My First Diplomatic Mission

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

MY FIRST DIPLOMATIC MISSION.

By E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM.

Illustrated by A. Forestier.

 

"DON'T hurry, Charlie. I want you for a minute or two. The billiard match can wait."

Rather reluctantly I resumed my seat and refilled my glass. A tête-à-tête with my uncle after dinner was wont to be somewhat wearisome, and my saucy little cousin's challenge, as I had held the door open for her a moment before, was decidedly more tempting. Still, was not my uncle also my guardian and a Cabinet Minister, and was not I his paid secretary? And there being no alternative save compliance, I obeyed and waited in silence, mildly wondering whether anything had happened in the House that afternoon which he purposed to communicate to me, or whether I was doomed to an hour or two's somewhat prosy meanderings about things in general.

An unusually long silence rather stimulated my curiosity. Perhaps Kruger had dined with Chamberlain, or Salisbury gone over to the Rads. Something must have happened, I concluded, noting my uncle's thoughtful countenance, and I hinted at my growing curiosity by a gentle cough.

My uncle rose to the hint. "Charlie," he said abruptly, "could you go abroad to-morrow—to Rome?"

I stared at him in amazement, with my glass suspended midway between the table and my lips. Go to Rome to-morrow, with the London Season at its height! What could the old buffer mean?

"Rome!" I repeated feebly, setting my glass down, and inserting the wrong end of my cigar between my teeth. "Ugh! I beg your pardon. Certainly I could, if it were necessary."

My uncle bit his lip, but, leaning over the table towards me, went on seriously, "Take another cigar and listen to me. I have been with Dash this afternoon, and he agrees with me that someone must leave to-morrow for Rome with most important despatches for Sir Henry Odell. I mentioned your name—recommended you, in fact. Dash had no objection, so long as I vouched for your discretion, which I ventured to do. But remember, Charlie, the matter is an extremely important one, and we do not care for even the barest rumour of your mission to get about. And there must not be a second's delay. You must travel night and day until you reach Rome. A good deal hangs upon your zeal and discretion in this matter, and, unimportant though your part in it may be, do it well, and it will be a start for you."

Needless to say I was delighted with the mission, and swore to myself and to my uncle that I would be as discreet as Disraeli, and as swift as steamboat and express trains would allow me. Another thought, too, filled me with pleasurable anticipations of my coming journey. For had not Sir Henry Odell, grizzled old baronet, carried away from me my first sweetheart, pretty Nellie Aveland, the rector's only daughter down at Whilton, my old home, and had I not often wished to see her again? Poor little Nellie! Could I ever forget her, as in our last stolen interview she had flung her little white arms around my neck, and, with her large, innocent blue eyes filled with tears, had sobbed out that, though her parents insisted upon her marriage with the old baronet, her heart was always mine? How delightful to think that I should see her again so soon!

At noon on the following morning I was on the platform at Charing Cross, with a small portmanteau in my hand, my sole luggage, and in due course I crossed the Channel, journeyed through the mighty tunnel, and found myself careering down through Italy, within a few hours of my destination. At L—— there was a brief halt for refreshments, and, carrying with me my portmanteau (I knew too much of railway travelling in Italy to leave it in the carriage), I formed one of the mob of hungry and thirsty travellers who besieged the refreshment-rooms.

At the door of the room I had a great surprise. I caught sight of a figure which struck me at once as being familiar, and my heart gave a sudden leap, half of astonishment, half of pleasure, for when I reached the entrance I stood face to face with Nellie.

"Lady Odell!" I exclaimed, and, with a violent start, she turned round and recognised me.

"Charlie!" and the look in her eyes, as well as her tone, fulfilled my most sanguine expectations. I was not forgotten.

"You here?" she went on in astonishment; "and carrying your own luggage, too, like a veritable Cook's tourist! Where on earth are you going to?"

"To Rome. And you?"

"Also to Rome." She had gone to L—— to see an old schoolfellow off to England, and was alone, except for her maid. She was waiting for a parcel—a letter, in fact—which she had promised to deliver for her friend in Rome, and could not leave till the next train. It was only an hour's delay, and it was a faster train. Of course I would wait for her?

