A Cabinet Secret

"Poor fellow!" said the Countess, still in the same even voice. "I hope it will not prejudice you against me, but I cannot help feeling a little sympathy for people – however misguided they may be – who imperil their own safety for the sake of bringing about what they consider the ultimate happiness of others."

Then, as though the matter no longer interested her, she returned to the perusal of her paper. Her cousin had all this time been drumming with his fingers in an impatient manner, so I thought, upon the glass of the window beside which he sat. For my own part, I scarcely knew what to make of this young man. Though he did not show it openly, I could not help thinking that he was jealous of the attention I was paying his fair cousin. As the idea crossed my mind I remembered the previous afternoon, when I had sat in the portico of the hotel, speculating as to the nationality and lives of the people about me. How little I had thought then that twenty-four hours later would find me seated with them in an English railway carriage, discussing the fortune of another man with whom neither I, nor they, for the matter of that – at least, so I then supposed – had even the remotest connection.

It was not until we were approaching the end of our journey that I spoke to my vis-à-vis concerning her stay in London.

"We shall in all probability remain in London for some three or four months," she said. "I hope, if you can spare the time, that you will call upon me. I have taken Wiltshire House, by the way, and shall be most pleased to see you."

I must confess that her announcement caused me a considerable amount of surprise. All things considered, it was rather a strange coincidence, for, only that morning, I had received a letter from my sister Ethelwyn, who, as you are doubtless aware, is the Countess of Brewarden, in which occurred the following significant passage (Ethelwyn, I might here remark, is somewhat given to the florid style): —

"Existence is now altogether a blank! the dream of my life – Wiltshire House – has vanished. Some rich foreigner has taken it, and in consequence George (my brother-in-law) and I have quarrelled desperately. He declares it is a good thing it is let, as he couldn't think of it. He moreover avers that it would cost a king's ransom to keep up. Nevertheless, I shall detest the foreigner whoever she or he may be."

I can scarcely say how I derived the impression, but, until that moment, I had not supposed my fair friend to be the possessor of any great wealth. It was the more surprising, therefore, to hear that she was not only a rich woman, but also that she was to be the temporary mistress of one of the most beautiful and expensive dwellings in the Metropolis. Needless to say, I did not let her become aware of the surprise she had given me, but contented myself with thanking her and expressing the hope that shortly I should be able to do myself the honour of calling upon her.

"You won't allow your public duties to make you forget your promise to come and see me, I hope," said the Countess, as we shook hands.

"You may be quite sure that I shall not," I replied.

"Then, au revoir, and many thanks for the kindness you have shown us."

"It has given me the greatest possible pleasure," I answered, and, as I said it, I had a guilty remembrance of my uncharitable feelings that morning, when I had discovered that my privacy was destined to be disturbed. Yet so pleasantly had the time passed, that I felt as if I had known the Countess for years instead of hours.

When I reached my house it was to find everything just as I had left it. A cheerful fire blazed in my study, the latest evening papers lay, cut and folded, upon a table beside my favourite chair; a subdued light shone above the table in the dining-room adjoining, and everything denoted the care and comfort which a master possessing good servants has a right to expect. Having removed the stains of travel, and changed my attire, I sat down to dinner, afterwards spent an hour skimming my correspondence, then, to fill up the time, I ordered a cab and drove to my favourite Club.

Though I had only been absent from England a short time, and had not been further than Paris, I discovered that I had a vast amount of news to hear. Men imparted their information to me as if I had that day returned from Central Africa or the Australian Bush. Young Paunceford, the member for Banford, for which place his father had sat before him, was good enough to give me his views on the Crisis. His complaint was that no one would listen to him, and, in consequence, he was only too glad to find some one who required bringing up to date. That I happened to be a Cabinet Minister as well as an old friend made no sort of difference.

"By Jove, I envy you," he said, as he lit a fresh cigar. "I can tell you, if you play your cards carefully, you'll be no end of a swell over this business. Why on earth couldn't I have had such an opportunity?"

"For the simple reason that you know too much, my boy," said a man in the Guards, who happened to be sitting near. "Haven't you heard that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing? They know Manderville's safe on a secret, so they gave him the job. What's the use of a secret unless there's some mystery about it. By the way, talking of mysteries, what's this about Wiltshire House? Somebody tells me that it has been let to the prettiest woman in Europe. Do any of you know anything about her?"

Paunceford was as well informed upon this as upon all other subjects.

"Of course," he replied; "the news is as old as the hills. I heard it from Bill Kingsbury, who was in the agent's shop, or office – whatever they call it – when the business was being arranged. But it's all nonsense about her being the prettiest woman in Europe. Hailed from Jamaica, I believe; has to own to curly hair and to just one touch of the tar-brush."

