Taking the envelope Roger bowed again, and replied: ‘I am much indebted to you, Sir, for conveying to me His Majesty’s most gracious message, and for your own good wishes. Naturally I shall be honoured to act as His Majesty’s courier, and still more so if you will now step inside and join us in a glass of wine.’
The Prime Minister’s lined face lit up in one of his rare smiles, but he shook his head. ‘I thank you, no. I have urgent affairs requiring my attention at Holwood; so you must excuse me.’ Then he pulled the string attached to the little finger of his coachman, and a moment later the carriage was bowling away down the road.
‘It was just after seven o’clock, and in the deepening twilight the superscription on the big envelope had not stood out clearly enough for Roger to read it at the first glance. Now, as he held it up, he saw with some surprise that it was addressed to himself. Hurrying into the lighted hall, he tore it open and ran his eyes swiftly over the thick parchment it contained. When he had read only a few lines he gave a gasp of amazement. It was a Royal Commission appointing him Governor of the newly-won island of Martinique.
Running into the dining-room he held it high above his head and, with an excited shout, announced its contents. The girls embraced him; the men cheered, wrung his hand and slapped him on the back. While they were still crowding about him Dan produced champagne, and in the pink slightly effervescent wine of those times, they drained their crystal goblets to the health of His Excellency the Governor.
An hour or so later, when Amanda and Georgina had retired to the drawing-room, Roger went down to the cellar to get up more wine. In his absence his three men friends expressed their personal views on his appointment.
All of them agreed that, since this rich Governorship could have bought the support of some great landowner who controlled two or three seats in Parliament, and Roger was entirely without political influence, the gift of it to him was most generous.
Colonel Thursby added that, all the same, the Prime Minister’s gesture showed his sound sense as well as generosity, as Roger was level-headed, firm, and high principled; and having lived in France for so long he was far better fitted than most men to bring tranquility to an island that had until a few months ago been a French colony.
But the shrewd Droopy Ned saw even further, and poking his narrow head forward, he said with a sly smile: ‘I think you overlook one thing. Roger is the most gifted confidential agent who has served the Crown for many a long day, and Bill Pitt sets too high a value on him to lose him. This morning, having become temporarily sickened of his work, Roger freed himself from it, but tonight he is no longer free. By the gift of this Governorship he has been tied by a silken cord, and can be recalled at will. I will wager a thousand guineas that within a year Roger will once more be serving his master on the Continent.’
3
Westward Ho!
During the next few weeks Roger was very fully occupied. Having written to thank the Prime Minister he next wrote to Henry Dundas, as Minister for the Colonies, to ask for an interview at which he might receive specific instructions regarding his Governorship, The business-like Dandas replied by return, inviting him to dine at his house at Wimbledon on the following Thursday, and suggesting that he should come early so that they could discuss affairs before the meal.
Roger both liked Dundas and had a great respect for his ability. The minister was then in his early fifties, a big rawboned red-faced man who still spoke with the broad Scottish accent he had acquired in boyhood. He was notoriously foul-mouthed and drank like a trooper, but his potations had no effect upon his splendid constitution, and he had an extraordinary capability for despatching mountains of work with swift efficiency. India was only one of his responsibilities but he knew more about it than any other man in Parliament, and the genial good-humour, that Mr. Pitt so sadly lacked, made him an invaluable manager of their party. By invariably giving every post that fell vacant within his patronage to fellow countrymen, he ensured all the members from north of the Tweed loyally following him into the lobby, and his influence had become so great there that he was known as Harry the Ninth of Scotland.
Within five minutes of Roger’s arrival Dundas was pouring him a glass of shrub in his study, and saying with a jovial laugh: ‘Ye’ve come ta see how much ye can get out o’ me; an’dina ye pretend otherwise.’
‘I’ll not,’ Roger smiled. He knew that, Martinique being a new post, no salary would yet have been fixed for it, and added cheerfully: ‘What say you to three thousand a year?’
Dundas sat back and roared with laughter. ‘Strap me! The impudence of it! Dost take me for the Inca of Peru? Nay, five hundred is nearer the mark, though t’was eight I had in mind.’
Roger’s face fell, and he protested: ‘Damme Sir! I have been drawing twelve hundred from the Foreign Office.’
