The Thin Red Line; and Blue Blood

"Spare me your threats. You know I am most anxious to oblige you—to help you."

"You have put me off too long with these vague promises. I must have something more tangible at once."

"It is so difficult to find out anything."

"Not if you go the right way to work. A woman of your attractions, your cleverness, ought to be able to twist any man round her finger. You have done it often enough already, goodness knows. Now, there's old Faulks; when did you see him last?"

"Not a week ago."

"And you got nothing out of him? I thought he was devoted to you."

"He is most attentive, most obliging, but still exceedingly wary. He will talk about anything rather than business. I have tried him repeatedly. I have introduced the subject of his nephew, of whom he is now so proud."

"Your enemy, you mean—that young McKay."

"Exactly. I thought that by bringing the conversation to the Crimea I might squeeze out something important. But no! he is always as close as an oyster."

"He will be ready enough to talk about his dear nephew before long. You may look out for some startling news about McKay."

"Really?" said Mrs. Wilders, growing suddenly excited. "Your plan has succeeded, then?"

"Any day you may hear that he has been removed effectually, and for ever, from your path. But for the moment that will keep. What presses is that you should squeeze old Faulks. There is something that I must know to-day, or to-morrow at latest. You must go and see him at once."

"At his office?"

"Why not?"

"But on what pretence? I have never been there as yet. He has always come here to lunch or dine. He is fond of a good dinner."

"Ask him again."

"But I could do that by letter. He may suspect me if I go to him without some plausible excuse."

"Trump up some story about his nephew. Only get to him; he will soon give you an opening you can turn to account. I trust to your cleverness for that; only lose no time."

"Must I go to-day?"

"This very afternoon; directly you leave the house."

CHAPTER IV.

IN WHITEHALL

The Military Munitions' department was one of a dozen or more seated at that period in and about Whitehall. Its ostensible functions, as its title implied, were to supply warlike and other stores to the British army when actively engaged. But as wars had been rare for nearly half-a-century it had done more during that time towards providing a number of worthy gentlemen with comfortable incomes than in ministering to the wants of troops in the field.

It was an office of good traditions: highly respectable, very old-fashioned, slow moving, not to say dilatory, but tenacious of its dignity as regards other departments, and obstinately wedded to its own way of conducting the business of the country.

The most prominent personage in the department for some little time before the outbreak of hostilities with Russia, and during the war, was Mr. Rufus Faulks, brother to the Captain Faulks we met on board the Burlington Castle, and also uncle to Stanislas McKay.

Mr. Faulks had entered the office as a lad, and, after long years of patient service, had worked his way up through all the grades to the very top of the permanent staff. He had no one over him now but the statesman who, for the time being, was responsible for the department in Parliament—a mere politician, perfectly raw in official routine, who had the good taste and better sense to surrender himself blindly to the guidance of Mr. Faulks. What could a bird of passage know of the deep mysteries of procedure it took a life-time to learn?

He was the true type and pattern of a Government official. A prim, plethoric, middle-aged little man; always dressed very carefully; walking on the tips of his toes; speaking precisely, with a priggish, self-satisfied smirk, and giving his opinion, even on the weather, with the air of a man who was secretly better informed than the rest of the world.

He was very punctual in his attendance at the office, passing the threshold of the private house in a side-street near Whitehall, where the department was lodged all by itself, every morning at eleven, and doing the same thing every day at the same time with the most praiseworthy, methodical precision. His first step was to deposit his umbrella in one corner, his second to hang his hat in another, his third to take an old office-coat out of a bottom drawer in his desk, substituting it for the shiny black frock-coat he invariably wore; then he looked through his letters, selected all of a private and confidential nature, and placing the morning's Times across his knees deposited himself in an arm-chair near the fire. He was supposed to be digesting the morning's correspondence, and no one during this the first half-hour of his attendance would have ventured to intrude upon him unsummoned.

It was with a very black face, therefore, that when thus occupied upon the morning that Mr. Hobson visited Mrs. Wilders he saw his own private messenger enter the room.

"What is it, Lightowlar? I have forbidden you to disturb me till twelve."

