The wanton princess rb-8

by Dennis Wheatley

  On the 28th Roger sent one of the footmen from Amesbury House to make discreet enquiries at No. 22 Rupert Street. From them he learned that Pichegru had gone to friends in the country before Christmas and was not expected back until after the New Year. For the next few days Roger controlled his impatience as well as he could, frequenting White's, Almack s and other clubs to pick up such information as might prove useful to him.

  As far as the French exiles were concerned he drew a blank. The majority of the great nobles had foreseen the coming troubles and sent large sums abroad previous to '89, then left France well before the Terror. Those who had settled in England had either long since been accepted into society and had no desire to return to France or, if stirred by ambition, had made their peace with Napoleon and had become welcome members of his Court. The lesser fry, desperate and nearly penniless, had by now surrendered their pretensions as aristocrats and had sunk to the level of bourgeoisie, becoming language teachers, dancing masters and even barbers; so they were no longer in a position to frequent expensive clubs.

  On January 3rd, learning that General Pichegru had returned to his lodging, at two o'clock that afternoon Roger took up a position on the corner of Rupert Street. After an hour's wait he recognized the tall figure that sallied forth from No. 22. The General walked only a hundred yards then turned into a chop house on the far corner. A few minutes later Roger followed, went in and saw to his satisfaction that Pichegru was seated alone in one of the high-backed booths made to accommodate four people. Making him a formal bow, Roger sat down on the opposite side of the table.

  Having ordered a portion of steak and kidney pudding he looked across at the General and said in his perfect French, 'Can I be mistaken? Surely Monsieur, you are General Pichegru?'

  The General looked up from his plate, gave Roger a sharp glance and replied, 'Indeed I am. Monsieur. But I cannot recall our having met before.'

  '’I can,' Roger said with a smile. 'You were then com­manding an army on the Rhine, and I arranged for you to receive a payment of one million francs in gold.'

  'Mon Dieu!’ the General exclaimed. 'I recall you now, though at that time you had whiskers and a short curly beard.'

  ' 'Tis true,' Roger agreed. T favoured that fashion in those days. What a tragedy it was that the well-conceived plan we made together never came to fruition.'

  'Alas, alas!' Pichegru sighed. 'The accursed Corsican spiked our guns by putting down that premature pro-monarchist rising with such firmness. But for that, the state of things in Europe would be very different now.'

  'Indeed yes. There would be peace and you, mon General, would be the right hand of the King of France. Still, fortune did not treat you too badly; assuming, that is, that you have not lost the million that we paid you.'

  'I still have a part of it that luckily I left with those honest Jews in Frankfurt; so I am at least better oil than many of my poor friends, and do not have to labour at some dreary employment for a living. But that is no great consolation to a soldier who has been active all his life.'

  Roger nodded, 'I sympathize; for time must hang heavy on your hands. Let us hope, though, that another turn in the wheel of fortune may again open to you opportunities worthy of your talents. As long as Bonaparte rules the roost in France there's little chance of that. But, like ourselves, he's only mortal and did aught befall him the situation in France would change overnight.'

  'In that I agree. He has made himself as near as makes no difference a monarch, and the French people have ever been monarchists at heart. Were he removed from the scene no other General could replace him and the nation would demand the return of the King.'

  'So far he has been lucky in escaping assassination,' Roger remarked quietly, 'But he has many enemies and his luck may not hold. It needs only skilful planning and a few resolute men to put him out of the way.'

  Pichegru frowned. 'Greatly as I detest the man, as a soldier I am most strongly opposed to such methods. However, there are others. It might be possible to kidnap him and bring him as a prisoner to England. But to succeed in that would require an extensive and very costly organization.'

  'Think you that really could be done?' Roger hazarded, 'If so it would restore peace to Europe, and for such a venture I doubt not that I could provide another million from the secret funds.'

  For a moment the General remained silent, then he said, 'When last we met I recall that you were acting as the personal emissary of Mr. Pitt. May I ask what is your position now?'