‘Aye, an’ ye’ve earnt every nickel of it,’ Dundas nodded, suddenly serious; for he was as well informed as Mr. Pitt of the work that Roger had been doing. ‘There’ll not be any blood-soaked guillotine awaiting ye in Martinique, though; but a fine idle life with puncheons o’ rum to drink an’ a plenty o’ coffee-coloured beauties ta tumble in th’ cane brakes.’
‘All the same, Sir, a thousand is nought but a pittance for the Governor of an Island.’
‘Weel; on account o’ yer past sairvices I’ll try tae get tha Treasury tae gi’ ye twelve hundred.’
‘My expenses will be all of that,’ said Roger glumly. ‘Could you not ask for fifteen?’
‘Nay.’ Dundas shook his head. ‘Twelve hundred I’ll ask for, an’ not a bawbee more. But listen lad. Were ye not half a Scot an’ desairved the post into the bargain, I’d ha’ found a way tae ha’ excused meself from confirming the appointment. As things are I’m glad for ye an’ will instruct your innocence. Ye ha’ but ta use the shrewd sense your Mac-Elfic mother gied ye, tae line those fine breeks o’ yours wi’ West Indian gold.’
‘I had heard there were perks,’ Roger admitted, ‘but I can hardly suppose that they would amount to any really considerable sum.’
‘Why mon, the patronage o’ tha whole island will be yours! Ye’ll need only a canny agent tae tip ye the wink wha’ applicants for post can afford tae pay. Harbours, prisons, mails, barracks, customs; permits for this an’ that; licences tae ships’ victuallers, army sutlers an’ privateers; all should bring grist tae your mill. Nair forget that many a mickle makes a muckle. Let not e’en the smallest fry get oot of ye something fer nothing an’ ye’ll return as rich as a nabob. Sie’ practices are forbidden here, but providin’ ye make no appointments that might prove detrimental tae th’ ould country, they are winked at in tha islands; so ye’ve nought tae fret about.’
Somewhat reassured by this, Roger pressed the question of money no further, and for a while they discussed the policy to be adopted towards the French planters; then their talk became more general and turned to the new Coalition. Dundas was by no means happy about it, as he believed that the Duke of Portland had deliberately put a misconstruction on the Prime Minister’s offer in an attempt to rob him of his entire patronage. This was no question of making money from the sale of posts, but he maintained that it was impossible to keep a political party together unless one had plenty of places in one’s gift. So, rather than remain to watch Pitt’s following fall to pieces, he had refused to take office in the new Cabinet. Pitt had been so distressed at the prospect of losing his old colleague that he had dealt sharply with the Duke, and gone to the length of getting the King to write Dundas a personal letter saying that his services were indispensable. But the affair had left an unpleasant taste and did not bode well for the Whigs and Tories settling down together contentedly.
At four o’clock a coach arrived bringing three other guests for dinner. All of them were intimates of the Small Pitt-Dundas circle and two of them, Pepper Arden, and George Rose, Roger had met before. The first was a rather bumptious hanger-on of mediocre talents whose ill-directed loyalty, coupled with an almost noseless face t
hat gave him a most comical appearance, at times made him the butt of the House. The second, with able and industrious devotion, handled the spade-work at the Treasury of the Prime Minister’s brilliant financial administration; and within a few minutes of his arrival Dundas had jollied him into agreeing that Roger’s salary should be twelve hundred a year.
Henry Addington was the third in their party. He was a tall well-favoured man with charming manners and had been at Lincoln’s Inn when Pitt was practising as a barrister there. It was Pitt who had drawn him into politics and had used his influence to get him elected as Speaker of the House in ‘89; but at this first meeting Roger thought him so modest and unambitious that he would have been greatly surprised had he been granted a glimpse of the future and from it learned that his new acquaintance was to become Prime Minister.
