August passed slowly but gaily in lazy Leghorn. The town lay white
beneath the fiery sun-glare through those blazing, breathless hours; the
cloudless sky was of that intense blue which one usually associates with
Italy, and by day the deserted Passeggio of tamarisks and ilexes, beside
the most waveless sea, was for ever enlivened by the chirp of that
unseen harbinger of heat, the cicale. Soon, however, the season waned,
the stormy libeccio blew frequently, rendering outdoor exercise
impossible; but Charles Armytage still lingered on at Gemma's side,
driving with her in the morning along the sea-road to Ardenza and
Antignano, or beyond as far as the high-up villa in which lived and died
Smollet, the English historian, or ascending to the venerated shrine of
the Madonna of Montenero, where the little village peeps forth white and
scattered on the green hill-side overlooking the wide expanse of glassy
sea. Their afternoons were usually spent amid the crowd of chatterers
at Pancaldi's baths, and each evening they dined together at one or
other of the restaurants beside the sea.
One morning late in September, when Armytage's coffee was brought to his
room at the Grand Hotel, the waiter directed his attention to an
official-looking note lying upon the tray. He had just risen, and was
standing at the window gazing out upon the distant islands indistinct in
the morning haze, and thinking of the words of assurance and affection
his well-beloved had uttered before he had parted from her at the door,
after the theatre on the previous night. Impatiently he tore open the
note, and carelessly glanced at its contents. Then, with an expression
of surprise, he carefully re-read the letter, saying aloud--
"Strange! I wonder what he wants?"
The note was a formal one, bearing on a blue cameo official stamp the
superscription, "British Consulate, Leghorn," and ran as follows:--
"Dear Sir,--
"I shall be glad if you can make it convenient to call at the Consulate
this morning between eleven and one, as I desire to speak to you upon an
important and most pressing matter.
"Yours faithfully,--
"John Hutchinson, His Majesty's Consul."
"Hutchinson," he repeated to himself. "Is the Consul here called
Hutchinson? It must be the Jack Hutchinson of whom Tristram spoke. He
called him `jovial Jack Hutchinson.' I wonder what's the `pressing
matter'? Some infernal worry, I suppose. Perhaps some dun or other in
town has written to him for my address."
He paused, his eyes fixed seriously upon the distant sea.
"No!" he exclaimed aloud at last. "His Majesty's Consul must wait.
I've promised to take Gemma driving this morning."
Presently, when he had shaved, and assumed his suit of cool white ducks,
the official letter again caught his eye, and he took it up.
"I suppose, after all, it's only decent behaviour to go round and see
what's the matter," he muttered aloud. "Yes, I'll go, and drive with
Gemma afterwards."
Then he leisurely finished his toilet, strolled out into the Viale, and
entering one of the little open cabs, was driven rapidly to the wide,
handsome Piazza Vittorio Emanuele, where on the front of a great old
galazzo at the further end were displayed a flagstaff surmounted by the
English crown and an escutcheon of the British Royal arms. A tall,
well-built, fierce moustached Italian _concierge_, who looked as if he
might once have been an elegant gendarme of the Prince of Monaco,
inquired his business, and took his card into an inner room on the
right, the private office of the Consul.
After the lapse of a few minutes the _concierge_ returned, and with
ceremony ushered him into the presence of the representative of the
British Foreign Office.
The room was large, lofty, and airy, with windows overlooking the great
Piazza, the centre of Livornese life. The furniture was antique and
comfortable, and testified to the taste of its owner; the writing-table
littered with documents clearly proved that the office of Consul at
Leghorn was no sinecure, and the book-cases were stocked with
well-selected and imposing works of reference. Over the fireplace hung
a large steel engraving of His Majesty, and on the mantelshelf some
signed portraits of celebrities.
"You've enjoyed your stay in Leghorn, I hope," the Consul observed
rather stiffly, after inviting his visitor to a seat on the opposite
side of the table.
"Very much," Armytage answered, sinking into the chair.
"You'll excuse me for one moment," the Consul said; and scribbling
something he touched the bell, and the _concierge_ summoned the
Vice-Consul, a slim, tall young Englishman, to whom he gave some
directions.