  'Mr. Pitt's retirement made no difference to my status,' Roger lied blandly, 'But our present Prime Minister leaves all such matters to my Lord Hawkesbury at the Foreign Office.' Then, to draw Pichegru out, he added, 'But for the past year my master has employed mc mainly in affairs concerning Russia, so I am ill informed on what is passing in Royalist circles here in England.'

  Even an astuter man than the simple soldier, having already received from Roger a huge bribe to assist in an attempt to restore the French monarchy, could not have been blamed for trusting him completely; and Pichegru replied at once:

  'We already have a plan for kidnapping Bonaparte, but lack of funds has so far prevented us from putting it into execution. Since you are prepared to aid us I would like you to come to the Cercle Francais in Soho Square on Friday next at six o'clock. I and my friends who are concerned in this meet there every Friday, and a room in the club is set apart in which we pretend to play cards but actually hold our conferences.'

  Hiding his elation, Roger willingly agreed, and over the remainder of their meal they talked of general matters. As they were about to part Pichegru said, 'You must pardon me. Monsieur, but I have forgotten your name.'

  Roger smiled, 'When we met I was using that of Robert McElfic and in this affair 'twill serve as well as any other.'

  On Friday 6th, he duly went to the Cercle Francais and found it had previously been a large private mansion. On enquiring for General Pichegru he was taken up a broad staircase and into the principal salon on the first floor at the back of the house, in which a score or more of Frenchmen were either reading news-sheets or talking. Pichegru greeted him warmly and after some minutes of casual conversation, led him back across the landing to a lofty but much smaller room on one side of the staircase with a single tall window looking out on to the street.

  Six other Frenchmen were seated round a table at cards, and when the General introduced Roger to them the only names that Roger recognized were those of Baron de Roll and Melee de la Touchc. The latter was a tall gawky man with, Roger decided, a decidedly shifty look. After a few polite exchanges they pushed the cards aside and got down to business.

  It emerged that the brave Chouan leader, Georges Cadoudal, was already in Paris and, with a small company of his Breton patriots, was prepared to undertake the kidnap­ping of Napoleon one dark Saturday night when he was on his way from the Palace of St. Cloud to spend Sunday at Malmaison. Other Chouans in relays would rush the prisoner to the coast, but for that many horses would have to be pur­chased and tended in secret stables, for perhaps several weeks, and a ship would have to be held in readiness to transport the captive across the Channel.

  Roger conceded in his own mind that Pichcgru, and per­haps several of the others, honestly believed this to be pos­sible; but his own conviction was that it was not. Too many people would have to be involved in it for the plot not to be betrayed or go wrong somewhere; so all the odds were that to make certain of the success of their coup some of the more unscrupulous of the conspirators intended to murder Napo­leon soon after he had been kidnapped.

  The next stage in the plan was to seize power before one of the other Consuls, or perhaps Bcrnadotte, could do so. For this a man was required who had the confidence and respect of the French people. As a general who had been denounced and sought refuge in England, Pichegru could not fill the bill; but Moreau could. So it was intended that Pichegru should go secretly to Paris, and persuade his old comrade-in-arms, on a given signal that Bonaparte had bee
n got out of the way, to raise the troops of the Paris garrison, who adored him, and declare for the King. At the same time a Bourbon Prince was to enter France and take over from Morcau as Regent until Louis XVIII could be brought from Mittau on the distant Baltic.

  A long discussion followed during which Roger learned that an Abbe David, General Lajolais and a man named Querelle were the principal Royalist agents then in Paris and that one of them would arrange the meeting between Pichegru and Moreau. But when he pressed for further information about these people and the identity of the Prince who was to act as Regent the conspirators refused it. They declared that they could not disclose such matters without the consent of their chief, Monsieur Hyde de Neuville, who had recently been in Paris and caught such a severe cold while recrossing the Channel that he was in bed, which had prevented him from attending the conference that evening.

  At that, in order to learn further details of the plot Roger dug his toes in. He said that if he was to finance the operation he must be able to give his master full particulars of it, and especially the name of the Prince, as there were several and the British Government would have greater confidence in some than in others.

  In consequence it was agreed that, as by Monday Hyde dc Neuville should be sufficiently recovered, they would meet again with him present. Roger then spent the remainder of the evening drinking and talking with his new friends and left them greatly pleased with the progress he was making.

  On the evening of Monday 9th Roger again went to the Cercle Frangais and, this time, on giving his name was shown straight up to the front room on the first floor. As he was a little early only four of the conspirators—de la Touche, the Baron dc Roll, the Chevalier dc Brie and a Colonel Lafont—had assembled, but they greeted him cordially and poured him a glass of wine. A few minutes later Pichegru came in followed by a thick-set middle-aged man. After smiling at Roger the General turned to his companion and said,

  'De Neuville, this is Mr. McElfic who, as I have told you, has promised ...'

  The rest of his sentence was drowned in a roar from dc Neuville. His eyes starting from his head, he thrust out an accusing finger at Roger and shouted, 'Are you gone mad that you have betrayed our secrets to this man? He is le Colonel Breuc, one of the Corsican's Aides-dc-Camp.'

  22

  The Grim Affair of the Due d'Enghien

  Roger drew a quick breath. He had never before to his know­ledge seen dc Neuville, so was taken completely by surprise.

  Pichegru's jaw dropped and for a moment he looked dumbfounded. Then, turning on de Neuville he said sharply, 'You must be mistaken. This is the man who in '95 signed an order for a million francs on the British Treasury with the object of bringing about a Restoration. I'd stake my life on that.'

  'In '95,' de Neuville sneered. 'Many a man has changed his coat since then.'

  'But damn it man!' protested the General. 'He is prepared to do the same again. To suggest that he is one of Bonaparte's people does not make sense. He was then Mr. Pitt's personal emissary, and now represents my Lord Hawkesbury.'

  'Have you proof of that?'

  'No,' Pichegru hesitated. 'I've naught but his word.'

  'Then you have been fooled. I tell you I know him to be le Colonel Breuc. In Paris, less than a month ago, I stood within fifteen feet of him. It was at I the entrance to the Tuileries and he held Bonaparte's horse as the Corsican dismounted.'

  De la Touche, dc Roll and the other two men had come to their feet and were staring at Roger threateningly. For a moment he considered attempting to play his old gambit of mistaken identity. But he was seized with a sudden conviction that they would never believe him if he now protested that he was the English Admiral's son and Colonel Brcuc a cousin who had often been mistaken for him.

  It was de la Touche who clinched the matter by exclaim­ing, 'De Ncuville is right! On Friday evening I thought I knew his face. Now I recall where I saw him. It was last September. He was sitting at a table drinking with General Bessieres outside a cafe in the Palais Royal gardens. I was at the next table trying to catch what I could of their conversa­tion.'

  "Mort Dieu!’ de Roll muttered. 'And he knows our plan. If he gets back to France our friends there will be ruined.'

  'Not necessarily,' put in the Chevalier de Brie. 'He got from us only general particulars and a few names, but no details or addresses.'

  'He knows too much,' said de Neuville grimly. 'We must see to it that he does not return, or pass on what he has learned to some traitor here'

  'That is easier said than done,' remarked Pichegru with a frown.

  'Then you have become squeamish for a soldier. General,' de la Touche declared. 'There is but one penalty for a spy who is caught, and he has earned it.'

  During these swift exchanges Roger's mind had been working furiously, and he had no illusions about the imminent peril in which he stood. He did not think '.hey would dare murder him in the club, but the six of them could overpower him and force brandy down his throat until he was dead drunk. Drunkenness was so common that the other members of the club and the servants would think nothing of seeing a man who had passed out being carried downstairs by a party of apparently half-drunk friends and being driven off with them in a coach. They could then finish him off with a knock on the head and leave his body in some back alley where, when it was found in the morning, it would be assumed that he had been attacked and killed by a footpad.

