The Dark Secret of Josephine rb-5

by Dennis Wheatley

  chapter II

  THE SILKEN CORD

  As Roger rode away from Holwood House his feelings were very mixed. The nerve-racking existence he had led through the Terror would have satiated most men's zest for adventure for the rest of their lives; but it was the horror of it, together with the sordid condi­tions in which he had been compelled to live, more than the ever-present danger, that had so sickened him of his work in Paris. Previous to the rising crescendo of butchery that had taken place during his last mission to France, he had greatly enjoyed himself, both there and in the numerous other countries to which he had been sent. Meeting sovereigns, statesmen, generals and diplomats in court and camp, intriguing to secure information of value, and even at times succeeding in influencing events in favour of his country, had become the breath of life to him. He had, therefore, had no intention of severing his connection with Mr. Pitt, and would never have done so but for his master's uncompromising refusal to send him anywhere other than back to France.

  On the other hand, the idea of dropping all cares for many months, while making a voyage to the West Indies, had been very tempting. The invitation had come quite unexpectedly and, as things had turned out, could not have done so at a more appropriate moment. He had been home only two nights, and the day before, his oldest friend, Georgina, now Countess of St. Ermins, had driven out to Richmond to pay a surprise visit to his wife, Amanda. The St. Ermins were in London in August only because the Earl had been suffering from such acute insomnia that Georgina had decided that he must consult a mental specialist The doctor's recommendation had been a long sea voyage, and as St Ermins had estates in Jamaica, it had been decided that they should go out there for the winter and later, perhaps, visit North America. Georgina had not known that Roger was back from France, and on finding him at home, but in such poor health, she had at once declared that he and Amanda must accompany her and her husband on their voyage.

  As the four of them were such close friends no prospect could have been more delightful and Amanda had instantly pressed Roger to accept for them; but he had told her he feared that Mr. Pitt would have projects for his future which would put such a prolonged absence from Europe quite out of the question. Now, angry as he was with the Prime Minister for having forced his hand, he was glad of it for Amanda's sake; and, after he had ridden a mile, he decided that he was really glad for his own as well.

  During the past two years Amanda had spent much of her time staying with relatives; so she had made no serious inroads into the payments for his services that the Foreign Office had remitted to his ank, and he had succeeded in getting out of France the bulk of the considerable sums he had received while acting as a high official of the Revolutionary Government. On a rough calculation he reckoned that he must now have at least £10,000 in investments lodged with Messrs. Hoare's, and although both he and Amanda were extravagant by nature, that was ample to keep them in comfort for a long time to come. When he returned from America it would be quite soon enough to look round for some remunerative employment.

  At a fast trot he passed through-Bromley and its adjacent village of Beckenham. Beyond it he left the main road by a lane that shortly brought him to the hamlet of Penge Green. Thence he rode through orchards towards Norwood, the three mile wide stretch of which now confronted him.

  Ten minutes later, as he entered the wood, his thoughts had turned to Charles St. Ermins and his malady. Georgina had made no secret of its cause. Her husband was one of those gallant gentlemen who, under Sir Percy Blakeney, had formed a League to rescue French families from the Terror. At times, in order to carry out their plans for saving one set of people they had to stand by while appalling atrocities were inflicted on others. It was such sights which were now preying on the young nobleman's mind, and one in particular.

  In Robespierre's native town of Arras, his friend Le Bon had shocked even hardened revolutionaries by his barbarities. On one occasion, having caught an emigre officer who had returned, he had had him strapped face upward to the plank of the guillotine; then, while the wretched man lay staring up at the heavily weighted triangular knife which was to come swishing down upon his throat, the terrorist bad stood there for twenty minutes reading out to him from the latest news-sheet a long report of a Republican victory. To the victim, while waiting for the knife, to fall, each moment must have seemed an hour, and St Ermins, who had been present disguised as a National Guard, now dreamed each night that he was the victim; so that he woke hysterical with the agony the other must have suffered.

