The wanton princess rb-8

by Dennis Wheatley

  It was unthinkable, unbelievable. Georgina had betrayed him. Instead of sending her groom into Guildford for the money she had sent him to fetch the law. There could be no other explanation. The man was actually pointing to the end of the loft where Roger had talked to her after she had returned from her ride. Still shocked into immobility, he subconsciously took in the fact that the tipstaff was carrying a blunderbuss and that the constables were armed with long-barrelled pistols as well as their truncheons.

  Suddenly Roger came to life. To allow himself to be taken and ignominiously escorted back to gaol would be intoler­able. Yet he was unarmed, so could not put up a fight, and was trapped there; for there were no entrances to the building other than those giving on to the yard.

  Next moment he had dropped through the hole in the floor. As his feet touched the ground he grabbed the mane of the startled mare in the loose box below to steady himself. Georgina's groom having been sent in to Guildford, he had not yet taken away her saddle to clean it. Lifting the saddle from its bracket Roger threw it on the mare's back and swiftly tightened the girths. In frantic haste he adjusted the bit and bridle then, patting the animal's neck, turned her to face the door. When he had called down to Georgina she had left her riding crop lying on the manger. Snatching it up he vaulted into the saddle, then laid his body flat along the mare's back, so that her head screened a good part of him from sight. In the dim light, there was a good chance that anyone entering the stable would not immediately notice him.

  He had got himself into position not a moment too soon. The upper half of the stable door was a little open. It was cautiously opened wide. Then the lower half was unbolted and pulled back. Roger caught only a glimpse of the huddle of figures in the doorway about to enter on tiptoe, no doubt hoping to catch him asleep up in the loft. Jabbing his heels into the marc's flanks he gave a loud shout and launched her forward.

  With cries of alarm the group in the doorway attempted to throw themselves out of her way but the tipstaff and one of the constables were bowled over by the charge of the frightened mare. The groom, who had been behind the others and furthest from the door, made a grab at her bridle. But Roger had been ready for that. He brought the whiplash of the crop down with all his force right across the man's face. With a scream he crumpled to the ground. The hooves of the mare clattered loudly on the cobbles. There came the bang of a pistol as the other constable fired his weapon, but the bullet whizzed harmlessly over Roger's shoulder. Thirty seconds later he was through the arch and away.

  As he galloped across the lawn towards the cover of the woods on the far side of the lake he considered the best course to take. He was still penniless so must get hold of money somehow. London was only twenty-five miles away and on such a fine mount he felt certain he could outdistance his pursuers. Droopy would help him without question. There was a certain risk in going to him because the Governor of Guildford Gaol, knowing Droopy to be his friend, might anticipate that he would do so and that morning have sent a message to London for the Bow Street Runners to lie in wait for him at Amesbury House. But that risk must be taken.

  It had been just before midday when Georgina left him, so it was now getting on towards three in the afternoon. By five o'clock he was in Arlington Street and he felt there was less risk in going straight to the house than waiting until darkness fell. He was confident that he had a lead on his pursuers, but he would lose it within an hour; and if the Runners had not already been alerted to waylay him there, it seemed certain that a message would be sent asking them to do so as soon as the authorities in Guildford learned that he had got away from Stillwaters.

  Dismounting in front of the door, he kept the mare's reins over his arm in case he had to remount in a hurry and again make a dash for liberty. The footman who answered the door said that Lord Edward was out, but expected back at about six o'clock. Roger knew the man well and had often given him a good tip; so when he replied to Roger's low-voiced enquiry whether anyone had asked for him and replied, 'No, sir,' Roger had good grounds for believing him. Roger then said that he had called to see Lord Edward on a highly confidential matter so if anyone asked for him he was to be told he was not there. Then he handed the horse over to be taken round to the stable and went upstairs to Droopy's private apartments.

  Until nearly seven o'clock he waited there in considerable apprehension for, however loyal the footman on the door might prove, if Bow Street Runners arrived and produced a warrant, he could not prevent them from searching the house.

  At last Droopy appeared. He was slightly drunk after spending four hours dining at the Beefsteak Club and after­wards consuming the best part of a decanter of Port. But he exclaimed, 'Roger! Makes me old heart beat better at the sight of you. But, dam'me! I didn't expect to see you before tomorrow at the earliest.'

  'Tomorrow!' Roger repeated, much surprised. 'And why, pray, should you have expected to see me then?'

  Then, or within the next few days,' Droopy lowered him­self with some care into an elbow chair. 'But meseems they've been prodigious swift to act upon their orders.'

  'I don't understand!' Roger frowned. 'To what orders do you refer?'

  'Why to those for your pardon, of course.'

  'Pardon! Dear God, you cannot mean it.'

  'I….I do indeed. After your father's failure and His Grace of Portland's refusal to approach His Majesty I was loath to raise your hopes again, lest they be once more disappointed. But I... I went down to see Billy Pitt. He's no power now... more's the pity. But he agreed that something must be done for you, and ... and the King could not refuse him an audience. He told our poor addle-brained monarch that even had you blown up the Houses of Parliament which, as things are would be no bad thing,' Droopy broke off and tittered, 'you ... you still deserved a pardon for the immense services you have in these past ten years rendered to the State. Whatever may be said against "Farmer George," he... he has ever put what he believes to be the interests of our country before all else. Billy Pitt is no fool. He'd had the forethought to bring a parchment with him in his pocket. Before the old dunderhead could have second thoughts, he ' had him sign it.'

  Roger took a deep breath, 'So I'm free! Oh, Ned, dear Ned, bless you for that. I'll go pay my respects to Mr. Pitt tomorrow and thank him for his share in this. But 'tis to you I owe it.'

  'Think naught of that. You look, though, in a sadly bed­raggled state. Order yourself a bath brought up and a change of raiment. Meanwhile I... I'll stretch myself for two hours on my bed. Then we'll sally forth together and go to old Kate's place behind the Haymarket. Sup there, have her pretty wenches disport themselves for us, eh? And... and make a night of it.'

  Hardly able to believe in his good fortune, Roger rested and refreshed himself. Later old Kate received them with many curtsies. Droopy threw handsful of golden guineas on the floor and laughed uproariously as the girls scrambled for them, then fought to sit on his and Roger's knees and show their appreciation of this generous patronage.

  In the small hours the two friends returned to Amcsbury House, decidedly the worse for wear and, arm in arm, sup­ported one another up the stairs. It was eleven o'clock next

  morning when Roger woke, but over a late breakfast they knocked back a couple of bottles of Florence wine and felt the better for it.

  Roger then rode down to Beckenham; but his thoughts were the saddest he had had for many a day, as he could not get over Georgina's betrayal of him. At Holwell House Mr. Pitt received him kindly and said:

  'Mr. Brook, we have had many differences of opinion, but that does not alter the fact that you have served England far better than many more eminent men of your generation. Owing to the secret nature of your work, I was unable to recommend you for a knighthood; thus there was all the more reason for coming to your assistance when you fell into grievous trouble. Naturally I deprecate the crime of violence for which you were condemned, but the life you have led must have forced upon you many dangerous and desperate situations; so, to some extent, the habit
you have acquired of resorting on the instant to weapons must be accounted a mitigation of your act. Let us now forget it.'

  Mr. Pitt was alone that day and invited Roger to stay to dinner. Roger accepted as both a command and a pleasure. Over the meal Pitt talked freely of the situation.

  He had been such a close friend of Addington's that when ill the previous year he had stayed in his house and been treated as one of the family, so most men would have taken it hard that such an intimate friend, when sent for behind his back by the king, should have consented to supplant him. But Pitt bore Addington no malice and as a private Member was giving him his support.

  About the King's attitude to Catholic Emancipation he was caustic, declaring that His Majesty's ostrich-like policy was both dangerous and unjust toward many thousands of his loyal subjects; that the days when 'Popery' was a danger to the realm were long since gone, and that it was now entirely unreasonable that many patriotic and intelligent men should remain debarred from holding office because they were either Dissenters or Romans.

  Since Roger's return from Russia he had not seen his host, so he gave him an eye-witness account of Paul I's murder. When he had done Pitt commented ' 'Twas a terrible business and shocked all Europe. Why they could not simply have put him under restraint, as we have our King in the past, I cannot think. But his removal proved invaluable to us at that time. The pity of it is that the present government is rapidly losing the advantage gained thereby. Young Alexander greatly favoured an alliance with us, and with his help we might have crushed Bonaparte. Instead they signed the Peace, although eighteen days after my retirement Admiral Nelson had smashed the nucleus of the Northern Fleet at Copen­hagen. Since then Russia and France have been drawing together on the Eastern question, as both have designs on Turkey. And now we are again at loggerheads with the Czar over Malta.'

  'As I have been incarcerated for above four months, sir,' Roger remarked, 'I know little of what has been going on.'

  'Indeed yes; that I had momentarily forgotten. By this disastrous Peace it was agreed that we should return all our maritime conquests made during the war, with the exception of Ceylon and Trinidad, to France and her allies Holland and Spain. Those, of course, included the Cape and Malta. Should we give up the Cape our route to India could be cut at any time and our mercantile interests in the sub-continent become gravely imperilled. This has raised such an outcry that, I gather, the Government is considering going back upon its word lest it be kicked out of office.

  'As regards Malta, under the treaty it should be returned to its former owners, the Knights. But the Order has become so effete that it is now quite incapable of protecting shipping in the Mediterranean from the Barbary pirates. Within six months the Corsairs would have the island and soon be using it as a base to raid the coast towns of southern Italy. It was, therefore, decided that it should be governed by a Protecting Power, to be neither France nor Britain. The obvious choice is Russia and the Czar insists that he should take it over. But again our government is having second thoughts and is resist­ing his claim, whereas the French are backing it. Hence the Czar's annoyance with us, and his new inclination to enter into a pact with the French.'

  When they had talked of numerous other subjects, Pitt asked 'What now do you plan to do; settle in England or re­turn to France?'

  'Recently, sir,' Roger replied, 'apart from my spell in prison, I have met with a private misfortune which makes me disinclined to remain here, where I am likely to be reminded of it.'

  Mr. Pitt made a slight grimace. 'If 'tis your own country­men that you wish to avoid you'll be hard put to it in Paris. I'm told the capital now swarms with them, and many of them are touring the provinces. Charles Fox spent September there, and his speeches praising the Revolution having been reprinted in the French journals, he was given a royal wel­come in every city through which he passed. Bonaparte received him with special honours, and he was shown his own bust at St. Cloud, among a collection including Brutus, Cicero, Hampden, Washington and other champions of Liberty.'

  Roger gave a cynical laugh, 'Then, since it pays so well, if there is another war I'll play the part of a traitor.'

  'Nay, Charles Fox is no traitor. At least, not intentionally so; although it must be admitted that he caused grievous harm by encouraging discontent among the masses in this country while we were at war, and often seriously hampered my measures for the prosecution of it.'

  Two days later Roger said good-bye to Droopy Ned and the members of his family who lived at Amesbury House; then he went down to Lymington to see his father, whom he found sadly crippled by the gout.

  Having thought matters over he had decided not to return to Paris. It was nine months since he had left there and during that time the whole European scene had changed. Now that the war was over, even if Bonaparte was prepared to forgive his long, unexplained absence, it seemed that the First Consul would have little use for him; and as Paris was full of English people he might run into several whom he knew. To reply in broken English to one or two who might claim his acquaintance that they had mistaken him for his English cousin would cause him no worry; but should he have to tell the same story to a number of them, and they compared notes, that could result in the resemblance arousing a most undesirable interest in his past activities.

  In consequence, after staying for three nights at Walhampton House he boarded a brig in which he had arranged a pas­sage from Southampton to Bordeaux. On landing in France he hired a coach and made a leisurely progress through Agen, Toulouse, Carcassone, Nimes, Aries and Aix-en-Provcnce, spending a night or two in each of these cities to enjoy the remains of their ancient or mediaeval glories, before arriving at St. Maxime on November 14th.

  The morning after his arrival he took a walk to his vineyard and enquired of a labourer working in the neigh­bouring one after the health of Madame Meuralt. With a grin the man replied, 'She lives here no longer, Monsieur, although she still comes to stay at times. In the summer she married a Monsieur Tarbout who, I'm told, has a prosperous mercer's business in Nice.'

  Roger was glad for her, but could not make up his mind whether he was glad or sorry for himself. To have renewed his liaison with pretty, plump, passionate little Jeanne would have given him something to occupy his mind; but he was still so sick at heart about Georgina that he felt no real inclination to philander with any member of her sex.

  He had been at his chateau for about ten days and one afternoon returned from a long, solitary walk on the sea­shore. As he was passing the room he used most frequently, in which he had collected a small library, he happened to glance through one of the tall windows. To his surprise he caught sight of a man sitting at his desk going through his papers. Imagining the intruder to be a thief, he was about to tiptoe round to the hall and collect his pistols. Then the man turned his head slightly, exposing his profile to view. Roger's surprise turned to amazement, then wonder and sudden apprehension. He found himself staring at his old enemy Joseph Fouche, the Minister of Police.

  14

  Bonaparte becomes Napoleon

  Roger and Fouche had buried the hatchet shortly before the coup d'etat of Brumaire, because Fouche had foreseen that Bonaparte would most probably succeed in seizing power and Roger had provided the bridge between them. For many years Fouche, like Talleyrand, had known that 'Mon­sieur,' 'Chevalier,' 'Citoyen' and now 'le Colonel' Breuc were, in fact, Roger Brook, the son of an English Admiral. But neither had ever caught him out while spying for Mr. Pitt and, since '99, both had accepted it that, as a protegé of Bonaparte's, all his interests lay in regarding France as his adopted country that might hold a fine future for him.

  What, then, was Fouche doing here, going through his papers in his absence? Had he, in his amazingly widespread intelligence net, picked up some little happening out of the past that had led him to believe that for all these years Roger had been acting as a British secret agent, and had come to the chateau in the hope of finding corroborative proof?

  Swiftly Rog
er ran through in his mind the papers that were in his desk. Almost at once he was able to reassure himself that there was nothing among them which could be associated with his secret missions. Breathing more easily he walked softly on, entered the house, tiptoed to his little library and quietly opened the door.

  At the faint noise it made, Fouche looked up; but he made no effort to conceal what he had been doing. Shuffling the papers before him into a pile, he pushed them away and came to his feet. With a faint smile on his lean, cadaverous face, but without looking directly at Roger, he bowed and said:

  'Ah, here you are at last. You have a very pleasant place of retirement here, Monsieur le Colonel.'

  Roger returned the bow. ‘I am happy that it meets with your approval, Monsieur le Ministre. May I enquire to what I owe the pleasure of this visit?'

  ' Tis very simple. It may not be known to you, but before the Revolution my family owned a plantation in San Domingo and ships that plied thence and back to my native town of Nantes. In recent times I have been fortunate enough to make a modest sum out of contracting to supply the requirements of our armies. But now we are at peace, such transactions may no longer prove very lucrative; so I am again interesting myself in shipping and have just spent some days in Marseilles. The port being not far distant from your—er—hideout, it occurred to me that it would be pleasant to renew our acquaintance. That—er—is if you happened to be here and not—er—perhaps away engaged in other activities.'