The Ravishing of Lady Mary Ware

by Dennis Wheatley

  Unfortunately, in 1805 this extremely able man had made an unlucky speculation which threatened to ruin him, and had recouped his loss by helping himself to the public funds. Napoleon allowed his Marshals to loot conquered countries, rob their churches of gold plate and extort jewels from their nobility; but one thing he would not tolerate was the embezzlement of his own Government’s money. So Bourrienne had been dismissed and rendered almost penniless until the Emperor had relented to the extent of giving him this post at Hamburg.

  He was delighted to see Roger, who disclosed the reason why he was in Hamburg, although he naturally did not mention that he had no intention of carrying out his mission. For an hour the two friends talked gaily over old times, then Bourrienne insisted that Roger should dine with him and be his guest for the night.

  Over dinner they discussed the state of things in North Germany, and Bourrienne described it as a boiling pot, off which the lid would soon be blown. The whole of Hanover, Prussia and their adjoining states were seething with discontent and hatred of the French.

  In the previous year there had been several mutinies by German troops, some of which had proved difficult to put down, and two that had caused great consternation. A Prussian Major, named Frederick von Schill, had left Berlin at the head of his regiment of Hussars, crossed the Elbe and carried insurrection into Hesse and Westphalia. He had twice defeated French troops sent against him, capturing prisoners, guns and the fortress of Domitz. Several months had passed before his luck had given out and he had been killed. The Duke of Brunswick had been even more successful. With a corps of volunteers raised in Bohemia, he had invaded Saxony, occupied Dresden and driven off the Westphalian troops commanded by their King, Napoleon’s brother Jerome. He had then fought his way right across Germany to the mouth of the Weser and there embarked his men on British ships. He was now commanding them under Wellington in Spain, where they were known as ‘The King’s German Legion’.

  Bourrienne predicted even more serious mutinies to come, and probably a rising en masse of the people, who were becoming agitated to fever pitch by the anti-French propaganda of von Stein.

  They were still sitting over some fine brandy when a footman came in and told the Minister that General Jomini had called for a document. Bourrienne had him shown in and, as he entered the room, cried, ‘Welcome, mon cher General, welcome! You must join us in a glass of brandy. You know de Breuc, of course.’

  Jomini was a Swiss. By his writings on military matters he had earned the reputation of a sound strategist. Roger had met him a year or so before, when he had been Chief of Staff to Marshal Soult. Having shaken hands, they sat down together while their host went along to his cabinet to fetch the document. When he returned, he handed it to the General and said:

  ‘It has just occurred to me that, as you are going to Berlin, de Breuc might accompany you. He has despatches for Davout, and would be on his way there now had I not persuaded him to stay here for the night.’

  The General bowed to Roger. ‘It would be a pleasure. I should be most happy to have your companionship, and you would find travelling in my coach as fast as and less fatiguing than going by horse.’

  Had Roger not called on Bourrienne and disappeared overnight, there would have been no hue and cry after him; but if he did so now, in the morning his host would think that he had left the Palace on some private business and had become the victim of an accident, so the police would be ordered to find him. That left no alternative but to accept Jomini’s offer, which he did with no great inward annoyance, as he could easily get back to Hamburg within three or four days.

  Accordingly they set off together at six o’clock the next morning, slept the following night in the coach and completed their one-hundred-and-sixty-mile journey in eighteen hours without incident.

  At the French Embassy they were given an early breakfast and Roger learned that Davout, although staying there, had spent the night at Potsdam, in order to attend a review being held that morning by King Frederick William. Jomini went about his business and, an hour later, Roger presented himself to the French Ambassador, M. de Brinevillers.

  Roger had not met him before, but knew that he was a ci-devant Marquis, who had been a diplomat under the old Monarchy. It was to that, and Napoleon’s policy of taking into his service noble, returned exiles, that he owed his appointment. He was a tall, gaunt man with a supercilious air and irritable manner. Roger gained the impression that, like so many of his kind, while ready enough to accept benefits from the Emperor, he despised the new regime and particularly disliked Napoleon’s habit of frequently sending soldiers on diplomatic missions.

