Mary of Marion Isle

Chapter XIV His Excellency

This terrible blow of the loss of all he loved fell on Andrew while he was still in office. What he suffered was known to God and himself alone, for of it he said no word to any human creature, and least of all to Clara. For a while he felt weak and ill and even hoped that he had contracted Janet's disease, against which he would take no precaution whatsoever. But that was not to be his fortune, since doctors rarely catch such ailments to which they seem to become inured. So the period of incubation went by and left him scatheless.

Andrew imagined that he had made acquaintance with grief when Rose betrayed him and even when his mother died, but now for the first time in his life he learned what sorrow can mean to man. Indeed, it was not sorrow he suffered, but mental agony of a sort which only those who are of a like nature and have endured it can appreciate. The thing was terrible to him; it was as though the heart had been torn out of his breast, leaving a void peopled by all the devils of torture. His mother's loss was one that after all must befall everyone in the course of time, and therefore of a sort that Nature knows how to assuage. His betrayal by a woman, bitter though it might be, was mingled with the passion of sex, and passion dies. Only the unworthiness of her that caused it remained in remembrance, with perchance some jealousy and wounded pride. But this anguish was different, far surpassing both. Not only was he the physical father of that child; he was also, as he believed with some mystic sense, the appointed means of drawing down its soul from heaven to the earth, and now heaven had taken it again and he was left desolate.

Always he had felt that it would be so: that this treasure was but lent to him for a little while. From day to day he had rejoiced that it still remained to him; yet looked forward from the sunlight of that presence into the advancing darkness of its loss, he who knew well that such communion was too holy and too perfect to endure upon the earth. And now, now the sword of Damocles had fallen, and what was left to him? He was sure, moreover, that this torment was not of a character that could pass away, or even become dim with the passage of time, which is so falsely said to heal all such hurts. He knew that it would but grow with the growing years; that never a day of his life could dawn in which his wound would not bleed afresh; hardly ever an hour would pass unhaunted by those sweet memories.

And yet, although all this was true enough, he did not foresee the balm which would be poured upon that wound. It never occurred to him to imagine that a time could come when he would rejoice that this sweet flower had been plucked from the gross soil of earth to grow and bloom eternally elsewhere in a realm of peace, even if this were named the Garden of Sleep. Nor did he foresee that far–of development, when night by night he would find himself in closer communion with this departed spirit which had left his arms unstained by any earthly vileness, than could possibly have chanced had it remained in this world. For then it would have grown up and grown away, and in the course of Nature have acquired an atmosphere and interests of its own. But now it was his and his only, or rather God's and his, and so must eternally remain. Yes, until the stars crumbled and grew again a thousand times, God and he were sole partners in its ownership, God from whom it came, and he to whom it had been given for a little while. No, he did not foresee these things, who as yet wandered only in the dark night of suffering, and wherever his blind eyes stared caught no hint of distant dawn.

For the rest, Andrew went on with his work, to all appearance unaltered, except that perhaps he was a little more distrait than he had been. He never spoke of the child; indeed, unless he was driven to it, her name never crossed his lips, although his heart repeated it with every beat. Least of all did he speak of her to Clara, the mother who bore her, though sometimes she would talk of their "lost darling" with a gentle and becoming sigh, and take the opportunity to add that never again could she face another trial of the sort. Then he would shrug his shoulders and say any banal thing that came to his lips about a play, or a picture, or a jewel, or whatever it might be. For of a truth he did not care. He wanted no more children. He desired that all the love of whatever kind he was capable should be concentrated in one tremendous and powerful ray, such as he hoped might pierce our surrounding darkness and find its object in the abysses of the Infinite. Afterwards he came to think differently on this matter under conditions that shall be told, but then it is one of the mercies of life that in it absolute consistency is scarcely possible. Moreover, for aught we know, these very seeming inconsistencies may be necessary to the building up of the perfect whole.

After Andrew left office his only resource was scientific research at his hospital and elsewhere. This he pursued with ardour and very considerable success, living in order to do so at greater convenience, much more at Justice Street than he did at Cavendish Square. Indeed, his name became well–known as that of a rising scientist, so much so that he was elected to a Fellowship of the Royal Society. Then, as usual, something happened to rob him of the fruits of his labour.

Clara saw no advantage, at any rate to herself, in such a career as that into which her husband seemed to be drifting. Andrew might be a clever man and a considerable authority upon germs and bacteriological problems, etc., but there were greater authorities than he whose names already filled the ears of a world that is not wildly interested in such matters. Of course, if he could make some startling discovery, such as an infallible cure for cancer, to take an example, it might be different, for then she would shine with a reflected light and assume a wonderful interest in cancer—at a distance. But as such an event seemed very problematical, really it was scarcely worth the attention of a practical person.

