The Rising Storm

by Dennis Wheatley

  “Mort Dieu! Be plain with me. Is your mistress still alive and well?”

  “Would I be here if she were not?”

  “Thank God for that! Then take me to her.”

  “Am I not begging to do so? The carriage waits.”

  “What! Mean you that she has gone to Madrid?”

  “Have I not said so, Monsieur?”

  “You had not! But why? Why has she gone? Is it that she has accompanied them on the first stage of the journey, and means to see them off from the capital?”

  “It was the Queen, Monsieur. Yesterday Her Majesty learned of my mistress’s decision to remain here with her baby. She was angry. She said that the name Sidonia y Ulloa means nothing in Paris; but that of d’Aranda everything. That ’tis not Don Diego, but my mistress, who is the friend of Madame Marie Antoinette, and so can help to win her support for the cause of Spain. Last night there came with all this I tell you an imperative order from the Queen. So my mistress is still with that fiend who would murder her, and now on her way to Paris.”

  Chapter XXIV

  The Outcome of the Mission

  Roger stood aghast, staring in dismay at the young, brown-faced Aztec Prince with the beautifully embroidered clothes and gaily feathered headdress. The plot that he and Isabella had hatched for getting Don Diego sent to Paris had recoiled on their own heads. They had been too clever, and were now hoist with their own petard; or at least separated by it more effectually than they could have been by anything else short of death or prison.

  “For what are you waiting, Monsieur?” The little Indian grasped his sleeve and pulled at it impatiently. “Every moment is precious!”

  “I have told you,” Roger muttered, shaking off his hold. “I cannot go to Paris.”

  “Cannot go to Paris?” Quetzal repeated in astonishment. “Do you mean that you abandon my mistress?”

  Roger bit his lip, then burst out: “God knows I have no wish to! But ’tis impossible for me to leave Aranjuez. I have business here that no other person can handle for me.”

  The boy’s eyes suddenly filled with hate. “Business!” he cried. “How can you mention it in the same breath with my mistress? I had believed you loved her. Yet you are willing to leave her to be poisoned by that fiend rather than sacrifice some interest of your own.”

  The midday sun was glaring down. Roger pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his perspiring face; then he said firmly: “Listen, Quetzal. I swear to you that I am no less devoted to your mistress than yourself. But there is a thing called duty as well as one called love; and sometimes they conflict. Mine, for the moment, is to remain here. Yours is to catch the Condesa up as swiftly as you can, and do your utmost to protect her while on the road to Paris. Tell her, I beg, that my business here should not take long, and that the instant it is concluded I shall follow her. And that I love her more than anything in the world. Will you do that for me?”

  Impressed by Roger’s evident earnestness and emotion, the boy nodded. “So be it, then. I will give her your message.”

  Without another word he turned and ran back to the gates outside which he had been standing. Roger, too, turned and, shaken to the depths by his recent encounter, walked slowly away. He had not covered fifty paces before the carriage that Quetzal had had waiting to take them to Madrid issued from the gates, its horses moving at a gallop, and passed him, covering him in a cloud of dust.

  As he watched it disappear his thoughts were chaotic. Isabella had no idea of the importance of the mission he had been given, so what would she think of him? How soon could he follow her? He could not force Count Florida Blanca to give him an audience immediately. It was unlikely that he would be able to get away from Aranjuez for at least another week. And Don Diego intended to travel at high speed. They would be half-way to Paris, or further, before he could catch them up.

  But of what was he thinking? Even when he had seen Count Florida Blanca he would not be free to go to Paris. His mission would still tie him. Mr. Pitt was anxiously awaiting the decision he had been sent to force. Whether it was for peace or war, he must carry it without an hour’s delay back to London. In his shock and distress at finding Isabella gone he had promised to follow her; but he could do so only by breaking his promise to his master.

