The Wanton Princess

by Dennis Wheatley

  From the well-cut breeches, the rapier still clutched in the hand of bones and the fair hair that still covered the grinning skull, Roger realised instantly that it must be Lord Rockhurst. It was evident that he had been dead for a considerable time and that the ants had eaten every shred of flesh from his bones.

  Sweating with fear Roger entered the rude hut. It contained two couches of leaves, a roughly made table and stools but was otherwise empty. Turning, he lurched towards the smaller hut, pulled back the doorway made of palm fronds and looked inside. The light there was dim but sufficient for him to see a couch of leaves on which lay another skeleton. It was much shorter than the other and clad only in a pair of sailcloth shorts, but from the skull there rose a mop of dead-black hair.

  With a sob, Roger threw himself down beside it. He felt that his heart was breaking, for he had come to the end of his quest and, too late, found his beloved Georgina.

  26

  The Fate of England Hangs …

  Roger was still crouching there in stricken silence when, half an hour later, Captain Charbon and two of his mulatto crew came upon him. On previous occasions he had often spent four or five hours on his own exploring islands while the seamen hunted for shell fish along the shore; but his excited behaviour that morning had given the ketch captain the idea that he might suddenly have become the victim of sunstroke. Knowing that Roger had been searching the islands for castaways, Charbon on seeing the two skeletons at once grasped the tragedy that had befallen his employer and endeavoured to comfort him.

  But Roger was beyond all comfort and his mind so bemused by shock that he could only shake his head in dumb despair. After a while he allowed himself to be led away, back to the ketch. There Charbon made him swallow several mouthsful of liquid from a small grimy bottle. It contained a potent brew of herbs used by the Negroes in San Domingo to dull pain and, having been given such a large dose, ten minutes later Roger lapsed into unconsciousness.

  When he roused the sun was setting. Memory of his terrible discovery that morning returned to him and he burst into tears. Again he refused to be comforted by Charbon and Pepe Pepe. Silently he made to climb out of the boat, but they gently restrained him and told him it was pointless to go ashore as they had buried the two skeletons that morning. Then they persuaded him to take another draught of the narcotic, which caused him to sleep dreamlessly through the night.

  Next morning he had his grief sufficiently under control to speak of it and said he intended to go back to the clearing to see the graves. Charbon went with him and helped him to make two wooden crosses. As Roger had often been present at burials at sea he knew the burial service almost by heart and repeated over the graves all he could remember of it.

  Only afterwards, as they knelt to pray, he suddenly remembered that Georgina had left him her hair. As he had seen it the day before it had been straight instead of curly and only about eight inches in length but, marooned there as she had been for many months, he had realised at once that she would have had no means of keeping it in curlers and must have cut off her long lovelocks because they would have bothered her in the intense heat. He had half a mind to disinter the skeleton and plait her hair into an armband that he would always wear; but he had no need of any such material thing to remember her by and, having said the burial service over the grave, felt that it would now be near-sacrilege to disturb it.

  Before leaving the clearing they again looked round the two huts, finding in them a few things that had evidently been washed ashore from the wreck of ‘Enterprise’. They also discovered in a little niche behind the head of one of the beds of leaves two tortoiseshell combs and a string of fine pearls that Roger knew of old to be Georgina’s.

  Being anxious to get his employer away from the scene of the tragedy as soon as possible, Charbon had given his men orders to get the ketch ready for sea and, as soon as he and Roger were aboard, they set sail. Without asking for instructions the Captain set a course back to his home port of Port-au-Prince and they arrived there six days later.

  During those days Roger had remained in a lethargy of despair, but on landing he roused himself to thank his crew for all they had done for him, then he took Charbon to a bank, cashed one of his letters of credit, and paid him off with a handsome bonus. At the hostelry in which he had stayed for a few nights six weeks earlier he took a room and there endeavoured to concentrate on what he should do with himself.

  It was now May 19th and in the midday hours the heat was grilling. There was no point in his staying longer in the West Indies so obviously the sooner he could get back to Europe the better. To meet Napoleon’s wishes he should have sailed over a month before, but he could excuse the lateness of his return by saying that, after carrying out unofficial inspections in Martinique, Guadeloupe and San Domingo, he had decided to find out the state of the Allies’ warships in the Cuban ports, but had been blown off course, wrecked and marooned for some weeks on a desert island.

  On the other hand, did he really wish to continue in Napoleon’s service? The knowledge that Georgina was definitely dead seemed to have killed all ambition in him; he wondered now if it would not be better for him to carry out his old plan of settling down in England. Colonel Thursby and Aunt Marsham, he knew, would be delighted for him to make his home at Stillwaters. There he could play the rôle of what Georgina had termed ‘a proper man’ to bring up her boy; and he would, too, derive much happiness from seeing his own little Susan grow up into a lovely girl. Whatever he might decide, situated as he was, the quickest way for him to get back to Europe was in a French warship.

  With this in mind he called next day upon the Governor, who told him that a frigate would be sailing in a week or ten days’ time and that he would secure him accommodation in her, then asked him to stay to dinner. Reluctantly, but out of politeness, Roger accepted. At the meal four other naval and military officers were present, and from their conversation he learned what had been happening in the Caribbean during his ten-week search for Georgina.

  Missiessy’s squadron had alarmed the English by appearing off several of their ports and caused them considerable annoyance by capturing merchantmen whose value as prizes was estimated to be £60,000; but the cruise was accounted a failure because he had not succeeded in taking a single one of their islands.

  Villeneuve had put to sea from Toulon in March, and orders had been sent to Missiessy to await him in the Indies, then return with him to European waters. But Nelson had headed Villeneuve off in the Mediterranean so he had had to put back to port. Missiessy had then received an order while at Martinique to return alone via the Canaries. Believing a British fleet to have reached the Caribbean he had been so eager to leave it that he had again refused Villaret-Joyeuse’s request to reduce Diamond Rock, made all speed to San Domingo, landed his troops there and set sail for home.

  Meanwhile Villeneuve had again left Toulon, fooled Nelson by feinting towards Egypt and passed through the Straits of Gibraltar on April 9th. A fast frigate had been despatched to tell Missiessy to await him, after all, but Missiessy had been in such a hurry to obey the previous order that he was gone before the frigate arrived in the Indies. Villeneuve had made a good passage and arrived at Martinique soon after the frigate. Having captured Diamond Rock he had sailed again, it was believed with the intention of attacking Barbados; but for some days there had been no further news of him.

  On May 28th Roger sailed in the frigate Guillaume le Conquérant which, with fair winds, should have landed him in Europe early in July; but during the first part of her voyage she suffered a severe check. When six days out she was struck by a hurricane, lost her foremast, sprang a leak and was driven from her north-eastern course hundreds of miles to the south.

  Roger had a ghastly time, lying in his narrow cabin sick as a dog and praying that an end might be put to his misery by the ship going down. She survived the tempest, but only because good luck brought her on to the northern coast of Puerto Rico and she was able to put in to San Juan. Their Spa
nish allies there proved most helpful and hospitable; but time seemed to have no meaning for them, so it was June 14th before the repairs had been completed and they were able to put to sea again.

  From then on they were favoured with good weather and on July 3rd, having spent a day scouting round the island of Madeira to make sure there were no British warships in the vicinity, they put into Funchal to water. They were still loading crates of live poultry, pigs and fresh fruit when Villeneuve’s fleet came into view.

  As soon as it anchored in the bay, the Captain of Guillaume le Conquérant put off in his gig for the flagship to pay his respects to the Admiral, taking Roger with him. They were invited to stay to dine and after dinner, over some good bottles of old Madeira wine, Villeneuve gave them an account of his voyage to the Indies.