So she set her clever little brain to work in other directions. What could Andrew do which would bring him (and her) prominently before the world? As a politician he was a dead failure. If he started again in that walk of life, the end would be the same. Something would happen to offend his absurd susceptibilities, and he would throw it up and return to his horrible hospital and what were called "bugs."

One day she read in the paper that the Governor–Generalship of a great Dominion was falling vacant. This gave her an idea. Andrew, with her to help him and undertake the social side, would make an ideal Governor–General. A peer of undoubted ability with any amount of money at his back, who had been Under–Secretary for the Colonies—what could be more suitable? Of course he was indolent about things that did not attract him, but then one never knew, he might become interested in the country to which he was sent. And if he did not, it would matter little, since what the Home Government wanted was a figurehead who would not give them trouble or involve them in an awkward questions. Everything else could be managed by herself and a suitable staff.

Clara thought the business over; she always thought everything over very carefully indeed, having had frequent occasion to observe the bad results of giving way to impulse. What is more, she kept her inspiration strictly to herself; not one word did she breathe to anybody, least of all to Andrew, who, as she knew, would probably raise every sort of obstruction, or perhaps adopt some obstinate and mulish attitude. There was only one way to deal with Andrew, to rush him by means of a fait accompli. So she just went on thinking while she awaited an opportunity.

Very soon it came. They were bidden to a certain feast of the very elect, not a large feast, but one of the first water. At the last moment Andrew, in his provoking fashion, refused to go. He said that he had dined out three times that week, and had been so progressively bored that nothing would induce him to do so again. He said that it was absolutely necessary for him to be at his hospital at that particular hour, or at any rate at Justice Street. He said that he had an objection to parties in Lent which, being that way inclined, was perfectly true. Finally he said he was unwell, and that if this dinner were insisted upon, he should go to bed and stop there, at Justice Street for choice, whence he would telegraph a doctor's certificate. In short, on at least four different grounds he flatly refused to go, his real reason being that he knew a certain elevated lady was to be present, who once "when he had taken her in" at his own house had disgusted him by eating too much and becoming mildly inebriated and sentimental.

Clara was furious, but knowing when remonstrance was useless, gave way and telephoned excuse number three, namely, that Lord Atterton was too ill to come. Their prospective host, a genial person, expressed sorrow but said it didn't really matter as a lady had failed them also, that is if she would come as he hoped, since otherwise they would be thirteen at dinner. So Clara went to the party and Andrew, recovered from his ailments, passed a very pleasant and improving evening at Justice Street in the company of Mrs. Josky, Laurie, now grown into a young woman, and several bottles of germs, a trio that Clara icily described as "low company."

At dinner Clara sat next to a Distinguished Person who had much to do with Government patronage, and turned the conversation on to the subject of Andrew. Assuming the part of the anxious wife, she lamented his withdrawal from politics.

"Why," asked the Distinguished Person, "when he has got everything he wants, including―" and he glanced at Clara. "For my part I think he is jolly well right."

"I hate to see abilities wasted which ought to be employed in the service of the country," said Clara.

"Do you, my dear lady? Well, the country can get on without the abilities of most of us, of which I find that it needs continually to be reminded. But what do you want Atterton to do?"

"Well, if the House of Lords doesn't suit him, and I admit that he is no politician, he might serve the Empire abroad. For instance, as I speak it occurs to me that I have heard the Governor–Generalship of Oceania is falling vacant, and with his experience of Colonial affairs―" here she paused.

"Never mind his experience of Colonial affairs," replied the Distinguished Person, "what is wanted in Oceania are rank and money. Well, you have got plenty of both between you. But has anything of the sort occurred to him?"

"Of course not. Nothing ever does; he is quite content to drift."

"Sensible fellow! So would I be in his place. Besides, now I remember that it won't do. The P.M. wouldn't have it. You see, Garton must be provided for."

"Why is it necessary to provide for Lord Garton, who, I thought, had been making himself disagreeable to you of late?"

"For that very reason, my dear lady, because he must be got rid of. If Atterton wants to be Governor–General of Oceania, he had better make himself more disagreeable than Garton," and with a laugh the Distinguished Person turned to talk to his other neighbour.

"There's many a true word spoken in jest," reflected Clara to herself, as she did likewise.