  Their conversation was brief. Afterwards the Ambassador had a footman show Roger up to a bedroom where he could freshen himself up, and stay the night if he wished. Roger then went for a stroll round the city, returning at midday. In the early afternoon Davout drove up, escorted by a guard of Prussian cavalry. Half an hour later, Roger was closeted with him.

  The two men had no liking for each other, owing to a passage between them that had taken place some years earlier. At that time Roger had been the Princess Pauline’s lover. She had wanted him to marry her, and persuaded him to ask the Emperor for her hand. Napoleon did not wish to quarrel with his favourite sister, so he had not replied with a curt refusal. Instead, with his usual duplicity, he told Roger that if he was to become one of the family he must be given high military rank, and for that he needed special military training. He had then sent him to Davout who, at Bruges, was commanding one of the corps assembled for the invasion of England.

  Roger had expected to receive instruction on the high direction of war, and the provisioning of armies. But Davout, on the Emperor’s secret instructions, had put him on a course of intensive training for junior officers, which entailed great physical endurance while living on the minimum of rations. Moreover, as Davout disliked officers on the gilded staff, he had, on his own account, temporarily demoted Roger to Lieutenant.

  Meanwhile, as Napoleon had expected, the volatile and amorous Pauline had got herself another lover and had become engaged to Prince Borghese. On learning this, Roger had been so furious that he had stolen a horse and ridden hell-for-leather back to Paris. Davout, who was the strictest disciplinarian in the Army, had promptly demanded that Roger should be arrested as a deserter; but the Emperor, having had his little joke, only laughed as he felt that Roger had already been punished quite enough for his temerity.

  The affair still rankled, so the interview between the two men was far from cordial. Roger said his piece, declared his intention of starting back for Paris on the following morning, and took an unsmiling leave of the Marshal Prince d’Eckmühl.

  By then dinner was due to be served in half an hour. The Ambassador was already receiving guests in the big salon. Soon after Roger joined them, the usher announced, ‘His Excellency Count von Haugwitz, Chief Minister to His Majesty.’

  Roger was standing near the door. He had been presented to the Count at the Conference of Erfurt. Their eyes met. Recognition was instant and mutual. The Prussian gave a gasp, pointed at Roger, turned to the Ambassador and cried:

  ‘This … this officer is the man who murdered my brother! I must ask Your Excellency to hand him over to my police, so that he can be tried and executed.’

  7

  At the End of the Road

  For a moment Roger stared in utter consternation at von Haugwitz; but only for a second. Next moment he had regained his composure. Swinging round on the French Ambassador, he declared indignantly:

  ‘Your Excellency, this charge is false! I have never murdered anyone!’

  ‘You are M. le Colonel de Breuc?’ his accusor shot at him angrily.

  In such company Roger could not possibly deny his identity. Fighting down his apprehension, he bowed and replied courteously, ‘I am Colonel le Comte de Breuc, at Your Excellency’s service.’

  ‘Then you are the man!’ The Minister’s arm shot out, pointing at him again. ‘You murdered
my brother! Yes, and your own wife. At Schloss Langenstein, last September, you did them both to death most foully.’

  Davout had entered the room immediately on the heels of the Prussian Chief Minister. His eyes and those of everyone else present were riveted on Roger as he sought desperately to make up his mind what line to take. To speak of the forged von Stein letter would not help, him here. Von Hardenberg, the Minister’s predecessor, had been pro-British. That had been why the Emperor had insisted that King Frederick William should dismiss him and replace him with the pro-French von Haugwitz. And while his younger brother, the Baron, had served as a diplomat his pro-French attitude had also been widely known. It would not for a moment be credited that he was in communication with von Stein and preparing to lead a rebellion in the Rhineland against the French.

  Suddenly Davout said sharply, ‘Well, Breuc; have you lost your tongue? Were you at Schloss Langenstein last September? You must answer His Excellency’s accusation. Come now, speak up.’

  ‘I was, Your Highness,’ Roger replied. ‘But I was there on the orders of His Majesty the Emperor.’

