Parlous Times: A Novel of Modern Diplomacy

"Yes, yes, of course," said the Marchioness. "Mr. Stanley told me. He's such a nice young fellow. We often see him at our house. I take quite an interest in him. And how pleasantly he is situated, too. Diplomacy is such a delightful profession. But then" – and here she sighed gently – "like other delightful things in this world it must require a very long purse."

If Madame Darcy had had any knowledge of English manners and customs, the Dowager's method of attack would have put her on her guard at once. But being totally unversed in the ways of British matrimonial diplomacy, she took the Marchioness' remarks to mean nothing more than an expression of kindly interest in the young man's welfare, and did not hesitate to inform her that the Secretary was amply able to afford any position he chose to take.

"Oh, yes," said the Dowager. "His father's greatly interested in sugar, I believe. Or is it salt? I am very ignorant about these matters. Which do you grow in your country?"

Madame Darcy repressed a smile and informed her guest that Mr. Stanley's father grew sugar, and was one of the most wealthy planters in that section of the world.

"Well, I must be going now," said the Marchioness. "I have had such a pleasant little chat, and I shall certainly ask Mrs. Roberts to call on you."

"Oh, pray don't," returned Madame Darcy. "That is – excuse me, I did not mean to be rude – but I have come down here for absolute rest, and do not feel in the mood for any gaiety."

"I quite understand," said the Dowager, "and will respect your feelings. Indeed, I will not mention having met you at all, and then no one need be the wiser. No, thanks. I shall be quite able to go by myself. Perhaps we may meet again in London. You must ask Mr. Stanley to bring you to call on me. Such a nice young fellow! He ought to be married to keep him out of mischief." And the Marchioness returned to her room to complete her headache.

Scarcely fifteen minutes had elapsed since the Dowager's departure, when, just by accident, Stanley strolled by, and lifting his eyes caught sight of Madame Darcy's face at the cottage window.

"What!" he exclaimed. "You here!" and stood silent a moment as a wave of feeling rushed over him, the first pleasure of seeing her sad sweet face being swept away by consternation at the thought of how she had played into her husband's hands by following him to this place.

She read what was in his mind, saying, with that charming accent which appealed to him so strongly:

"You should not express your thoughts so clearly in your face. You are thinking – but it is not of me – it is of yourself – in this part of the world men think only of themselves – in my country they think of us." And she gave a sigh.

"You are, what you English call 'put out' at my coming – you think it will compromise you – strange country where the men consider that they will be compromised. You do not think of me, not one little bit – eh? I am right?"

"I'm afraid so," he said. "You see, nowadays, chivalry doesn't exist far north or south of the equator."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"I carry my own climate, my own atmosphere," she said.

The Secretary bowed.

"No? You are not convinced? I had thought better of you."

"You see," he said, feeling it wiser to be blunt, feeling that he must, if possible, bring this wayward, entrancing, fantastic creature within the limits of practical common sense. "You see, your precious husband has been making trumped-up charges against me, on your account, which are highly unpleasant."

"He is a beast!"

"Quite so, but as far as circumstantial evidence goes, he has some cause on his side. Your arrival at my private apartments in London was most unfortunate; but your following me here was simply the worst sort of foolishness."

The Secretary was aggrieved and showed it; but the result of his plaint was most unexpected.

His fair companion sprang to her feet and gave him a flashing glance, that startled him out of the fancied security of his egotism.

"I come here to follow you! How dare you?"

"Oh, I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to be rude, really; but I naturally inferred – "

"No!" she cried. "Why should I come for you? – Bah! I come for her!"

"For whom?"

"For her," she cried, pointing towards the Hall.

"For her?" inquired Stanley, somewhat dazed by this unexpected change of base. "But who is she?"

"I do not know. I do not care; but she writes to my husband – she makes appointments with him."

"Oh, the nameless friend."

"Now you understand why I have come?"

"Yes, I see. Still I think it lays you open to misconstruction. You had better return to London. I suppose you know you were followed to my house?"

She snapped her fingers airily.

"I care just that for being followed. What of it?"

"My dear Inez, you forget that you're not in our native country. We can't fight duels galore in this part of the world, and cut the throats of inconvenient witnesses. People will talk; there are the newspapers; and – the dowagers; and the nonconformist conscience to be considered. You don't know what you are letting me – I mean yourself, in for."

"I tell you, I must confirm my suspicions. I must see your – what you call it – your visitors' book – which they have in great houses – I must compare the handwriting of the guests with the handwriting of these letters. When I have proved my case I will return to London – not one moment before. You are my friend, you will help me."

"Of course I will help you; but I assure you there is no one in the house who could be suspected for a moment."

"At least, you will help me to prove myself wrong?" and she shot at him one of those unsettling glances.

"Of course – with all my heart – and then you'll go back to London and take Mr. Sanks' advice, won't you?"

"You are very anxious to have me go," she said, piqued.

"No, no!" he assured her hastily. "Far from it; but can't you see – that it is for your sake that I urge it. Supposing anyone saw us now; what would they think, what could they think – an early morning rendezvous."

"They would say that you were making a report to me of your progress in discovering the plot against the treaty between England and our country."

He looked at her dumbfounded and said nothing. Indeed there was nothing he could say without risking some imprudent disclosure.

"Ah," she cried, laughing merrily at his discomfiture. "You see, you diplomats do not know everything. It is true I only write supervised letters home, but that does not prevent my receiving letters from my country first hand, and my father has written much about this treaty. It seems they are going to try and bribe the Senators to defeat it, with money raised here, and some cowardly scoundrel has been engaged as go-between."

Stanley stood looking at her in horrified astonishment. Was it possible that if she knew so much she did not know that she was condemning her own husband? But her next words proved to him that such must be the case.

"My father writes me," she continued, "that on proving the identity of this go-between, the success or failure of the plot depends, and so far, the government have been at a loss to identify him."

The Secretary, who held the key to the situation, could see excellent reasons why the Executive had kept Señor De Costa in the dark; what Madame was saying was evidently what everybody knew. Of the truth she had not the remotest inkling.

"Well," she cried gaily, "why don't you speak?"

"I have nothing to say," he replied.

"Diplomatic to the end, I see," she retorted. "But you can't expect to share my confidences unless you give me yours. Now tell me, have you discovered any of the conspirators yet?"