The Foreign Minister was down with the gout. For a week he had been
confined to the house, and he had missed two Cabinet Councils at a time
when the pressure upon his department was severe. It is true that he
had an excellent undersecretary and an admirable staff, but the
Minister was a man of such ripe experience and of such proven sagacity
that things halted in his absence. When his firm hand was at the wheel
the great ship of State rode easily and smoothly upon her way; when it
was removed she yawed and staggered until twelve British editors rose
up in their omniscience and traced out twelve several courses, each of
which was the sole and only path to safety. Then it was that the
Opposition said vain things, and that the harassed Prime Minister
prayed for his absent colleague.
The Foreign Minister sat in his dressing-room in the great house in
Cavendish Square. It was May, and the square garden shot up like a
veil of green in front of his window, but, in spite of the sunshine, a
fire crackled and sputtered in the grate of the sick-room. In a
deep-red plush armchair sat the great statesman, his head leaning back
upon a silken pillow, one foot stretched forward and supported upon a
padded rest. His deeply-lined, finely-chiselled face and slow-moving,
heavily-pouched eyes were turned upwards towards the carved and painted
ceiling, with that inscrutable expression which had been the despair
and the admiration of his Continental colleagues upon the occasion of
the famous Congress when he had made his first appearance in the arena
of European diplomacy. Yet at the present moment his capacity for
hiding his emotions had for the instant failed him, for about the lines
of his strong, straight mouth and the puckers of his broad, overhanging
forehead, there were sufficient indications of the restlessness and
impatience which consumed him.
And indeed there was enough to make a man chafe, for he had much to
think of and yet was bereft of the power of thought. There was, for
example, that question of the Dobrutscha and the navigation of the
mouths of the Danube which was ripe for settlement. The Russian
Chancellor had sent a masterly statement upon the subject, and it was
the pet ambition of our Minister to answer it in a worthy fashion.
Then there was the blockade of Crete, and the British fleet lying off
Cape Matapan, waiting for instructions which might change the course of
European history. And there were those three unfortunate Macedonian
tourists, whose friends were momentarily expecting to receive their
ears or their fingers in default of the exorbitant ransom which had
been demanded. They must be plucked out of those mountains, by force
or by diplomacy, or an outraged public would vent its wrath upon
Downing Street. All these questions pressed for a solution, and yet
here was the Foreign Minister of England, planted in an arm-chair, with
his whole thoughts and attention riveted upon the ball of his right
toe! It was humiliating--horribly humiliating! His reason revolted at
it. He had been a respecter of himself, a respecter of his own will;
but what sort of a machine was it which could be utterly thrown out of
gear by a little piece of inflamed gristle? He groaned and writhed
among his cushions.
But, after all, was it quite impossible that he should go down to the
House? Perhaps the doctor was exaggerating the situation. There was a
Cabinet Council that day. He glanced at his watch. It must be nearly
over by now. But at least he might perhaps venture to drive down as
far as Westminster. He pushed back the little round table with its
bristle of medicine-bottles, and levering himself up with a hand upon
either arm of the chair, he clutched a thick oak stick and hobbled
slowly across the room. For a moment as he moved, his energy of mind
and body seemed to return to him. The British fleet should sail from
Matapan. Pressure should be brought to bear upon the Turks. The
Greeks should be shown--Ow! In an instant the Mediterranean was
blotted out, and nothing remained but that huge, undeniable, intrusive,
red-hot toe. He staggered to the window and rested his left hand upon
the ledge, while he propped himself upon his stick with his right.
Outside lay the bright, cool, square garden, a few well-dressed
passers-by, and a single, neatly-appointed carriage, which was driving
away from his own door. His quick eye caught the coat-of-arms on the
panel, and his lips set for a moment and his bushy eyebrows gathered
ominously with a deep furrow between them. He hobbled back to his seat
and struck the gong which stood upon the table.
"Your mistress!" said he as the serving-man entered.
It was clear that it was impossible to think of going to the House.
The shooting up his leg warned him that his doctor had not
overestimated the situation. But he had a little mental worry now
which had for the moment eclipsed his physical ailments. He tapped the
ground impatiently with his stick until the door of the dressing-room
swung open, and a tall, elegant lady of rather more than middle age
swept into the chamber. Her hair was touched with grey, but her calm,
sweet face had all the freshness of youth, and her gown of green shot
plush, with a sparkle of gold passementerie at her bosom and shoulders,
showed off the lines of her fine figure to their best advantage.
"You sent for me, Charles?"
"Whose carriage was that which drove away just now?"
"Oh, you've been up!" she cried, shaking an admonitory forefinger.
"What an old dear it is! How can you be so rash? What am I to say to
Sir William when he comes? You know that he gives up his cases when
they are insubordinate."
"In this instance the case may give him up," said the Minister,
peevishly; "but I must beg, Clara, that you will answer my question."
"Oh! the carriage! It must have been Lord Arthur Sibthorpe's."
"I saw the three chevrons upon the panel," muttered the invalid.
His lady had pulled herself a little straighter and opened her large
blue eyes.
"Then why ask?" she said. "One might almost think, Charles, that you
were laying a trap! Did you expect that I should deceive you? You
have not had your lithia powder."
"For Heaven's sake, leave it alone! I asked because I was surprised
that Lord Arthur should call here. I should have fancied, Clara, that
I had made myself sufficiently clear on that point. Who received him?"
"I did. That is, I and Ida."
"I will not have him brought into contact with Ida. I do not approve
of it. The matter has gone too far already."
Lady Clara seated herself on a velvet-topped footstool, and bent her
stately figure over the Minister's hand, which she patted softly
between her own.
"Now you have said it, Charles," said she. "It has gone too far--I
give you my word, dear, that I never suspected it until it was past all
mending. I may be to blame--no doubt I am; but it was all so sudden.
The tail end of the season and a week at Lord Donnythorne's. That was
all. But oh! Charlie, she loves him so, and she is our only one! How
can we make her miserable?"
"Tut, tut!" cried the Minister impatiently, slapping on the plush arm
of his chair. "This is too much. I tell you, Clara, I give you my
word, that all my official duties, all the affairs of this great
empire, do not give me the trouble that Ida does."
"But she is our only one, Charles."
"The more reason that she should not make a mesalliance."
"Mesalliance, Charles! Lord Arthur Sibthorpe, son of the Duke of
Tavistock, with a pedigree from the Heptarchy. Debrett takes them
right back to Morcar, Earl of Northumberland."
The Minister shrugged his shoulders.
"Lord Arthur is the fourth son of the poorest duke in England," said
he. "He has neither prospects nor profession."
"But, oh! Charlie, you could find him both."
"I do not like him. I do not care for the connection."
"But consider Ida! You know how frail her health is. Her whole soul
is set upon him. You would not have the heart, Charles, to separate
them?"
There was a tap at the door. Lady Clara swept towards it and threw it
open.
"Yes, Thomas?"
"If you please, my lady, the Prime Minister is below."
"Show him up, Thomas."
"Now, Charlie, you must not excite yourself over public matters. Be
very good and cool and reasonable, like a darling. I am sure that I
may trust you."
She threw her light shawl round the invalid's shoulders, and slipped
away into the bed-room as the great man was ushered in at the door of
the dressing-room.
"My dear Charles," said he cordially, stepping into the room with all
the boyish briskness for which he was famous, "I trust that you find
yourself a little better. Almost ready for harness, eh? We miss you
sadly, both in the House and in the Council. Quite a storm brewing
over this Grecian business. The Times took a nasty line this morning."
"So I saw," said the invalid, smiling up at his chief. "Well, well, we
must let them see that the country is not entirely ruled from Printing
House Square yet. We must keep our own course without faltering."
"Certainly, Charles, most undoubtedly," assented the Prime Minister,
with his hands in his pockets.
"It was so kind of you to call. I am all impatience to know what was
done in the Council."
"Pure formalities, nothing more. By-the-way, the Macedonian prisoners
are all right."
"Thank Goodness for that!"
"We adjourned all other business until we should have you with us next
week. The question of a dissolution begins to press. The reports from
the provinces are excellent."
The Foreign Minister moved impatiently and groaned.
"We must really straighten up our foreign business a little," said he.