  Roger, too, was afflicted by harrowing memories, but they plagued him mostly whenever his thoughts happened to drift in the daytime. The death of the little King was one, and another a scene that he had not actually witnessed but which, as he had seen so many similar to it, frequently sprang unbidden to his imagination with sickening vividness. During one of his brief absences from Paris his first love, Athenais de Rochambeau, had been guillotined. In his mind's eye he could-see the executioner's assistant performing his awful function of throwing her decapitated trunk into the cart, men thrusting her beautiful head between her legs.

  Each time this horrifying vision arose he found it terribly hard to banish it, and he wondered now if he and St Ermins had a softer streak in them than most other men; but he rather doubted it Both of them had given ample evidence of normal courage; so it seemed that the sight of atrocities committed in cold blood were particularly liable later to play havoc with a man's nerves. That he and Charles were both seeking to escape from much the same thing now struck him as a fortunate coincidence, and he felt that the doctor who had advised the Earl must be a sound man. The peaceful routine of life aboard ship, followed by unmeasured time in which to laze in the sunshine of palm-fringed islands, was just the thing to banish the nightmares that beset them.

  Emerging from the leafy glades of Nor Wood he passed Round Hod Hill, then rode a few hundred yards down a turning to the left until he came to the Horn Inn. There, he gave his horse half an hour's rest while drinking a couple of glasses of Malaga at a wooden table outside the inn, from which there was a lovely view over the gardens and country houses that lay in the valley to the west.

  From the Horn he returned to the road leading down the south side of Streatham Common, but he was still on the high ground when, to his annoyance, just outside the gates to the Duke of Bedford's mansion, his horse cast a shoe. The occurrence necessitated his reducing his pace to a walk for the next mile, down to the main road and north along it up the hill into Streatham village; but on the apex of the fork roads there stood a forge, where he was able to order his mount to be re-shod.

  As the smith and both his assistants were already busy he had to wait a while; so he sat down outside on the mounting block and idly watched the passing traffic It was mainly composed of country carts taking farm produce into London, and the carriages of local gentry, but twice smart equipages clattered through, most probably on their way down to Brighthelmstone, or Brighton as the newly fashionable little watering-place was now beginning to be called.

  Mentally he contrasted the busy, prosperous scene with the hopeless lethargy and Squalid poverty which was now universal in villages of a similar size in France, and that set him thinking again of Athenais. He was roused from his gloomy thoughts by the smith calling to him that his horse was ready, but just at that moment a familiar figure caught his eye.

  It was Mr. Pitt coming up the hill in his phaeton. Despite the slope its horses were being driven at a spanking trot, and the few other vehicles in sight quickly pulled aside to give it passage. On the back seat the Prime Minister sat, as was his wont, stiff as a ramrod and looking neither to right nor to left. He was utterly indifferent to either the applause or abuse of crowds, and of such a haughty disposition that even when taking his seat in the House he never deigned to glance at his closest supporters. Roger came to his feet and swept off his hat in a graceful bow, but his gesture received no acknowledgment. The beautifully-sprung carriage hardly slackened speed as it
rounded the end of the smithy, then took the road past St. Leonard's Church towards Tooting.

  Clapping his hat back on his head Roger stared after it with an angry frown. He did not give a hoot about the attitude of god-like superiority that Mr. Pitt chose to assume in public; but he did intensely resent the treatment he had received that morning. Brooding now upon the lack of appreciation and generosity which he felt his old master had shown him, he paid the smith a shilling, mounted his horse and set off after the carriage.

  Cantering across Tooting Common he came up to within a hundred yards of it, but on reaching the village it went on along Garrett Lane, from which Roger deduced that the Prime Minister was going, via Roehampton, to see the King at Kew, whereas his own way lay to the west through Wimbledon. Another hour's ride brought him to the Robin Hood Gate of Richmond Park, and by half-past three he reached his home, Thatched House Lodge.

