‘Oh, orlright then,’ the Corporal shrugged. ‘Only I don’t like ter see an ole frien’ pushed arahnd; an there a limit ter wot we should stand from these dandified new bosses they give us.’
The last remark was clearly directed at Roger, who swung round on him and said in the icy tone that he knew so well how to use on occasions: ‘Do you not keep a civil tongue in your head, I’ll report you to Citizen Director Barras and have your uniform stripped from your back. Now; leave us this instant!’
Cowed by the voice of authority, the man shuffled off, still muttering to himself. Turning back to Fouché, Roger said: ‘I have little time to waste, but if you have any complaint to make we have better go inside. I’ve no mind to stand here wrangling within earshot of that big oaf and the other men.’
Without a word Fouché stalked back to the house and through into its living room. Roger followed and, as they came to a halt on the other side of the table, asked:
‘Now! What is it you are making such a fuss about?’
‘How can you have the face to ask, when you must know,’ Fouché retorted angrily.
‘I tell you I do not!’
‘Then read that!’ As Fouché spoke he flung the document down on the table.
Picking it up, Roger scanned it quickly. It was on official paper and read:
ORDER OF BANISHMENT
To the Citizen Joseph Fouché.
On receipt of this the citizen above named will leave Paris within twelve hours. He is forthwith forbidden to take up his residence at any place within twenty leagues of the Capital, or to return to it on any pretext without a permission endorsed by the undersigned.
He is also forbidden for reasons of State to communicate in any way with the Citoyenne Josephine de Beauharnais, the Citizen General Buonaparte, or the Citoyenne Rémy.
Should he disobey either of the above injunctions he will make himself liable to transportation for life.
Paul Barras,
For the Directory.
Suddenly Roger burst out laughing. It struck him as incredibly funny that Fouché, the ace of tricksters, should have been tricked himself. Even if he had thought of spiking Fouché’s guns in this way he could not decently have done so; but Barras, being committed by no promise, had awarded the rogue his just deserts.
‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ he exclaimed, still bubbling with mirth. ‘I asked Barras to give you something that would keep you out of mischief, and he could hardly have done so better.’
‘You did intend to ruin me, then’ Fouché cried, frothing at the mouth with rage.
‘No, no. I kept to my word. I asked him first for a post in the Police for you; then for one in some other department. He would not hear of the first; but at length, with reluctance as I thought, gave me this.’
‘If that is true, you can still save me. Return to him and get the order withdrawn.’
‘Nay. Barras is not a man who goes back on his decisions.’
‘He will if you plead for me. I insist that you do! You owe it to me! You promised to get me a post in the Administration, even if it had to be a minor one.’
‘I did nothing of the kind!’ Roger was now angry too. ‘I said only that I would do my best for you. Barras decided on this step without my knowledge; and I tell you frankly that I find his way of dealing with the matter highly suitable. You had it in your power to wreck Madame de Beauharnais’s life and that of her two children. You used that power without the least scruple in an endeavour to forward your own interests. Had you succeeded in your design you then meant to turn upon Madame Rémy, who had employed you as her agent, and have her transported to Cayenne. That you have been caught in your own toils is poetic justice. Aye, and had I been in Barras’s place it would not be banishment that I would have meted out to you, but transportation.’
‘Now you stand revealed in your true colours,’ Fouché cried, again tembling with fury. ‘After what you have said how could anyone believe that you had no hand in this?’
‘Believe what you like! I give not a rap,’ declared Roger roundly. ‘I have had to use you for my own purposes and am now delighted to be shot of you; for I rate you the vilest rogue unhung.’
‘That comes well from a cheat and liar like yourself,’ Fouché sneered. ‘You seem to have forgotten, too, that we are partners in another matter. That is why you would like to see me transported, is it not; so that when the time comes you could keep the whole of the great prize to yourself? But try to cheat me over the little Capet and I’ll see to it that you meet a worse fate than being sent to Cayenne.’