"Beg pardon, sir; very sorry, sir!" replied the messenger, who had been confidential valet to a Cabinet Minister, and prided himself on the extreme polish of his language and demeanour. "I am aware that you have intimidated your disapprobation of unseasonable interruption, but—"

"Well, well! out with it, or take yourself off."

"Sir 'Umphry, sir; he have just come to the office quite unforseen."

Sir Humphrey Fothergill was the Parliamentary head of the office at this time.

"Sir Humphrey here! What an extraordinary thing!"

The proper time for the appearance of this great functionary was at 4 p.m., on his way to the House and Mr. Faulks felt quite annoyed at the departure from the ordinary rule.

"Sir 'Umphry 'ave took us all aback, sir. His own messenger, Mr. Sprott, was not in the way for the moment, and Sir 'Umphry expressed himself in rather strong terms."

"Serve Sprott right. But what has all that to do with me?"

"Sir 'Umphry, sir, 'ave sent, sir"—the man could hardly bring himself to convey the message; "he 'ave sent, sir, to say he wishes to see you at once."

"Me? At this hour? Impossible!"

This pestilent Sir Humphrey was upsetting every tradition of the office.

Mr. Faulks again settled himself in his arm-chair, with the air of a man who refused to move—out of his proper groove.

"Mr. Faulks! Mr. Faulks!" Another unseemly intrusion. This time it was Sprott, the chief messenger, flurried and frightened, no doubt, by recent reproof. "Sir Humphrey's going on awful, sir; he's rung his bell three times, and asked how long it took you to go upstairs."

Sullenly, and sorely against his will, Mr. Faulks rose and joined his chief.

"I have asked for you several times," said Sir Humphrey Fothergill, a much younger man than Mr. Faulks, new to official life, but a promising party politician, with a great belief in himself and his importance as a member of the House of Commons; "you must have come late."

"Pardon me, I was here at my usual time; but in the thirty-five years that I have had the honour to serve in the Military Munition Department I never remember a Parliamentary chief who came so early as you."

"I shall come when I choose—in the middle of the night, if it suits me or is necessary, as is more than probable in these busy times."

Mr. Faulks waved his hands and bowed stiffly, as much as to say that Sir Humphrey was master of his actions, but that he need not expect to see him.

"You all want stirring up here," said Sir Humphrey abruptly. "It is high time to give you a fillip."

"I am not aware—" Mr. Faulks began, in indignant protest, but his chief cut him short.

"Did you read what happened in the House last night?"

"I have only just glanced at the Times," replied Mr. Faulks, in a melancholy voice, thinking how rudely his regular perusal of the great journal had been interrupted that morning.

"It's not pleasant reading. There was a set attack upon this department, and they handled us very roughly, let me tell you. It made my ears tingle."

"We have been abused cruelly—unfairly abused for the last twelve months," said Mr. Faulks with a most injured air.

"You richly deserved it. Amongst you the troops in the Crimea have been dying from starvation, perishing from cold."

"I can assure you that is distinctly unjust. I can assure you great quantities of warm clothing were dispatched in due course."

"Ay, but when?"

"I can't give you the exact dates, but we have been advised of their arrival these last few weeks."

"Warm clothing in May? A very seasonable provision! But it's all of a piece. How about those fuzes?"

"To what do you refer, may I ask?" said Mr. Faulks very blandly; but his blood was boiling at the indignity of being lectured thus by a young man altogether new to the office.

"It is all in this morning's Times. The siege is at a standstill; the fuzes won't fit the shells. There are plenty of 10-inch fuzes, but only 13-inch shells. Who is to blame for that?"

"Our ordnance branch, I fear. But it shall be seen to: I will address a communication to the head, calling his attention to the error."

"And when will he get the letter?"

"In the course of the next two or three days."

"And his reply will take about the same time to reach you, I suppose?"

"Probably: more or less."

"Where is the office of the ordnance branch? In this house?"

"Oh, no!" replied Mr. Faulks, in a voice full of profound pity for the lamentable ignorance of his chief. "It is at No. 14."

"Just round the corner—in fact, half-a-dozen yards off?"

"Yes, about that."

"Well, look here, Mr. Faulks: you just put on your hat and go round the corner and see the head of the ordnance branch, and settle all this with him in the next five minutes, d'ye hear?"