  Having left Nelson hunting for him in the Mediterranean, after passing Gibraltar, he had picked up the Spanish squadron from Cadiz but it had proved in such ill condition as to be worse than useless and two of its ships had been lost during the ocean crossing. Frigates had later brought intelligence that after leaving the Mediterranean in pursuit Nelson had again been misled and, believing that Villeneuve was making for Ireland, had set a course for the Scillies. But, on learning the truth he had sailed with ten ships-of-the-line to ‘save the West Indies’, made a surprisingly swift passage and, having picked up two more ships-of-the-line at Barbados, set about scouring the Caribbean for the French.

  Intent on obeying the Emperor’s orders to clear the British out of the Antilles, Villeneuve had sailed from Martinique early in June with the intention of capturing Barbados. When approaching the island he had captured a convoy of merchantmen and from them learned that he had missed coming into collision with Nelson’s fleet only by a few hours. Knowing that the Emperor’s prime intention was that the combined fleets should, during the summer, sweep the Channel in order to clear it for the invasion of England, he had cheerfully left Nelson hunting for him in the Caribbean and made all speed to recross the Atlantic.

  After two days at Madeira while their reluctant allies, the Portuguese, slowly watered and revictualled the fleet, it sailed north to European waters. Adverse winds made their progress slow but on July 22nd they were off Finisterre in foggy weather. Out of the mist emerged Admiral Calder’s squadron. He had only fifteen ships to oppose Villeneuve’s twenty but, nevertheless, gave battle.

  Stoically, Roger put the best face possible on having to stand on the poop of Guillaume le Conquérant and chance his luck whether he survived, while shot ripped through the sails, crashed through the bulwarks and made men utter agonising screams.

  To his relief the engagement proved a very minor battle compared to that of the Nile, which had raged with the most appalling carnage from sundown all through the night and, eventually, led to his having to go overboard from Admiral Brueys’ flagship to save himself from being blown up in her. Here the lines of battle soon became confused and ship engaged ship then drifted away in the fog until each became visible to another enemy.

  When night came Admiral Calder drew off so, on that account, it could be considered a French victory; but before the battle was over two of the ships under Villeneuve’s colleague, the Spanish Admiral Gravina struck their flags, whereas none of the British surrendered, and later it was learned that more than twice the number of French and Spanish seamen had been killed or wounded so, on points, the British had had the better of it.

  On the 23rd Villeneuve put into Vigo to land his wounded and repair his ships. When they arrived in the port Roger took stock of his situation. Northern Spain was still a long way from England. If he remained with Villeneuve’s fleet, as soon as it was fit to put to sea again it would head up Channel and he might easily become involved in another sea battle. Whereas if he had himself put ashore he could ride in safety to Bordeaux and, with less risk, cross from there.

  It so happened that before he had even made up his mind his decision was taken for him. Villeneuve sent for him to come aboard the flagship and, after some general conversation, said:

  ‘Colonel Breuc, I must, as soon as possible, send particulars to the Emperor of our action off Finisterre, and I know that you are anxious to rejoin him as swiftly as you can. I wish to inform him, too, that as soon as my fleet is shipshape I intend to move up to Ferrol. Are you willing to take a despatch to His Majesty?’

  Roger at once agreed, returned to Guillaume le Conquérant to collect his baggage then picked up the despatch and went ashore. The following morning he set out on his long ride along the northern coast of Spain and round the Bay of Biscay to Bordeaux.

  During those days of hacking along the dusty roads and sleeping in bug-ridden inns at Lugo, Oviedo, Santander, Bilbao, San Sebastian and several lesser places, he had ample time to think again about his future, and he decided that, at least for some time to come, he could not settle down at Stillwaters. The picture of Georgina’s skeleton was still too clear in his mind; and he felt sure that in the lovely house where they had enjoyed such happiness together it would constantly haunt him.

