The wanton princess rb-8

by Dennis Wheatley

  The wanton princess

  ( Roger Brook - 8 )

  Dennis Wheatley

  The wanton princess is Napoleon's favourite sister, Pauline, acknowledged to be the most beautiful, and said to be one of the most licentious, women in the Paris of her day.

  Roger Brook, Prime Minister Pitt's secret agent, is also in Paris, where he rapidly becomes involved in a series of thrilling adventures, and here again Mr. Wheatley gives us the most exciting fiction blended with true history.

  The other 'Roger Brook' stories are: The Launch­ing of Roger Brook, The Shadow of Tyburn Tree, The Rising Storm, The Man Who Killed the King, The Dark Secret of Josephine, The Rape of Venice, and The Sultan's Daughter.

  Dennis Wheatley

  The Wanton Princess

  For the Sales Representatives of the Hutchinson Group in appreciation of their having sold 20,000,000 copies of my books, and particularly for their Chief, GEOFFREY HOWARD, a treasured friend of many years' standing

  1

  The Failure of a Mission

  It was the first day of the new century. Seven hours earlier the bells of Ripley Church had rung out ushering in the year 1800. Not far from the village, at Stillwaters, the splendid mansion that was the home of Georgina, Countess of St. Ermins, the many servants were already bustling about, but Roger Brook had only just woken.

  Normally, when staying at Stillwaters he would have awakened in Georgina's bed for, although circumstances had led to their being separated, at times for years at a stretch, they had been lovers since their teens and, although both of them had had many other loves, they still looked on one another as the dearest person in the world. But Georgina was ill. Only a few days ago her life had been despaired of; so Roger had slept in the room on the far side of her boudoir, to which in happier times he had retired for appearances' sake when her maid, Jenny, called them in the mornings.

  As he woke his first thought was of her, and relief at the knowledge that she had turned the corner. His next was a bitter one for, on the previous day, he had learned of the failure of his latest mission. On December 26th he had arrived in England as the Envoye Extraordinaire of General Bonaparte who, on November 10th, as the result of the coup d'état of 18th Brumaire, had become First Consul of the French Republic. No more extraordinary envoy could have been selected for such a mission, as for a dozen years Roger had been Prime Minister 'Billy' Pitt's most resourceful and daring secret agent.

  At the age of fifteen he had run away to France rather than be forced by his father. Admiral Sir Christopher Brook, to accept the hard life of a midshipman and make the sea his career. Four years in France had made him bilingual and had given him a second identity. Then chance had put him in possession of a diplomatic secret of the first importance. Realizing that knowledge of it might prevent France from going to war with England he had returned home post haste and seen the Prime Minister. Appreciating how well suited he was to such work, Mr. Pitt had sent him on a secret mission to the northern capitals. Other missions had followed. He had again lived in France during the greater part of the Revolu­tion and the Terror. At the siege of Toulon he had first met Bonaparte, then an unknown Captain of Artillery, had been with him in Paris when he had become a figure of importance through suppressing the riots that preceded the formation of the Directory, met him again after his victorious campaign in Italy, saved him from being kidnapped, been made an A.D.C. and, with the rank of Colonel, accompanied him to Egypt So the dynamic little Corsican artilleryman who had now become the most powerful man in France looked on Roger as an old and trusted friend while, owing to his audacious exploits, he had become known in the Army as Le brave Breuc.

  Only two men in France knew him in fact to be an Eng­lishman: Joseph Fouche, the crafty ex-terrorist who was Bonaparte's Minister of Police, and Charles Maurice de Tal­leyrand, the subtle and brilliant ex-Bishop who held the Portfolio for Foreign Affairs. The former had long been Roger's most deadly enemy but Recently, common interests had led to their burying the hatchet; the latter had, from their first meeting, been his good friend. As in those days it was not at all unusual for a man born in one country to carve out a career for himself in another, as Roger had done in France, both of them now regarded him as a naturalized Frenchman and completely loyal to the country of his adoption.

  Bonaparte and everyone, other than these two, who knew him in France, believed him to be a native of Strasbourg whose mother, an English woman, had died when he was quite young and that he had been sent to England to be brought up by her sister; then, when in his late teens, attracted by the epoch-making Revolution decided to return to the country of his birth. In consequence, on the rare, awkward occasions when he ran into anyone from one country who knew him in the other he was able to pass himself off as bearing a striking resemblance to either his French or English cousin of the same age, for whom they had mistaken him.

  He even had a third identity which he used on occasion when in neutral countries and was liable to meet both Englishmen and Frenchmen who knew him either as Roger Brook or the ci-devant Chevalier de Breuc. For this he grew a short, curly brown beard, used his mother's maiden name, calling himself Robert McElfic, and posed as her.nephew who had recently succeeded her brother as Earl of Kildonan. The McElfics had raised their clan in '45 to fight for Bonnie Prince Charlie, and after his defeat, like many other pro-Stuart nobles, followed their 'King' into exile in Rome; so very few people in either France or England had ever met this cousin of Roger's and he had never been challenged when using this name.

  By the skilful use of these aliases over a long period he had secured himself from detection in the real part he played and now, apart from some entirely unforeseen catastrophe, had little to worry about on that score, but he was intensely worried at what he considered to be the criminal stupidity of the British Government and the report he would have to make on his return to France.

  For seven long years, ever since 1793 when the French had guillotined their King, Britain and France had been at war.

  To begin with, the Monarchist armies of the First Coalition had invaded France; but with fervid patriotism the ill-trained rabble of the Republic had driven them back, overrun Belgium and Holland and secured France's old frontier on the left bank of the Rhine. They had then invaded Savoy and Piedmont. Young General Bonaparte's amazing campaign in '96 had made them masters of the whole of Italy, and Swit­zerland too had been dominated by them. But these victories had cost them many thousands of lives and, despite the vast treasure in indemnities and loot they had taken from the countries they had conquered, France was bankrupt. Exhausted both by the civil wars of the Revolution and these foreign wars to protect their newly won liberties the people longed for Peace, and Bonaparte had decided that the time had come to give it to them.

  Internally, as a result of the Revolution, France was in a chaotic state. Civil war still simmered in La Vendee. Administration, other than in the Army, had entirely broken down. Taxes could no longer be collected, the paper money issued by the Government was almost worthless and the old laws protecting property were ignored. Roads and bridges had fallen into disrepair and the Post service had deteriorated to a point where it took three days to get from Dieppe to Paris instead of one. Industrialists were at the mercy of their workmen; a great part of the agricultural land confiscated from the nobility and the Church now lay fallow, with the result that food had reached famine prices; and bands of marauders, in some cases hundreds strong, roamed the countryside unchecked, robbing and murdering scores of people every week.

  Eager, now that he had obtained the power, to concentrate on putting an end to this state of anarchy and restore law and order, Bonaparte had written both to King George III and to the Emperor of
Austria proposing terms of peace. And, at Talleyrand's suggestion, Roger had been selected to carry the First Consul's letter to London.

  Britain, too, was almost exhausted by her seven years of war and her people desperately anxious that an end should be put to hostilities. So Roger had been overjoyed at being given the mission and set out with the conviction that he would be received in London as an angel announcing a new era of happiness and prosperity. But, to his amazement and disgust, the British Government had treated Bonaparte's overture with contempt.

  As Roger woke he thought for a moment that his interview the day before with the Prime Minister could have been only an evil dream, but when he looked round the familiar room, he realized that it had indeed taken place. Getting out of bed he slipped on his chamber robe, pulled aside the curtains of one of the tall windows, glanced at the snow-covered land­scape and the now frozen lake that gave the house its name, then crossed the boudoir and tiptoed into Georgina's big bedroom.

  It was still in semi-darkness but he saw that Jenny, who since Georgina's teens had been her faithful maid and confidante, was sitting beside the great four-poster bed with its tapestry canopy, under which he had known so many nights of delight. There was no movement in the bed, and he whispered:

  'How fares she, Jenny?'

  'Doing well, sir, the dear Lord be praised,' Jenny whispered back. 'She slept the first part of the night, but roused when I came in to take the Colonel's place. So we gave her a draught of the wine that had the red-hot poker put in it as you ordered and she soon went off again.'

  Roger smiled. 'Thank God for that. With plenty of sleep and the iron to renew her blood she will soon be herself again. I'll dress and go down to breakfast with Colonel Thursby, then come up here to relieve you.'

  Half an hour later, shaved and immaculate in a blue cutaway coat, white stock, nankeen waistcoat and breeches, he made his way down the broad central staircase of the house. He was just over six foot tall, with powerful shoulders and slim hips. Although he was still in his early thirties the dangerous life he had led for so long made bin. look somewhat older and, as a result of having caught 'he plague while in Syria the previous year, the brown hair that swept back in a high wave from his fine forehead now had a touch of grey in it. His mouth was a little hard, his straight nose aggressive, his strong chin determined; but his deep blue eyes, a glance from which had made many a pretty woman's heart beat faster, were gay and friendly. The little fingers of his beautifully moulded hands were long in comparison with the others, which would have told a palmist that he had the gift of eloquence and a special flair for languages; his calves, when displayed in silk stockings, gave his tall figure the last touch of elegance.

  He found Colonel Thursby, Georgina's father, already in the breakfast room. The Colonel had attained his rank in the Engineers; then, already a man of means, used his good brain and practical knowledge to profit from the Industrial Revolu­tion. His interests in the construction of canals, weaving machinery and the development of concrete had since brought him a considerable fortune. Georgina was his only child. Her mother had died when giving birth to her and her father had brought her up. To him she owed a far wider education than most women of that period obtained. Although he had two houses of his own, since she had become a widow he spent a good part of each year with her. They adored one another; and from his boyhood Roger had looked upon the kind, clever, quiet-mannered little Colonel as a second father.

  After telling the Colonel that Georgina had passed a good night and was still asleep, Roger went over to the sideboard where, as was customary in big houses in those spacious Georgian days, there was more food than a dozen men could have demolished: a variety of egg dishes, bacon, kidneys, sausages, a mutton pie and the better part of a York ham. As Roger carried his first selection to the table the Colonel said:

  'You appeared so worn out on your late return last night that I forbore to ask you what had passed in Downing Street. Everything went well, I trust.'

  'Far from it, sir,' Roger declared with disgust. 'Had not my Lord Grenville been there with Mr. Pitt and displayed the same obduracy of mind, I would have thought our Prime Minister afflicted with a lesion of the brain. I can still scarce believe it but they have as good as instructed me to fling General Bonaparte's offer back in his face.'

  'What say you?' The Colonel put down his fork and looked up with swift concern. 'What possible reason could they have for wishing to continue draining away the lifeblood and treasure of the nation when given this chance to enter on negotiations? I can only suppose that General Bonaparte's terms were so hard as to preclude any possibility of accepting them.'

  'On the contrary, sir. His one wish now is to be done with war so that he may turn his talents to rescuing France from the appalling state of disorder into which she has fallen. In consequence his terms were generous. The greater part of Italy was lost to France during his absence in Egypt. He asks only that France should retain her ancient frontiers, including the Belgian lands up to the left bank of the Rhine, and Piedmont. It was upon this last that Mr. Pitt and the Foreign Secretary hinged their refusal even to consider making peace.'

  'In that they were no doubt influenced by our being bound by treaty to restore King Charles Emanuel to his domains.'

  'We bound ourselves to our Austrian allies to make no separate peace which would not secure to them the return of the Belgian Netherlands. Had we ignored that pact we could have had peace with France in '96. And what was our reward for honouring our bond? A year later the Austrians went behind our backs and made the Peace of Campo Formio by which they gave up their title to Belgium in exchange for the Venetian lands, leaving us to fight on alone. King Charles Emanuel still has his great island of Sardinia. Is it so much that he should be asked to accept the loss of Piedmont permanently in order that this bloody war should cease and peace be restored to all Europe?’

  'I judge you right in that. And, surely, had he proved difficult round a conference table it could have been arranged that he should receive some compensation for the loss of Piedmont?'

  'Indeed it could. But the crux of the matter lies in the blind prejudice that Mr. Pitt and his colleagues have against General Bonaparte. The Prime Minister stigmatized him to me as a proved liar, an atheist, a thief, a blackguard of the meanest order; while my Lord Grenville exclaimed of Tal­leyrand, "That revolting ex-priest. He would sell his own mother for a guinea. His corruption and immorality stink in the nostrils of the whole world".'

  'One must admit that they are both most unscrupulous men,' the Colonel remarked mildly.

  'That I grant you.' Roger returned swiftly. 'And who should know it better than I who have for so long been closely associated with them? But that is less than half the tale. General Bonaparte would go to any lengths to achieve his ends, but he is far more than a revolutionary who has become a bandit on the grand scale. There is no subject in which he is not interested, his knowledge is encyclopaedic, his grasp of new factors in a situation immediate, his breadth of vision enormous and his powers of decision swift. All this places him in a class apart and, as an administrator, head and shoulders above any of the scores of monarchs, poten­tates and statesmen with whom I have had dealings in the past ten years. Given the chance he will remake France anew. Of that I am convinced. But he needs peace to do it, and that is why his offer is no trick, as those fools in Downing Street believe, but an honest one.'

  Standing up. Roger walked over to the sideboard to replenish his plate. While he was helping himself he went on, 'As for Talleyrand, of course he is a lecher of the first order and, following the custom of Foreign Ministers for centuries on the Continent—ah, and here too until Mr. Pitt came to power—he extracts huge bribes from Ambassadors to expe­dite their business. But he docs not allow that to influence his foreign policy, and he is as well-intentioned toward Britain as you or I. To me, knowing I am an Englishman, he has never made any secret of his basic belief. It is that no lasting prosperity can come to either France or Britai
n unless they make an accommodation over their differences. I have heard him say that a score of times and for years past he has been doing all he can towards that end, How I shall break to him this bitter blow of my failure with Mr. Pitt, I cannot think.'

  'When do you plan to return to France?' the Colonel asked.

  'Not for a week or so. I'll bide here until Georgina is well on the way to full recovery. But after I have reported my failure I hardly know what to do. This affair has sickened me of doing dangerous work for fools. I've a mind to retire gracefully from. General Bonaparte's service, then return here and settle down to a life of leisure. Think you, after all these years, I could persuade Georgina to marry me?'

  The Colonel was well aware of Roger's relationship with Georgina, and he replied at once, 'My dear boy, nothing could give me greater pleasure. I have oft wished it; and the bar to your regularizing your great love for one another has been that your work has prevented you from living in England except for a month or two at long intervals. I know she feels it her duty to marry again now that her little Earl has reached an age when he needs a man to bring him up, and as your Susan shares Charles' nursery, by marrying Georgina you could become a real father to them both. Go to it, and good luck to you.'

  'Thank you, sir,' Roger smiled. ' 'Twould not be fair to approach her yet on such a serious matter; but I will as soon as she is well enough.'

  After breakfast Roger went out into the garden, where the children were playing in the snow with their nurse. Charles St. Ermins was now a stalwart boy rising five, and Susan, Roger's daughter by his second wife, a pretty little thing just turned four. Her mother having died she was being brought up by Georgina and, owing to Roger's long absences abroad, the children knew him only as an occasional visitor of a rather special kind; but he was good with small people and was soon building a snowman for them.