"What, I? personally? That would be altogether against precedent and contrary to the rules of the office. I really must decline to introduce such a radical change."

"You will obey my order, this very instant! It is utterly preposterous to waste six days sending letters backwards and forwards about a paltry matter that can be settled by word of mouth in as many minutes. No wonder the troops have died like rotten sheep!"

"I have been five-and-thirty years in this office—" began Mr. Faulks.

"Oh! don't bother me with your historical reminiscences," said Sir Humphrey, cutting him short.

"And never, during all that period—" went on Mr. Faulks, manfully.

"—Have you done anything to-day that could be put off till to-morrow? But now go and see about this at once—do you understand?—and then come back to me; I have other matters to arrange. We have news that a fresh expedition will shortly start for Kertch, and we are requested to send out with all dispatch considerable supplies of salt rations."

"It will be necessary to refer to the Admiralty: they will require proper notice."

"You will get the rations within twenty-four hours, notice or no notice. But we will discuss that by-and-by. Meanwhile, hurry off to the ordnance branch."

Mr. Faulks went to the door, protesting and muttering to himself.

"Stay! one word more! It is wrong of me, perhaps, to hint that your zeal requires any stimulus, Mr. Faulks."

"Hardly, I hope. I have endeavoured for the last five-and-thirty years—"

"Yes, yes, we know all about that. But I have been told that you looked for some special recognition of your services—a decoration, the Order of the Bath—from the last Administration. Now, unless you bestir yourself, don't expect anything of the kind from us."

"I do not pretend to say that I have earned the favour of my Sovereign; but in any case it would depend upon her most gracious Majesty whether—"

"Don't make any mistake about it. You can only get the Bath through the recommendation of your immediate superiors. There's stimulus, if you want it. But don't let me detain you any more."

Mr. Faulks went slowly downstairs, and still more slowly resumed his out-of-door frock-coat; he took up his hat and stick in the same deliberate fashion, and started at a snail's pace for round the corner.

He drawled and dawdled through the business, which five minutes' sharp talk could have ended, and it was nearly lunch-time before he returned to his chief.

"Well, you might have been to the Crimea and back!" said Sir Humphrey, impatiently.

"Matters of such moment are not to be disposed of out of hand. Haste is certain to produce dangerous confusion, and it has been my unvaried experience during five-and-thirty years—"

"Which it has taken you to find the shortest way next door. But there! let us get on with our work. Now, about this expedition to Kertch?"

And Sir Humphrey proceeded to discuss and dispose of great questions of supply in a prompt, off-hand way that both silenced and terrified Mr. Faulks.

CHAPTER V.

MR. FAULKS TALKS

Mr. Faulks was rather fond of good living, and, as a rule, he never allowed official cares to interfere with his lunch, a meal brought in on a tray from an eating-house in the Strand. To make a proper selection from the bill of fare sent in every morning was a weighty matter, taking precedence over any other work, however pressing.

But to-day he scarcely enjoyed the haricot of lamb with new potatoes and young peas that he found waiting, and slightly cold, when he went downstairs to his own room.

"For two pins I'd take my retirement; I can claim it; where would they be then?"

This estimable personage shared with thousands the strange superstition that the world cannot do without them.

"This cook is falling off most terribly. The lamb is uneatable, the potatoes are waxy, and the peas like pills. Ugh! I never made a worse lunch!"

A large cigar and the perusal of the long-neglected Times did not pacify him much, and he was still fretting and fuming when his messenger brought in a three-cornered note and asked if there was any reply.

"The lady, sir—a real lady, I should think—'ave brought it in her own bruffam, and was most particular, sir, as you should 'ave it at once."

Mr. Faulks took the letter and examined it carefully.

"From that charming woman, Mrs. Wilders, my cousin, or rather Stanny's cousin; but his relations are mine. I am his uncle; some day, if he lives, I shall be uncle to an earl. They will treat me better perhaps when I have all the Essendine interest at my back. Whippersnappers like this Fothergill will scarcely dare to snub me then. A good lad Stanislas; I always liked him. I wish he was back amongst us, and not at that horrid war."

"The lady, sir, is most anxious, sir, to have a answer," put in the messenger, recalling Mr. Faulks's attention to the letter.

"Ah! to be sure. One moment," and he read the note:—

"Cannot I see you?" it said. "I am oppressed with fears for our dear Stanislas. Do please spare me a few minutes of your valuable time.

"Cyprienne W."

"I will go down to her at once, say." And, seizing his hat, Mr. Faulks followed the messenger into the street, where he found Mrs. Wilders in her tiny brougham, at the door of the office.

"Oh, how good of you!" she said, putting out a little hand in a perfectly-fitting grey glove. "I would not disturb you for worlds, but I was so anxious."

"What has happened? Nothing serious, I trust?"

"I do not know. I cannot say. I am terribly upset."

"Do tell me all about it."

"Of course; that is why I came. But it will take some time. Will you get into the carriage? Are you going anywhere? I can take you, and tell you upon the road."

"I am afraid I cannot leave just at present." He had misgivings as to his arbitrary young chief. "But if I might suggest, and if you will honour me so far, will you not come upstairs to my room?"

"Oh! willingly, if you will allow me."

This was all that she wished. Very soon, escorted by her obsequious friend, she found herself in his arm-chair, pouring forth a long and intricate, not to say incomprehensible, story about Stanislas McKay. She had heard, she said—it was not necessary to say how–that they meant to send him on some secret expedition, full of danger, she understood, and she thought it such a pity—so wrong, so unfair!

"He ought really to return to England and take up his proper position," she went on. "Lord Essendine wishes it, and so, I am sure, must you."

"No one will be more pleased to welcome him back than myself," said Mr. Faulks. "I should be glad indeed of his countenance and support just now. They do not treat me too well here."

"Can it be possible!" she exclaimed, in a voice of tenderest interest. "You whom I have always thought one of the most useful, estimable men in the public service."

"Things are not what they were, my dear lady; they do not appreciate me here. They deny me the smallest, the most trifling recognition. Would you believe it that, after five-and-thirty years of uninterrupted service, they still hesitate to give me a decoration? I ought to have had the Companionship of the Bath at the last change of Ministry."

"Of course you ought; I have often heard Lord Essendine say so."

"Has he now, really?" asked Mr. Faulks, much flattered.

"Frequently," went on Mrs. Wilders, fluently, availing herself readily of the opening he had given her. "I am sure he has only to know that you are disappointed in this matter and he will give you the warmest support. You know he belongs to the party now in power, and a word from him—"

"If he will deign to interest himself on my behalf the matter is, of course, settled."

"And he shall, rely on me for that."

"How can I ever thank you sufficiently, dear lady, for your most gracious, most generous encouragement? If I can serve you in any way, command me."

"Well, you can oblige me in a little matter I have much at heart."

"Only name it," he cried, earnestly.

"Come and dine with me to-night in Thistle Grove."

"Is that all? I accept with enthusiasm."

"Only a small party: four at the most. You know I am still in deepest mourning. My poor dear general—" she dropped her voice and her eyes.

"Ah!" said Mr. Faulks, sympathetically; "you have known great sorrows. But you must not brood, dear lady: we should struggle with grief." He took her hand, and looked at her in a kindly, pitying way.

The moment was ill-timed for interruption, but the blame was Sir Humphrey's, who now sent the messenger with a fresh and more imperious summons for the attendance of Mr. Faulks.

He got up hurriedly, nervously, saying—

"I must leave you, dear lady; there are matters of great urgency to be dealt with to-day."

"No apologies: it's my fault for trespassing here. I will run away. To-night—do not forget me, at eight," and Mrs. Wilders took her departure.

The little house in Thistle Grove wore its most smiling aspect at evening, with its soft-shaded lamps, pretty hangings, and quantities of variegated, sweet-smelling flowers; it was radiant with light, full of perfume, bright in colour.

Mrs. Wilders's guests were three—Mrs. Jones, a staid, hard-featured, middle-aged lady in deep black, an officer's widow like herself, as she explained, who lived a few doors down, and was an acquaintance of the last month or two, Mr. Hobson, and Mr. Faulks.

The dinner was almost studied in simplicity, but absolutely perfect of its kind. Clear soup, salmon cutlets, a little joint, salad, and quail in vine-leaves. The only wine was a sound medium claret, except at dessert, when, after the French fashion, Mrs. Wilders gave champagne.