  ‘For what purpose?’

  ‘You must excuse me if I refuse to answer that, without first obtaining the Emperor’s permission.’

  ‘I see. And what of the charge? Did you bring about the death of the Baron and your wife?’

  ‘Their deaths were, Your Highness, an accident. I swear to that.’

  ‘It is a lie,’ stormed the Prussian. ‘This man was having an affaire with my brother’s wife, and made off with her. That very afternoon his own wife and my brother were found dead in the bottom of a wine press. He, and no-one else, had both the motive and opportunity to murder them.’

  Roger realised that if he admitted to having, with Georgina’s aid, carried them from their rooms and lowered them into the press, his case would be hopeless; so he said quickly, ‘Anyone who was living in the Schloss had the opportunity, and how do you know that no-one other than myself had a motive? The Baron was a hard master. He may have behaved brutally to one of his servants, and the man resolved to be revenged upon him.’

  ‘Had that been the case, the man would not also have killed your wife,’ von Haugwitz snapped.

  ‘He might have. All four of us had separate rooms, and the Baron and my wife were lovers. On going to the Baron’s room in the middle of the night, the murderer would probably have found her with him. If so, he would have killed her to prevent her raising the alarm. I had no hand in the matter. I swear it.’

  The Minister’s face was white with rage and hatred. ‘I do not believe that for one second,’ he snarled, ‘and I demand that you be handed over to the Prussian authorities to stand your trial.’

  Roger turned swiftly to de Brinevillers. ‘In Your Excellency’s Embassy I am on French soil. As a Frenchman I claim sanctuary.’

  The Ambassador looked uncomfortably, first at von Haugwitz then at Roger and said, ‘Monsieur le Colonel Comte, if this were a political charge, I should, of course, be in a position to protect you. But this is a criminal charge.’

  ‘Even so,’ Roger insisted, ‘I claim your protection. And I do so in the name of His Majesty the Emperor. As I have told you, I went to Schloss Langenstein on his business. I am told that, after my departure, a warrant was issued for my arrest. On arriving back in Paris, I gave His Majesty an account of this whole affair. Realising that it would not be safe for me to re-enter Prussia, I asked him to take steps to quash the charge. He willingly agreed, and said he would inform the Prussian Ambassador, the Baron von Brockenhausen, that he desired the warrant to be withdrawn. Of this there must be a record at your Ministry of Justice.’

  ‘This is another lie,’ declared von Haugwitz. ‘Were that the case, as this affair concerns me so closely, it is certain that I should have been informed of it.’

  Again de Brinevillers looked uneasily at Davout. ‘Your Highness will, I am sure, agree that this is a very delicate matter, so I should like to discuss it with you in private.’

  The Marshal nodded. ‘Very well. I suggest that Colonel le Comte de Breuc should retire to a room where he can be placed under guard. When we have dined, you and I will decide on what is to be done.’ Turning to his A.D.C., he added, ‘Marchand, take de Breuc to the small library. I make you responsible for his safe keeping.’

  As Roger, his head held high, was escorted from the room, he heard the Ambassador apologising to his guests that the recent scene should have taken place in their presence. There followed a burst of excited conversation, which faded as he walked through the big hall and accompanied the A.D.C. into a small library at the far end.

  The room had two tall windows looking out on to a large garden. For a moment he contemplated escaping by one of them. But, to do so, he would have to kill, or render unconscious the A.D.C. Such a desperate act could be taken as an admission of guilt. In any case, it would set Davout and de Brinevillers irrevocably against him, and his only hope lay in their protection.

  The A.D.C. was a pleasant man and expressed his sympathy. Roger thanked him, then turned away, as he had no desire to talk and a great need to think.

  It could be that the Emperor had forgotten to make his wishes known to von Brockenhausen; but that seemed unlikely as Napoleon’s memory was phenomenally good. Again the Prussian Ambassador might have failed to pass on the wish to the proper quarter in Berlin. Yet again it was possible that the memo did lie in a file at the Ministry of Justice and that von Haugwitz had not been told about it. Still again, his ardent desire to avenge the death of his brother might have led him to lie deliberately when he had asserted that he knew nothing about the document.

