belvane felt, should be in one line; she had started in letters too big for it, and the fact that the green ink was giving out made it impossible to start afresh.
There were ten parchments altogether.
By the end of the third one, the Princess began to feel uncomfortable.
By the end of the fifth one she knew that it was a mistake her ever having come into the Royal Family at all.
By the end of the seventh she decided that if the Countess would forgive her this time she would never be naughty again.
By the end of the ninth one she was just going to cry.
The tenth one was in a very loud orange and was headed:
SCHEME FOR ASSISTING CALISTHENICS IN REALM
"Yes," said the Princess faintly; "I think it would be a good idea."
"I thought if your Royal Highness approved," said Belvane, "we might just―"
Hyacinth felt herself blushing guiltily—she couldn't think why.
"I leave it to you, Countess," she murmured. "I am sure you know best."
It was a remark which she would never have made to her Father.
Chapter V
Belvane Indulges Her Hobby
In a glade in the forest the Countess Belvane was sitting: her throne, a fallen log, her courtiers, that imaginary audience which was always with her. For once in her life she was nervous; she had an anxious morning in front of her.
I can tell you the reason at once. Her Royal Highness was going to review her Royal Highness's Army of Amazons (see Scheme II, Safety of Realm). In half an hour she would be here.
And why not? you say. Could anything be more gratifying?
I will tell you why not. There was no Army of Amazons. In order that her Royal Highness should not know the sad truth, Belvane drew their pay for them. 'Twas better thus.
In any trouble Belvane comforted herself by reading up her diary. She undid the enormous volume, and, idly turning the pages, read some of the more delightful extracts to herself.
"Monday, June 1st," she read. "Became bad."
She gave a sigh of resignation to the necessity of being bad. Roger Scurvilegs is of the opinion that she might have sighed a good many years before. According to him she was born bad.
"Tuesday, June 2nd," she read on. "Realised in the privacy of my heart that I was destined to rule the country. Wednesday, June 3rd. Decided to oust the Princess. Thursday, June 4th. Began ousting."
What a confession for any woman—even for one who had become bad last Monday! No wonder Belvane's diary was not for everybody. Let us look over her shoulder and read some more of the wicked woman's confessions.
"Friday, June 5th. Made myself a―" Oh, that's quite private. However we may read this: "Thought for the week. Beware lest you should tumble down In reaching for another's crown." An admirable sentiment which Roger Scurvilegs would have approved, although he could not have rhymed it so neatly.
The Countess turned on a few more pages and prepared to write up yesterday's events.
"Tuesday, June 23rd," she said to herself. "Now what happened? Acclaimed with enthusiasm outside the Palace—how do you spell 'enthusiasm'?" She bit the end of her pencil and pondered. She turned back the pages till she came to the place.
"Yes," she said thoughtfully. "It had three 's's' last time, so it's 'z's' turn."
She wrote "enthuzziazm" lightly in pencil; later on it would be picked out in gold.
She closed the diary hastily. Somebody was coming.
It was Wiggs.
"Oh, if you please, your Ladyship, her Royal Highness sent me to tell you that she would be here at eleven o'clock to review her new army."
It was the last thing of which Belvane wanted reminding.
"Ah, Wiggs, sweet child," she said, "you find me overwhelmed." She gave a tragic sigh. "Leader of the Corps de Ballet"—she indicated with her toe how this was done, "Commander–in–Chief of the Army of Amazons"—here she saluted, and it was certainly the least she could do for the money, "Warden of the Antimacassars and Grand Mistress of the Robes, I have a busy life. Just come and dust this log for her Royal Highness. All this work wears me out, Wiggs, but it is my duty and I do it."
"Woggs says you make a very good thing out of it," said Wiggs innocently, as she began to dust. "It must be nice to make very good things out of things."
The Countess looked coldly at her. It is one thing to confide to your diary that you are bad, it's quite another to have Woggsseses shouting it out all over the country.
"I don't know what Woggs is," said Belvane sternly, "but send it to me at once."
As soon as Wiggs was gone, Belvane gave herself up to her passions. She strode up and down the velvety sward, saying to herself, "Bother! Bother! Bother! Bother!" Her outbreak of violence over, she sat gloomily down on the log and abandoned herself to despair. Her hair fell in two plaits down her back to her waist; on second thoughts she arranged them in front—if one is going to despair one may as well do it to the best advantage.
Suddenly a thought struck her.
"I am alone," she said. "Dare I soliloquise? I will. It is a thing I have not done for weeks. 'Oh, what a―" She got up quickly. "Nobody could soliloquise on a log like that," she said crossly. She decided she could do it just as effectively when standing. With one pale hand raised to the skies she began again.