Charles Lever - Paul Gosslett's Confessions in Love, Law, and The Civil Service

I was walking very sadly across the Green Park one day, my hat pressed over my eyes, not looking to right or left, but sauntering slowly along, depressed and heavy-hearted, when I felt a friendly arm slip softly within my own, while a friendly voice said, – “I think I have got something to suit you, for a few months at least. Don’t you know Italian?”

“In a fashion, I may say I do. I can read the small poets, and chat a little. I’ll not say much more about my knowledge.”

“Quite enough for what I mean. Now tell me another thing. You ‘re not a very timid fellow, I know. Have you any objection to going amongst the brigands in Calabria, – on a friendly mission, of course, – where it will be their interest to treat you well?”

“Explain yourself a little more freely. What is it I should have to do?”

“Here’s the whole affair; the son of a wealthy baronet, a Wiltshire M.P., has been captured and carried off by these rascals. They demand a heavy sum for his ransom, and give a very short time for the payment. Sir Joseph, the youth’s father, is very ill, and in such a condition as would make any appeal to him highly dangerous; the doctors declare, in fact, it would be fatal; and Lady Mary S. has come up to town, in a state bordering on distraction, to consult Lord Scatterdale, the Foreign Secretary, who is a personal friend of her husband. The result is that his Lordship lias decided to pay the money at once; and the only question is now to find the man to take it out, and treat with these scoundrels.”

“That ought not to be a very difficult matter, one would say; there are scores of fellows with pluck for such a mission.”

“So there are, if pluck were the only requisite; but something more is needed. If Sir Joseph should not like to acknowledge the debt, – if, on his recovery, he should come to think that the thing might have been better managed, less cost incurred, and so on, – the Government will feel embarrassed; they can’t well quarrel with an old supporter; they can’t well stick the thing in the estimates; so that, to cover the outlay in some decent fashion, they must give it a public-service look before they can put it into the Extraordinaries; and so Lord S. has hit upon this scheme. You are aware that a great question is now disputed between the Bourbonists of Naples and the party of New Italy, – whether brigandage means highway robbery, or is the outburst of national enthusiasm in favor of the old dynasty. The friends of King Bomba, of course, call it a ‘La Vendée;’ the others laugh at this, and say that the whole affair is simply assassination and robbery, and totally destitute of any political coloring. Who knows on which side the truth lies, or whether some portion of truth does not attach to each of these versions? Now, there are, as you said awhile ago, scores of fellows who would have pluck enough to treat with the brigands; but there are not so many who could be trusted to report of them, – to give a clear and detailed account of what he saw of them, – of their organization, their sentiments, their ambitions, and their political views, if they have any. You are just the man to do this. You have that knack of observation and that readiness with your pen which are needed. In fact, you seem to me the very fellow to do this creditably.”

“Has Lord S. any distinct leanings in the matter?” asked I. “Does he incline to regard these men as political adherents, or as assassins, purs et simples? ”

“I see what you mean,” said my friend, pinching my arm. “You want to know the tone of your employer before you enter his service. You would like to be sure of the tints that would please him.”

“Perhaps so. I won’t go so far as to say it would frame my report, but it might serve to tinge it. Now, do you know his proclivities, as Jonathan would call them?”

“I believe they are completely with the Italian view of the matter. I mean, he will not recognize anything political in these scoundrels.”

“I thought as much. Now as to the appointment. Do you think you could obtain it for me?”

“You are ready to take it, then?”

“Perfectly.”

“And ready to start at once?”

“To-night.”

“Come back with me now, and I will inquire if Lord S. will see us. He spoke to me yesterday evening on the matter, and somehow your name did not occur to me, and I certainly recommended another man, – Hitchins of the ‘Daily News;’ but I am sure he will not have sent for him yet, and that we shall be in good time.”

As we walked back towards Downing Street, my friend talked on incessantly about the advantages I might derive from doing this thing creditably. They were sure to make a Blue Book out of my report, and who knows if my name would not be mentioned in the House? At all events, the newspapers would have it; and the Government would be obliged, – they could n’t help giving me something. “You’ll have proved yourself a man of capacity,” said he, “and that’s enough. S. does like smart fellows under him, he is so quick himself; sees a thing with half an eye, and reads a man just as he reads a book.” He rattled along in this fashion, alternately praising the great man, and assuring me that I was exactly the sort of fellow to suit him. “He ‘ll not burden you with instructions, but what he tells you will be quite sufficient; he is all clearness, conciseness, and accuracy. There’s only one caution I have to give you, – don’t ask him a question, follow closely all he says, and never ask him to explain anything that puzzles you. To suppose that he has not expressed himself clearly is a dire offence, mind that; and now, here we are. Crosby, is my Lord upstairs?” asked he of the porter; and receiving a bland nod in reply, he led the way to the Minister’s cabinet.

“I ‘ll ask to see him first myself,” whispered he, as he sent in his card.

Now, though my friend was an M.P., and a stanch supporter of the party, he manifested a considerable amount of anxiety and uneasiness when waiting for the noble secretary’s reply. It came at last.

“Can’t possibly see you now, sir. Will meet you at the House at five o’clock.”

“Will you kindly tell his Lordship I have brought with me the gentleman I spoke to him about yesterday evening? He will know for what.”

The private secretary retired sullenly, and soon returned to say, “The gentleman may come in; my Lord will speak to him.”

The next moment I found myself standing in a comfortably furnished room, in front of a large writing-table, at which an elderly man with a small head, scantily covered with gray hair, was writing. He did not cease his occupation as I entered, nor notice me in any manner as I approached, but went on repeating to himself certain words as he wrote them; and at last, laying down his pen, said aloud, with a faint chuckle, “and your Excellency may digest it how you can.”

I gave a very slight cough. He looked up, stared at me, arose, and, walking to the fire, stood with his back to it for a couple of seconds without speaking. I could see that he had some difficulty in dismissing the topic which had just occupied him, and was only arriving at me by very slow stages and heavy roads.

“Eh!” said he, at last; “you are the man of the paper. Not the ‘Times ‘ – but the – the – what’s it?”

“No, my Lord. I’m the other man,” said I, quietly.

“Ah, you ‘re the other man.” And as he spoke, he hung his head, and seemed hopelessly lost in thought. “Have you seen Mr. Hammil?” asked he.

“No, my Lord.”

“You must see Mr. Hammil. Till you see Mr. Hammil, you need n’t come to me.”