The Rising Storm rb-3

by Dennis Wheatley

  "I too have gathered that the Masonic clubs are hotbeds of sedition. But is there not a risk that by whistling for the wind His Highness may raise a whirlwind in which he will himself be destroyed ?"

  "No doubt he flatters himself that his great popularity with the masses will enable him to ride out the storm; and there are fair grounds for believing that it might be so. All classes are united in their demand for a Constitution, but not one per cent, of the nation has yet reached the point at which it would even listen to any suggestion of abolishing the monarchy."

  For a moment they were silent, then Roger said: "Think you that the present state of Paris is an exception, or indicative of feeling through­out the greater part of the country?"

  "The unrest is very widespread," replied Mr. Hailes gravely. "And that is hardly to be wondered at. The elections have thrown the whole population into an unnatural fever, and in addition the great scarcity of corn in many parts gives real grounds for anger against the Govern­ment. There have been serious bread riots recently at Caen, Orleans, Cette and many other places; and the accounts from Marseilles are still very alarming. The troops were besieged in their barracks there until Monsieur de Mirabeau used his great popularity with the mob to call them off; but street fighting has continued, and hardly a day passes without the loss of some lives."

  " 'Tis said by many that the high price of bread is caused by the Government deliberately withholding supplies of grain, in order to make more money. But I can scarce credit that there is any truth in that."

  "There is none. On the contrary, the King has done everything he can to bring relief to the people, even to buying corn from abroad. Such rumours nearly always become current at times of great shortage, and the present one is mainly due to the exceptionally poor harvest last year. You may not recall hearing mention of it but a storm of the first magni­tude swept France and destroyed a great part of the standing crops. The ensuing floods were of such severity that houses and cattle were washed away and many people drowned. Then the situation was further aggravated by the wickedness of the winter. All the great rivers of France were frozen and even the port of Marseilles was covered with ice. In such conditions prices were bound to rise and many localities find themselves actually faced with famine. Unfortunately, apart from the better weather, the poor can hope for little amelioration of their hard lot until the next harvest has been gathered; so I fear we must anticipate a continuance of these outbreaks of violence all through the coming summer."

  "I note that you qualify your remarks by saying that the corn shortage is 'mainly due’ to these misfortunes," Roger commented. "That infers that you have in mind some other cause which has made the situation even worse than it need have been."

  Mr. Hailes gave him an appraising glance. "You are very quick, young man; and since we are talking in the strictest confidence I will name it. Having no proof of this I would certainly not do so in other circumstances, but I believe you were not far from the mark when you suggested that large quantities of grain are deliberately being withheld from the markets. Not by the King, of course, but by a ring of wealthy private individuals. Moreover, I suspect that their object is not so much gain as to ferment further outcry against the Government."

  "Then, in view of our conversation a while back, I think I could make a good guess at the name of one of the ring, if not its leader."

  "And you would be right," said Mr. Hailes with equal quickness. "His Highness is one of the richest men in France, and it is as certain as such a thing can be that he has been using a part of his millions for this nefarious purpose; for the names of those who made the biggest purchase of grain last spring were those of men I know to be his agents."

  "Would that of the Marquis de St. Huruge be among them?"

  "No. But I think you right in believing him to be secretly an Orleanist, in spite of his position at Court. And he is by no means the only noble there whom I judge capable of biting the hand that has so far fed him. If my informants know their business the Due de Laincourt is another; and I suspect that even the Due de Biron is trimming his sails, so that should the wind from Orleans blow its argosy to a rich port his barque will be among it."

  "De Biron!" exclaimed Roger. "Surely you are wrong in that. In the days when he was Monsieur de Lazun the Queen showed him so much kindness that he was freely spoken of as her lover."

  "I know it; and he has never forgiven her for not being quite kind enough," replied Hailes, cynically. "God forbid that I should appear to criticize Her Majesty's rectitude, or that of King Louis either; but the present troubles of these two are in part, at least, the outcome of their own integrity. Neither have great brains and he is cursed more than any man I ever knew with the incapacity to make up his mind. But both are reasonably intelligent and absolutely honest. Their tragedy is that they are too honest for this degenerate era, and refuse to pander to the greed and lusts of the frailer beings with whom they are constantly brought into contact. That is why, in their hour of need, I fear that they will find themselves entirely isolated."

  Mr. Hailes gave a sigh, then slapped the table with his hand and stood up. "I fear I must leave you now, Chevalier. I have a despatch for London on the Reveillon affair that I must complete, so that His Grace can sign it on his arising. The money shall be sent by a safe hand as you have directed. It remains only for me to wish you good fortune."

  Roger thanked him, and watched the portly but unobtrusive figure move away. Then he ordered himself another drink and spent an hour scanning the news-sheets. None, other than Government publications, were then issued in France; but there were scores of pamphlets pro­duced by private people holding every variety of opinion. Some were obviously inspired by the Court, but most of these struck Roger as weak and lacking in conviction. The great majority were anti-Government and many of them were both so treasonable and so scurrilous that even a year earlier they would have landed their authors behind bars. In one the Dauphin's illness was asserted to have been caused by the Queen habitually making him drunk for her amusement; in another she was accused of unnatural vice with her favourite, the Duchess de Polignac.

