The Wanton Princess

by Dennis Wheatley

  Pausing at one of the tall windows Napoleon stood staring out for a full minute. Roger, silently regarding the back of the short, stalwart figure, continued to wait for the blow to fall.

  15

  White Magic

  Suddenly the First Consul swung round, his expression changed to brisk geniality. ‘We must do what we can to console Pauline. I had intelligence yesterday by a fast sloop that she is on her way home. Her ship should dock at Bordeaux in a week or ten days’ time. Someone must meet her, tell her of my grief for her, and act as her escort. She prefers well-born men to rough soldiers. You, Breuc, are the very man for this task. Take one of my coaches, proceed to Bordeaux with all speed and, when Madame Leclerc lands, do all you can to bring the smiles back to those bright eyes of hers.’

  Roger could hardly believe his ears. To be given this intriguing mission instead of being packed off probably to die of yellow fever in the jungles of San Domingo seemed too good to be true. Jerking to attention, he cried, ‘Mon General, you can rely on me.’ Then with a laugh he uttered one of those ‘Gasconades’ that at times he used to support his rôle as a Frenchman. ‘ ’Twill be a sad day when the master whose thousand activities have again made France great cannot find a use for a man with the qualities of his servant, “le brave Breuc”.’

  ‘You impudent fellow,’ Napoleon replied. But he loved flattery, so he smiled and pulled Roger’s ear as he added, ‘You are almost as conceited as that gallant who commands the Hussars of Conflans. What is his name? Yes, Brigadier Gerrard. Very well; keep your sash, and take good care of my favourite sister.’

  After visiting the stables and arranging for a comfortable coach with a team of six horses and outriders to take him on his way to Bordeaux next morning, Roger went to the Rue du Bac. There Talleyrand received him, but could give him only a few minutes as he was about to leave to attend a reception at the Prussian Embassy. Roger gave him a somewhat edited account of his misfortunes in England, then enquired the reason for Bourrienne’s dismissal.

  Having taken snuff, the Foreign Minister replied, ‘Poor fellow, he lost his place through a mere peccadillo, but unfortunately one that is a heinous crime in Napoleon’s eyes. He takes no exception to his Generals looting the territories over which they are sent to rule, or to me in maintaining myself in reasonable comfort by accepting, now and then, a few francs from the Ambassadors whose business I choose to expedite; because that is foreign money. But for some reason I have never understood poor Bourrienne was paid no salary. He was permitted to draw such money as he needed from the First Consul’s private purse. Such an arrangement was well enough in its way, but not one by which one could put aside a comfortable fortune. In consequence, Bourrienne entered on a speculation with one of these army contractors. Extraordinary to relate it did not turn out well, so he endeavoured to recoup himself by drawing on the Public Funds. Savary got wind of this and reported it to the First Consul. To rob the French Exchequer is the one thing that he will not permit even his family to do; so Bourrienne was sent packing, and without even a gratuity, after his many years of faithful service.’

  ‘Indeed! It is unlike Napoleon to show ingratitude; and I am most sorry for our old friend.’

  ‘And I.’ Talleyrand took another pinch of snuff, then flicked the grains from his lapels with a lace handkerchief. ‘Méneval is highly competent, but Bourrienne was the finest personal assistant any monarch could have. He had a marvellous memory, could speak and write many languages, and take down dictation as fast as anyone could speak. He knew how all the departments worked, was well versed in international law and had known Napoleon from the days when they were cadets together at Brienne. To retain his services for a million francs would have been cheap at the price. But our little man has at times these queer quirks of moral rectitude which, I must confess, I find surprising in anyone almost as unprincipled as myself.’