At dinner they ate and drank with the usual unrestrained gusto of the times, and as there were no ladies present Dundas kept them merry with an apparently inexhaustible fund of bawdy stories. Afterwards the talk became more serious, turning inevitably to politics and, in due course, to the progress of the French Revolution. To these close friends Dundas made no secret of Roger’s activities in France and he was asked to give an account of Robespierre’s fall and execution, then of other outstanding scenes that he had witnessed during the Terror. It was Addington who said:
‘It is clear, Mr. Brook, that you must be a man of great courage to have continued with your mission in circumstances of acute danger for so long; so I mean no offence by suggesting that there must have been many occasions when you feared for your life. It would much interest me to hear of that of which your apprehensions were the gravest.’
Roger thought for a moment, then replied: ‘The fear of betrayal was a constant anxiety, but I think, Sir, I felt more acutal terror on the field of battle than during any of my dealings with the revolutionaries. Last winter I was sent as one of the Citizen Représentants en Mission to the army besieging Toulon. Fort Mulgrave was the key point of the defence, and having learnt the date that a major attack was to be launched against it, I was most anxious to get warning to my Lord Hood of the intentions of the French. As it was impossible for me to leave Headquarters clandestinely, I decided that my best course would be to get myself captured. To the north of the Fort there was a small redoubt containing a masked battery. I suggested to General Dugommier that its destruction the night before the main assault would greatly faciliate the capture of the Fort, and offered to lead an attack upon it. He agreed, and my intention was, of course, to get separated from my men in the darkness, surrender to the first British soldier I met, get taken to my Lord Hood, then have him exchange me for a prisoner of equivalent rank; so that I could return and continue with my secret work without the French suspecting that it was I who had given away their plans. But my own plan went sadly awry.’
Having taken a swig of port, Roger went on: ‘Most unfortunately for me, when the details of my project were discussed in Council, a scruffy little officer named Buonaparte intervened. He was Corsican, of about my own age; and although only a Captain of artillery who had recently been jumped up to temporary Lieutenant Colonel, he insisted on poking his finger into every pie. This moody down-at-heel follow maintained that although the capture of the redoubt was sound in principle, to attempt it the night before the main assault would result in setting the whole front ablaze prematurely. He persuaded his seniors that it must be carried out only a few hours before the assault, when it would be too late for the British to bring up reinforcements from the warships in the harbour. Of course it was impossible for me to back down; so owing to this interfering Corsican, I was compelled to lead an attack against the battery in full daylight and I don’t think I’ve ever been so frightened in my life.’
The others laughed, and Rose enquired. ‘Did you capture the battery?’
Roger gave a rueful smile. ‘I don’t even know, for no sooner had I reached it than a gunner stunned me with his ramrod. But if the little Buonaparte had deliberately planned my undoing he could not have done so better. Not only did I fail to get my information to Lord Hood; it transpired that the battery was manned by our Spanish allies. When I came to I found myself a prisoner in a Spanish man-of-war, and they took me to Majorca. As I could not reveal my true identity, I had the very devil of a job getting out of their clutches, and was unable to resume my proper work again for above two months.’
There was more friendly laughter, the port circulated again and the talk went on. It was two in the morning before Roger mounted his horse and, swaying somewhat in the saddle, made his way home.
His next business was to kiss hands on appointment, and for this formality Dundas took him to a levee at St. James’s Palace. King George was then fifty-six, a portly red-faced man of no great mental attainments, but a fund of sound common sense and dogged determination. Unlike his German forebears, he put what he believed to be the interests of Britain first in everything. He had a passionate conviction that the well-being of the State was bound up with the breaking of the stranglehold that the powerful Whig nobility had obtained over it, and for the first twenty-five years of his reign had fought them relentlessly. At last, by the bold step of nominating young Billy Pitt at the age of twenty-four to be his Prime Minister, he had succeeded in his aim, and together through many difficulties they had brought the nation to a great prosperity. Five years earlier he had for some months been out of his mind, and his recovery had been hailed throughout England with such heart-felt rejoicing that it was clear beyond doubt that his honesty, simple way of life, and delight in growing bigger turnips than any other farmer in his kingdom had, through the years, gradually made him an object of great affection to his people.