  It seemed extraordinary to Roger that the police permitted such filth to be left lying about openly in the public cafes; and he could only suppose that the output was now so great that it had become beyond their powers to deal with it; or that they too were in league with the Queen's enemies. One thing was certain: it was a clear indication that the forces of law and order had already lost all power of initiative.

  Feeling slightly sick from what he had read he left the cafe and employed himself for the next hour or so buying various things he might need on his journey. At two o'clock he sat down to a belated dinner—as the French then termed their midday meal—and by three o'clock he was at the horse-dealer's in the Rue Beauberg.

  Mr. Hailes's man was there with the money; and after trying out several mounts in the riding school that formed part of the premises, Roger chose a well-set-up black mare. He then went in search of suitable saddlery, and having found what he wanted had it carried back to the horse-dealer's. The mare was saddled up, and he rode her across Paris to his inn. As it was now too late to start that day he spent a quiet evening and went to bed early; but he was up by six and soon after seven o'clock on the 29th of April he set out for Italy.

  As he passed through the open fields surrounding the little town of Montgeron, just outside Paris, he noticed again, as he had the week before when riding post to Fontainebleau, the extraordinary number of partridges. He estimated that there must be a covey to every two acres, and in some places more. Never when at home in England with a gun had he had the luck to see such a sight. But he knew that in France not only was the game most strictly preserved for the nobles, but many of them never bothered to shoot it, and the depredations of the young birds on the corn was one of the major aggravations of the peasantry.

  Soon afterwards he entered the royal oak forest of Senar from which much of the timber was cut to build France's fleets
; then he came out of it at Melun, halting there to have a meal and give his mare a good rest.

  As he knew the Queen's letter to be a general resume of the situation, requiring no immediate answer, he did not feel called on to force his pace. Had he done so he would have travelled post, changing horses every five miles; but he knew from experience that such frequent changes were extremely tiring, so a means of travelling to be avoided unless one's journey was of considerable urgency. Nevertheless, having ridden through the forest of Fontainebleau most of the afternoon, by early evening he reached Nemours, which was some sixty miles from Paris, so he felt that he had had an uneventful but satisfactory day.

  At that date, owing to the fact that all the wealthiest people in France lived in the shadow of the Court, and rarely visited their estates, there was far less travel than in England. In consequence except in the cities the inns were far inferior. Like most of the farmhouses, they lacked glass in their windows; they had no coffee-room, earthen floors, and could offer only the most primitive accommodation.

  The Ecu de France, where Roger lay that night, was no exception; so when, in the morning, he was presented with a bill for close on ten livres, he naturally found it a matter for angry amazement. As he had supped very simply off soup, a roast partridge, fricassie of chicken, cauliflower, celery, biscuits and dessert, washed down by a single bottle of wine, he considered the sum—which was equivalent to eight shillings and sevenpence—positively exorbitant, and told the landlord so in no uncertain terms.

  To his further surprise the landlord refused to reduce the account, except to the extent of knocking off the odd sous, and on being threatened with a beating he called up his stable hands, declaring that it was Roger who would get the beating if he did not pay in full.

  Rather than enter on an undignified scrimmage against odds, in which he might easily have got the worst of it, Roger threw the money on the ground and, mounting his mare, rode out of Nemours. His disgust at being so flagrantly cheated was forgotten in his humiliation at having to ride off with his tail between his legs. But when the fresh morning air had soothed his pride a little, he realized that the episode was simply one more example of the rapidly changing state of France. When he had lived there two years earlier no innkeeper would have dared to cheat and threaten to have his ostlers lay hands on a gentleman; yet now, it seemed, the dishonest sort could do so with impunity.

  At midday he reached Montargis, a smaller place where the people at the inn were both civil and moderate in their charges. Late that afternoon, after another uneventful day, he came to Briare, where for the first time he saw the great sweep of the river Loire; and, having cautiously enquired the tariff at the inn, he decided to stay there for the night.

  Next day his road lay along the river bank; and the country was so pleasant, with its green meadows and many white chateaux set among groups of trees, that, after taking his midday meal at Pouilly, he lingered there much longer than he had previously allowed for such halts.

  It was nearly three o'clock when he reluctantly left the grassy knoll on which he had stretched himself near the edge of the river, to collect his mare. Then, as the town clock chimed, he suddenly realized how the time had slipped away and began to press his pace, as he intended to sleep at Nevers that night, so still had some thirty miles to cover.

  Having made good time to Pougues, he gave his mount half an hour's rest there while refreshing himself with a pint of wine; then set off on the last ten miles of his third day's journey. The road now left the river and rose to steeper ground where wild heath was interspersed with patches of woodland. The best of the day had gone by the time he was half-way to Nevers and twilight was beginning to fall. It was still quite light in the open spaces but among the trees there was a suggestion of gathering darkness.

  Suddenly a woman's scream rent the evening quiet. He had just entered a belt of woodland through which the road curved away a little to the east. Pulling one of his pistols from its holster he set spurs to his mare and galloped round the corner.