I hesitated, and, alas! yielded. An hour could make no difference, and, besides, it would be too late to see Sir Henry that night. Yes, I would wait, and, amid a shower of eager questions, I watched the train glide off to Rome without me.

We stood talking for about half an hour, and then she stopped a porter and asked a question. She appeared perplexed at his reply; he repeated it, and passed on, and she looked up at me with a gesture of annoyance. She had been misinformed. There was no other train to Rome until 6.30 in the morning. Whatever should we do? and she looked up half-piteously, half-comically.

My first impulse was one of decided anger, and a very British oath escaped through my teeth. But how could I be angry with her? And, after all, it could make no real difference. I had travelled all the way without an hour's real repose, and a night's sleep would do me no harm; and so I determined to make the best of it, and console my companion in misfortune, consolation which she needed very little, however, and indeed, somewhat to my surprise, she seemed inclined to regard the contretemps as a capital joke. There was but one decent hotel in the place, we learnt, and there I proposed leaving her and her maid, while I sought quarters elsewhere.

But to this she strongly objected.

"You silly goose, Charlie," she laughed; "we are not in England, you know, and you forget I have Hannah here with me. There isn't the least necessity for you to run away, unless you want to."

Needless to say I did not run away. We dined alone, and lingered long over the meal, and until late in the evening, full of reminiscences of our childhood and barely veiled allusions to that other period of our life, and even that parting in the old rectory garden. We lived the old days over again, and never in those times had I found Nellie Aveland so fascinating and bewitching as Lady Odell now was. She seemed scarcely changed at all, except that her figure was improved and her face just a trifle thinner and paler. But her tones had never been more tender or her manner more captivating, and I began to fear that unless I was very careful indeed I should make a fool of myself, for Lady Odell was fully as attractive to me now as had been Nellie Aveland in the not very distant past. After a while our conversation gradually drifted into things of the present, and with some little importance in my tone I told her of my mission to her husband. She laughed merrily and clapped her hands.

"Fancy you, Charlie, a special envoy! Do let me look at your despatches!"

I shook my head. "Quite impossible!" I declared, in an official tone as near as possible a counterpart of my worthy uncle's.

She fairly screamed with laughing.

"Why, Charlie, I don't believe you've got any!" she cried. "You're only hoaxing me. Why, you couldn't get a despatch-box in that little portmanteau!"

I undid the strap and held out a long black ebony case with silver knobs at each end.

"What a funny box for despatches, Charlie!"

"They're generally used at the F. O. now," I replied carelessly.

This was a most atrocious fib. The fact was, my despatches consisting only of one short letter, I had not been provided with a despatch-box. The long black case was the exact facsimile of one in which I generally kept my shaving implements, and which was now reposing at the bottom of my portmanteau. I had bought the pair at a shop in Bond Street only a week or two before, meaning to present them to my cousin for glove-boxes, but for some reason or other never did so. The one came in so nicely for my shaving things, and the other had caught my eye when glancing around for something in which to keep my precious document, and, attracted by its official-looking appearance, I had utilised it for that purpose.

"I wonder whether there is anything important in that letter," she remarked meditatively, after a short pause. "Nothing to call us back to England, I hope, Charlie; I hate England!"

I expressed my total ignorance of the contents of the letter.

"You could not expect me to divulge them even to you, Nellie," I added somewhat reprovingly, but she was silent.

It was very late before we said good-night, but at last Nellie rang for her maid and left me.

"Shall Hannah see about your bag being sent up?" she asked carelessly, as she rose to go.

"No, thanks. When will you remember, Nellie, that a special envoy never lets his despatches out of his sight?" I added, laughing.

"Well, just as you like," she said. "Good-night."