More, she acted on the reflection. She was aware that within two days there would be a full–dress debate in the House of Lords upon one of the multifarious phases of the Irish Question. Also she knew that Andrew was bitterly opposed to the line of action the Government, of which he had been a junior member, proposed to take; in fact that he felt very strongly about it indeed, which was not usual for him on any public subject. So on the following day she drew attention to this topic, and affecting virtuous wrath said that she thought that now when his tongue was no longer tied, it was his duty to speak out upon the matter. Since the question was one of principle, for once Andrew agreed with her and replied that he would think the thing out and see what he could do.

He did think it out to some purpose, and what is more wrote down his reflections and committed them to his excellent memory. As a result, when the time came he delivered a most telling and incisive speech upon the Government proposals, which was commented on throughout the Empire, and very largely increased the adverse majority against them in the Lords. During the same debate, Garton, the man with whom he was in unconscious competition, thinking to advance his chances, uttered a feeble harangue on the Government side that was not even reported and made no sort of impression.

The Distinguished Person, who was also a peer and what is called a practical politician, listened to both speeches, and afterwards had a talk with his still more distinguished Chief.

"Garton has given himself away," he said, "and in face of his remarks, which are recorded in Hansard, if nowhere else, can't do us much harm for some time. Atterton, on the other hand, may become very dangerous. He is indolent, but he has lots of ability and what is more, people who count believe in him. They think him honest who resigned on a point of principle, and there is nothing against him."

"Two great assets," commented the other most Distinguished Person. "I am not sure that we allow enough weight to principle and honesty in politics. You know they tell in the long run with the voting public. But what's the point?"

"Only that on the whole I believe that it would be wise to give the Governor–Generalship of Oceania, not to Garton, but to Atterton, and so get rid of him out of the country. Once he was in the public service, there would be nothing more to fear from him. He has all the qualifications and lots of money; indeed, the only question is whether he might not be too able. A stupid man is safest, you know."

"Yes, that's true. And—does he want it?"

"I don't know, but his wife does, which is the same thing, for she sounded me. Also she is a very clever woman who would fill the bill."

"I think that's good enough," remarked the most Distinguished Person, and passed on to more important topics.

As a result of this conversation a few days later Andrew, to his great astonishment, received a personal communication so flattering in its terms that, metaphorically, it might have been soaked in melted butter, offering him the Governor–Generalship of Oceania, which it was hoped he would see his way to accept in the interests of the Empire.

"What's the matter?" asked Clara, who had wind of what was coming, and was consequently on the look out.

"Everything," he answered, and threw the letter across to her.

Clara picked it out of the cup of coffee into which it had fallen, and after wiping the paper perused its contents carefully.

"Well," she said, "of all the upsetting nuisances! Andrew, my dear, I am sorry for you, and for myself too for that matter."

"Why? One needn't go."

"That's the worst of it. I mean, Andrew, I am afraid that you must. You see, it is a matter of duty. You can guess where this command comes from, or at any rate I can if you are too innocent. Besides, the Empire wants you; you are so evidently the man."

"Confound the Empire!" said Andrew. "It would mean my giving up my work at the hospital to be a figurehead at the other end of the earth, which anyone can do," and he rose to go from the room, leaving his breakfast unfinished.

Clara, who was watching and had been prepared for this, slipped between him and the door, asking, "What are you going to do?"

"Write and decline, of course. Do you suppose I want to be called Your Excellency by a lot of scraping secretaries, and to have people get up whenever I come into a room, though it might appeal to you?"

"It would not appeal to me at all, Andrew, seeing that I should have to get up also. But for once in your life I beg you to listen to me. You have made a mess of politics, and there is your last chance of doing something useful in the world. For these offers are not repeated."

"I am doing something useful in my own way."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"If the public side of the matter does not appeal to you, Andrew, perhaps you will listen to a word on my own behalf. You will forgive me for saying that I feel myself to be a somewhat neglected woman. I know your thoughts are elsewhere than with your wife, directed towards those you have lost, living or dead. Of me you take little account. Yet I have perhaps some claim to consideration, and, since the rest has gone and I must be content with small things, it would please me, I confess, to be the property of a man who is of some account in his day. I have nothing more to say. Do what you choose, and be sure that you have no reproaches to fear from me."

Andrew returned to the table and made pretence to finish his breakfast. Then he went to the study and without another word of argument, wrote a brief acceptance of the high position with the offer of which he had been honoured. Bringing it to the conquering Clara, who was still breakfasting with a good appetite for, knowing Andrew, she knew also what would happen, he gave it to her to read, saying:

"There you are. Have your own way and let's cry quits for anything I've done, or left undone. But all the same," he added with conviction, "I believe this business will end badly for both of us, so if it does, don't blame me."

