On the Continent, wherever France’s writ ran, he was Colonel Comte de Breuc, a Commander of the Legion of Honour and an A.D.C. to the Emperor. He had for years formed one of Napoleon’s intimate circle, and a single prisoner would mean nothing to a man whose prison camps held many, many thousands. He had only to go to the Emperor and ask for an order for Charles’s release, and he had not the least doubt that it would be given him.
Through Roger’s mind raced distressing thoughts of what such a commitment would entail. He had vowed never again to leave England until the war was over. His desperate craving to be done with risks and to lead a life of ease must go by the board. Once more he must face the chance that he would be found out to be an English secret agent. But that was not all. There was Mary. She had been settled into her new home barely a month. Must the man she loved so devotedly be snatched from her, and her happiness be turned for many weeks into miserable anxiety at the thought that she might have lost him for good?
It was not as though he could hope to accomplish such a mission in a fortnight by a swift crossing of the Channel and return. The Emperor was in Germany and Charles in Spain. To reach northern Germany, ride all the way across the Rhineland through France, find Charles, secure his release, then get home, could easily take two months.
But wait! Was it necessary to go to the Emperor? No. Roger knew King Joseph well, and Napoleon’s eldest brother was a kindly man. It was men of his army who had captured Charles, and he could easily be persuaded to give an order for the boy’s release. To go direct to Spain would save a month or more. And time was important, for any unforeseen delay in the much longer journey could mean not reaching Spain until the autumn, and perhaps too late.
Roger had as good as made up his mind that he must inflict a month or so of misery on poor little Mary when another thought struck him. If Georgina’s vision had been a true one, no order for Charles’s release could prevent his standing beneath a tree about to be hanged. In that case, any attempt to save him must prove, as near as made no odds, futile.
Again his thoughts raced furiously. Himself apart, Georgina loved her son more than anyone in the world. How could he possibly tell her that, unless the crystal had misled her, there was no hope for him? Besides, while there is life, there is always hope. She had not seen Charles hanging, only about to be hanged. It might be that his captors were only threatening him with death as a means of wringing some information from him. That was a possibility as slender as a gossamer thread. On such a chance to shatter poor little Mary’s happiness and resume the dangerous game that, with fantastic good fortune, he had survived for so long was, when regarded cooly, sheer madness.
But wait! Perhaps Georgina’s vision had been sent her as a warning—a warning of a fate likely to overtake Charles unless some action was taken to prevent it. There had been many instances of people who had appeared to stand no hope whatever of escaping execution, yet had been saved from death by some quite unexpected intervention. All forecasts of future events were, Roger knew, no more than probable indications of the course fate would take. None were inevitable.
With sudden resolution he took Georgina’s hands firmly in his and said:
‘I will go to Spain and spare no effort in an attempt to save him.’
13
To Go, or not to Go
It was with a heavy heart that Roger rode home that afternoon, to face Mary and tell her of the scurvy trick fate had played them. Anxiously he wondered how she would take the news that he must leave her. Very badly, he was certain, and he was terribly distressed at the thought of the grief he must inflict on her.
He was also grimly conscious of his own misfortune. Gone was the future to which he had looked forward for so long: to leading the life of a well-to-do gentleman of leisure, mingling with high society at gay balls and routs, frequenting the most exclusive clubs and discussing there with the best informed men of the day the latest news from courts and camps, pleasant visits to Brighton and big country houses, sleeping always in comfortable beds, hearing Mary’s merry laughter daily, having Susan and Droopy to stay and, as a priceless spice to life, from time to time renewing his youth by revelling in a hectic night with his beloved Georgina.
Instead, he was doomed, for a time at least, to a renewal of the hard and dangerous existence he had led for so long. He knew from bitter past experience how easy it was, once on the Continent as Colonel Comte de Breuc, to become involved in hazardous undertakings. They could lead to having to spend days on end in the saddle until he was half-dead from exhaustion, to sleeping wrapped in a cloak on the hard ground, to coming unexpectedly face to face with someone who knew him to be an Englishman and who might denounce him as a spy; or, once again, having to gallop through smoke and musket balls carrying orders from Napoleon during one of his battles and fearing every moment to be killed or maimed for life.
But Mary was his immediate worry. In vain he had racked his brain for a way to soften the blow, but there was no avoiding having to deliver it. However, on one aspect of the matter his mind was made up. In no circumstances must she be allowed to know that it was for Georgina’s sake that he was leaving her. And, fortunately, he thought he had the means of preventing her suspecting that.
Following a procedure he had decided upon during his ride from London, when Mary ran out of the house to greet him as he crossed the garden from the stable yard, he gave her only a pale smile and kissed her in a slightly off-handed manner. When she asked him how he had enjoyed his dinner the previous night, he replied, ‘Oh, well enough,’ then said that after freshening himself up he had some letters he must write.
Although he did not put pen to paper, he remained in his small library until the gong sounded for dinner, moodily contemplating the distressing task before him. Over the meal he appeared distrait and answered Mary’s questions only very briefly. She waited until the parlourmaid had put the dessert on the table and left the room. Then she asked with deep concern:
‘Roger, whatever ails you? I’ve never known you like this. Are you in some trouble?’
Beginning to peel a peach, he replied, ‘I am not, but someone very dear to me is and, alas, it entails great unhappiness for both of us.’
‘For us? But why, and in what way?’
‘Because, my dearest, I’ll have to leave you for a while.’
Mary’s mouth dropped open and she exclaimed, ‘Leave me! Oh, no! You cannot mean it.’
‘I do. I hope not to be absent for more than a few weeks, but I have to go abroad again.’
‘Abroad!’ Mary gulped, then her eyes became angry. ‘Roger! When we sailed from Sweden, you swore to me that you would never accept another mission. Yet you must have. And we’ve been living for scarce a month the life I’ve dreamed of. Oh, how could you? How could you?’
‘ ’Tis not a mission. I mean, this is no matter of going to the Continent again as a secret agent. It is a personal affair. Young Charles St. Ermins has been taken prisoner.’
Mary lowered her eyes. ‘I am indeed sorry to hear that. But I do not see what you can do about it.’
‘Joseph Bonaparte, as King of Spain, is the titular commander of the army there so it was his troops that captured Charles. I have known the King well for many years. I have no doubt whatever that I can obtain from him an order for Charles’s release.’
Again Mary’s glance was angry. ‘As an officer he will be well treated, and in due course an exchange will be arranged for him. At best you could only spare him the inconvenience of a few additional weeks in captivity. And anyway, why should you go there on his account?’
‘Because, Mary, he is my son.’
‘Your son! You mean that he has no real right to the Earldom? That you fathered him upon Georgina?’
For a moment Roger was tempted to accept the conclusion to which she had jumped, as it would have strengthened his case for going to Charles’s assistance. But swiftly he realised the danger of acknowledging this tie with Georgina.
‘No, no,’ he
shook his head. ‘I mean only that Charles is the nearest thing to a son I’ve ever had. As you know, he and Susan were brought up together by Georgina, so I have always looked on both of them as my children.’
The nearest thing to a sneer that Roger had ever seen on Mary’s face crossed it for a moment, then she snapped, ‘So you think of yourself as his father! A fine father I must say! Why, it will be near three years since you even saw the boy. And when you were last in England for any length of time, he was for most of it at Eton. Did you come face to face with him in a street tomorrow, I doubt me if you’d know him.’
Roger sighed. ‘Mary my love, what you say is true enough. Yet I feel this to be a duty I cannot shirk.’
‘You mean you learned this from Georgina and have given way to her pleading that you should desert me to go in search of the son she so dotes upon?’
‘Georgina does not enter into this.’
‘Oh, but she does! Your story to me that she has been your lifelong friend is true enough. But there is more to it than that. Do you suppose there are no malicious tongues among the society women with whom I have become acquainted during this past month? Several of them have been at pains to inform me that Georgina was your mistress for many years, and sweetly congratulated me on having supplanted her in your affections.’