It was not long before I also retired; but not feeling in the least sleepy, and finding a very comfortable lounge in my room, I lit a cigar and sat up for a while. The hotel seemed quite quiet; apparently everybody else had long ago retired. I was rather startled, therefore, when all of a sudden I heard a light footstep pass along the corridor and halt outside my room. I listened for a moment, and then, without quitting my position, shouted out, "Who's there?" No answer, no sound of retreating footsteps. Very strange, I thought, and, moving across the room, opened my door and looked out. Not a soul was in sight. I shut my door and very soon dismissed the circumstance from my mind. Someone, no doubt, retiring late had lost his way, and had paused to read the number over my door, and as I was beginning to feel sleepy, I slowly undressed and got into bed, and very soon was fast asleep. Scarcely half an hour could have passed when I awoke with a slight start and an indefinable sense of something being wrong. The moment I opened my eyes and looked around I saw to what I owed my awakening. The door of the room stood wide open and a woman was standing just inside, with her back to me, holding a shaded lamp in her hand. My first impulse, and I very nearly yielded to it, was to jump out of bed; my next to lie quite still and watch the figure through half-closed eyes. She was standing nearly in the middle of the room, looking eagerly around, and with a start, which very nearly betrayed me, I recognised Nellie, with a white, scared look on her face. I could scarcely believe that it was not a dream, but I held my breath and waited. Suddenly she seemed to discover the whereabouts of what she sought, and with a rapid gliding movement she drew near the dressing-table and caught up a long black case which lay there. She tried to open it, but it was locked. Then she secreted it in her dress, and turning rapidly round—so rapidly that I only just had time to close my eyes—she glided softly out of the room and shut the door.

I sat up in bed and held my head in a maze of bewilderment. Then the thing grew clear to me, and I smiled as I felt under my pillow and drew out my despatch-box with the precious letter inside. Of course I could see how it was now. Nellie had always been an inveterate practical joker, and she had no doubt hit upon the idea of making off with my despatches, and herself conveying them to her husband. But I shouted with laughter until the old bed grew creaky, and the shaky mahogany poles rattled, as I reflected that she had made off with my razor-case, and as it was locked she would not, in all probability, discover the mistake until she presented it to Sir Henry. Sleep now was out of the question, so I rose, smoked another cigar, read for awhile in the grey dawn, and then made an elaborate toilet, minus the shave, and descended into the breakfast-room. As I expected, "Madame" had left by the early train, and there was a note for me. I tore it open.

 

"Dear Charlie,—I think, perhaps, that I had better not be seen travelling in Rome with you alone, at such an unearthly hour, so I am going on by the early train. How I envy you in the express! You will reach Rome only half an hour later. Shall see you this afternoon, I suppose. Yours,

'Nellie."

 

I smiled; nay, I laughed many times during the consumption of my matutinal meal, to the great surprise of the waiter, who seemed astonished to see an Englishman indulge in such unseemly, and, apparently, causeless mirth. In due course I arrived in Rome and drove straight to the Embassy. Business first, I thought, and presented my letter, rather surprised that Sir Henry did not greet me with a burst of merriment. He was very courteous, though, and affable; but as I watched him read, although he had never been a friend of mine, I was greatly grieved to see how bowed down and ill he looked, and an idea which had occurred to me, that this letter concerned his resignation, was confirmed. He read it through slowly and then folded it up.

"Has Lady Odell returned?" I burst out.

To my astonishment. Sir Henry drew himself up and flashed a haughty glance upon me.

"Sir?" he said, in a tone of stern interrogation.

I stammered and then hastened to explain, but my tale seemed to amuse him very little.

"You have had a very narrow escape, sir," he said quietly. "Lady Odell left me a fortnight ago."

"Left you?" I repeated, in an idiotic manner.

"Yes," he went on, in a low tone and with averted head; "her conduct has repeatedly been a source of annoyance to me, and, recently, has been such as to make her the talk of Rome. A fortnight ago she left me. Rumour asserts that she is—is under the protection of a certain Signer Tubelli, the Secretary for Foreign Affairs here. I have taken the necessary steps to procure a divorce. You have had a very narrow escape, sir; Tubelli is a dangerous man, and would give much to learn the contents of this letter," and he touched it lightly with his forefinger. "Let us change the subject."

I left Rome the next day on very good terms with Sir Henry, but Nellie I did not meet again. I wonder whether Signor Tubelli uses my razors?