The Rising Storm

by Dennis Wheatley

  “I regret, Monsieur,” the elderly Swiss replied, “but except in so far as my duty requires I am under orders not to talk with you.”

  Left to his own speculations Roger considered all the odds were that he was being taken to Paris, and that as prisoners of gentle birth there were nearly always confined in the Bastille, that was his most probable destination. If so, they had a journey of some forty miles before them, so would not arrive in the capital until the small hours of the morning.

  Now that he was under guard again the parole he had given to de Vaudreuil was no longer valid, so he took swift stock of his chances of escape. His only opportunity would be when they changed horses, as it was certain they would do a number of times on the road. Since de Besenval had not locked either of the carriage doors, should he get out of one to stretch his legs when they halted, there would be nothing to stop his prisoner slipping out of the other. But from the second the prisoner put his foot to the ground he would be in acute danger—as the two Swiss on the box and the boot were both armed with muskets, and it was a hundred to one that they would shoot if he attempted to make a bolt for it.

  Having weighed the pros and cons Roger decided that, even if the opportunity occurred, to present himself as a target for two musket-balls fired at close range was too great a risk to take, so he had better resign himself to captivity, at least for the time being.

  After he had settled himself more comfortably in his corner of the carriage the rhythm of its wheels and the horses’ hoofs began to make him drowsy. For the better part of two days he had been subject to acute anxiety and the sudden, if temporary, cessation of wondering what was about to happen to himself had its reaction. The sleep that he had sought in vain an hour before now kindly enveloped him.

  He awoke with a start. The carriage had stopped and he felt certain that he had not been asleep for long. De Besenval was getting out and said over his shoulder: “Be pleased to follow me, Monsieur.”

  As Roger stumbled from the carriage he saw they had not drawn up before a post-house; and no ostler was at work unbuckling the traces of the horses. The carriage had halted in a broad, tree-lined avenue and, to Roger’s amazement, to one end of it he caught a glimpse of the south façade of the Palace of Fontainebleau outlined by the rising moon. Suddenly it impinged upon his still drowsy brain that for the past half-hour they must have been driving away from the Palace only to return to its immediate vicinity in secret by a circuitous route.

  To one side of the avenue the trees opened to disclose a path and at its entrance stood the cloaked and hooded figure of a woman. De Besenval saluted her and, beckoning Roger forward, said gutturally: “Chevalier, my instructions carry me no further than this point. Here I hand you over into the keeping of this lady. My compliments to you.”

  Roger returned his bow and stepped forward. The female figure stretched out a hand and took one of his. Then she said in a low, melodious voice, which he recognised as that of the Señorita d’Aranda: “You are late, Monsieur; please to come with me and quickly.”

  For a moment, as Roger hurried with her along a narrow, twisting path bordered on both sides by thick shrubberies, he thought that she must have engineered his escape; but he could scarcely believe that the Colonel of the Swiss Guards would have lent himself to such a plot.

  Before he had time for further speculation they emerged into a clearing, in the centre of which stood a small pavilion. Chinks of light between its drawn curtain showed that it was lit within. Ascending the three steps that led up to its verandah the Señorita drew him after her, knocked on the door and, opening it, pushed him inside.

  Momentarily he was dazzled by the light; then, almost overcome with stupefaction, he realised that he was standing within a few paces of the Queen. She was wearing an ermine cape over her décolleté and diamonds sparkled in her high-dressed, powdered hair. Beside her on a small table lay a sword, and he recognised it as his own.

  As he sank upon one knee before her she took up the sword; and, still bewildered by this swift, unexpected turn of events, he heard her say:

  “Chevalier, I have ever been most adverse to duelling, and I cannot find it in myself to condone that method of settling differences as a general principle. Yet I now know that in your affair with the Count de Caylus you were inspired by no base motive but a selfless devotion which does you honour. I therefore return to you your sword.”

  “Madame! Madame! I...” stammered Roger.

  The Queen went on evenly: “On the evening of your arrest I sent to Paris for your papers. They arrived this morning and soon after midday I found an opportunity to look through them. Among them I found a recommendation for the reconsideration of your case from my good friend M. le Comte d’Adhémar. That alone would not have been sufficient to exculpate you, but I also found a statement made by M. le Vicomte de la Tour d’Auvergne. After his flight to Brittany His Majesty despatched an order requiring him to justify himself for his part in the affair. In doing so he takes the blame upon himself for your meeting with de Caylus; and Monsieur le Vicomte is one of our nobles whose word everyone must respect. In the circumstances, I would think myself ungenerous were I to condemn you for the part you played.”

  As she finished speaking Roger took back his sword and murmured: “It has ever been my desire to be of service to Your Majesty, and I am now so overcome by your clemency that there is naught I would not do to prove my gratitude.”

  Her blue eyes regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then she said: “Do you really mean that, Monsieur, or is it just one more of the empty phrases that I hear only too often at my Court? Seeing the treatment you have received at my hands, it would be more natural in you did you bear me a grudge; and I now found that my impulse to see justice done had earned me yet one more enemy.”