"I must get Novikoff's Note answered. It is clever, but the fallacies
are obvious. I wish, too, we could clear up the Afghan frontier. This
illness is most exasperating. There is so much to be done, but my
brain is clouded. Sometimes I think it is the gout, and sometimes I
put it down to the colchicum."
"What will our medical autocrat say?" laughed the Prime Minister. "You
are so irreverent, Charles. With a bishop one may feel at one's ease.
They are not beyond the reach of argument. But a doctor with his
stethoscope and thermometer is a thing apart. Your reading does not
impinge upon him. He is serenely above you. And then, of course, he
takes you at a disadvantage. With health and strength one might cope
with him. Have you read Hahnemann? What are your views upon
Hahnemann?"
The invalid knew his illustrious colleague too well to follow him down
any of those by-paths of knowledge in which he delighted to wander. To
his intensely shrewd and practical mind there was something repellent
in the waste of energy involved in a discussion upon the Early Church
or the twenty-seven principles of Mesmer. It was his custom to slip
past such conversational openings with a quick step and an averted face.
"I have hardly glanced at his writings," said he. "By-the-way, I
suppose that there was no special departmental news?"
"Ah! I had almost forgotten. Yes, it was one of the things which I
had called to tell you. Sir Algernon Jones has resigned at Tangier.
There is a vacancy there."
"It had better be filled at once. The longer delay the more
applicants."
"Ah, patronage, patronage!" sighed the Prime Minister. "Every vacancy
makes one doubtful friend and a dozen very positive enemies. Who so
bitter as the disappointed place-seeker? But you are right, Charles.
Better fill it at once, especially as there is some little trouble in
Morocco. I understand that the Duke of Tavistock would like the place
for his fourth son, Lord Arthur Sibthorpe. We are under some
obligation to the Duke."
The Foreign Minister sat up eagerly.
"My dear friend," he said, "it is the very appointment which I should
have suggested. Lord Arthur would be very much better in Tangier at
present than in--in----"
"Cavendish Square?" hazarded his chief, with a little arch query of his
eyebrows.
"Well, let us say London. He has manner and tact. He was at
Constantinople in Norton's time."
"Then he talks Arabic?"
"A smattering. But his French is good."
"Speaking of Arabic, Charles, have you dipped into Averroes?"
"No, I have not. But the appointment would be an excellent one in
every way. Would you have the great goodness to arrange the matter in
my absence?"
"Certainly, Charles, certainly. Is there anything else that I can do?"
"No. I hope to be in the House by Monday."
"I trust so. We miss you at every turn. The Times will try to make
mischief over that Grecian business. A leader-writer is a terribly
irresponsible thing, Charles. There is no method by which he may be
confuted, however preposterous his assertions. Good-bye! Read Porson!
Goodbye!"
He shook the invalid's hand, gave a jaunty wave of his broad-brimmed
hat, and darted out of the room with the same elasticity and energy
with which he had entered it.
The footman had already opened the great folding door to usher the
illustrious visitor to his carriage, when a lady stepped from the
drawing-room and touched him on the sleeve. From behind the
half-closed portiere of stamped velvet a little pale face peeped out,
half-curious, half-frightened.
"May I have one word?"
"Surely, Lady Clara."
"I hope it is not intrusive. I would not for the world overstep the
limits----"
"My dear Lady Clara!" interrupted the Prime Minister, with a youthful
bow and wave.
"Pray do not answer me if I go too far. But I know that Lord Arthur
Sibthorpe has applied for Tangier. Would it be a liberty if I asked
you what chance he has?"
"The post is filled up."
"Oh!"
In the foreground and background there was a disappointed face.
"And Lord Arthur has it."
The Prime Minister chuckled over his little piece of roguery.
"We have just decided it," he continued.
"Lord Arthur must go in a week. I am delighted to perceive, Lady
Clara, that the appointment has your approval. Tangier is a place of
extraordinary interest. Catherine of Braganza and Colonel Kirke will
occur to your memory. Burton has written well upon Northern Africa. I
dine at Windsor, so I am sure that you will excuse my leaving you. I
trust that Lord Charles will be better. He can hardly fail to be so
with such a nurse."