"Certainly I shall not; that's a bargain, Andrew, and I always keep bargains."

Then she read the letter with her usual care and though she would have liked to alter it, seeing that it contained all that was essential, thought it wisest not to suggest anything of the sort lest it should be rewritten in another sense.

"That will do very well, I think," she said. "I am driving past Downing Street presently on my way to the Stores, and I'll leave it. I suppose you are going to the hospital."

"Yes," he answered, "I must make the most of my time, like a man who is to be executed," and he went.

"Phew!" said Clara to herself, "that was a tough fight, but I have won it. It is quite easy to deal with Andrew if you only know how to appeal to his sense of duty and his better feelings, leaving out any allusion to his interest."

The consequences of this morning's work may be dealt with very briefly. In due course Andrew's appointment was announced and quite well received, since no one at home really cares who governs a great Dependency which, as is well known, in fact governs itself. Notices of him with portraits appeared in the illustrated and other papers; he "kissed hands" on his appointment, and was everywhere congratulated as a successful man. Also, in view of the dignity of his office, he was created a G.C.M.G. straight off the reel, an enormous honour which he did not in the least appreciate, and in short everything went as smoothly as it generally does upon these occasions.

Such real business as was necessary Clara attended to herself. She appointed the large and brilliant Staff who were to accompany them, selecting secretaries, chamberlains and A.D.C.'s from among those of her acquaintance who had titles or the prospect of them, and who, she thought, were likely to amuse her during her banishment. Money being no object, all these matters were handled on a most liberal scale, while His Excellency's domestic establishment swelled to a formidable total.

Andrew, it is true, interviewed the high–born secretaries, and asked them if they could spell or do anything useful. Not being at all satisfied with their answers, he then proceeded to make an appointment of his own. At his hospital there was a scrubby little clerk who could do shorthand and typewrite, and whom he employed in his spare hours in connection with scientific research, in which Jacks, for that was his name, took the keenest interest. This person, to Clara's disgust, Andrew nominated assistant–secretary. What is more, to him and him alone would he so much as dictate a letter, and he it was who coached him upon all official subjects, producing those Blue Books that he should read, etc.; and even making a précis of their contents. With the elevated Staff he talked merely of the weather, of matters connected with their health in which he took a professional interest, and occasionally of fishing; all of which drove them so mad, and Clara also, that if they could have murdered that tallow–faced and stubbly–haired Jacks, gladly would they have done so. As it was they pursued him with insults and froze him with neglect. But Jacks, taking not the slightest notice, just went about his business and when necessary, sent them about theirs, since for Andrew he had a blind devotion.

So at last the time came for them to depart, and many were the farewells. That is to say those of Clara were many, but Andrew's were strictly limited in number. He strolled into the Colonial Office, saw his nominal chief and informed him that he was sailing on the morrow.

"All right," was the answer. "I hope you will have a fairly good time, though I am afraid you won't. Instructions? No, we have none to give you, except to do and say as little as you possibly can. The great thing is to avoid giving offence to anybody. You know the office is more social than administrative as in a Crown Colony, and Lady Atterton may be trusted to see to all that. You have just got to do the polite and in case of any difficulty, cable to us. But don't write more despatches than are necessary, since nobody has the time to read them. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly," answered Andrew. "Good–bye. I believe there are some very interesting diseases in Oceania, of which I propose to make a special study."

"Excellent! First–rate idea. It will strike quite a distinctive note, only please talk of their beastly diseases with respect in public. Well, good–bye and good luck. I hope you will have a pleasant voyage. You are going by the Cape, ain't you?"

"Yes, it takes longer; also I want to see Table Mountain, and there is a scientific man out there whom I have never managed to meet. Good–bye again," and Andrew strolled out of the room as he had strolled in.

Queer fish that, reflected the Secretary of State, as the door closed behind him. But I expect he will do very well indeed. Lazy sort of fellow who will let things slide, which is what we want, but quite capable of coming out in an emergency.

From the Colonial Office Andrew went to take a tender farewell of Mrs. Josky and Laurie, who was consoled for his departure by the fact that she had become engaged to be married to a Greek in the currant and olive line. Having received Mrs. Josky's fervent blessing and promised to write to her once a month, he adjourned at nightfall to a certain cemetery, whence he returned to find that Clara and most of the brilliant staff with some select friends had been waiting more than half an hour for dinner. Just for the sake of practice, all rose when his prospective Excellency came into the room, whereon he asked them what was the matter.

Such was the manner of Andrew's farewell to his native shores.