Her Majesty's Minister Part 30

"What! return to Paris at once?"

"Yes," I replied. "It is an order from the Chief. There's a train to London at 9:50, I think. I must not fail to catch that."

I had not kissed her, and I saw that she was somewhat puzzled by my coolness. Did the fact that I had let myself out by the dining-room window give her any clue to the reason why I had chosen that mode of egress?

"I thought you would remain here with us at least to-day," she pouted.

"That's the worst of diplomacy. You never seem to know what you may do next."

We were standing alone in the dining-room, where breakfast was already laid and the copper kettle was hissing above the spirit-lamp. As Aunt Hetty had not entered, it was upon the tip of my tongue to charge Edith with that clandestine meeting; yet if I did so, I reflected, a scene would certainly be created. Aunt Hetty would first be scandalised and afterwards wax indignant, while my departure would doubtless be fraught with considerable unpleasantness. Therefore I resolved to keep my anger within my heart, and on my return to Paris to write a letter of explanation to this smiling, bright-faced woman who had thus played me false.

"You cannot tell how wretched I am at the thought of your departure, Gerald," she said, her dark eyes suddenly grave and serious. "Each time we part I always fear that we shall not meet again."

I smiled, rather bitterly, I think, and uttered some weak plat.i.tude without appearing to be much interested. Then with a quick movement she took my hand, but next instant was compelled to drop it, for Miss Foskett entered suddenly, and, after an explanation of my unexpected call by telegram, we seated ourselves and breakfasted.

As the woman I had so dearly loved sat opposite me I saw that she was strangely nervous and agitated, and that she was eager to question me; but with feigned indifference I chatted and laughed with the punctilious old spinster until the boy brought round the pony-trap and it was time for me to depart for Fakenham, where I could join the express for London.

Edith drove me to the station, but, the boy being with us, she could say nothing confidential until we were walking together upon the platform.

Then, looking at me in strange eagerness, she suddenly asked:

"Gerald, tell me why you are so cold towards me this morning? You were so different yesterday. Have I displeased you?"

"Yes," I said in a hard voice, "you have."

"How?" she gasped, laying her gloved hand upon my arm and stopping short.

I was silent. Should I tell her, or should I say nothing about my knowledge of her perfidy?

"Why do you not speak?" she urged. "Surely if I have caused you pain I ought to know the reason!"

"You know the reason," I answered in a mechanical voice, regarding her coldly.

"No, I do not."

"In this matter it is entirely unnecessary to lie to me, Edith," I said; "I am aware of the truth."

"The truth? What truth?"

"That you do not love me," I said hoa.r.s.ely.

At that instant the train rushed into the station, and my voice was almost drowned by the noise of the escaping steam. As I thought she deserved to suffer, I was not sorry for the interruption.

"Gerald!" she cried, gripping me by the hand, "what are you saying?

What have I done?"

"It is enough," I answered, my voice broken by emotion, which I could no longer suppress, for my heart was at that moment bursting with grief.

"Good-bye;" and turning, I raised my hat and stepped into the empty compartment, in which a porter had placed my bag.

In an instant she was leaning in at the doorway, imploring me to tell her the truth. But I evaded her questions.

The guard came and closed the door.

"Gerald!" she cried, bursting into tears, "tell me why you treat me thus when I love you so dearly! It is cruel! You cannot guess how deeply I have suffered these two hours! Will you not kiss me once before you go?" and she raised her white face to the window with an imploring expression.

"No," I said, "I cannot, Edith."

"You refuse to kiss me this once--for the last time?" she wailed.

"Yes," I answered in a strained voice. "If you desire to know the reason of this refusal you will discover it when you reflect upon your actions of last night."

"What!" she gasped, pale to the lips. "_You saw him_!"

"Yes," I answered gravely, "I saw him."

Then the train moved off, leaving her standing there pale and rigid; and without further glance at the blanched but beautiful face which only twelve hours ago I had believed to be the open countenance of the purest and sweetest woman on earth, I flung myself back into the corner, plunged in my own bitter reflections. I had told her the ghastly truth, and we had parted. Edith Austin, whom I had hoped to make my wife, was lost to me for ever.

At midday I wearily ascended the great marble staircase at the Foreign Office, those stairs which every diplomatist in London climbs, and in the corridor met Boyd, one of the Marquess's private secretaries, who informed me that a meeting of the Cabinet was being held, and that his lordship had left instructions that I was to wait until he returned, when he would give me a despatch to carry at once to Paris.

So, accompanied by Boyd and my friend Thorne, of the Treaty Department, I strolled along Parliament Street and lunched at the Ship, that old coffee-house frequented by Foreign Office and other officials. In the days before I received my appointment abroad I used to lunch there regularly, and as I entered I found many of my old colleagues at the tables.

After an hour I returned to Downing Street, and went up to the Foreign Secretary's private room. He was seated at his great table at the farther end of the sombre, green-painted apartment, the windows of which looked down upon the silent courtyard, where the cooing pigeons strut undisturbed. Upon his grey, refined face was an intensely anxious look, and by the nervous manner in which he toyed with his quill as he acknowledged my salutation I knew that the subject discussed by the Cabinet had been a momentous one. The meeting had been specially and unexpectedly convened, and I had heard below that during its sitting several despatches had been exchanged over the private wire to Windsor, facts which in themselves were sufficient to show that some complication had arisen, and that the lines of British policy had been discussed and submitted to the Sovereign for approbation.

"You are returning to Paris this afternoon, Mr. Ingram?" said the Marquess. "I am just writing a private despatch to Lord Barmouth, which must be placed in his hands at the earliest possible moment. The instructions contained in it are secret--you understand?"

"I shall deliver it, I hope, before eleven o'clock this evening," I said.

"Good," he answered approvingly; and while I walked to the window and looked out upon the courtyard, the great statesman continued tracing the cipher upon the large sheet of blue despatch-paper with his creaking quill. I glanced at a newspaper to while away the time, until presently one of the secretaries entered, prepared the taper and wax, and I watched the Marquess affix the five seals upon the envelope, impressing his own arms with the large old fob seal which he wore upon his watch-guard. He affixed the last seal, held the envelope for a few moments in order that the wax should set, then handed it to me, saying:

"Remember, Ingram, none of our friends across the Channel must be allowed to get sight of this. It is entirely confidential. Please ask Lord Barmouth to telephone me to-night an acknowledgment of its safe receipt."

"Certainly," I answered, placing it in my pocket. I then bowed, and wished the Minister good-day.

"Good-day," he said, smiling pleasantly, "and a pleasant journey to you, Ingram."

Then I withdrew, and drove in a cab to the club. Arrived there, I placed the despatch in my belt next my skin, and, taking my bag, went down to Charing Cross and caught the tidal train.

The journey was uneventful, the pa.s.sage smooth, and about eleven o'clock that night I mounted the stairs of the Emba.s.sy in Paris, and went to his lordship's private room. He was alone, enjoying a final cigar before turning in, and was surprised at my sudden return. I quickly explained the reason, and taking off my belt in his presence handed him the despatch.

Having a.s.sured himself that the seals were all intact, he broke them, and, taking it at once to the bureau, I got for him the key of the private cipher used only for the confidential despatches, written by the hand of the Prime Minister to the representatives abroad. Then, standing underneath the tall lamp, the Amba.s.sador slowly deciphered it.

What he read caused him serious reflection, judging from the manner in which his countenance changed. Then, taking a match from his pocket, he crossed to the grate, lit the paper at the corner, and held it until it was all consumed.

The nature of that confidential communication none knew save the Cabinet in London and the Amba.s.sador himself. That it was extremely important was certain, and I felt confident that some decision had been arrived at which would materially affect the European situation.

After telephoning an acknowledgment of the despatch to Downing Street, we returned together to the smoke-room, where I drank a whisky and soda, and then, lighting a cigar, left the Emba.s.sy and drove to my own rooms, wearied out after the journey.

At noon next day, when I went round to the Rue du Faubourg St. Honore, Harding, the footman, met me in the hall, saying:

"His Excellency has just telephoned to you. He wishes to see you immediately."