  Whichever was the case, Roger would never have dreamed of entering Prussia had he not felt confident that the whole matter had been cleared up and no charge would be made against him. But it was pointless to think of that now. He could only curse himself for having taken the matter for granted, and wonder with no little fear what the outcome would be.

  Only too well he realised how unlucky he was that his fate should lie in the hands of two such men as de Brinevillers and Davout. The ci-devant aristocrat, who could no longer call himself a Marquis, obviously had an antipathy for Napoleon’s people, and would be particularly unsympathetic toward one who had been made a Count; while the dour Marshal would not lift a finger to save a man whom he regarded as having once been a deserter.

  Over three hours elapsed while Roger endured this terrible suspense. During that time no food was brought to him or his companion and, at length, he asked the A.D.C. if he could have a glass of wine. The officer shook his head, and replied:

  ‘I regret, Monsieur le Colonel, but I dare not leave the room. His Highness the Marshal is extraordinarily strict; even more so with his officers than with his men, and particularly so with those in positions of responsibility. He visits any dereliction of duty with the most condign punishments, and my duty is to see that you do not escape.’

  ‘Then, damn it, man,’ Roger replied angrily, ‘use your head. Put it out of the door and shout for a bottle.’

  Apologetically the A.D.C. did as he was bid and, soon afterwards, they were silently drinking hock together. Some twenty minutes later, Davout and de Brinevillers came in.

  Addressing Roger, the Ambassador said, ‘Monsieur le Colonel Comte, His Highness and I have discussed your affair, and I regret that, the charge being a criminal one, I cannot see my way to give you sanctuary here in the Embassy.’

  ‘But, Your Excellency,’ Roger pleaded, ‘you do not seem to realise that, should you hand me over to the Prussians, it may cost me my life.’

  ‘You maintain that you are innocent,’ Davout remarked coldly. ‘If that is so, you will be acquitted.’

  ‘Not necessarily, Prince. Unfortunately, the circumstances in which these deaths took place are very strongly against me. And, against the possibility of an unjust verdict being given, as a French officer it is your duty to give me your protection.’

  Davout’s eyes narrowe
d, and his brows drew down in an icy frown, as he asked, ‘Do you presume to teach me my duty?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Roger firmly. ‘Not to myself, but to the Emperor. As I have told you, it was his wish that the charge against me should be withdrawn. If, through some error, his request—which to these damned Prussians is tantamount to an order—has not reached them, I insist that I be given asylum in the Embassy until a courier has been despatched to His Majesty and returned with his decision.’

  ‘Very well,’ the Marshal agreed. ‘Your request is not unreasonable. A courier shall be sent to the Emperor. But in the meantime the decision does not rest with me. It is for His Excellency to say.’

  De Brinevillers shuffled uncomfortably and, with his eyes avoiding Roger’s, muttered, ‘Prussia is our ally, Monsieur le Colonel. It is my responsibility to maintain harmonious relations with King Frederick William’s government, and his Chief Minister has made a personal issue of this. As you are charged with a criminal offence of the first order, he has right on his side. I cannot afford to quarrel with him over a matter that has no bearing on the sovereign rights of France. He has already sent here an escort for you, and a formal demand that you should be handed over. I fear that I must comply with it.’

  For several minutes longer Roger argued and pleaded in turn, but without avail. The only concession he could secure was a promise that de Brinevillers would use his influence to ensure that no trial took place until there had been ample time for a courier to go to Paris and return. Five minutes later he was under arrest, sitting beside a Lieutenant of Police in a closed carriage that drove off accompanied by a mounted escort.

  The carriage halted in the courtyard of a large, bleak building that was obviously a prison. Roger was taken inside and put in a narrow but clean cell. He asked for food and a quarter of an hour later a warder brought him a bredchen, in which had been inserted a thick slice of veal, and a mug holding what looked like coffee. Setting down the mug, the man said with a malicious grin: