The Rising Storm rb-3

by Dennis Wheatley

  As Roger and Isabella were discussing the matter that evening he asked her: "Why is it that so many people who have never even seen Madame Marie Antoinette believe her capable of the most abominable immoralities, and regard her as deserving of such universal hatred?"

  Isabella sadly shook her head. "It is a tragedy, and all the more so in that when she first came to France her beauty and graciousness instantly won for her the adoration of those very masses that now curse her. But she has since been the victim of many unfortunate circum­stances over which she had no control."

  "I pray you tell me of them," Roger said. "I know most of her story, but since, until quite recently, she has played no part in politics I find this long, gradual decline in her popularity quite inexplicable, and the problem fascinates me."

  Settling herself more comfortably on her cushions, Isabella replied: "She has been dogged by bad luck from the very moment that she arrived at Versailles as Dauphine. Then, she was a child of fourteen, lacking in all experience of intrigue; yet she found herself at once forced into the position of leader of the set that was striving to bring about the ruin of Madame du Barri. Her mother, the Empress-Queen Maria Theresa, had counselled her to conciliate her father-in-law's powerful mistress; but all her instincts revolted against making a friend of that rapacious, gutter-bred courtesan.

  "Instead, she quite naturally showed her liking for the du Barn's enemy, the Due de Choiseul, who, as Prime Minister, had negotiated the Franco-Austrian alliance and her own marriage. He and his friends represented all that was best in France, but for years they had been fighting a losing battle against the greedy libertines with whom the bored, immoral old King surrounded himself; and soon after Madame Marie Antoinette's appearance on the scene the struggle ended in the du Barri's favour. De Choiseul was sent into exile and the du Barn's protege, the unscrupulous Due d'Aiguillon, was made principal Minister in his place. Unfortunately the little Dauphine had already shown her colours too plainly to be forgiven her partisanship, and she had committed the unhappy error of backing the losing side. She could not be dismissed with de Choiseul and his friends, but with their departure she was left almost isolated. Within a few months of her coming to France most of the important places at Court were filled by people who knew that they would not have been there had she had her way, and whom she received only because she had to."

  Roger nodded. "That was certainly a most unfortunate start for her."

  "It was more than that; it has influenced her whole reign. Four years later when she and her husband came to the throne they swept clean the Augean stable. But it was not only the du Barri who was sent packing. Out of greed a considerable section of the nobility of France had prostituted itself in order to grab the wealth and favours that it had been so easy for the du Barri to bestow. They too found themselves debarred the Court and all prospects of advancement under the new reign. In consequence, scores of powerful families have nurtured a grudge against the Queen ever since."

  "But why the Queen and not the King?"

  "Because they count him too lethargic to have bothered to deprive them of their sinecures unless she had pressed him to do so; and it was she, not he, who originally championed de Choiseul against them."

  Isabella ticked off her little finger. "So you see that is one set of unrelenting enemies who for fifteen years have lost no opportunity of blackening and maligning poor Madame Marie Antoinette. From the beginning too she had to contend against the spiteful animosity of the Royal Aunts, Louis XV's three elderly unmarried sisters. Madame Adelaide was the leading spirit of those stupid, gossiping old women. She both hated the Austrian alliance and resented the fact that a lovely young princess had come to take precedence over her in doing the honours of the Court; so she egged on the other two, and between them they formed a fine breeding-ground for malicious tittle-tattle about their impetuous niece.

  "Then," Isabella ticked off another finger, "there were her husband's two brothers, the Comte de Provence and the Comte d'Artois; both of whom were much cleverer and wielded considerably more influence at Court than he did. Monsieur de Provence has pretences to learning, but he is a narrow pedantic man and possessed of the most poisonous tongue in the whole Court. From boyhood he has despised and hated his ungifted elder brother and even at times given vent to his rancour that the simple, awkward Louis barred his way to the throne. To a nature so warped by gall and jealousy the Dauphin's acquisition of a lovely wife could only mean the distillation of further venom, and Monsieur de Provence has never yet lost an opportunity of bespattering Madame Marie Antoinette with lies."

  "Well, at least Monsieur d'Artois has proved her friend," Roger put in.

  "In some ways, perhaps," Isabella shrugged. "Yet he, too, helped to damage her reputation, even if unintentionally. He is certainly very different from his elder brother, for where Monsieur de Provence is fat and stolid he is slim and elegant; moreover he possesses wit and charm. But he is a shallow man and from his youth has indulged in flagrant immoralities. The Queen made a friend of him only from loneliness, and a young girl's natural craving for a little gaiety. As her brother-in-law she felt that she could go with him to parties that her husband was too mulish to attend, and yet remain untouched by scandal. But in that she proved wrong. 'Tis said that one cannot touch pitch without blackening one's fingers, and it proved true in this case. Her enemies seized upon Monsieur d'Artois's evil reputation to assert that since she was often in his company she must be tarred with the same brush."