Contrary to Charles Armytage's expectations, Mr Consul Hutchinson had,
notwithstanding his professional frigidity and gravity of manner, the
easy-going, good-natured bearing of the genial man of the world. He was
a fair, somewhat portly man, comfortably built, shaven save for a small,
well-trimmed moustache, the very picture of good health, whose face
beamed with good humour, and in every line of whose countenance was
good-fellowship portrayed.
There were few skippers up or down the Mediterranean--or seamen, for the
matter of that--who did not know Consul Hutchinson at Leghorn, and who
had not at some time or another received little kindnesses at his hands.
From "Gib." to "Constant." Jack Hutchinson had the reputation of being
the best, most good-natured, and happiest of all His Majesty's Consuls,
devoted to duty, not to be trifled with certainly, but ever ready to
render immediate assistance to the Englishman in difficulties.
"Well," he exclaimed, looking across at Armytage at last, when they were
alone again, "I am glad you have called, because I have something to
communicate in confidence to you."
"In confidence?" Armytage repeated, puzzled.
Mr Consul Hutchinson, still preserving his professional air of dignity
as befitted his office, leaned one elbow upon the table, and looking
straight into his visitor's face, said--
"The matter is a purely private, and somewhat painful one. You will, I
hope, excuse what I am about to say, for I assure you it is in no spirit
of presumption that I venture to speak to you. Remember, you are a
British subject, and I am here in order to assist, sometimes even to
advise, any subject of His Majesty."
"I quite understand," Armytage said, mystified at the Consul's rather
strange manner.
"Well," Hutchinson went on slowly and deliberately, "I am informed that
you are acquainted with a lady here in Leghorn named Fanetti--Gemma
Fanetti. Is that so?"
"Certainly. Why?"
"How long have you known her? It is not out of idle curiosity that I
ask."
"Nearly seven months."
"She is Florentine. I presume you met her in Florence?"
"Yes."
"Were you formally introduced by any friend who knew her?"
"No," he answered, after slight hesitation. "We met quite casually."
"And you followed her here?"
"No. We met here again accidentally. I had no idea she was in Leghorn.
Since our first meeting I have been in London several months, and had
no knowledge of her address," he replied.
"And you are, I take it, in ignorance of her past?" Hutchinson said.
Armytage sat silent for a few moments, then quickly recovering himself
said a trifle haughtily--
"I really don't think I'm called upon to answer such a question. I
cannot see any reason whatever for this cross-examination regarding my
private affairs."
"Well," the Consul exclaimed seriously, "the reason is briefly this. It
is an extremely painful matter, but I may as well explain at once. You
are known by the authorities here to be an associate with this lady--
Gemma Fanetti."
"What of that?" he cried in surprise.
"From what I can understand, this lady has a past--a past which the
police have investigated."
"The police? What do you mean?" he cried, starting up.
"Simply this," answered the Consul gravely. "Yesterday I received a
call from the Questore, and he told me in confidence that you, a British
subject, were the close associate of a lady whose past, if revealed,
would be a startling and unpleasant revelation to you, her friend. The
authorities had, he further said, resolved to order her to leave
Leghorn, or remain on penalty of arrest; and in order that you, an
English gentleman, might have time to end your acquaintance, he
suggested that it might be as well for me to warn you of what the police
intended doing. It is to do this that I have asked you here to-day."
Armytage sat pale, silent, open-mouthed.
"Then the police intend to hound the Signorina Fanetti from Leghorn?" he
observed blankly.
"The Italian police possess power to expel summarily from a town any
person of whom they have suspicion," the Consul replied calmly.
"But what do they suspect?" he cried, bewildered. "You speak as if she
were some common criminal or adventuress."
"I have, unfortunately, no further knowledge of the discovery they have
made regarding her. It must, however, be some serious allegation, or
they would not go the length of expelling her from the city."
"But why should she be expelled?" he protested angrily. "She has
committed no offence. Surely there is some protection for a defenceless
woman!"
Hutchinson raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders, an expressive
gesture one soon acquires after residence in Italy.