‘The little Capet!’ Roger gave an angry laugh. ‘Why, ’tis an age since I even gave the boy a thought. You need count no more on making your fortune out of him. He is dead.’
‘Dead!’gasped Fouché. ‘You cannot mean that! You are lying again.’
‘He is dead, I tell you; and has been so well above a year. It was in that I used you; buying your silence for a worthless partnership that you proposed yourself.’
‘Then … then I have kept your true identity secret all these months for nothing?’
‘A most fitting reward for your double-dealing with your colleagues and your treachery to your country.’
Red blotches stood out on the white mask of Fouché’s face. His pale eyes were starting from his skull-like head, and he looked as if he were about to have a fit. But, when he spoke again, his voice held a quieter, sinister note.
‘Now you have been too clever. Yes, too clever, Mister Brook. For this cheap triumph over me you have thrown away your armour. Since I can no longer hope to gain anything by keeping your secret why should I continue to do so? Before morning I will have you in jail for what you are. You accursed English spy!’
Roger shrugged contemptuously. ‘Time was when you might have done so, had you played your cards with that in mind. But to denounce me so belatedly could profit you nothing. You have given me the time I needed to re-establish myself and dovetail the pieces of my story in the minds of those who would judge between us. My upbringing in England, my coming to Brittany as a youth, my secretaryship to M. de Rochambeau and duel with M. de Caylus, my return to Paris as a journalist for certain English news-sheets, my life as a member of the Paris Commune, and my having become a prisoner of the English after Thermidor: all these things are now strung together as a whole, and so many people could vouch’ for various parts of the story that all would believe the whole of it. You might as well accuse Barras or Buonaparte; for no one would believe you. Had you even a single witness to support you, matters would be different. But you have not. It would be your word against mine. Our respective situations being as they are, ask yourself whose would be taken?’
In the face of Roger’s cynical assurance, Fouché wilted visibly. Striking his forehead, he gave a bitter cry. ‘Oh that I had that one witness; or my old power back, even for a single hour!’
‘Had you used it less evilly you might never have lost it,’ Roger retorted swiftly. Then pointing at the Order of Banishment, which still lay on the table, he gave a final turn to the screw before turning to leave the room.
‘Try denouncing me if you will. You’ll find it will be regarded as the pathetic effort of a man half crazed, endeavouring to revenge himself upon’ me because I brought him that.’
As he stepped through the doorway, Fouché, goaded beyond endurance, seized an empty bottle on the side table by its neck, swung it aloft and came at him from behind.
But Roger knew his man too well not to have kept a wary eye out for a sudden resort to violence. Swinging round, he sprang back into the hall, whipped out the slender blade from a tall sword-cane that he was carrying, jerked back his elbow, and levelled the point at Fouché’s heart.
‘Stand back!’ Roger’s voice was low but menacing. ‘Drop that bottle or I’ll run you through with less compunction than I’d stick one of your pigs.’
With a curse, Fouché dropped the bottle. Then, almost weeping with rage, he cried: ‘To hell with you! I’ll
get the better of you yet.’
Lowering his blade Roger turned away, but found a parting shot over his shoulder. ‘You are welcome to attempt it. But you had best be gone from here by tomorrow morning. I mean to send the police to see that you have obeyed Barras’s order.’
Roger’s anger had now cooled. He had, all through, had the best of the encounter. No qualms of conscience troubled him about having brought Fouché an Order of Banishment instead of the expected post. Neither did he blame Barras for having in this manner deprived Fouché of the power to menace their plans concerning the marriage of Buonaparte and Josephine. On the contrary, he was thoroughly pleased with himself for the way in which he had handled the situation.
His feeling would have been very different had he had the least inkling of the evil trick that Fate was about to play him, and the desperate straits in which he would find himself within a bare half hour.