  Roger then told Talleyrand about his new mission. The diplomat raised an eyebrow. ‘Mon cher ami, I at the same time congratulate you and deplore your fortune in being charged with acting as the official protector of this lady. She has been well named la belle des belles and you would not be human did you not swiftly become a prey to a desire to sleep with her. I think that as far as she was capable of being in love she loved Leclerc; so you may find her still chilled by his death and unresponsive to any man’s attentions. But the Bonapartes are a lecherous breed, and Pauline is the most libidinous of them all. Did you know that not long after Leclerc was despatched to serve with the Army of the Rhine she entered on affaires with three Generals simultaneously; Moreau, Macdonald and Beurnonville? On comparing notes they found her out, but that gives you the measure of her amorous propensities.’

  ‘Then after six weeks aboard ship she must be ripe for some masculine entertainment,’ Roger smiled.

  ‘Perhaps; unless she seduced the Captain of the ship on the way over, and has formed a passion for him, as such hot-blooded women are apt to do. I wish you luck with her but, should you succeed, I advise you not to become deeply involved, for I am convinced that to set your affections on such a woman could lead only to unhappiness.’

  Still pondering this sage counsel, Roger set out for Bordeaux. His coach covered the three hundred and forty miles in six days. On reaching the port he engaged the best suite of rooms in the most comfortable hostelry, pending Madame Leclerc’s arrival.

  Pauline’s ship docked four days later and Roger went aboard at once. Her Captain, a fine handsome man in his early thirties, received him in his stern cabin and together they drank some excellent triple-distilled Rum termed Sugarcane Cognac. Over this warming tipple the Captain gave him an account of the way in which things had gone wrong in San Domingo.

  That a great number of the troops had fallen victim to yellow fever was only half the story. The real cause of the disaster had been Napoleon’s decree that the estates of the French planters should be restored to them and the Negroes be reduced once more to a state of slavery. Leclerc, realising the danger of promulgating such a decree, had refrained from doing so, but General Richpanse, the Governor of Guadeloupe had, and the news had spread like wildfire to the other islands. With Toussaint a prisoner and Christophe defeated the great majority of the Negroes had been quite willing to accept the Government of France and to regard themselves as French citizens; but when they learned that they were again to become slaves, the whole black population of the island rose in revolt.

  Had a state of peace been maintained many of the troops stricken with the fever might have been nursed back to health. As it was, French detachments up-country, already weakened by the ravages of the disease, had been either massacred or driven into the forts along the coast. Cap Haïtien had been beseiged by a rabble of Negroes many thousands strong led by their witch doctors and screaming for French blood. The situation had become so threatening that Leclerc had feared he would have to evacuate the island and had sent a company of troops to escort Pauline and her ladies down to the beach.

  Despite her frivolous nature, she had played her part as a Governor’s wife in a way that did her the greatest credit. During the early months of the occupation she had enormously enjoyed being the First Lady of the land, designed a special costume for her staff and an orchestra, received all the notables most graciously and given a constant succession of concerts, dances and expeditions to beauty spots.

  Then, as the Spring advanced, a number of unknown infections had broken out. She had been inflicted with sores on her hands and arms and several of her household had gone down with yellow fever, which was already spreading as a serious epidemic among the troops. But Pauline had refused to be intimidated and go into isolation with her little son and immediate entourage. Instead she had insisted on continuing to hold her receptions and concerts to maintain morale, and could not be prevented from visiting the stricken soldiers in the hospitals.

  When the crisis came and Leclerc had determined on a last sortie against the great horde of Negroes, he had sent a party of Grenadi
ers to bring Pauline and her household down to the beach but she had refused to accompany them, proudly declaring to the other women, ‘You may go if you wish, but I shall not. I am the sister of Bonaparte.’

  Ignoring her defiance, four soldiers had picked her up, put her in a chair and carried her off toward the waiting ships. But she had never gone aboard. News had arrived that Leclerc’s sortie had succeeded, the blacks had broken and temporarily fled; so she had had herself carried back to the Residence, yawned gracefully and said, ‘How I despise these stupid panics.’

  By then Leclerc had already been infected by the pestilence. Although desperately ill he continued to conduct the defence in person, but the fever proved too much for him and he had had to take to his bed. Regardless of the danger of catching the fell disease, Pauline had nursed him devotedly but in vain. On November 8th, weakened by his exertions, he died.

  Her grief for ‘her little Leclerc’, as she always called him, had been terrible to witness. Adhering to the cold Corsican custom, she had cut off her beautiful golden hair and laid it at her husband’s feet in his coffin. She had then draped herself in funeral black and refused all consolation.

  When Roger enquired how she had supported the voyage, the Captain replied, ‘I have hardly seen her. Except for rare occasions she has kept to her cabin. Her maid, Mademoiselle Aimée, has taken her such little food as she could be persuaded to eat, and reports that for whole days she has sat as though in a stupor. Her health, too, has never been good and the summer heats in San Domingo thinned her blood and sallowed her wonderful complexion. No doubt these weeks at sea will have restored her beauty; but, seeing the mental state she is in, it has been a relief to me that as her host while aboard my ship I have not had to attempt to entertain her. And I do not envy you, mon Colonel, in having to be her companion in a coach for a week while escorting her back to Paris.’

  Quietly and efficiently Roger then made his wishes known. Leclerc’s coffin was to be taken ashore without his widow’s knowledge, so that she should be spared the sight of it, and sent independently to Paris in the splendid catafalque, drawn by six white horses with black trappings, that he had had prepared while waiting for her in Bordeaux. Her child, whom she had sent for only twice on the voyage, and his nurse, were also to be taken ashore in advance, and would travel in a separate coach. He would escort Madame Leclerc that evening to the hostelry where he had engaged lodgings for her.

  These arrangements were duly carried out. At five o’clock he went with the Captain to the small state-room that Pauline occupied in the day-time. Gravely he conveyed to her the compliments of the First Consul and his deep sympathy, then said that he had been charged with the honour of escorting her wherever she wished to go.

  She showed no sign of recognising him and acknowledged what he had said only with an inclination of her head, which was so heavily draped in black veils that he could hardly discern her features. After murmuring a few words of thanks to the Captain she took Roger’s proffered arm and allowed him to lead her to the coach that stood waiting on the dock. In complete silence they covered the half-mile journey to the inn. There, Roger escorted her and her maid up to their rooms, then left them.

  Downstairs he ordered a bottle of Château Filhot and, while drinking it, considered the situation. Pauline was clearly in a far worse state than he had expected. Mercurial by temperament, she could be the gayest of the gay; but, as she was now, a prey to heartbreaking grief, it would prove difficult to rouse her from it. However, she was barely twenty-two and had a nature that demanded love and laughter; so it could be only a question of time before she emerged from her black depression. How long that would be was the imponderable that he had to endeavour to assess.

  Her dead-black garments had not concealed her superb figure and her sombre veils had not so entirely hidden her lovely face that he could not recall it in all its beauty. In the past she had always accorded him something a little more than just friendly interest, regarding him with the eyes of an experienced woman who was weighing up what sort of lover he might make. Should he now dare to count on that to re-arouse her passions? If he did, and failed, she would report his unseemly conduct to her brother, and that could be the end of any prospect of his continuing in the great man’s service. That was the devil of a risk to take. But it was now or never; and Roger knew that if he did not take it, he would regret to the end of his life having forgone this chance to make the most beautiful woman in France his mistress.

  He sent for the chef and ordered supper. Meat tended to make people feel heavy, whereas shell fish were light and their properties stimulated desire; so he ordered lobsters lightly simmered in fresh butter and then flambé in cognac, sweetbreads with mushrooms and, as a final course, white truffles cooked in champagne; another natural aphrodisiac. Then he talked with the sommelier and they decided on a glass of pinaud new-made from the last vintage and only procurable in the Bordeaux district, a bottle of Chateau Cheval Blanc, as the nearest approach to Burgundy which, for this occasion, Roger would have preferred, then a magnum of champagne that had lain in bin for twenty years. For two covers was Roger’s injunction; and to be served at eight o’clock.

  Newly shaved, powdered and immaculate he entered Pauline’s sitting room at that hour. The waiter had already laid the places at the table. She was still wearing a light veil. Through it, mistily, with large sad eyes she looked up at him and said:

  ‘Monsieur le Colonel, you must excuse me, but I prefer to eat alone.’

  Roger bowed. ‘Madame, that I appreciate. But I am under orders from that great man who has remade France anew—your brother. He charged me not only to act as your escort but to do my poor best to persuade you that, despite your tragic loss, life can still hold much happiness for you. I dare not disobey his commands, therefore I pray you at least to permit me to sup with you.’

  ‘As you will, Monsieur,’ she replied dully. ‘I have both affection and a great respect for my brother, and have never questioned his judgment. But you must forgive me if I am in no mood to converse.’

  Handing her a glass of the apéritif, he said. ‘If you have not drunk this before, you will find it quite an experience. It is a kind of wine, but does not travel; so is obtainable only in these parts.’

  She drank it down without comment, then they took their places at the table. Roger did the talking and he was extremely able at it. To begin with he spoke gravely of serious things, that he knew perfectly well would not interest her, then went on to talk about the change in Paris that had taken place during the past year: the fêtes, the receptions, the foreign nobility and the new fashions in women’s clothes. At that a faint flicker of interest showed in her lovely eyes and, breaking her long silence, she began to ask him questions. By the time they got to the truffles served covered with a napkin, she was smiling. Then as the champagne was produced her depression descended on her again, and she said:

  ‘I have had enough wine, and you must excuse me if I now go to bed.’

  ‘No, Madame,’ replied Roger firmly. ‘Not yet, I pray you. Join me in just one glass while I talk to you about a matter of real importance.’

  She shrugged, ‘Very well then; but I cannot think what it will be.’

  Roger sat back and said with the greatest gravity, ‘Madame; your august brother, your family and all your friends are greatly concerned for you. It is only natural that a feeling of loss and desolation should now hang like a dark cloud over your mind, but it will not continue there indefinitely. You are still so young and time is the healer of every sorrow. Sooner or later you will emerge from your widow’s weeds to become again your old gay self.’

  She shook her head and tears welled up into her big eyes, ‘You may be right, Monsieur; but I loved Leclerc dearly and not for a long time yet will I be consoled for his loss.’

  Roger made her a little bow, ‘Understandably, Madame, you think that now. But I cannot believe that you wish to continue in this state of despair. Your own well-being and the consideration y
ou owe your friends both demand that you should take any step that will shorten your period of bereavement and enable you to enter fully into the joy of life again.’

  ‘What step could I take?’ she asked sadly.

  ‘There is one, the potency of which has been proved many times in cases similar to your own.’ Roger paused a moment, then added, ‘But it would mean resorting to magic.’

  Her eyes widened. As a descendant of Corsican peasants she had an inbred belief in every sort of superstition and in the powers of witchcraft. A little fearfully she said, ‘I would give much to regain my former happy state; but I’ll have no dealings with the Devil.’

  ‘The Devil plays no part in this,’ Roger assured her earnestly, ‘It is of White Magic that I speak: the performance of a simple ceremony in which no sacrifice is made. It is a remedy of great antiquity based on the laws of nature and handed down through countless generations. You have only to imbibe a potion in certain given conditions and when you wake you will think on your tragedy as no more than an event that happened many years ago.’

  She leaned forward a little, ‘Where can I procure this wondrous draught that will make me forget poor Leclerc and become my happy self again?’

  Roger smiled at her, ‘You will recall, Madame, my telling you that your brother charged me to do everything that lay in my power to dissipate your sorrow. So I have this potent medicine with me. Do you consent to participate in this ceremony with me you shall receive it.’