"The Questore has supreme power in such a matter," he said. "He is a
very just and honourable official, and I'm sure he would never have
taken these steps to avoid you disgrace if there were not some very
strong reasons." Charles Armytage, leaning upon the edge of the
Consul's table, held down his head in deep contemplation.
"Then to-morrow they will order her to quit this place?" he observed
thoughtfully. "It's unjust and brutal! Such treatment of a peaceful
woman is scandalous!"
"But remember you've admitted that you have no knowledge of her past,"
Hutchinson said. "Is it not possible that the police have discovered
some fact she has concealed from you?"
"It's an infernal piece of tyranny!" Armytage cried fiercely. "I
suppose the police have fabricated some extraordinary allegations
against her, and want money to hush it up. They want to levy
blackmail."
"No, no," Jack Hutchinson said, his manner at once relaxing as he rose
and crossed to the window, his hands behind his back. "The position is
a simple one," he continued, looking him straight in the face. "The
police have evidently discovered that this lady is either not what she
represents herself to be, or that some extraordinary mystery is attached
to her; therefore cut her acquaintance, my dear sir. Take my advice.
It will save you heaps of bother."
"I can't," the other answered hoarsely. "I'll never forsake her!"
"Not if she's hounded from town to town by the police, like this?"
"No. I love her," he replied brokenly.
Hutchinson sighed. A silence fell between them deep and complete.
At last the Consul spoke in a grave tone. His professional air had
relaxed, as it always did when he desired to assist an Englishman in
distress.
"Before you love her," he suggested, "would it not be as well to ask her
what chapter of her life she has concealed? If she really loves you,
she will no doubt tell you everything. Is it not an excellent test?"
"But that will not alter the decision of the Questore." Armytage
observed woefully.
"No, that's true. The lady must leave Leghorn this evening. Take my
advice and part from her," he added sympathetically. "In a few weeks
you will forget. And if you would spare her the disgrace of being sent
out of Leghorn, urge her to leave of her own accord. If you will pledge
your word that she shall leave to-day, I will at once see the Questore,
and beg him to suspend the orders he is about to give."
"I love Gemma, and intend to marry her."
"Surely not without a very clear knowledge of her past?"
"Already I have decided to make her my wife," Armytage said, his face
set and pale. "What the police may allege will not influence me in any
way."
"Ah! I fear you are hopelessly infatuated," Hutchinson observed.
"Yes, hopelessly."
"Then I suppose you will leave Leghorn with her? That she must go is
absolutely imperative. In that case if I may advise you, I should
certainly not only leave Leghorn, but leave Italy altogether."
"What!" he cried indignantly. "Will the police of Milan or Venice act
in the same cowardly way that they have done here?"
"Most probably. When she leaves, the police will without doubt take
good care to know her destination, and inform the authorities of the
next town she enters. Your only plan is to leave Italy."
"Thanks for your advice," the other replied in a despondent tone.
"Loving her as I do, what you have just told me, and what you have
hinted, have upset me and destroyed my peace of mind. I fear I'm not
quite myself, and must apologise for any impatient words I have used. I
shall act upon your suggestion, and leave Italy." Then he paused, but
after a few moments raised his head, saying--
"You have been good enough to give me friendly advice upon many points;
may I encroach upon your good nature still further? Tell me, do you
think it wise to acquaint her with the facts you have told me?"
Hutchinson looked at the man before him, and saw how hopelessly he was
in love. He had seen them driving together, and had long ago noticed
how beautiful his companion was.
"No," he answered at last. "If you intend to marry her, there is really
no necessity for demanding an immediate explanation. But as soon as you
are out of Italy, and you have an opportunity, I should certainly invite
her to tell you the whole truth."
Then, after some further conversation, the two men shook hands, and
Charles Armytage slowly made his way downstairs and out across the wide,
sunlit Piazza.
From the window Consul Hutchinson watched his retreating figure, and
noticed how self-absorbed he was as he strode along. His heart had gone
out to sympathise in this brief interview, and a strong desire came upon
him to help and protect the lonely Englishman. "Poor devil!" he
muttered, "he's badly hit, and I fear he has a troublous time before
him. I wish to God I could help him."