27
The Cat Gets Out of the Bag
A quarter of an hour’s drive brought the coach to the far end of the Quai de la Grève where, between the two bridges, a row of decrepit-looking buildings backed on to the river. Even in daylight it was an unsavoury part of the city, as it was adjacent both to the wharfs and to the Faubourg St. Antoine, a great area of slums, from which the most sanguinary mobs had emerged to loot and kill at every crisis during the Revolution. Now, in the late evening, ill-lit and evil smelling, its dark and crooked ways seemed to conceal a menace round every corner.
But Roger was used to taking care of himself, and his only worry at the moment was that he might not find Madame Rémy at home. As the coach rumbled, now at a walk, over the cobbles he peered from its windows, till, by the light of a lantern-lit doorway from behind which there came the muffled sounds of raucous singing, he located the drinking den of which Fouché had spoken.
Halting the coach he got out, told Corporal Peltier and his men that in no circumstance were they to leave it until he called to them, then faced about to take stock of Madame Rémy’s dwelling. It was quite a tall building but had only two stories. In the upper one there was a single unusually large window, presumably put in by its late tenant, the artist, to give a good north light. Curtains were drawn across it, but through them came a dull glow. Roger noted it with much satisfaction, as an indication that Madame Rémy was probably at home. Walking forward, he rapped sharply on the door of the place with the butt end of his sword-cane.
In reply to his knocking there came the clock-clack of footsteps on bare boards, then the door was opened by a woman. As the only particulars of the blackmailer Roger had received were, that she was the sister of a mulatto who had been brought up as a slave in the household of Josephine’s father, he had subconsciously expected to find her middle-aged and running to fat, as is the case with nearly all ageing females having negro blood. But the light, although dim, was sufficient for him to see that the woman who had answered the door was tall, shapely and much younger than he expected; so with a shade of doubt in his voice, he asked:
‘Are you the Citoyenne Rémy?’
‘Yes,’ she replied in a cheerful voice that implied a smile. ‘You’re lucky to find me alone. But come in and we’ll have a glass of wine. Then you can tell me who gave you my address.’
It was clearly the invitation of a harlot to a stranger, whom she assumed had been sent to her by one of her regulars. With a grim little smile, at the thought that she had no idea of the surprise in store for her, Roger followed her inside and took quick stock of the main room of the dwelling, which had been hidden from the street door by a hanging curtain of coarse material.
Two thirds of the place had been gutted to form a lofty studio, and it now had two storeys only at its far end. There, a steep, narrow stairway, flush with the partition wall, ran up to a four-foot square landing giving access to a single door, which was presumably that of a bedroom overlooking the river. But, apparently, Madame Rémy did not usually conduct her business up there; as, at one side of the studio before a small fire of sea-coal stood a broad couch covered with rugs and cushions. Near it was a table on which two candles, stuck in the necks of empty bottles, were burning. Otherwise, apart from a wicker chair, a battered oak chest, and a cracked mirror above the fire-place, the big apartment was bare of furniture.
Swaying her hips seductively, the woman walked in front of Roger towards the couch. As she did so she must have caught a glimpse of him in the mirror, for she said in a honeyed Créole voice:
‘Down in these parts it isn’t often that one sees a fine gentleman like you. But I promise you won’t repent your visit. A West Indian girl can show most Frenchmen a few things they don’t know; and perhaps you are the very one I have been waiting for to set me up in a better place.’
As she finished speaking she turned about and dropped him a curtsy. It was when rising from it with a smile that she got her surprise; but not the one that Roger had intended. He got one too. He found himself face to face with Lucette.
Their meeting in Paris was so totally unexpected that neither had recognised the voice of the other, and it; was not until they had come into the light of the candles that they had had the chance to discern one another’s features. But now it was plain from the expressions on the faces of them both that neither had the least doubt about the other’s identity.
‘You!’ Lucette breathed the word with hatred and alarm. Next second her right hand darted downward through a placket hole in her skirt. In the same movement she stooped. As she came upright her hand emerged grasping an eight-inch long stiletto that she had drawn from the top of her stocking. Her dark eye flashing, she whirled it on high and came at Roger like a tigress.