‘That we were lovers when young I’ll not deny,’ Roger replied smoothly. ‘But that is a long time ago. Not one of those scandalmongering jades could provide a tittle of evidence that I’ve been aught to Georgina between her marriages but a frequent escort when in London.’
‘Yet you must have been with her at some time during the past twenty-four hours. How else could you have learnt that Charles is a prisoner?’
Roger had agreed with Georgina that, to make certain the news about Charles did not get to Susan’s ears and cause her great distress, she should tell no-one of her dream or vision in the crystal. So he was able to reply:
‘I learnt it last night from the Minister of War, who made one of our party. Charles’s capture was mentioned in a despatch he had received that morning from His Grace of Wellington. Knowing my connection with the boy, he told me of it, but he’ll not make it public, in order to spare Georgina the anxiety she would feel.’
The plausible lie temporarily stilled Mary’s suspicions, but she continued to argue that she had a bigger claim on him than Charles, and to plead with him to forgo his intention of going to Spain.
He had assumed she would be tearful but submissive, so her persistence, added to her unexpected suspicions about Georgina, annoyed him. Sorry as he was for her, and the more so from knowing that he was making her unhappy to undertake a journey that might very well prove futile, he was not the man to change his mind once he had made it up, let alone go back on his word to Georgina. At length, pushing back his chair, he said:
‘M’dear. When we first met in Lisbon I told you that, being near twice your age, I was too set in my habits to change them. I have never yet allowed a woman to interfere with any project I have set my mind upon. I can only say that since I love you very dearly, I will return to you as soon as possible.’
Thereupon Mary burst into tears. But he ignored her, left the table and walked from the room.
She did not join him in the library, and he spent the next few hours putting his affairs in order. By the time he had finished, he had decided that the only way to ensure against Mary making further trouble in future, when she disapproved of his arrangements, was to teach her a sharp lesson. So, when he went upstairs, instead of going to their bedroom he went to his dressing room and slept the night there.
He had hoped she would come to him and seek a reconciliation; but as she had not he was in no mind, when he went downstairs in the morning, to take the first step himself. She did not join him for breakfast, so when he had finished he sent for her maid, and said:
‘As Her Ladyship is still up in her room, I assume she is feeling indisposed. Be good enough to tell her that I shall shortly be leaving for London, but expect to return in time for dinner.’
To his surprise the girl faltered, ‘But Her Ladyship is not there, Sir. She got up early, ordered the coach and left an hour since. I … I thought you knew.’
With difficulty concealing the anger he felt at having to show ignorance of his wife’s plans, he asked, ‘Did she say where she was going, and what time she is likely to be back?’
‘No, Sir. But she had me pack a small night bag to take with her.’
Dismissing the girl with a nod, Roger poured himself another cup of coffee, then sat back to consider this unexpected development. Mary had clearly taken the bit between her teeth, but where the devil was she on her way to? She had no relatives with whom she could stay while endeavouring to bring him to heel, and no money of her own. He had started to make her a generous monthly allowance, but she could not have put aside out of the first instalment sufficient to keep herself for any length of time. During the past few weeks she had made a number of acquaintances, but was not yet intimate enough with any of them to ask them to put her up—except Droopy Ned. Yes, that was probably the answer. She had gone off to pour out her trouble to him.
Roger had meant to look in on Droopy that day and, as he had no secrets from this best of friends, tell him that he was going to Spain, and why. Now he decided against doing so, for he had no intention of letting Mary think he had come hot-foot after her.
Half an hour later he was on his way to London, and by mid-morning at the Admiralty, where he sent up his card to the First Sea Lord, an acquaintance of long standing, who was one of the comparatively few people who knew of his past activities as a secret agent.
After a short wait, the Admiral saw him and they talked for ten minutes or more about Roger’s experiences in Russia and America, then he said, ‘My Lord, I am anxious to get to Spain as soon as possible. I must not conceal it from you that this is on private business; but if you could help me I’d be deuced grateful.’