  Isabella held up four fingers. "You see how these things add up; and we have not yet come to the end of the Royal Family. The Queen's ill-luck persisted even to her sisters-in-law. As you may know, both Monsieur de Provence and Monsieur d'Artois married daughters of King Victor Amedee of Sardinia, and the princesses of the House of Savoy have never been famed for their good looks. One can perhaps forgive these two sallow, pimply creatures for being a little jealous of the beautiful golden-haired Dauphine; but, unfortunately, to their ugliness were added narrowness and spite. They hated her from the outset and combined with the Royal Aunts to invent malicious stories about her. Both of them gave birth to children several years before Madame Marie Antoinette was so blessed, and both took every chance that offered to mock her covertly with her barrenness. Then when she at length produced an heir, their rancour knew no bounds. And with the second son born to the Queen it, if possible, became intensified, as each such birth has placed their own children further off in the line of succession could have gone on for ever listening to her soft, melodious voice with its fascinating Spanish accent.

  But he had never lost sight of the trouble and grief they would be laying up for themselves if they entered on an affaire; and he knew that even to start a light-hearted flirtation would be to step out on a slippery slope which might swiftly send him slithering headlong into passion. So he had watched himself like a hawk, and whenever their conversation had tended to grow sentimental he had gently guided it into other channels.

  Now, after that morning's episode, he blamed himself for the rash impulse which had led him to call her by her name, because she had inadvertently used his in a moment of excitement. Quite apart from any unhappy aftermath that an affaire with her might bring to himself, he was now more than ever convinced that it would be a wicked thing to arouse her passions.

  He had loved a number of women, and one desperately, but even that he had got over comparatively quickly, whereas Isabella was not of the type that having loved one man could soon find consolation in the arms of another. Roger was no moralist, but his innate decency made him acutely conscious that, since she could not hide the fact that she was strongly attracted to him, it was for him to protect her from herself. He had, so far, treated her with the courtesy due to a woman but the open friendliness he would have displayed to a man; and he knew that if the powder barrel created by their propinquity was to be kept damped down he must strive more rigorously than ever to preserve that attitude, despite the fact that there could now be no g
oing back on their calling one another by their Christian names.

  At midday they passed through a plain as flat as a lake with ranges of jagged mountains bounding it in the distance on either hand. Then, in the early afternoon, they came to the twin towns of Ferrand and Clermont, both perched picturesquely on volcanic hilltops. But the latter, despite its romantic situation, proved on closer acquaintance to be a stinking place of narrow streets and dirty hovels built of lava; so that they were glad to leave it on the following morning for Issoire.

  Their way now lay through fascinating country where conic moun­tains rose in every direction, some of which were crowned with villages and others with old Roman castles; but the steepness of the gradients necessitated the passengers in the coach frequently getting out to walk. The Senora Poeblar always got out with the others, as, in spite of her fat, she was a strongly built old lady, and she seemed to enjoy the exercise; so for several quite long intervals during the day Roger was left on his own.

  Six days of complete rest with a plenitude of good food and wine had now built him up again, and he would have liked to stretch his legs from time to time with the rest, but the heavy block of plaster in which his foot was set ruled that out of the question. However, he put these periods of solitude to quite good purpose, as a few days earlier Isabella had dug a Franco-Spanish dictionary out of her baggage and, with its aid, had started to teach him her language. She was giving him an hour's lesson each evening while their supper was being prepared, then at odd times during the day they ran through the phrases she had taught him; and now, while on his own, he passed the time in increasing his voca­bulary by making lists of words from the dictionary.

  Owing to the hilly nature of the country they covered only seventeen miles that day, yet were much more tired than usual when they reached the little town of Issoire. It was here they learned that the States General had actually met. The news had come with the passing through of the Marseilles Mail early that morning. It was said that Monsieur Necker had made a long speech that had pleased no one, that the Third Estate was disgruntled because it considered that it had been treated like a poor relation of the other two, but that all the same the meeting had passed off without any disturbances; otherwise there were no details.

  The next day found Isabella's party still wending its way slowly through the strange volcanic mountains of the Auvergne. As the strain on both horses and passengers was considerable they had decided to make another short stage of only eighteen miles to Brioud, and before the morning was far advanced they were all glad that they had not been more ambitious. It was now the 9th of May and with every day's journey further south it grew hotter, so that after ten o'clock even the Spaniards began to feel the heat, and Roger found the interior of the coach intolerably stuffy.

  At the village of Lempdes they crossed a river spanned by a big single arch and a few hundred yards to the far side of it the way began to rise steeply again, so the coach made one of its periodic halts for the passengers to get out and walk. The Senora, Quetzal and Maria stepped down into the road, and Isabella was just about to follow them when she stumbled and almost fell.

  Roger put out a hand and caught hers in an effort to save her, but before she could regain her balance she was thrown back against him, and for a moment they were pressed against one another as she lay half-sitting in his lap.

  With a little gasp she pushed herself upright, then she laughed to cover her embarrassment and got out of the coach; but before Roger released her hand he could feel that it was trembling violently.

  An hour later the coach halted at the bottom of another hill; again the Senora, Quetzal and Maria got out; but this time Isabella made no move to follow them. Instead she said to her duenna: "I have a slight pain, so I shall not walk this time."

  The others commiserated with her, the door of the coach was shut and as it moved on they dropped behind.