Without moving from where he stood he thrust up the thick malacca handle of his sword-cane, and parried the slash she made at his neck. Then he hit her hard beneath the chin. With a moan she went down backwards on the couch. Throwing aside his cane, he sprang upon her, seized her wrist and gave it a violent wrench. She uttered a cry of pain. Her fingers relaxed their grip upon the knife, and it fell with a tinkle on to the bare boards. Releasing her he picked it up and stuck it in the top of his jack-boot. Then he dusted his hands together, and said:
‘I owed you that. Since you remember me, you may also remember having knocked me down in the cabin of the Circe when I had hardly enough strength in my legs to stand up without assistance.’
‘Remember you!’ she panted, struggling into a sitting position. ‘Is it likely that I could ever forget you, after the ill you’ve done me. You are my jinx! Before we met I lived a carefree life. Since, everything has gone wrong. It was you who killed de Senlac. It was you who caused the break up of the fraternity over which I reigned as Queen. I decided to settle down and keep a good, respectable house in St. Pierre. You came there and had me flung into prison.’
‘You would have had a hanging, had I not had to take flight the day after I had you arrested,’ Roger put in quickly.
Her face became clouded with a puzzled frown. ‘What mean you by “take flight”? You were the Governor there, and they told me you had been recalled to England.’
‘So I told my staff, but it was not the fact.’ Roger’s brain had been working overtime for the last few minutes. He thought it unlikely that Lucette could do him any serious harm, but that it would nevertheless be prudent to give her some story to account for his presence in Paris. Some adaptation of his stock box and cox autobiography was obviously the most plausible line; so, with a not very pleasant little laugh, he went on:
‘From the fluency with which I speak French you must have realised that I am half a Frenchman, and although I was brought up in England I am wholly French at heart. I have long served the Republic secretly, and had hoped to strike a great blow for it by enabling Victor Hugues to retake Martinique. But he sent me warning that our plot was on the verge of discovery. I got away while I could, and from England employed a smuggler to run me across to France. What happened to you after I left?’
‘With you no longer there, they
could bring no evidence of piracy against me,’ she replied morosely, ‘but your denunciation caused Colonel Penruddock to treat me most scurvily. He had me charged with keeping a disorderly house and I was sentenced to three months’ imprisonment. When I came out I found myself ruined. The pretty mulatto wenches for whom I had paid high prices had vanished; the house slaves had looted my property and run away. Only the house itself was left, and that stripped from cellar to rafters.’
‘So, for a change, you have learnt what it feels like to be despoiled.’
Her eyes gleamed hatred at him. That I owe to you! And the wretched state to which I am now reduced. By the sale of the house I raised just enough money to get me to France. I had a project here which I have always kept for an emergency; believing that were I ever in need I could count on it to secure me a regular pension. But so far it has not matured. Meanwhile, I have been forced to become a wharf-hands’ whore, and either starve or submit to the brutalities of any drunken swine who has a fancy to put me through my paces.’
Roger nodded. ‘Touching this project of yours. It is upon that I have come to see you.’
‘What!’ she cried, springing to her feet. ‘I thought your visit a chance one: that you had been sent here by one of the maquereaux who find men for me and take a commission on my earnings. Do you mean that you are come to play, the jinx again, and rob me of my last chance to enjoy an old age in some comfort. That I must have! I must; for I am no longer young!’
She had been sitting with her back to the candles, but had turned as she sprang up, and her face, now fully lit by them, confirmed her words. From the fact that Josephine was her foster sister, Roger knew that both of them must be well over thirty. The former had kept her looks remarkably well; so had Lucette up till six months ago, but since then her imprisonment and the life she was now leading had caused a swift deterioration to set in. The muscles of her cheeks had gone slack, her complexion had become slightly raddled, there were great hollows under her fine eyes, and the outer corner of the left one was still a little discoloured from a bruise where one of her transitory lovers must have blackened it for her.
The Dark Secret of Josephine Page 52