The old sailor smiled. ‘Having in mind your past services to the nation, Mr. Brook, we’d be mightily ungrateful if we couldn’t stretch a point for you. The frigate Pompey, Captain Durrant, will be sailing from Greenwich three days hence. You’re welcome to a passage aboard her, and I’ll notify her commander accordingly.’
Well pleased, Roger made his way to White’s Club. As he hung his beaver on a peg in the inner hall, it crossed his mind how manners and fashions had changed since he had first become a member. Then, all the hats had been tricornes and many edged with gold lace. Now, they were all toppers of various colours, some, like his own, rough-surfaced, others of smooth, shining silk.
At the far end of the billiard room he found Droopy, playing backgammon. He peered at Roger with his shortsighted eyes, then greeted him cheerfully, but said nothing of Mary. As soon as the game had ended, Roger drew him aside and asked if she was at Amesbury House.
‘No,’ replied Droopy in some surprise. ‘At least she was not there when I left an hour agone. Why, think you she might be?’
Over a decanter of Madeira, Roger told him what had occurred. After a moment’s thought, Droopy said, ‘’Tis plaguey hard upon you both, though she will be the greater sufferer. Loath as you are to go abroad again, at least you’ll be fully occupied, whereas poor Mary will have naught to do but wait and pray. Wherever she is gone, since she has little money she’ll not remain away from home for long; and, when she does return, you must not upbraid her for this display of temperament, for ’tis love for you that is the cause of it.’
‘You’re right, Ned. And it troubles me mightily to have to inflict this pain upon her. Yet how could I possibly leave Georgina without a single hope?’
‘In view of what you have always been to each other, you could not. To that I agree. Yet, if her vision be a true one, your hope of saving Charles is no better than that an angel should appear at the critical moment when the rope is put about his neck.’
‘Dam’me, I know it! And my wrath at being forced into undertakin
g a mission so likely to be foredoomed to failure is exceeded only by my sorrow that it seems the boy is fated to die. Although I’ve done little, other than buy him presents when a child and later teach him enough of sword play to make him a dangerous antagonist. I’ve loved him both as my sweet Georgina’s son and for himself.’
Droopy nodded. ‘I, too, will share Georgina’s grief and yours. Since he could toddle, I have ever been his “dear Uncle Ned”. Indeed, over the years I have seen much more of him than yourself, and he was fast becoming a man of whom we could all be proud.’
In due course, Roger accompanied Droopy back to Amesbury House, to make certain that Mary had not arrived there while they had been at White’s. Then Roger rode back to Richmond.
Half an hour after he reached home, he heard his coach drive up to the front door. Hurrying to it, he met Mary on the doorstep. Holding out both his hands to her, he said with a smile:
‘Mary, my love, wherever have you been? Your driving off without a word to me this morning, and taking a night bag with you caused me great concern.’
She returned his smile. ‘For that I’m sorry. But this was an occasion when I felt that I, for once, must undertake a mission.’
He frowned. ‘I trust it was successful … but I do not understand. And why did you take a night bag?’
‘Because I thought I might be asked to stay the night. And it was successful. You need not now go to Spain.’
‘What the devil are you talking about?’
Taking a letter from her reticule, she handed it to him. He saw Georgina’s crest on the envelope. With a sudden frown, he ripped it open and read:
‘Dear Roger,
‘Mary tells me that Charles has been taken prisoner and that, having learned of this, it is your intention to proceed to Spain in the hope of obtaining his release. Naturally, this news greatly pains me and I feel sure that it was realising how much it would do so when I heard it that prompted your generous intent. But though I’d derive great comfort from knowing that you were going to Charles’s assistance, I cannot allow it. I have no doubt that His Grace of Wellington will speedily arrange for his exchange; and the anxiety you would inflict on Mary by leaving her could not possibly be justified in order to spare the boy a few extra weeks of captivity.
The Irish Witch Page 18