  “Indeed, Madame!” he protested, his overwhelming relief at having escaped scot free filling his mind to the exclusion of all else. “Your enemy I could never be. I pray you only to command me and I will prove my words; even if it means the risking of my life—’tis little less that I owe you.”

  A faint smile came to her pale lips. “Then if you have spoken rashly the fault is yours; for I have a mind to seize this opportunity and request a service of you.”

  “Speak, Madame. I am all attention.”

  She hesitated a second, before saying: “This afternoon I sent the Señorita d’Aranda to find out what she could about you. She reported to me that you have a great love of travel and no commitments for the next six months. Is that correct?”

  “It is, Your Majesty.”

  “The Señorita also repeated to me all that you had told her of your youth and upbringing in England. What you said confirmed the statement of M. de la Tour d’Auvergne, that you are no common adventurer but an honourable gentleman in whom trust can be placed without fear of betrayal. At this moment I am in urgent need of such a friend.”

  At the inference that she was now prepared to regard him as a trusted friend Roger could hardly believe his ears, but he said boldly:

  “Madame. I cannot credit that Your Majesty has not about your person a score of gentlemen who would willingly sacrifice their lives rather than betray you; but if you need another I am your man.”

  “I like your forthrightness, Monsieur,” she remarked, now smiling full upon him, “and you are right; but I will make myself more plain. I am indeed fortunate in having a number of gentlemen who, I feel confident, would serve me to the peril of their lives, but every one of them is known by my enemies to be my friend. They are marked men, Monsieur, whereas you are not.”

  Roger now saw the way her mind had been running, and the intuition which had often served him so well on previous occasions told him in advance what was coming next.

  From the drawer of the table she drew the thick packet that he had spitted on his sword-point as she was handing it to de Roubec two afternoons before, and said:

  “You will recognise this packet with which I propose to entrust you, but first I request y
ou to listen carefully to what I am about to say; for I do not wish to engage you in this matter without informing you of its importance to me and possible danger to yourself.”

  She went on with the frankness that characterised her when speaking to people that she liked, and which was only too often abused. “You cannot fail to be aware of the present troubled state of France. Many of the ills of which the people complain are, alas, attributed to myself. It is true that in my early years as Queen I was sometimes thoughtless and extravagant, but I cannot believe that I ever did any great harm to anyone; and in more recent years I have done everything in my power to atone, and to help the King in his projects to economise. Yet the people hate me and call me ‘the Austrian woman’. And a certain section of the nobility bear me a hatred yet greater still.”

  The tears came to her blue eyes, but she brushed them aside and continued: “These last would stop at nothing to bring about my ruin, and even in the Palace I know there to be spies who endeavour to report my every action. That is why I dare not send this packet by the hand of anyone who is known to be my friend. Should its contents be suspected they would be set upon and robbed of it before they had traversed a score of miles.

  “It was in this dilemma that I thought to send it by a stranger, the man de Roubec. He was recommended to me by the Marquis de St. Huruge, whom I now judge to be one of the many traitors that infest the Court. It is yourself I have to thank for having saved me from that, and I now feel that I should have sent last night to let you know that I had not forgotten it. For I do assure you, Monsieur, that even had I not learned the truth I should have counted your service to me as going a long way to mitigate any sentence that His Majesty proposed to inflict upon you.”

  Roger smiled. “I thank you, Madame; although, knowing de Roubec, it was an act I would have performed to protect the interests of any lady.”

  “Nevertheless, Monsieur, I happened to be that lady, and you served me well. But now about yourself. I sent Monsieur de Besenval for you with his guards deliberately tonight, and gave him orders to march you through the gallery outside my ante-room, then downstairs to a closed carriage, just as my reception was breaking up. Having witnessed your departure in such circumstances the whole Court will now believe you to be in the Bastille, and even if you are seen at liberty later my enemies will never believe you to be any friend of mine. In this way I have sought to give you immunity from their attentions, and I trust you will be able to convey this despatch to its destination without encountering any opposition.”

  As she handed the packet to him he saw that it bore no superscription, so he asked: “To whom am I to bear it, Madame?”

  “To my younger brother, the Grand Duke of Tuscany,” she replied. “For some time past reports from Vienna have informed me that my elder brother, the Emperor, has been seriously ill, so he has no longer been in a state to take his former interest in my affairs. It is on that account that the Grand Duke Leopold is showing additional concern for me. He wrote recently asking that I should furnish him with full particulars of the crisis with which we are faced, and my own personal views as to what course events are likely to take. This despatch contains all the information he has requested of me, including my private opinions of Monsieur Necker and the other Ministers in whose hands His Majesty has now placed himself. Some of those opinions are by no means favourable, so I need hardly stress how vital it is that this document should not fall into the hands of my enemies. If it did it would certainly prove my ruin.”

  “Have no fear, Madame,” Roger said firmly. “No one shall take it from me while I live, and His Highness the Grand Duke shall know your views as swiftly as strong horses can carry me to Florence.”

  “I thank you from my heart, Monsieur,” sighed the Queen, and once more there were tears in her eyes. Then she drew a fine diamond ring from her finger and added: “Take this and sell it to cover the expenses of your journey; or, if you prefer, keep it as a souvenir of an unhappy woman.”