  It was a charming little mansion near the south end of the Park, with a lovely view of the Surrey Hills. An earlier building on the site had been used as a hunting-box by Charles I, and it was still a Crown property; but Mr. Pitt, in a more handsome mood than he had just displayed, had given Roger a life tenancy of it four years earlier for the special services he had rendered during the early stages of the Revolution.

  Having handed his horse over to the faithful Dan, his black-bearded ex-smuggler servant, Roger went from the stables into the house by its back entrance. The kitchen door was open, and glancing through it as he passed he was much surprised to see that his wife was there directing the operations not only of the cook but also their two maids, and that every available space was occupied with meats in preparation, vege­tables, pies and basins. As he paused in the doorway, Amanda looked up, and exclaimed:

  24

  "Thank goodness you're back! There are a dozen things I want you to help with."

  He raised an eyebrow. "What is all this to-do? Tis true that I need feeding up, but we'll not be able to eat a tithe of these things for dinner."

  Amanda was a tall girl with a fine figure, slightly frizzy auburn hair and the beautiful skin that often goes with it She had good teeth and her mouth was so formed that it was always a little open, as though she was about to smile. Now it opened in a laugh, as she replied:

  "We have guests coming, and to stay."

  Seeing his face darken she came over to him, pushed him firmly back and closed the kitchen door behind her.

  "M'dear," he expostulated, "you must know that I am in no mood for company."

  "Now Roger," she chided him gently, "you must be sensible. Nearly all day yesterday you sat looking a picture of misery in the garden. You brightened a little while Georgjna was here, and I know you did your best to respond each time I tried to cheer you; but drunkenness has never been a vice of yours and you punished the port after dinner so heavily that you spoilt our evening."

  He gave a rueful smile. "I'm truly sorry for that, and for my general moroseness. Tis no fault of yours, and I beg you to be patient with me."

  "I will, my sweet; but to contend with your unhappy state is too much for me alone. I'd soon become as miserable as yourself and contemplate throwing myself out of a window. Help to make you your own cheerful self again I had to have; so soon after you left this morning I had Dan drive me in the gig to London. Georgina at once said yes to my appeal that she and Charles should come to stay for a while, and as they are lying in Bedford Square at her father's, I asked him to come out with them for dinner. Georgina, too, will try to collect dear Droopy Ned; so that this evening your best friends may begin the re-enlivening of your mind with a proper party."

  Leaning forward, he kissed her, and said: "It was a sweet thought my pet and maybe you're right that the necessity to play host will take me out of myself. In any case I'm glad the St. Ermins are to stay, as it will give us ample opportunity to discuss going with them to Jamaica."

  "Roger!" Her eyes widened with delight. "And you had led me to believe there was no hope of that! Oh, never again will I say aught against Mr. Pitt after his generosity in releasing you for long enough to make this voyage."

  "Providing it be only to myself, you may now say what you will about him and I'll not contradict you; for he no longer is my master."

  "What! Do you mean that you have quarrelled with him?"

  "Not that; but he treated me most scurvily. I have, of course, been paid for what I've done, but no more than I would have received had I been working in comfort and some degree of security. Even so, I asked him for nothing, except that in the new year he should give me a mission to some place where life would be endurable. I had a right to expect that, but he refused it, and did not even offer me a continuance of my salary until I recovered my health. I told him flatly that I'd go no more to France, and that has put an end to matters between us."

  "Then he has cut off his nose to spite his face," said Amanda quickly. "I've long felt his ruthless exploitation of others for his own selfish ends to be intolerable. He will never be able to replace you, and when he finds that out it should be just the lesson that he needs to make him a trifle more human in his dealings."

  Roger shrugged. "Do not deceive yourself, m'dear. Were I the last servant he had, he would never admit to himself that he had been in error to dispense with me. But we must give him his due. He exploits people only from the highest motives; never for his own ends, out for the nation's, and 'tis that which has formed the basis of my attachment to him."

  Amanda's face showed concern, as she asked: "Are you greatly distressed by this breach that has occurred?"

  "I could be," he admitted, "but I have determined not to be. Tis a matter that I can put out of my mind more readily than some others, and while riding home I vowed I'd let the future take care of itself."