  He had also told Quetzal that he loved her better than anything in the world. Was that really true? If it was he would be with Quetzal in the carriage on his way to Madrid at this moment. The fact that her life was in danger should have counted more with him than even Mr. Pitt’s business. But was it? If Don Diego had really intended to poison her surely he would have done so before leaving for Paris, so that he would be free to make his bid for Georgina’s hand on the journey.

  If only their plan had worked everything would have been so simple. They could have waited in Aranjuez until he had his answer from Florida Blanca, then gone straight to London. But now! What was to be done? What could be done? He could only hope and pray that his poor Isabella would survive the journey to Paris. If she did it would go a long way to show that her fears of being poisoned had no real foundation. As soon as he was through with his mission he could go to Paris, and to elope with her from there should not be difficult. What, though, if she never reached Paris? He could still go there, call Don Diego out and do his damnedest to kill him in a duel. But that would not bring Isabella back. Would he ever get over her loss? Yes, he had counted her as dead before and got over it, so he would do so again. Yet the thought of her dying in agony was unbearable.

  Fears for her safety, distress that she would think he had abandoned her quite callously, and black frustration obsessed his thoughts for the rest of the day and most of the night. But on the Friday morning he got a grip of himself again.

  He began to see things from a different angle. Fate had played such an extraordinary part in dictating the makes and breaks of his romance with Isabella, and now the blind goddess had intervened between them yet again. Perhaps, after all, Destiny did not intend their union. On the long journey to Paris Isabella would not be able to guard herself so carefully as she had while at home, and there would be many opportunities for Don Diego to put poison in her food. Therefore, if she survived the journey it could be taken as fair proof that Georgina was right, and that Isabella’s husband had no intention of killing her.

  Suddenly it occurred to him that, if that proved the case, he would no longer be committed to elope with her. She had refused to leave Naples with him when his passion was at its height; and, although it had since cooled, he had instantly responded to her appeal to come to Spain. It was no fault of his that their elopement had fallen through. So, since only her danger had brought him to Spain, if it emerged that she had never really been in danger, why should he, the moment he was free dash off to Paris and enter on fresh plans to tie her life with his?

  He had forced himself to close his mind against all the arguments that Georgina and her father had used in their attempts to dissuade him from running away with Isabella; but now he felt free to contemplate them in all seriousness and, as he had really known from the beginning, life with her unmarried to him in England would have been one long fight against difficulties and distresses. He had been willing to pay that price, but Fate had relented at the last moment and, it seemed now, still held for him a happier future.

  Nevertheless, illogical as he knew it to be, he still felt a sense of guilt towards Isabella; and his anxiety for her safety continued to harass him to such an extent that, as the only means of temporarily freeing his mind from it, he decided that he must endeavour to concentrate all his thoughts on his mission. So at an early hour he went to the Palace and called upon Heredia.

  The Caballero expressed pleasure but mild surprise at seeing him again so soon, and said that since returning from Toledo he had had no opportunity to discuss Roger’s matter with the Prime Minister; however, he hoped to be able to arrange something for him by Sunday.

  When Sunday came Heredia was urbane and courteous as ever, but still
could give no definite date for an audience. He suggested that, while Count Florida Blanca disposed of other most pressing affairs, Roger might spend a few nights in Madrid with profit, and offered to do the honours of the capital for him.

  Roger politely declined the invitation, then added coldly: “I am much surprised, Señor Caballero, at the little weight that His Excellency the Prime Minister appears to attach to the fact that His Britannic Majesty’s Prime Minister had sent a personal envoy to him. It is the desire of my master to settle the matters that lie between our countries amicably; but I have now been here a week and your master has not yet even found time to hear what I have to say. Should His Excellency continue to find himself too occupied to receive me during the course of the next three days, I shall be compelled to assume that it is because he has no wish to do so. My duty then will plainly be to return to England at once, and report His Excellency’s attitude.”

  At this, the Caballero appeared much pained, and pretended that he thought Roger’s behaviour most unreasonable. But he promised once more to do his best, and the following day the ultimatum produced the required result; Roger received a note stating that the Prime Minister would see him on Thursday, April 22nd, at four o’clock in the afternoon.

  Heredia performed the ceremony of presentation, and Roger found himself bowing to an elderly man with good eyes but a lined, tired-looking face. Count Florida Blanca received his visitor with much politeness, but standing, and he did not invite him to sit down, so Roger was reminded of the interviews between King George III and Mr. Pitt.

  He produced his letter, expressed Mr. Pitt’s surprise at having received no reply to his note of February 26th, and went on to say: “His Britannic Majesty’s Government is anxious to remain on terms of the utmost amity with that of His Most Catholic Majesty; but Your Excellency must appreciate that the high-handed action of certain Spanish ships last June in Nootka Sound was most prejudicial to the maintenance of such happy relations; and the dilatoriness of His Most Catholic Majesty’s Government in giving satisfaction in the matter has given my master good grounds for supposing that they have no intention of doing so.”

  “Oh, come, Monsieur, come!” protested the Count. “That is to assume far too much.”

  “What other interpretation can be put upon your Government’s continued silence, sir?” Roger enquired.

  “We have been seeking ways, Monsieur. Seeking ways that we trust may lead to a suitable accommodation.”

  Roger bowed. “Your Excellency, I am delighted to hear it. In that case my coming will I hope prove of assistance to you, as I am empowered to inform you of the terms upon which His Britannic Majesty’s Government …”

  “Terms!” exclaimed the Spaniard haughtily. “I pray you, Monsieur, be pleased to withdraw such an offensive expression.”

  “If Your Excellency prefers we will call it a basis of agreement. The first clause of any treaty between our two countries would be the acknowledgment by Spain that the whole North American Pacific coastline from parallel forty-five degrees north to Alaska, together with the hinterland as far east as the St. Lawrence river, form part of His Britannic Majesty’s dominions.”

  Count Florida Blanca stared at Roger in angry astonishment. “You cannot mean this, Monsieur? Such a proposal is preposterous!”

  “So definitely do I mean it, Your Excellency,” Roger replied firmly, “that I am instructed to inform you that it is the only basis upon which His Britannic Majesty’s Government will consider the negotiation of a peaceful settlement.”

  “A peaceful settlement! What are you saying? Surely you do not infer that upon this matter England would proceed to extremities?”

  Roger bowed again. “I should be failing in my duty if I left Your Excellency under the impression that this is a question of anything less than peace or war.”

  At this calling of a spade a spade the Spanish Prime Minister’s mental shudder was almost perceptible. He felt that the handsome young man who had been sent to see him was the representative of a new and horrible age. The diplomats to whom he was accustomed were of the old-fashioned sort, who would have been perfectly happy to amuse themselves with the ladies of Madrid for a month or two before, with great reluctance, bringing themselves to use some term even vaguely implying the possibility of hostilities. After a moment, he said:

  “This matter is one of the utmost gravity, and will require my most careful consideration.”

  “As I see it, sir,” replied Roger promptly, “the issue is a perfectly simple one. Does or does not His Most Catholic Majesty’s Government desire to negotiate on the basis that I have stated? But if Your Excellency is troubled with any doubts upon that score, I will present myself to receive your answer at this hour tomorrow.”

  Count Florida Blanca found it difficult to conceal his anger. He had counted on being able to evade any definite pronouncement on the Nootka question until he had further information on the likelihood of French support. Only a week had elapsed since Don Diego had been despatched to press the matter, so, apart from the unlikely chance that a favourable answer was already on the way, a considerable time must elapse before he could hope to hear anything definite; and here was this young cub of an Englishman endeavouring to force him to a decision within a matter of hours. With a sudden display of haughtiness he attempted to overawe his visitor.

  “Indeed, Monsieur! Either I cannot have heard aright, or your youth must excuse your ignorance of diplomatic usage. Responsible Ministers do not take such momentous decisions overnight.”

  “I am, sir,” Roger said, in a quiet but telling voice, “just nine months younger than was my master when he first became a Minister of the Crown. While I have no pretensions to his gifts, I can at least endeavour to emulate his despatch when dealing with urgent matters of business. On his behalf I must request a prompt reply.”

  Swiftly the Spaniard made amends for his impoliteness. “My reference to your age was not intended as any reflection on your abilities, Monsieur. But you cannot reasonably expect a reply to such a sweeping demand in less than a matter of weeks.”

  Roger saw that he had got the tired old Prime Minister on the run, and decided to hit him hard again. “Your Excellency; I had, myself, thought that a week would be enough in which to settle our business, so promised my master that I would not linger here much beyond ten days. Yet, owing to your other occupations, I have already been compelled to kick my heels in Aranjuez for twelve days with nothing done. ’Tis no fault of mine that I must now press you to a prompt decision. The issue is a straightforward one. I must ask you to let me have your answer to it within forty-eight hours.”

  Ten minutes later, as Roger walked away from the Palace, he felt that he had not played his part too badly. However shocked, hurt, or offended the Spaniards might appear to be at his insistence on getting down to business, the truth was that they were only seeking to gain time; and the whole purpose of his mission was to bring them to book with a minimum of delay. Had he believed that it would serve any useful purpose he would have been far more tactful; but his instructions were definite, so he could only hope that his firmness would have the result that he so anxiously desired.

  Hearing nothing further, on the Saturday morning he went to see Heredia, in order to confirm that Florida Blanca meant to receive him again that afternoon. It was as well he did so, as the Caballero pretended not to know anything about the arrangement, and said he feared that Count Florida Blanca had to attend a Royal Council which would keep him occupied for some hours after the siesta.

  Roger announced calmly that it was all one to him at what hour His Excellency chose to summon him, but that he had ordered his horses for dawn next day; and that if he received no summons before that hour he would know what answer to carry back to England.

  Again the ultimatum worked. Heredia, having excused himself for a few minutes, returned to say that the Prime Minister would look forward to a further talk if Roger would wait upon him at five o’clock the following afternoon; he co
uld find time to give him half an hour before the Sunday Court.

  As on the previous occasion, they remained standing for the duration of the interview; but this time the Spaniard greeted his visitor with apparent pleasure, as well as politeness. Roger, being still a child in such matters, thought that a good omen; and an indication that, after some face-saving remarks, Florida Blanca meant to give in.

  The Prime Minister appeared to come to the point swiftly, with the genial announcement: “In the matter of the Americas, Monsieur, I now feel confident that Spain can meet the wishes of Britain; but naturally His Most Catholic Majesty would expect some practical acknowledgment of this friendly gesture.”

  “I am delighted to hear it, Your Excellency,” Roger smiled, thrilled with the belief that his mission had been successful, and that he would be going home with a territory eight times the size of the Canadian settlements in his pocket. “My master would, I am sure, be willing to give you full satisfaction on all outstanding questions regarding your commerce.”

  “That goes without saying,” shrugged the Count, “for ’tis a mere bagatelle. I had in mind a suitable compensation for the sacrifice that His Most Catholic Majesty would be making. There is only one which could be considered in any way adequate, but it would remove the last possible cause for friction between our two countries. I refer, of course, to Gibraltar.”

  Roger went quite white. He felt that the Spaniard had deliberately made a fool of him, and in a way that he would never have dared to do with an older man. He was intensely angry. His eyes narrowed, and he said with quiet insolence:

  “I find it amazing that anyone in Your Excellency’s position should be so ignorant of history.”

  The Count flushed. “Monsieur! I do not understand …”

  “Then I will make myself plain. Ten years ago, when my country had been much weakened by three years of exhausting effort to reduce her revolted colonies in the Americas, and in addition had for a year been at death grips with the French, Spain threatened to join her enemies; but offered to be bought off at the price of Gibraltar. His Britannic Majesty refused to cede the Rock then, so what can possibly lead Your Excellency to suppose that he would do so now?”