  As an alternative he could have occupied Thatched House Lodge. The two years he had spent there had been among the most enjoyable of his life. During them he had undertaken no dangerous missions and, Richmond being within easy distance of London, he and Amanda had thrown themselves with youthful enthusiasm into the social whirl. But Amanda, too, was dead, he had no inclination at all to dance or chatter among crowds of idle people and to live there alone with only old Dan to talk to must soon become terribly monotonous.

  Since the battle off Finisterre other thoughts too had begun to stir his sluggish mind. It had brought home to him that a war was still raging upon which the fate of his country depended. When, after his abortive peace mission, he had broken with Mr. Pitt, it had not seemed to him remotely possible that Napoleon would ever be in a position to invade England, and even a year ago his prospects of doing so had been extremely slender. But during the past six months the results of his shipbuilding programme had begun to show and this, together with the Spanish alliance, had made the picture very different.

  When Roger had left Paris in December it was estimated that Britain had seventy-five ships of the line against the Allies’ sixty-four; but twelve of the British ships were known to be on far distant stations, so in Atlantic and home waters the Allies had actually achieved a superiority of one. Admittedly, ship for ship the British, being better equipped and their crews far better trained, were superior to the French and greatly superior to the Spanish. But should Napoleon’s strategy prove successful and the main fleet under Nelson be kept out of the way for a few weeks, sheer weight of numbers would enable the Allies to drive the British squadrons from the Channel. The more Roger thought about this the more convinced he became that, not only did the best hope of escaping from his terrible depression lie in again actively occupying his mind, but that it was his definite duty to do his utmost to learn the latest French plans and, if possible, get information to England which would prevent the Allied fleets concentrating into another Armada. In consequence, instead of seeking out the smuggler Jubert at Bordeaux, he rode on through Poitiers, Tours and Orleans to Paris. His journey from Vigo had taken him sixteen days and he reached the French capital on August 8th.

  Napoleon’s blind spot was the hazards met with at sea. He expected fleets and frigates to move from place to place with the same precision as armies and despatch riders, taking no account of winds or weather, and that if a passage proved a bad one supplies sometimes ran so low that squadrons were compelled to delay further by going hundreds of miles off course to pick up food and water. So when Roger reported to him at St. Cloud he met with a rough reception and had to remain silent for several minutes while the Emperor upbraided him for not having returned to France by May at the latest.

  When the tirade subsided, Roger, without going into details, told his story: that he had been shipwrecked and for some while marooned on a desert island, then having given his master particulars of the
battle of Finisterre, he went on to mollify him by saying that he had brought him a confidential report upon conditions in not only the fleet, but also in Martinique, Guadeloupe and the principal ports of San Domingo.

  Taking the long document that Roger had written in the evenings in the hostelries at which he had stayed during his journey through France, the Emperor threw it on his desk and said:

  ‘Well, well! That may prove useful and enable me to stir these lazy devils up a little, particularly my Admirals. Why I should be cursed with Naval Commanders who show such lack of initiative, I cannot think. That fool Gantheaume had the chance to break out of Brest weeks ago but never took it. And here is Villeneuve, instead of sailing up Channel while Nelson is out of the way, by now skulking like a sick dog in Ferrol. Do you know it? ’Tis the worst port in Spain, with a river entrance so narrow that a squadron rarely gets in or out of it without several of the ships becoming stuck on the mud banks and days being wasted getting them off. He should have gone to Cadiz, from where he could sally forth swiftly at any time. And I sent him orders that should he meet with serious opposition in the Channel that was what he was to do. I sent them, yes, on July 16th.’

  ‘That is above three weeks ago, Sire,’ Roger remarked soothingly. ‘So he should have had them by now.’

  ‘Yes, and I suppose he will now sit in Cadiz until I order him out. Had he had the stomach of a man he would by this time have driven the English off their beat outside Brest; then we would have had Gantheaume’s fleet joined to his at sea and the Channel would be ours. But I have hopes yet that we will be able to launch the invasion this month. I would proceed to the coast now for a final inspection had I not so many things requiring my presence at the moment in Paris, Did you know that I was recently absent in Italy for three months?’