  As he rounded the bend he saw that the road descended into a hollow. To one side of it the trees fell back in a glade leading to the open heath; in its centre stood a coach drawn by four horses. The coach had been going in the same direction as himself. It was now surrounded by a group of masked men. Two were still mounted; one, in front of the horses, was holding up the coachman; the other, with his back to Roger, was covering the footman on the boot. Two more were dragging an old lady out of the coach.

  To tackle four highwaymen single-handed was a dangerous business. Roger cursed the ill-fortune that had brought him on this scene; but he would have been ashamed to ride off without making an attempt to succour the old woman. His decision to intervene was practically instantaneous. He knew that his only chance of driving off such odds lay in his sudden appearance having taken the rogues by surprise. Reining in his mare, he took aim at the nearest highwayman and fired.

  The others, facing Roger, had given shouts of warning the instant they saw him. But the man in the rear of the coach was caught unawares. He half-turned to look over his shoulder, suddenly realized his danger, and ducked his head. Next second he jerked in his saddle, gave a cry and slumped forward with one arm hanging limp at his side. His pistol fell from his nerveless hand, clattered on the road and exploded with a loud report. Startled by the pistol going off almost under its belly, his horse reared, then cantered away with him lurching from side to side as he strove to keep his seat.

  At the sight of their comrade's discomfiture the two men who were rough-handling the old lady let her go. Running to their horses they hoisted themselves into their saddles. Both drew pistols and came charging up the little rise. Roger wondered grimly how he would come out of the affair; but he was ready for them.

  Before the smoke drifted from the barrel of his first pistol he had thrust it back in his holster and drawn his second. As the two came galloping towards him he took careful aim at the one on the right. He was within an ace of pulling the trigger when there came a bang like that of a small cannon. Now that aid had come the footman on the boot of the coach had recovered his courage. Pulling out a blunderbuss, and aiming at the backs of the two highwaymen, he had let it off.

  With a horrid swish and whistle slugs and old nails sang through the air. The buttocks of the horse ridden by the man on the left got the worst of the discharge. With a pitiful neigh it swerved, nearly throwing its rider, and bolted with him, carrying him off into the woods. But a fragment of the charge grazed Roger's black, causing her to rear at the very second he fired.

  His bullet went harmlessly over the head of the man at whom he had aimed, but the mare rearing at that moment probably saved his life. The highwayman had fired almost simultaneously with himself, and the bullet, instead of striking him, buried itself in the fleshy part of his mare's neck.

  The impetus of the man's charge carried him past Roger. Both swerved their mounts in a half-circle and drew their swords. The blades met with a clash, parted, and came together again. From the feel of his opponent's steel Roger knew that he was pitted against a strong swords­man. Once more he cursed his luck for having landed him in this unsought fracas.

  For a minute or more the two of them exchanged furious cut and thrust, neither gaining any advantage. Roger was now fighting with his back towards the coach. Owing to the noise made by the stamping of the horses' hoofs he did not hear the fourth highwayman come galloping up the slope to his friend's assistance.

  Suddenly another pistol-shot rang out. The newcomer had fired at Roger's back. Fortunately, as he was riding full tilt, his aim was bad, and low. The bullet struck the rear projection of the mare's saddle with a loud thud, ricocheted off and whistled through the sleeve of Roger's coat, tearing the flesh of his left arm above the elbow. The pain was as though he had been seared with a red-hot iron, and a sudden warm wetness below the wound told him that he was bleeding badly. But his fingers still clutched the mare's reins and answered to his pressure.

&nbs
p; He knew that his situation was now near desperate. For help to arrive within a few moments on that lonely road, at such an hour, would be little short of a miracle. He still held his sword, and at the price of savage pain could control his mount. But at any moment one of the two unwounded men might wound him again, and this time fatally.

  Hastily disengaging his blade he pulled his mare back on her haunches, and half-turned her to meet his new attacker. As he did so he caught a glimpse of the coach. Now that it had been freed from its hold-up the old lady had got back into it and was seizing the chance to escape. The vehicle was already in movement, and the coachman lashing his horses wildly. At a lumbering gallop it careered off down the road.

  The man who had fired the pistol drew his sword. He came at Roger in the same instant that the other renewed his attack. Roger was now between them, so at a grave disadvantage. His peril made him gasp; but his wits did not desert him. In a desperate attempt to get out of his dangerous situation he parried one thrust, ducked the other, and spurred his mare forward. Then, as she shot past his latest antagonist, he delivered a swift sideways cut at the man's head.

  The sudden move took the fellow off his guard. The point of Roger's sword caught the corner of his eye and slashed his face down to the chin. His mask fell off and blood spurted from the ugly wound. With a howl of rage and pain, he clapped his free hand to his face. Half-blinded by blood, he reeled in his saddle and his horse ambled off with him to the side of the road.

  Roger had barely time to realize that he had put one of his opponents out of the fight before the other was on him again. Once more their swords clashed and slithered. Weak now from loss of blood he knew that unless he could end matters quickly he would be done. Exerting all his remaining strength in a fierce downward sweep, he followed it with a swift lunge.