Through dinner the talk had been light and trivial, but with dessert and coffee it gradually grew more serious, and touched upon the topics of the day.

"These must be trying times for you Government officials," said Mr. Hobson, carelessly.

"Yes, indeed," replied Mr. Faulks, with a deep sigh. "I often feel that life is hardly worth having."

"The public service is no bed of roses," remarked Mrs. Jones. "It killed my poor dear husband."

"It is so disheartening to slave day after day as you do," went on Mrs. Wilders to Mr. Faulks, "and get no thanks."

"Very much the other thing!" cried Mr. Hobson; "you are about the best abused people in the world, I should say, just now."

"It is hard on us, for I assure you we do our best. We are constantly, uninterruptedly at work. I never know a moment that I may not be wanted—that some special messenger may not be after me. I have to leave my address so that they can find me wherever I am, and at any time."

"Is it so now?" asked Mrs. Wilders. "Cannot you even give me the pleasure of your society for an hour or two without its being known?"

"I do it in this way, dear lady. I leave a sealed envelope on my hall table, which is only opened in case of urgency."

"You don't expect to be summoned to-night, I hope?" inquired the fair hostess.

"I cannot say; it is quite probable."

"There are, perhaps, important movements intended in the Crimea?" asked Mr. Hobson, as he picked his strawberries and prepared himself a sauce of sugar and cream.

"You have heard so?" replied Mr. Faulks.

"There was something in the Times this morning from their special correspondent. Some new expedition was talked of."

"They ought to be all shot, these correspondents," said Mr. Faulks, decisively. "They permit themselves to canvass the conduct and character of persons of our position with a freedom that is intolerable."

"Pardon me," said Mr. Hobson, "but as one of the British public, a taxpayer and bearer of the public burden, I feel grateful to these newspaper gentlemen for seeing that our money is properly spent."

"I am sorry to hear you commend them," said Mr. Faulks, in a way that implied much resentment.

"Well, but without them we should hear of nothing that is going on. This new expedition, for instance, which I have a shrewd suspicion covers some deep design."

"You think so, do you? On what ground, pray?" said Mr. Faulks, with the slight sneer of superior knowledge.

"The Times man hints as much. There has long been a rumour of some change in the plan of operations, and he seems to be right in his conjecture."

"He knows nothing at all about it—how can he?" said Mr. Faulks, contemptuously.

"You must forgive my differing with you. It is not my business to say how he obtains his information, but I have generally found that he is right. Now, this great expedition—"

"Is all moonshine!" cried Mr. Faulks, losing his temper, and thrown off his guard. "It's quite a small affair—a trip round the Sea of Azof, and the reduction of Kertch."

"The old affair revived, in fact."

"Neither more nor less. There is no intention at the present moment of drawing any large detachment from the siege. On the contrary, every effort is being strained to bring it to an end."

"Quite right too; it ought to be vigorously prosecuted—attack should follow attack."

"We shall hear of one or more before long," went on Mr. Faulks, growing more and more garrulous. "Our advanced trenches are creeping very near, and I expect any day to hear that the French have stormed the Mamelon, and our people the Quarries."

"Indeed? That is very interesting. And we shall take them—do you think?"

"We must. The attacking columns will be of great strength, and the attack will be preceded by a tremendous cannonade."

"So we may expect great news in the next few days?" said Mrs. Wilders, eagerly.

"More bloodshed!" added Mrs. Jones, with a deep sigh. "This terrible war!"

"You can't make omelettes without breaking eggs," said Mr. Hobson, sententiously. "The more terrible a war is, the sooner it is ended."

"We are getting very ghastly in our talk," said Mrs. Wilders. "Suppose we go into the drawing-room and have some tea."

As they passed out of the dining-room, Mr. Hobson managed to whisper a few words.

"I have squeezed him dry: that was all I wanted to know. I need not stay any longer, I think."

"Who knows? His special messenger may come down with the very latest. If so, you ought to be able to extract that from him too."

Mrs. Wilders spoke these words carelessly; but, as often happens, they correctly foretold what presently occurred.

When they were all seated cosily around the tea-table, Mrs. Wilders's man brought in a great dispatch upon a salver.