  She had spoken in Spanish but Roger now knew a few score words of that tongue, and he said:

  "Did I gather that you are not feeling well ?"

  They were still seated side by side. She turned her head and looked full at him. Their faces were only a few inches apart and her eyes were dilated with excitement, as she whispered: "I told them so. But it was a lie. I—I had to be alone with you."

  Instinctively their mouths came together, and next moment they were locked in a wild embrace.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  OF LOVE AND DEATH

  ABOUT ten minutes elapsed before the coach breasted the hill and stopped to pick up its passengers. During that time neither Isabella nor Roger uttered a word. For them the ten minutes seemed barely two as they clung together in the first surge of passion. It was not until she actually kissed him that he realized how great a strain he had put upon himself these past few days in resisting the temptation to kiss her; while again and again her mouth sought his with the avidity of one seeking to slake a thirst after having been lost in a desert.

  As the coach halted they started apart and swiftly sat back in their normal positions. The seat was deep and, in spite of the bright sunlight outside, the interior of the vehicle was semi-dark, so when the Senora climbed in she did not notice their flushed faces; and as it moved on she took Isabella's unaccustomed silence to be caused by the pain of which she had spoken.

  The gradients were easier now and as the Senora had already walked some three miles that morning she was feeling tired, so none of them got out again until they reached Brioude.

  The next day was a Sunday and normally Isabella's party would not have travelled on it, but she agreed with Roger that they should do so in order to minimize the delay in the delivery of the Queen's letter. Nevertheless, instead of starting at eight-thirty, as was their custom, they postponed their departure rill eleven, in order that they might first attend Mass. Having got herself ready for church, Isabella suddenly declared that her pain had come on again and excused herself from

  going; so the Senora Poeblar went off with the rest, apparently quite unconcerned at leaving her with the still incapacitated Roger.

  Normally, wherever he was, Roger followed the upper-class English practice of bathing two or three times a week, but on the Continent the custom was still regarded as eccentric and even dangerous. Instead, wealthy people of both sexes sprayed themselves lavishly with scent, bathing only with considerable ceremony three or four times a year, or when a doctor recommended a course of herb baths as a remedy for some illness.

  During a journey people removed only their outer clothes at night and Roger had been assisted in this by the footman, Pedro. That morning he had been dressed and shaved himself while the others were getting ready for church, but as he had to keep his foot up he was still lying propped up on his bedroll.

  While the Senora and the others were going downstairs Isabella sat looking at Roger, the blood draining from her face until it was as white as a sheet, her black eyebrows and full, crimson mouth standing out by contrast with startling vividness. As she heard them crossing the cobbled yard below the window she jumped to her feet and ran across to him. He opened his arms and with a little sob she fell into them.

  After a few breathless kisses she drew back and cried: "Say you love me! Say you love me! Please, Rojé I implore you to!"

  "Indeed I do, my beautiful Isabella," he replied, kissing her afresh. And he meant it, for after the preceding day's scene in the coach he had known that further resistance was useless, and the violence of her passion had now communicated itself to him.

  "You swear it?" she demanded.

  "I swear it! Surely you must have seen that for days I have been fighting against the impulse to make love to you ? Your sweetness has utterly overcome me; but I feared that to show my feelings openly could only bring you grief."

  "Oh thank God! thank God!" she exclaimed, ignoring his last few words. "Never have I felt so shamed as after yesterday. What must you have thought of me? Yet I vow that far from being accustomed to behaving so I have always despised women who made
advances to men."

  "I know your mind too well ever to have thought otherwise," he assured her quickly. "How could anyone be constantly in your company for a week without realizing that your standards of conduct are as high as your person is beautiful ?"

  "But Rojé, I have never felt for any man as I do for you," she hurried on. "The very touch of your hand makes me deliriously happy, yet terrifies me. How I shall bring myself to support Don Diego after this I cannot think."

  "Don Diego?" he repeated.

  "Yes. I have said nothing of it because each time I have broached the question of love or marriage you have turned the conversation to some other topic. But I am going to Naples to be married."

  "Do you—do you regard your fiance" with affection?"

  "How could I ? I do not even know him. He is my father's choice for me. I am twenty-two and should have been married long ere this, but Madame Marie Antoinette begged my father to let me remain with her until this spring; then he insisted that I must return to take my rightful place in Spanish society."

  "This Don Diego, I suppose, is a gentleman of ancient lineage?" Roger asked a little bitterly.

  She nodded. "He is El Conde Diego Sidonia y Ulloa. He has great estates in Castile and on his uncle's death he will inherit a dukedom. His father was one of the nobles who assisted Don Carlos to conquer Naples, so he also has estates there and in Sicily. He has lived in Naples most of his life and is one of King Ferdinand's Chamberlains. Even my father considers that a better match could hardly be found for me.

  "What sort of a man is he?"

  "He is just under thirty years of age, and said to be handsome."

  "Mayhap you will fall in love with him, then." The second Roger had spoken he could have bitten off his tongue. The remark was not made cynically but it might easily be taken so, and in any case it sug­gested a lightness that was out of keeping with the moment. To his mingled relief and distress she took it literally, and confessed: