A Matter of Diplomacy: A Novelette



  A Matter of Diplomacy

  A Novelette

  By Zoe Baxter

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Matter of Diplomacy: A Novelette ©2015 Zoe Baxter. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This work of fiction is adapted from an 1889 short story by Beatrice Heron-Maxwell entitled, “How the Minister’s Notes Were Recovered: The Story of a Bit of Diplomacy” The original short story has fallen into the public domain in all territories in which this adapted work has been offered for sale under its own copyright. Ms. Baxter has extensively rewritten and expanded the original short story to appeal to modern readers, however, readers of the original story will recognize similarities in plot, characterization and dialogue. “How the Minister’s Notes Were Recovered: The Story of a Bit of Diplomacy” appeared in The Harmsworth’s Monthly Pictorial Magazine Vol. 1 No. 3 (1889).

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Post Script

  More Books By Zoe Baxter

  But in these weeks of the awakening Spring

  Something within me has been freed—something

  That in the past dark years unconscious lay,

  Which rises now within me and commands

  And gives my poor warm life into your hands

  Who know not what I was that Yesterday.

  Rainier Maria Rilke

  The Woman Who Loves (Poems, 1918)

  Chapter One

  Brussels 1885

  Jonathon Ambercrombie woke with a start to the sound of voices. He was no longer alone. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but, nestled in a cozy corner of Sir Andrew’s darkened library, it wasn’t surprising that he’d dropped off.

  “I’m in a nasty spot of trouble," the United States Minister was saying to Sir Andrew. “You must not breath a word of what I am about to tell you. It must not become known, but a slip of paper containing some sensitive information has gone missing, and I have a horrible misgiving that it may have been slipped inside the dispatch we sent to Lord Westfaling yesterday afternoon.”

  The Minister paused. Jonathon could hear the strains of the orchestra playing downstairs. He must not have been asleep for long, because the diplomatic ball was still in progress.

  “I can’t ask if it’s been found,” the Minister continued, “that would only ensure that they’ll search for it, if it hasn’t been discovered already.”

  For a second, Jonathon considered announcing his presence, but as the indiscrete United States Minister was accompanied by his own employer, Sir Andrew Chesterfield, Jonathon thought better of it. Besides, he might hear something interesting. Jonathon settled down a little lower in his upholstered high-backed chair and pricked up his ears.

  “Perhaps, it wasn’t slipped into the dispatch,” Sir Andrew suggested. “It could have been mislaid elsewhere.”

  “We’ve turned the chambers inside and out looking for it,” the United States Minister continued. “We must find it quickly. It would be terribly embarrassing to be forced to admit to such laxity.”

  “True,” agreed Sir Andrew.

  “We must find out if it has fallen into the hands of Lord Westfaling, but I’ve no idea how to do it without raising suspicion. What would you do, Sir Andrew?"

  "If I were you, I would place the whole matter in the hands of Ambercrombie."

  "A mere boy, not a day over twenty-four," the Minister protested. "Jonathon Ambercrombie has almost no experience, and he has only been with us for two weeks."

  "I knew his father," Sir Andrew said. "He was one of the cleverest Secretaries who ever handled a Legation. Maxwell Ambercrombie would have risen to great things had he not died too soon. His son is very much like him. I fancy Jonathon Ambercrombie is just the man to do a delicate job like this."

  Thirty minutes later, the Minister had Jonathon cornered in a quiet alcove adjoining the ballroom. They were not exactly alone, but, as one of their fellow occupants was an elderly gentleman who alternated between snoring and threatening to slip off his chair, and the other was an equally ancient lady clutching an ear trumpet, it was quite safe to speak on confidential matters.

  What the Minister had to say came of little surprise to Jonathon; that is, it came as little surprise until Lady Anastasia’s part in the plot was revealed.

  “You mean that woman, over there, in the blue gown? That is Lady Anastasia?” Jonathon asked.

  The Minister nodded.

  The lady in question was undoubtedly striking. Her gown exactly matched the color of her brilliant blue eyes. She was smiling politely and had danced every dance. Jonathon thought it highly unusual for a lady of such mature years—she must be past thirty—to have a partner for every dance, but then Lady Anastasia was clearly no ordinary woman.