  She nodded, and he added with a sudden smile: "In fact I will go further. From now on I mean to do my utmost to think of nothing but your dear self enjoying with me the sunshine of the Indies."

  "Oh Roger, how happy you make me!" she cried, throwing her arms round his neck. For a few moments they remained tightly embraced, then she went back into the kitchen and he hurried away to get wines up from the cellar.

  An hour later their guests arrived: Georgina, whose dark rich beauty and tempestuous vitality made her an admirable foil for the magnolia-skinned, quiet-natured Amanda; Charles, a youngish brown-faced man of slight build, whose features, apart from his small Roman nose, had a distinct resemblance to those of his great great grand­father, Charles II; Colonel Thursby, Georgina's father, who by his fine brain had made a great fortune out of the beginnings of the Industrial Revolution, and whom Roger had regarded from boyhood almost as a second father to himself. Droopy Ned, too, was with them, as they had learned that he was staying at Sion House with the Northumberland's; so they had come by way of Isleworth to pick him up there. His proper style was Lord Edward Fitz-Deverel, and he owed his nickname to a chronic stoop brought about by his being short-sighted. He was a fop of the first order, but under his elegant posturing concealed an extremely shrewd mind which he devoted largely to antiquarian interests, and he had been Roger's close friend since their school-days.

  Amanda delighted the St. Ermins by telling them at once of the decision to accompany them to Jamaica, then Roger took the whole party across the lawn to the summer-house, and there refreshed them after their journey with a Moselle Wine Cup that he had just made.

  As the ice tinkled in the tall glasses they plied him with a hail of questions about the state of things in France, and he replied by giving them a broad outline of what he had said to Mr. Pitt.

  "You think, then," said Colonel Thursby, "that despite the over­throw of Robespierre there is little hope of our making an accommoda­tion with the French?"

  "None whatever," Roger declared. "Even if the Thermidorians, who have newly seized the whip in Paris, wished for peace, they dare not make it. In France there are now a million men under arms. Peace would mean the disbandment of those serving on the frontiers and they w
ould return to the cities as a vast armed rabble. No govern­ment could hope to prevent the excesses they would commit, soon reducing the whole country to a state of anarchy. Mr. Pitt's hopes of peace brought about by a change of heart are as chimerical as those he places in a speedy allied victory. Of that I am convinced."

  "Does he then visualize the Austrians and His Boneheadedness of York marching upon Paris this autumn?" Georgina enquired.

  "He does; and that despite the hopeless incompetence they have so far displayed."

  "Tis not so much incompetence as neither the Austrians nor the Prussians having their hearts in the war," Droopy Ned remarked. "Both are looking over their shoulders on account of the projected partitioning of Poland, and holding back forces lest Catherine of Russia attempts to seize more than her agreed share."

  St. Ermins nodded. "That is the rub; and 'tis aggravated by their divided councils. Each General is placing the interests of the allied cause second to the particular interests of his own government, and using his troops to besiege coveted cities instead of pooling them in one grand manoeuvre to crush the French."

  "Both are contributory factors to our ill-success," Roger agreed. "But the root of the trouble lies in Mr. Pitt's mismanagement."

  "Hark at that now!" Georgina exclaimed with a laugh. "Whoever would have thought to hear Roger make so disparaging a remark about his master. Time was when he never tired of preaching to us of Billy Pitt's greatness."

  Realizing that his words had given an impression he was far from intending, Roger retorted swiftly: "You misunderstand me. He is great. His obstinacy and conceit are at times infuriating, but he has qualities that make him the greatest man in England; and on occasion one catches a glimpse of his true nature, which is most lovable. I meant only that he knows nothing of military matters, and so is entirely at sea when considering the steps we should take to defeat our enemies."

  "Tis true." Droopy nodded his forward-thrust head up and down. "Billy Pitt's genius in the fields of finance, diplomacy and reform is indisputable; but he has an inborn hatred of war and lacks all understanding of it."