  Roger took the ring and, kneeling, kissed the beautiful white hand that she extended to him.

  As he rose and backed towards the door, she raised her voice and called: “Isabella! Isabella, my child! Pray conduct Monsieur le Chevalier back to the carriage.”

  At her call the Señorita opened the door behind him and led the way out down the steps of the little pavilion into the semi-darkness of the shrubbery.

  “You have accepted Her Majesty’s mission, Monsieur?” she asked in her soft voice.

  “Willingly, Señorita,” he replied. “And it would not surprise me overmuch if it was yourself who proposed me for this honour.”

  “Her Majesty was at her wits’ end for a messenger who would not be suspected by her enemies,” murmured the Señorita, “and I had the happy thought that you did not seem the type of man to bear a grudge, so might be willing to serve her in this emergency.” Then she added quickly:

  “The carriage will take you the first stage of your journey south during the night. In it you will find your valise with all your things. Monsieur de Vaudreuil; packed them for you and brought them here himself. It remains, Monsieur, only for me to wish you a safe and pleasant journey.”

  They had traversed the short path while they were speaking, and already come out into the open, where the carriage waited some ten yards away. As they halted he turned to face her for a moment in the moonlight. In it her olive complexion no longer looked near-sallow, and her black eyebrows no longer seemed to overpower her long oval face. It suddenly came to Roger that in her own strange way she was beautiful.

  He said in a low voice: “Directly my mission is accomplished I shall return to Versailles. May I hope, Señorita, that you will permit me to wait upon you there; for I should much like to develop our acquaintance.”

  She shook her head. “I fear that is not to be, Monsieur; and that our … yes, let us say friendship, in view of the secret that we share, must end here. When the Court moves tomorrow I leave it to quit France and return to my parents, so ’tis most unlikely that we shall ever meet again.”

  But the Fates had interwoven the destinies of these two, and while they thought they were making a final parting it was decreed that they were to cross one another’s paths again quite soon. And, by the weaving of those same Fates, Queen Marie Antoinette, who believed that she might yet enjoy many happy years with her husband and children, was never to witness the setting of another sun at Fontainebleau.

  Chapter V

  The Unworthy Priest

  Roger’s tentative bid to start an affaire with the Señorita d’Aranda was no more than a momentary impulse, brought about through the additional attraction lent her by the moonlight. No sooner was the carriage bowling down the avenue than she had passed entirely from his thoughts and his whole mind became occupied with the Queen.

  He was already aware that during the past twenty minutes he had been very far from his normal self. That was partly due to the stunning suddenness with which his despair of escaping a long spell of imprisonment had been dissipated. But he felt that it must be something more than that which had caused him to use expressions of such extravagant devotion to Madame Marie Antoinette, and declare himself so instantly ready to undertake a mission for her.

  He had got only so far in his musings when the carriage, having reached the entrance of the park, drew to a halt. The coachman lifted the little panel in its roof and, out of the darkness, his voice came down to Roger:

  “Where do you wish me to drive you, Monsieur?”

  It was a pleasant surprise that the man had no definite instructions; as Roger had vaguely anticipated being set down some ten miles south of Fontainebleau, then, for his own purposes, having to drive all the way back to Paris the following day.

  “Can you take me as far as Paris?” he asked.

  “Certainly, Monsieur,” replied the coachman. The little trap flipped to and they set off again.

  Roger’s mind at once reverted to Madame Marie Antoinette; and, while he admitted to hi
mself that the extraordinary fascination she exerted had been the cause of his pledging himself so wholeheartedly, he was relieved to think that he had nevertheless kept his head sufficiently well not to forget the interests of Mr. Pitt.

  The Prime Minister was not dependent on him for information as to what happened when the States General met, the issue of fresh edicts by the Court, a change of Ministers or renewed resistance by the parliaments to the Royal Authority. All that, and much more, he would learn from the official despatches that the Duke of Dorset sent at least once a week to the Duke of Leeds at the Foreign Office. Roger’s province was to collect special information, particularly about the private lives and intentions of the principal protagonists in the coming struggle. Of these the King and Queen were clearly by far the most important; so if by undertaking a secret journey for the latter he could return from it with the prospect of being given her full confidence, his absence for some weeks from the storm-centre should more than repay him later for the loss of any smaller fish that might have swum into his net had he remained in Paris.

  All the same, he wondered now if he would have been able to resist acceding to her request had it involved him in doing something contrary to the interests of his own mission. He thought he would, but was by no means certain; for he was conscious that he had been near bewitched while in her presence. Her beauty was incontestable; and, from the time of his first sight of her at quite a distance several years before, he had always thought of her as one of the most beautiful women he had ever set eyes on. But it was not that alone. He recalled an occasion when Mr. Horace Walpole had dined at Amesbury House, and how he had raved about her, saying that she had the power of inspiring passionate and almost uncontrollable adoration. Roger understood now what the distinguished wit and man of letters had meant; for he too had come under her spell and experienced the strange, effortless way in which she could move and trouble a man’s spirit.