"Paunceford seems to know all about her," said another man. "He always is well informed, however, upon any matter, whatever it may be. If there's going to be a war the House ought to vote a sum sufficient to send him out, in order that he may keep the Authorities posted on the progress of affairs. You've missed your vocation, Paunceford; you'd make an ideal War Correspondent."

"Too much imagination," said the man in the Guards; "military matters must be taken seriously. But nobody has answered my question yet. Who is this lady who has taken Wiltshire House?"

"I have already told you," said Paunceford sulkily. "I never came across such a set of unbelievers."

"Elderly, coloured, and of West Indian origin?" said the Guardsman. "It doesn't sound well."

I could stand it no longer.

"For goodness sake," I put in, "don't go about the town spreading that report. I assure you Paunceford is, as usual, altogether out of it."

"How do you know that?" asked Paunceford suspiciously.

"Because I happen to have had the good-fortune to travel with the lady from Paris to-day," I replied, with just that little touch of satisfaction the position warranted.

"And yet you kept quiet about it," said another man. "Well, you are a reticent beggar, I must say. Don't you know this has been one of the mysteries of the town. My goodness, man, you shan't escape from this room until you have told us all about her! Who is she? What is she? What is her name? How much money has she? Above all, is she pretty?"

"She is the Countess de Venetza," I replied. "Italian, I should say; rich – since she has taken Wiltshire House; and as for her personal appearance – well, when you see her, you will be able to judge of that for yourselves."

"Excellent!" said the Guardsman. "I prefer Manderville's report to yours, Paunceford. Is she married?"

"A widow, I fancy," I replied.

"Still better! If she is kind to me I will make her reputation, and Wiltshire House shall be the smartest caravansérai in London. Not shooting in your wood, Manderville, I hope?"

"I wish to goodness you men wouldn't spend your time so much in inventing new slang," I answered. "But some of you seem to have nothing else to do. Now that I have satisfied your curiosity, I shall go home to bed. The early bird catches the early news. In these days one lives for the morning papers."

Paunceford saw another opportunity.

"Talking of morning papers – " he began, but before he had finished the sentence I had left the room.

Being tired when I reached home I went straight to bed. Remembering my experience of the previous night, I was determined that this one should make up for it. To my disappointment, however, I discovered that, tired though I was, sleep would not visit my eyelids. I was as wide awake when I had been two hours in bed as I was when I entered my room. Once more, as on the previous night, I was haunted with the remembrance of the Countess's eyes; do what I would, I could not get them out of my mind. Tired at last of tumbling and tossing, and thoroughly angry with myself, and the world in general, I rose, donned a dressing-gown, and went into the small study that adjoins my bedroom. The fire was not quite extinguished, and with some little coaxing I was able to induce it to burn again. Taking a book I drew up my chair, seated myself in it, and tried to read. I must have done so to some purpose, for after a time I fell asleep. Possibly it may have been due to the fact that I had had no rest on the previous night, and that my mind was naturally much occupied with the gravity of England's situation, and the part I had to play in the coming strife; at any rate, my dreams were not only vivid but decidedly alarming. I dreamt that I was in a transport en route to the Cape, and that the vessel struck a rock, and sank with all the troops on board. There was no time to get out the boats, and, in company with some hundreds of others, I was precipitated into the water. While we were still struggling with the waves, a life-boat made her appearance, and, to my intense astonishment, standing in the bows was no less a person than the Countess De Venetza. What was stranger still, she carried in her hand a heavy spear, or harpoon, with which, whenever a drowning man approached the boat, she stabbed him in the back, laughing as she did so. Then, by means of that wonderful mechanical ingenuity with which the theatres of the land of dreams are furnished, the scene changed to a lonely plain at the foot of a rugged mountain-range. A battle had been fought upon it, and the dead and wounded still lay where they had fallen. So real did it appear to me, that when I recognised here and there the faces of friends, I found myself wondering what I should say to their loved ones when I returned to England. Suddenly, in the weird light, for the moon was shining above the mountain-peaks, there appeared from among the rocks on the further side of the plain a woman, whose face I instantly recognised. With stealthy steps she left her hiding-place and descended to where the wounded lay thickest. In her hand she carried the same spear that I remembered in my previous dream, and with it she stabbed every man who remained alive. So terrible was the expression upon her face as she did so, that I turned away from her in loathing and disgust. When I looked again she was bending over the body of a man who still lived, but who was bleeding from a deep wound in his side. Picture my consternation when I discovered that he was none other than the Guardsman who had been so persistent in his inquiries that night concerning her. As I watched, for I was unable to move hand or foot to save him, a low moan escaped his lips, followed by an appeal for water. With the same expression of fiendish rage upon her face that I had noticed before, she raised the spear, and was about to plunge it into his breast, when with a cry I awoke, to find the sun streaming into the room, and my respectable Williams standing before me.

"Good gracious, Williams, how you startled me!" I said. "What on earth am I doing here? Ah, I remember! I could not sleep, so I came in to get a book. I suppose I must have fallen asleep over it. What news is there this morning?"

There was an air of mystery about Williams that I knew heralded the announcement of some extraordinary information.

"Yes, sir," he said, "there is some important news. The papers do say that 'War is declared.'"

CHAPTER III

During the week which followed my return to London, events followed thick and fast upon each other. The now famous Ultimatum issued by the enemy, though surprising enough at the time, was not altogether unexpected. Its presumptuous tone, however, was the cause of general comment. As a matter of fact, it was not until it became known that the enemy, instead of waiting to be attacked in their own territory, had invaded that of Her Majesty the Queen, that the first feeling of amazement changed to one of anger, and, if the truth must be told, to one of no little anxiety. Our Force at the front was well known to be inadequate, and, as we had the best of reasons for being aware, a considerable time would have to elapse before it would be possible for it to be supplemented.

In my new capacity as a member of the Cabinet, my knowledge of the country in which we were about to fight stood me in good stead; consequently, I was kept busily employed after my return to England. The situation, as I have already said, was one of considerable anxiety, but as soon as it was announced that that popular soldier, Sir William Woller, had been selected to proceed to the South, in order to take up the Chief Command, the public fears were in a great measure allayed. With perhaps but three exceptions, no more popular choice could have been made, and I do not think I am breaking faith with my colleagues when I say that we were all agreed upon this point. The decision was arrived at on Wednesday afternoon, and orders were issued that the General in question should sail from Southampton on the following Saturday. On the Friday morning he was to be present at an important Council at the War Office; in the afternoon he was to be received in Audience at Windsor, and at eleven o'clock on Saturday morning he was due to leave Waterloo for Southampton Docks.

Now, Woller and I had been friends for many years, and immediately his appointment was made known, I hastened to write him a letter of congratulation. In it I said that if he should have sufficient time at his disposal to allow me a chance of seeing him, before he left London, I should like to shake him by the hand and wish him God-speed. He replied to the effect that he would be dining with the Commander-in-Chief on Friday evening, and informed me that I was to be one of the party. In confirmation of this the next post brought me an invitation which I hastened to accept.

In due course Friday evening arrived, and the appointed hour found me at the Commander-in-Chief's residence in Bruton Street. I had already been informed that it was to be quite a small and friendly affair – as a matter of fact, the guest of the evening, myself, and two other friends, constituted the party. I was the first to arrive, Sir George Brandon followed me, Berkeley Burroughes came next, and as soon as he had put in an appearance, we only required Woller to make the number complete. He was late, however. Eight o'clock struck, and still there was no sign of him. Our host, in apologising for the delay, reminded us that, owing to the multitudinous claims upon Sir William's time, it might be impossible for him to avoid being just a little late. When, however, the clock upon the mantel-piece stood at half-past eight, we began to look at each other and to wonder what could have become of him. At last the Commander-in-Chief was unable to bear the suspense any longer.

"If you will excuse me," he said, "I will telephone to his house, and find out at what time he left there. Woller is such a punctual man that this delay is, to say the least of it, extraordinary."

He left the room, and during his absence we kept up that desultory kind of conversation with which one endeavours to cover the uneasiness caused by the non-arrival of an anticipated guest. A few moments later the Commander-in-Chief returned with a puzzled expression upon his face.

"It becomes more inexplicable every minute," said he. "From what I can gather Woller has not been seen at his house since he left it for Windsor. It is really most singular, and I am at a loss to know what construction to put upon it. However, if you have no objection, we will give him another quarter of an hour's grace, and if he is not here then, go into dinner."

We waited the allotted time with what patience we could command, and when it had expired, left the drawing-room and proceeded to the dining-room, where we sat down to the long-delayed meal.

I cannot pretend for a moment that the meal was a success. The non-appearance of our old friend, the man who on the morrow was to leave England on one of the most important errands she has ever intrusted to a son, sat like a wet blanket upon us. If at the last moment he had been prevented from coming, how was it that he had not sent a note of apology and explanation to his host? Had he met with an accident, or been taken suddenly ill, he would at least have given instructions that a telegram should be sent. Woller, as we were well aware, was the pink of politeness; he was also a strict disciplinarian, not only of others, but also of himself. That he would, therefore, have treated with discourtesy a man who besides being his senior officer was also his old friend, was the most unlikely thing in the world. There were special reasons that prevented us discussing the matter in all its bearings just then, but that we were all equally disquieted by his absence was quite certain. I was the first to leave the house, and I can remember that it was exactly a quarter past eleven when the front door closed behind me. Up to that moment no word of apology, excuse, or explanation had been received from the missing man.

"It's just possible that I may find a message from him awaiting me when I reach home," I said to myself as I took my place in my brougham.

I was destined to be disappointed, however.

There were several letters and two telegrams lying upon my table, but not one of any sort from Woller.