  “How old is Lady Anastasia?” Jonathon asked.

  The Minister looked slightly taken aback, but he answered anyway.

  “Thirty-three, I believe. Her mother died several years back, so she manages the household and acts as hostess for her father, Lord Westfaling.”

  “She’s a widow?”

  “No, Lady Anastasia never married.”

  “But surely—“

  For a second Jonathon feared that the Minister’s sense of chivalry would prevent him from revealing all he knew about the fascinating Lady Anastasia. Jonathon considered pointing out that Lady Anastasia was, after all, the proposed target of a diplomatic maneuver, and it was of vital importance that he know everything there was to know about the woman; as it turned out, the Minister required no such prodding.

  “I understand that, when she first came out, she had no end of offers, but now of course—“ The Minister left this revelation delicately open ended.

  “Was she never engaged?”

  “Not once. It is an understood thing that Lady Anastasia never intends to marry.”

  “Then does she take lovers?” Jonathon asked.

  The Minister was transparently shocked at the audacity of such a question.

  “No,” said the Minister, quite firmly. “Lady Anastasia is well known to be a pious woman, much dedicated to doing good works among the poor.”

  Shame, thought Jonathon, all that extravagant beauty wasted on the downtrodden and destitute.

  “Lady Anastasia is also quite a scholar. I believe that she is a great asset to Lord Westfaling in his research. She is more well-read than any man I know and is fluent in more languages than many a diplomat of my acquaintance.”

  “Lord Westfaling? Isn’t he famous for his interest in ancient Egypt?”

  “Yes, a few years back Lord Westfaling gained a name for himself in archeological circles by mounting an expedition down the Nile in search of undiscovered treasures.”

  Jonathon wondered if Lady Anastasia had accompanied her father. He had a sudden vision of her dressed in trousers and a veiled hat, welding an archeologist’s brush with one hand and fending off a marauding crocodile with the other. She made a surprisingly fetching image, almost as fetching as the one she made in real life. Dancing had resumed, and Jonathon watched Lady Anastasia closely as she waltzed by in the arms of yet another partner.

  “Lady Anastasia sounds to be a formidable woman,” Jonathon said. “Has she no weaknesses at all? No foibles worth exploiting?”

  The minister fixed Jonatho
n with a steely eye. “That,” he said, “is for you to find out.”

  Lady Anastasia watched as the United States Minister approached with Sir Andrew’s young attaché at his heels.

  "You are interested in diplomacy, Lady Anastasia," the Minister said, "may I present to you our latest arrival, Mr. Jonathon Ambercrombie?—Lady Anastasia Carlton."

  Lady Anastasia raised her eyes with indifference and bowed. As a whole, she did not like young men. Her main grievance against young men was their infuriating assumption that she should welcome their dishonorable advances. The whole routine bored her. She knew exactly what would happen. First, the young man would profess to be madly in love with her, all the while harboring intentions that were wholly dishonorable. Naturally, she would reject him. He, humiliated by being refused by a spinster—never mind a still very attractive one—would hurl veiled insults at her, then give her the cut direct the next time they met. It was all so very tiresome.

  The Minister moved away after making the introduction, but Mr. Ambercrombie, his face devoid of expression, remained in front of her without saying a word.

  Lady Anastasia turned her shoulder to Mr. Ambercrombie and bestowed a slow, sweet smile—the same smile which had made her famous as a beauty—on some imaginary personage in the distance.

  "What stage of acquaintanceship must one reach," said Mr. Ambercrombie, gravely, "before being promoted to the honor of a smile from Lady Anastasia Carlton?"

  Anastasia was annoyed, and she let it show.

  "Some people never reach such a stage," she answered, haughtily, "the majority, in fact. I reserve it for my personal friends—and they are few."

  "I am happy to hear that," said Mr. Ambercrombie. "I hate being in the majority. My goal is to escape the common herd.”

  Anastasia did not like this young man. He was far too forward, yet there was something about his hazel eyes and sharp features which was arresting. He was extraordinarily handsome, she realized with a jolt. If she ever decided to become the sort of woman who took younger lovers, this young man standing in front of her was just the sort of younger lover she’d like to take. She felt a blush suffusing her cheeks at the unbidden and wicked thought.

  The handsome young man seemed not to notice her embarrassment.

  “To me,” he continued, “a barrier of any sort is delightful. It energizes me. I must confess that indolence is both my detestation and my failing."

  Lady Anastasia made a little gesture of impatience as if to leave him. This sententious boy was going to be like all the rest. Regardless of the beauty of his person, he was still a bore. He was sure to give her the trouble of crushing him.

  Her dance program, dangling from her fan, attracted his attention, and, without seeking her permission, he raised it, took up the pencil, and said, "May I have the pleasure? Which dance?"

  There were still two vacant places on the card, but Anastasia did not intend to grant him either one.

  "I am sorry—" she began, but the young man interrupted her.

  "I should have preferred a waltz, but I am fortunate to find you disengaged at all." Then he wrote his name down and left her.

  Lady Anastasia watched him go. He really was an excessively good-looking young man. He was just slightly taller than she, with a graceful figure. He had an innocent-looking face that seemed peculiarly unsuited to his profession. Anastasia wondered just how young he was. His position with Sir Andrew must surely be his very first commission. From a distance, he looked fresh and completely free of guile. It was possible, she supposed, that despite his forward speech, he might be nearly as innocent as he looked.

  She would have dedicated considerably more thought to this Mr. Ambercrombie and his innocence, or lack thereof, but a partner came to claim her for the next dance. She would have to wait until later to make up her mind about how to subdue this apparently unconscious offender.

  Jonathon danced twice with Lady Anastasia that evening; he barely spoke, and she made no effort to draw him out. She was difficult to read. Just when he’d decided she regarded him with cold indifference, he’d see a spark of something else in her eye. He knew that women—young and old alike—thought him attractive. It was his theory that women found his youthful and innocent face reassuring.

  It appeared that he was having an opposite effect on Lady Anastasia Carlton, however. If he’d been the most notorious rake, she could hardly have treated him with more chill and caution.

  Despite her coolness, Lady Anastasia did not protest when Jonathon pulled her much closer to his body than he was usually wont to do with ladies of any description. She could not mistake his meaning in doing so, yet she behaved as if it were perfectly normal for a man and woman who had only just been introduced to dance so closely. This could mean one of two things: either Lady Anastasia Carlton had had legions of lovers over the years, or she’d had none at all.

  Jonathon thought Lady Anastasia a most interesting woman. He admired women of accomplishment and women of beauty, but he’d never before encountered beauty and accomplishment so wholly personified in the same woman. He fleetingly wished that Lady Anastasia were closer to his own age, then discarded that thought.

  At his age, she’d doubtless been a fresher beauty, but not half so accomplished and confident as she was now. That was the tragedy of being a woman, he thought.

  Jonathon, at twenty-four, was universally considered to be barely out of his boyhood; however, for a woman, twenty-four was teetering on the brink of spinsterhood. Certainly, at three and thirty, Lady Anastasia Carlton qualified as being permanently on the shelf.

  It was a shame, thought Jonathon, as he pulled her just a hair closer while they whirled around to the music. He felt her grip on his shoulder tighten, and she let out what sounded like an involuntary sigh.

  If Lady Anastasia had opened her eyes and looked into his face just then, she would have seen him smile. But she did not open her eyes, and she did not look up.

  She might project an air of cool detachment. She might decline to speak a word to him. She might feign a complete lack of interest, but she was not fooling him.

  He felt a sudden rush of gratitude towards the America Minister for misplacing that bit of paper. Jonathon could never have anticipated that the evening, which had initially promised nothing more exciting than the prospect of a stolen cat nap in the corner of the library, could have ended with the intriguing prospect of insinuating himself into the confidence of a woman like Lady Anastasia. She was definitely a challenge, but, as Jonathon had said to her himself, there was nothing he liked better than a challenge.