  The six of them were standing on the far side of the table with the door behind them, so he stood no possible chance of getting past them to it. Had he had a sword he could have held them off long enough for his shouts for help to bring other people to his assistance; but he was unarmed. And if he did shout, that would drive them into rushing him and knocking him out at once, then telling whoever arrived on the scene that he nad gone down in a fight following a quarrel over cards. His only asset lay in his extreme fitness and agility; but he rated his chances of getting away as elender.

  Nonetheless he had made up his mind what to do when the attack came, and the moment de Neuville opened his mouth to cry 'Come; get him!' he acted.

  Springing forward, he grasped the edge of the heavy table with both hands, gave a violent heave and overturned it. To his right, only two paces away, lay the fireplace. Even before the glasses and decanter had crashed on the floor, by a sideways dive he had grabbed the poker. The far edge of the table struck Pichegru and the Baron dc Roll hard above the knees, knocked them both backwards and temporarily pinned them beneath it. Assuming that Roger meant to make a rush for the door, de Neuville jumped back and planted himself firmly in front of it. De Brie, who had been beside him, leapt round that end of the overturned table towards Roger, while Lafont, followed by dc la Touche, ran at him round the other.

  Lafont was a pace ahead of the others, so Roger turned to face him, swung the poker high and aimed a blow at his head. Just in time he jerked his head aside; but the poker slashed down across his car, tearing it half off. Clapping his hand to it, the Colonel gave a screech of pain, reeled back­wards, tripped on the edge of the hearth and fell backward upon it.

  Before Roger had time to recover from the stroke, de Brie was upon him and had grabbed him by the back of his coat collar. As he twisted round they were at too close quarters for Roger to strike at his assailant's head. Instead he drew the poker back and drove its point hard into the plump Chevalier's stomach. De Brie gave a gasp and his eyes popped from their sockets. Letting go Roger's collar he, too, staggered back then doubled up in agony.

  Knowing that de la Touche must now be immediately behind him, Roger swivelled on his heel. As he turned his head he thought that he was finished. De la Touche had drawn a poniard from beneath his coat and had it raised high to plunge into him. It was too late for him to spring away or bring up the poker to guard against the blow. But he was saved from it most unexpectedly. Still standing in the doorway dc Neuville gave a sudden shout.

  'Stop, you imbecile! No bloodshed! No bloodshed here or we'll hang
for it.'

  With an effort de la Touche checked the stab in mid-air. Glowering with hatred he stepped back. Now facing him, Roger brought up his right foot and kicked him hard on the shin. He gave a grunt, swore foully and, as Roger swung at him with the poker, swiftly retreated.

  Panting from his exertions but still unharmed, Roger was now free from attack; but he knew that he would remain so only for a matter of moments. Pichegru and dc Roll had come out from beneath the table, de la Touche had received only a minor injury, de Brie was getting back his wind and dc Neuville might, at any moment, decide to enter the fray. To fight his way through them to the door was still out of the question. Grimly he realized that there was only one way in which he might perhaps save himself. Turning his back on them, he brought the poker with all his force against the lower half of the tall window.

  It shattered, but great jagged pieces of the glass still adhered to the sides and bottom of the frame. Three more swift blows sent the largest of them crashing into the street below. Pounding feet on the floor behind him told him that he would never get through the window before his enemies had seized and overcome him.

  Turning, he faced them once more. Clenching his teeth he slashed at them right, left and centre. His first blow caught Pichegru on his outstretched arm: his second felled the Baron with a cracked skull; his third missed the Chevalier but, throwing Roger off balance, saved him from a brandy bottle that dc la Touche had picked up from the floor and hurled at his head. Recovering from his lurch he lunged with the poker at de Brie's face, smashing in his front teeth. Pichegru, in spite of his disabled arm, came at him again but got a jab from the poker right over his heart that rendered him tempor­arily hors de combat.