He bowed, waved, and was off down the steps to his brougham. As he
drove away, Lady Clara could see that he was already deeply absorbed in
a paper-covered novel.
She pushed back the velvet curtains, and returned into the
drawing-room. Her daughter stood in the sunlight by the window, tall,
fragile, and exquisite, her features and outline not unlike her
mother's, but frailer, softer, more delicate. The golden light struck
one half of her high-bred, sensitive face, and glimmered upon her
thickly-coiled flaxen hair, striking a pinkish tint from her
closely-cut costume of fawn-coloured cloth with its dainty cinnamon
ruchings. One little soft frill of chiffon nestled round her throat,
from which the white, graceful neck and well-poised head shot up like a
lily amid moss. Her thin white hands were pressed together, and her
blue eyes turned beseechingly upon her mother.
"Silly girl! Silly girl!" said the matron, answering that imploring
look. She put her hands upon her daughter's sloping shoulders and drew
her towards her. "It is a very nice place for a short time. It will
be a stepping stone."
"But oh! mamma, in a week! Poor Arthur!"
"He will be happy."
"What! happy to part?"
"He need not part. You shall go with him."
"Oh! mamma!"
"Yes, I say it."
"Oh! mamma, in a week?"
"Yes indeed. A great deal may be done in a week. I shall order your
trousseau to-day."
"Oh! you dear, sweet angel! But I am so frightened! And papa? Oh!
dear, I am so frightened!"
"Your papa is a diplomatist, dear."
"Yes, ma."
"But, between ourselves, he married a diplomatist too. If he can
manage the British Empire, I think that I can manage him, Ida. How
long have you been engaged, child?"
"Ten weeks, mamma."
"Then it is quite time it came to a head. Lord Arthur cannot leave
England without you. You must go to Tangier as the Minister's wife.
Now, you will sit there on the settee, dear, and let me manage
entirely. There is Sir William's carriage! I do think that I know how
to manage Sir William. James, just ask the doctor to step in this way!"
A heavy, two-horsed carriage had drawn up at the door, and there came a
single stately thud upon the knocker. An instant afterwards the
drawing-room door flew open and the footman ushered in the famous
physician. He was a small man, clean-shaven, with the old-fashioned
black dress and white cravat with high-standing collar. He swung his
golden pince-nez in his right hand as he walked, and bent forward with
a peering, blinking expression, which was somehow suggestive of the
dark and complex cases through which he had seen.
"Ah," said he, as he entered. "My young patient! I am glad of the
opportunity."
"Yes, I wish to speak to you about her, Sir William. Pray take this
arm-chair."
"Thank you, I will sit beside her," said he, taking his place upon the
settee. "She is looking better, less anaemic unquestionably, and a
fuller pulse. Quite a little tinge of colour, and yet not hectic."
"I feel stronger, Sir William."
"But she still has the pain in the side."
"Ah, that pain!" He tapped lightly under the collar-bones, and then
bent forward with his biaural stethoscope in either ear. "Still a
trace of dulness--still a slight crepitation," he murmured.
"You spoke of a change, doctor."
"Yes, certainly a judicious change might be advisable."
"You said a dry climate. I wish to do to the letter what you
recommend."
"You have always been model patients."
"We wish to be. You said a dry climate."
"Did I? I rather forget the particulars of our conversation. But a
dry climate is certainly indicated."
"Which one?"
"Well, I think really that a patient should be allowed some latitude.
I must not exact too rigid discipline. There is room for individual
choice--the Engadine, Central Europe, Egypt, Algiers, which you like."
"I hear that Tangier is also recommended."
"Oh, yes, certainly; it is very dry."
"You hear, Ida? Sir William says that you are to go to Tangier."
"Or any----"
"No, no, Sir William! We feel safest when we are most obedient. You
have said Tangier, and we shall certainly try Tangier."
"Really, Lady Clara, your implicit faith is most flattering. It is not
everyone who would sacrifice their own plans and inclinations so
readily."
"We know your skill and your experience, Sir William. Ida shall try
Tangier. I am convinced that she will be benefited."
"I have no doubt of it."
"But you know Lord Charles. He is just a little inclined to decide
medical matters as he would an affair of State. I hope that you will
be firm with him."
"As long as Lord Charles honours me so far as to ask my advice I am
sure that he would not place me in the false position of having that
advice disregarded."
The medical baronet whirled round the cord of his pince-nez and pushed
out a protesting hand.
"No, no, but you must be firm on the point of Tangier."
"Having deliberately formed the opinion that Tangier is the best place
for our young patient, I do not think that I shall readily change my
conviction."
"Of course not."
"I shall speak to Lord Charles upon the subject now when I go upstairs."
"Pray do."
"And meanwhile she will continue her present course of treatment. I
trust that the warm African air may send her back in a few months with
all her energy restored."
He bowed in the courteous, sweeping, old-world fashion which had done
so much to build up his ten thousand a year, and, with the stealthy
gait of a man whose life is spent in sick-rooms, he followed the
footman upstairs.
As the red velvet curtains swept back into position, the Lady Ida threw
her arms round her mother's neck and sank her face on to her bosom.
"Oh! mamma, you <i>are</i> a diplomatist!" she cried.
But her mother's expression was rather that of the general who looked
upon the first smoke of the guns than of one who had won the victory.
"All will be right, dear," said she, glancing down at the fluffy yellow
curls and tiny ear. "There is still much to be done, but I think we
may venture to order the trousseau."
"Oh I how brave you are!"
"Of course, it will in any case be a very quiet affair. Arthur must
get the license. I do not approve of hole-and-corner marriages, but
where the gentleman has to take up an official position some allowance
must be made. We can have Lady Hilda Edgecombe, and the Trevors, and
the Grevilles, and I am sure that the Prime Minister would run down if
he could."
"And papa?"
"Oh, yes; he will come too, if he is well enough. We must wait until
Sir William goes, and, meanwhile, I shall write to Lord Arthur."
Half an hour had passed, and quite a number of notes had been dashed
off in the fine, bold, park-paling handwriting of the Lady Clara, when
the door clashed, and the wheels of the doctor's carriage were heard
grating outside against the kerb. The Lady Clara laid down her pen,
kissed her daughter, and started off for the sick-room. The Foreign
Minister was lying back in his chair, with a red silk handkerchief over
his forehead, and his bulbous, cotton-wadded foot still protruding upon
its rest.
"I think it is almost liniment time," said Lady Clara, shaking a blue
crinkled bottle. "Shall I put on a little?"
"Oh! this pestilent toe!" groaned the sufferer. "Sir William won't
hear of my moving yet. I do think he is the most completely obstinate
and pig-headed man that I have ever met. I tell him that he has
mistaken his profession, and that I could find him a post at
Constantinople. We need a mule out there."
"Poor Sir William!" laughed Lady Clara. "But how has he roused your
wrath?"
"He is so persistent-so dogmatic."
"Upon what point?"
"Well, he has been laying down the law about Ida. He has decreed, it
seems, that she is to go to Tangier."
"He said something to that effect before he went up to you."
"Oh, he did, did he?"
The slow-moving, inscrutable eye came sliding round to her.
Lady Clara's face had assumed an expression of transparent obvious
innocence, an intrusive candour which is never seen in nature save when
a woman is bent upon deception.
"He examined her lungs, Charles. He did not say much, but his
expression was very grave."
"Not to say owlish," interrupted the Minister.
"No, no, Charles; it is no laughing matter. He said that she must have
a change. I am sure that he thought more than he said. He spoke of
dulness and crepitation, and the effects of the African air. Then the
talk turned upon dry, bracing health resorts, and he agreed that
Tangier was the place. He said that even a few months there would work
a change."
"And that was all?"
"Yes, that was all."
Lord Charles shrugged his shoulders with the air of a man who is but
half convinced.
"But of course," said Lady Clara, serenely, "if you think it better
that Ida should not go she shall not. The only thing is that if she
should get worse we might feel a little uncomfortable afterwards. In a
weakness of that sort a very short time may make a difference. Sir
William evidently thought the matter critical. Still, there is no
reason why he should influence you. It is a little responsibility,
however. If you take it all upon yourself and free me from any of it,
so that afterwards----"
"My dear Clara, how you do croak!"
"Oh! I don't wish to do that, Charles. But you remember what happened
to Lord Bellamy's child. She was just Ida's age. That was another
case in which Sir William's advice was disregarded."
Lord Charles groaned impatiently.
"I have not disregarded it," said he.
"No, no, of course not. I know your strong sense, and your good heart
too well, dear. You were very wisely looking at both sides of the
question. That is what we poor women cannot do. It is emotion against
reason, as I have often heard you say. We are swayed this way and
that, but you men are persistent, and so you gain your way with us.
But I am so pleased that you have decided for Tangier."
"Have I?"
"Well, dear, you said that you would not disregard Sir William."
"Well, Clara, admitting that Ida is to go to Tangier, you will allow
that it is impossible for me to escort her?
"Utterly."
"And for you?
"While you are ill my place is by your side."
"There is your sister?"
"She is going to Florida."
"Lady Dumbarton, then?"
"She is nursing her father. It is out of the question."
"Well, then, whom can we possibly ask? Especially just as the season
is commencing. You see, Clara, the fates fight against Sir William."
His wife rested her elbows against the back of the great red chair, and
passed her fingers through the statesman's grizzled curls, stooping
down as she did so until her lips were close to his ear.
"There is Lord Arthur Sibthorpe," said she softly.
Lord Charles bounded in his chair, and muttered a word or two such as
were more frequently heard from Cabinet Ministers in Lord Melbourne's
time than now.
"Are you mad, Clara!" he cried. "What can have put such a thought into
your head?"
"The Prime Minister."
"Who? The Prime Minister?"
"Yes, dear. Now do, do be good! Or perhaps I had better not speak to
you about it any more."
"Well, I really think that you have gone rather too far to retreat."
"It was the Prime Minister, then, who told me that Lord Arthur was
going to Tangier."
"It is a fact, though it had escaped my memory for the instant."
"And then came Sir William with his advice about Ida. Oh! Charlie, it
is surely more than a coincidence!"
"I am convinced," said Lord Charles, with his shrewd, questioning gaze,
"that it is very much more than a coincidence, Lady Clara. You are a
very clever woman, my dear. A born manager and organiser."
Lady Clara brushed past the compliment.
"Think of our own young days, Charlie," she whispered, with her fingers
still toying with his hair. "What were you then? A poor man, not even
Ambassador at Tangier. But I loved you, and believed in you, and have
I ever regretted it? Ida loves and believes in Lord Arthur, and why
should she ever regret it either?"
Lord Charles was silent. His eyes were fixed upon the green branches
which waved outside the window; but his mind had flashed back to a
Devonshire country-house of thirty years ago, and to the one fateful
evening when, between old yew hedges, he paced along beside a slender
girl, and poured out to her his hopes, his fears, and his ambitious.
He took the white, thin hand and pressed it to his lips.
"You, have been a good wife to me, Clara," said he.
She said nothing. She did not attempt to improve upon her advantage.
A less consummate general might have tried to do so, and ruined all.
She stood silent and submissive, noting the quick play of thought which
peeped from his eyes and lip. There was a sparkle in the one and a
twitch of amusement in the other, as he at last glanced up at her.
"Clara," said he, "deny it if you can! You have ordered the trousseau."
She gave his ear a little pinch.
"Subject to your approval," said she.
"You have written to the Archbishop."
"It is not posted yet."
"You have sent a note to Lord Arthur."
"How could you tell that?"
"He is downstairs now."
"No; but I think that is his brougham."
Lord Charles sank back with a look of half-comical despair.
"Who is to fight against such a woman?" he cried. "Oh! if I could send
you to Novikoff! He is too much for any of my men. But, Clara, I
cannot have them up here."
"Not for your blessing?"
"No, no!"
"It would make them so happy."
"I cannot stand scenes."
"Then I shall convey it to them."
"And pray say no more about it--to-day, at any rate. I have been weak
over the matter."
"Oh! Charlie, you who are so strong!"
"You have outflanked me, Clara. It was very well done. I must
congratulate you."
"Well," she murmured, as she kissed him, "you know I have been
studying a very clever diplomatist for thirty years."