Roger, during his missions, had become quite well acquainted with several foreign sovereigns, but no occasion had previously arisen calling for his presentation to his own King: so he was pleasantly surprised when the Monarch said to him:
‘You should have come to see us before, Mr. Brook; you should have come before. Seven years in our service we’re told, and many a dangerous undertaking carried out with success. Our thanks are overdue. And now you go to Martinique, eh? What’ll you plant there? Sugar cane of course. Not long ago we met on the road a rich equipage with six outriders, all most gorgeous clad. “Who’s that?” we asked our gentleman-in-waiting. “Is it some foreign Prince or new Ambassador?” “Nay, Sire,’ he told us.“ ’Tis a merchant just returned from the Sugar Isles.” “Why Bless me!” we said. “Can there be all that sugar?” ’Twas true enough though But yams, now yams; or sweet potatoes as some call them. Could we but induce the planters to grow them in quantity, they would serve admirably to feed the slaves. Then we’d have no need to send out vast quantities of salted herrings each year for that purpose. Bear yams in mind, Mr. Brook; bear yams in mind.’
‘I will indeed, Sire,’ Roger promised; and having drawn a quick breath the King hurried on:
‘When do you set out? With the first convoy of the season, no doubt. But that’s not for some weeks yet; so you’ll be seeing your father before you sail. Carry him our greeting, Mr. Brook. We hold him in high esteem. A good honest man. A fine sailor too. Yes, carry him our greeting and tell him what we said.’
Roger bowed. ‘I should be most happy, Sire, to convey your gracious message to him; but it happens that he is at present on service in the Mediterranean.’
‘Ha! Ha!’ The King gave a high-pitched happy little laugh and, with his protuberant blue eyes suddenly merry, poked Roger sharply in the ribs. ‘Beaten at your own game, Mr. Brook! Beaten at your own game. Our intelligence is better than yours. Your good father was at Windsor but two days back to tell us of the taking of Corsica. It was our pleasure to make him a Knight for his part in it: so now he is Admiral Sir Chris. Admiral Sir Chris. Admiral Sir Chris; that sounds well, does it not? Do you know Corsica? Your father says the island is near covered with chestnut trees, and the finest he has ever seen. The peasants make a flour from the nuts, which is most
nutritious, thereby enjoying a staple food at little or no expense. Have you ever met with it?’
‘I have never been to Corsica, Sire; but a similar flour is made in Tuscany, and there I found it very palatable.’ Before the King could start off again, Roger added swiftly: ‘And, Your Majesty, may I say how delighted I am to hear of this honour you have done my father. I shall lose not a moment in seeking him out to offer my congratulations.’
‘Do that; do that.’ The King nodded a little wistfully, thinking of his own boorish, ungrateful and neglectful sons. ‘I count your father lucky in you, Mr. Brook; yes, very lucky. You are a young man of promise. Tell the settlers in Martinique that now they are our subjects we shall have their interests at heart. And forget not the yams, Mr. Brook; forget not the yams.’
The King then turned to speak to someone else and Roger bowed himself away. As his father must have passed through London, he was much surprised that he had not gone out to Richmond to see Amanda and enquire if there was any news of himself; but as soon as the levee was over he hurried to the Admiralty, and there learned the reason. Before Admiral Brook landed at Portsmouth, the crew of the ship which had brought him from Gibraltar had handed him a petition of grievances, and after he had submitted it to their Lordships they had requested him to investigate certain of the complaints before taking leave.
By the night coach Roger sent an express to Portsmouth congratulating his father and outlining his own plans. Two days later, he received a reply in which the Admiral said that he had completed his report to their Lordships and was about to start for home; he then asked that Roger and Amanda should manage at least a short visit to him before sailing for the Indies. In consequence, on the following Monday they set out for Lymington.
Roger’s old home, Grove Place, lay only a quarter of a mile to the south of the High Street of the ancient Borough. It had originated as a farm house with red-tile walls, built about 1660; but that part of it had been turned into kitchen quarters when, a hundred years later, the main square block had been added, and in 1787 Rear Admiral Brook had spent a part of his prize money earned in the West Indies on adding two further rooms and a spacious central hall with a charming semi-circular staircase. It was now, therefore, no great mansion, but a very comfortable house with six lofty well-proportioned rooms and about twenty smaller ones. Behind it, on the slope up to the town, it had an acre of walled garden, and to its south front lay several acres of meadows, across which, from the tall windows of the house, there was a fine view of the Solent and the western end of the Isle of Wight.
The Dark Secret of Josephine Page 5