His Excellency's English Governess

by Sydney C. Grier

“If you have done enough mischief, Egerton, perhaps you will rejoin the rest of the party,” said Sir Dugald, in a low voice. “Allow me to assist you to mount, Miss Anstruther.”

Cecil complied in silence, feeling ready to hate Sir Dugald for his treatment of Charlie, and yet conscious that he had much to try him. Diplomatic complications had arisen out of incidents no more important than this one, and it was hard for her Majesty’s Consul-General to find his best-laid plans endangered by the imprudence of a hot-headed fool in love. And therefore he did his best to pacify Azim Bey, and succeeded so well that the boy talked quite graciously to Cecil as they rode back to the city over the short grass, lighted by the flaring torches of their escort.

CHAPTER XVIII.
GATHERING CLOUDS.

Azim Bey was now all eagerness to communicate to his trusted ally M. Karalampi the discovery he had made, which proved that he had been right all along in fixing upon Charlie as the person whose removal was necessary. But, as it happened, he did not succeed in meeting him until some days after the picnic, and by this time the boy’s anxiety to get rid of Dr Egerton had risen almost to fever-heat. M. Karalampi was able to pacify him by assuring him that now that the most important point was settled, Charlie should quit Baghdad within a month—a promise which seemed impossible of fulfilment to Azim Bey, who did not know that his agent had been secretly at work ever since his services had been first engaged. He worked with extreme art and delicacy, conveying to those he wished to influence slight intimations which seemed nothing when taken alone, but which became dangerous indeed when looked at in unison. At first he laboured chiefly to influence the Pasha. Ahmed Khémi had hitherto known very little respecting the doctor of the British Consulate, but for the space of about a month M. Karalampi dinned his name into his patron’s ears in season and out of season. Dr Egerton was a most dangerous man. He was accustomed to disguise himself and go among the people, deceiving even true believers. He was a spy, it was difficult to determine in whose pay, but indubitably a spy. He intrigued with the Armenians, the Jews, the Persians, the missionaries, the Russians, the Greeks. The Balio Bey did not like him, but was forced to tolerate him, knowing, no doubt, that he was employed by persons very high in authority. And so on, and so on, until the harassed Pasha, bewildered by the number and inconsistency of the charges, peremptorily ordered his too zealous agent never to mention the name of that English doctor to him again, on pain of his serious displeasure.

This was just what M. Karalampi had intended, and it closed the first act of the drama. He had gone upon the principle of throwing plenty of mud, and he was quite satisfied as to its powers of sticking, even though he himself had bowed respectfully and promised to obey his Excellency, averring that it was only zeal for the good of the Government that had made him so troublesome. His own work was over for the present, and it was the turn of his confederates. Each of them had only one thing to do, but they were all to be counted upon to do it. At some time or other, in the Pasha’s hearing, they were to throw a doubt on Dr Egerton’s honesty, hint at double-dealing on his part, or remark that he had been seen in company with suspected persons. To the last accusation Charlie’s inveterate habit of picking up disreputable acquaintances lent a good deal of colour, and this helped to establish the rest. The Pasha was staggered at last. He had silenced Karalampi, but here were all these independent witnesses giving him the very same warning. There must be something in it, and it would be foolish to disregard the testimony of so many unbiassed persons. It might be that Providence was giving him notice of some plot laid against him, while he had been obstinately rejecting the warning. He made up his mind to look into things very carefully in future.

M. Karalampi perceived this, and chuckled as he made ready for the third act of the play. Although his lips were sealed at the Palace, he had not been silent in the city. Not that he ever spoke against the English doctor, nor could any rumours be traced to him,—the only thing certain was that Charlie Egerton had become desperately unpopular. The shopkeepers with whom he had been wont to exchange a passing word withdrew into the inmost recesses of their dwellings so as not to be obliged to speak to him; children fled from before him, or were snatched up by their mothers, in dreadful fear of the evil-eye. There was one small boy who had once been brought by a still smaller Armenian friend to the Residency, to be treated for a cut finger or some other childish trouble, and who had been much impressed by the well-filled shelves in the surgery. Hitherto it had always been his delight to meet his doctor in the street and salute him with the cry of “O father of bottles, peace be upon thee!” but now he crept guiltily into a corner and hid himself if he saw him coming. This was the hardest thing of all for Charlie to bear, even though the loungers at the coffee-houses, with whom he had been something of a favourite, crowded together and looked at him distrustfully as he passed, muttering “Spy!” in ominous voices. The old women in the bazaars, privileged by age and ugliness to have a voice in public, reviled him roundly when they saw him, and then told each other in whispers that he was paid by foreign enemies to bring in new diseases and spread them in the city.

This change in public opinion perplexed Charlie extremely. At first he attributed it to another outburst of anti-English feeling, but this theory was dispelled on his learning from Captain Rossiter that no unpleasantness was displayed towards him. Then he set it down to some temporary crank or fancy of the people’s, and thought little more about it until, when he went one evening to call on Isaac Azevedo, the old man told him plainly, though with many apologies, that his visits were a source of danger to the whole Jewish quarter, and asked him not to come again for the present. It was this which first opened his eyes to the possibility of the approach of something more than mere unpleasantness, but it was not really brought home to him until one day when he had been to tea at the Mission-house, and Dr Yehudi took him aside at parting, and asked him earnestly whether he still carried a revolver, and whether it was ready for use. The danger of the situation became clear to him then, and it was just about the same time that M. Karalampi decided that matters were ripe for the completion of his plan.

Of the steps which led to this end Cecil saw only the last, and she was made aware of it one Sunday, when she arrived at the Residency to find Charlie looking out for her, with a doleful and even shame-stricken visage. She cast uneasy glances at him every now and then during the morning, but the gloom did not lift, and she waited anxiously for the quiet afternoon-time when they were wont to exchange their confidences. As soon as they were together in a shady corner of the deserted drawing-room Charlie told his story.

“I’ve been an awful fool, Cecil, and got myself into a nice mess.”

“Charlie! What do you mean?”