The Dark Secret of Josephine rb-5

by Dennis Wheatley

  "Go, fellow, this instant; and find someone of rank to attend me!"

  The man let out a howl of pain, staggered back and, whimpering loudly, limped swiftly towards the doorway of die castle.

  He was met in it by another footman and a senior servant in black clothes, who had come running at his shout. As he sobbed out the cause of his woe the others cast angry, frightened glances at Roger, then they helped their weeping companion through into the hall, slamming the door behind them.

  Some three minutes later a very fat priest, with the voluminous skirts of his cassock swirling about his short legs, came puffing out into the porch. Roger made him a polite bow, and, now taking pains to use indifferent French, in keeping with his new role, introduced himself as Mr. Robert MacElfic, adding that he was the personal emissary of His Britannic Majesty's Prime Minister.

  At that the priest's chubby face instantly lost its look of apprehen­sion. Raising his plump hands, he exclaimed: "Then you come from our second Father on Earth! I will have that oaf caned for his lack of respect to you. I am the Abbé Chenier, His Royal Highness's secretary. Welcome; thrice welcome. Be pleased to come in."

  This was much more the style in which Roger had expected to be greeted, and he was by no means surprised to hear Mr. Pitt referred to as the second Father on Earth of the emigris, as that gentleman had furnished him with particulars of their misfortunes. During the early years of the Revolution numerous German Princes had in turn received them most hospitably, but as their own resources had dwindled and their numbers had increased to several thousand they had proved too great a burden on their not very wealthy hosts. The Austrians had then accepted responsibility for them, but only to the extent of furnishing twelve cents and one loaf of munition bread per man per day, which was what they gave their own troops.

  In consequence, by the previous winter they had been reduced to positive destitution. Even the Prince's household had had to live on coarse soldier's fare, and to keep them from freezing his mistress, the Princess of Monaco, had sold her last jewels to buy firewood. From this desperate situation they had been rescued by Mr. Pitt, who at the instigation of Montgalliard had arranged for them a British loan of three and a half million francs. How much of the money had stuck to the villainous Count's fingers could only be guessed, but it was no wonder that, after the Pope, they regarded Mr. Pitt as their 'Father on Earth'.

  Murmuring that the footman had already been punished enough for his stupidity, Roger followed the Abbé across a lofty banqueting hall and through some corridors in the new wing of the castle to a small room that had a pleasant view across distant forest-covered slopes. After fussily seating Roger in an easy chair, the Abbé sat down behind a table covered with papers and enquired about his journey.

  Roger confined himself to saying that it had been tiring but un­eventful until he had entered the battle zone the previous night, and that he had been lucky enough to get through without serious trouble. Then he asked when the Prince could be expected back.

  "Soon after midday, Monsieur," replied the Abbé. "We have been through terrible times—terrible times; and it was too bad that; having established ourselves in reasonably comfortable quarters, we should again have been driven from them by the advance of these Godless revolutionaries. But we have been fortunate in the Graf von Hildersheim's, who owns this Schloss, placing it at His Royal Highness's disposal. The Herr Grafs forests are well stocked with game and he keeps a pack of boar-hounds; so His Royal Highness can hardly be expected to deny himself the pleasures of the chase while he is here. But he will be back in good time for dinner. By the by, pray forgive the enquiry, but are you of gentle birth?"

  4 My mother was titled and the daughter of an earl," Roger told him, suppressing a cynical little smile at the question.

  "Good! Good! That is most fortunate; as otherwise we should not be able to have you with us at dinner in His Royal Highness's salon. The preservation of a proper etiquette has become all the more important since the world began to tumble about our ears. Now, perhaps you will be good enough to inform me of the business that as brought you here."

  "It is a matter for His Royal Highness's personal consideration; so I fear that I must defer speaking of it until his return."

  "Your discretion is admirable, Monsieur," wheezed the Abbé. "But I give you my word that I am privy to all His Royal Highness's secrets."

  "Then," replied Roger smoothly, "no doubt he will invite you to be present when I submit Mr. Pitt's proposals to him. However, there is another matter of some urgency which I should like to deal with. I bear a letter for M. le Comte de Montgalliard."

  The Abbé nodded. "The Count is not addicted to the chase; so he should be in the castle somewhere. I will have him sought-for."

  When, in response to the ringing of a handbell, a footman had appeared and been given the order. Roger asked that his two coach­men should be looked after and his coach and horses stabled. He had not intended it as a hint, but apparently the Abbé took it as such; for he quickly added that a meal and a room were to be prepared for the Chevalier MacElfic.

  As soon as the man had gone Roger slit open the lining of his coat and took from their hiding-place the papers with which Lord Grenville had furnished him. Having put his credentials and the letters of credit in his pocket, he retained the missive for Montgalliard in his hand. A few minutes later the Count entered the room.

  With his heavy black eyebrows, thick nose and sallow skin, he looked like a Portuguese Jew; but his manner was brisk and on being introduced his face lit up with a deceptively frank smile that anyone would have thought charming.

  When Roger handed him the letter he asked permission to open it, skimmed quickly through its single paragraph, and said: "I see Mr. Pitt desires me to pay another visit to England, and at once. Have you any idea about what it is that he wishes to see me?"

  "I gathered the impression," lied Roger glibly, "that he is anxious lest His Royal Highness should become embarrassed for funds with which to maintain his army throughout the winter; so has it in mind to arrange well in advance another loan through you."

  "Our second Father on Earth," murmured the Abbé, his fat face creasing into an unctuous smile, "our second Father on Earth. What a good man he is! Our Father in Heaven will surely reward him." But Roger was watching the Count, and saw at once that he had swallowed the bait.

  Taking a fat bejewelled watch from his fob, he glanced at it and said to the Abbé: "It would ill become me to delay in obeying the summons of our Preserver. I can be packed by ten o'clock; and if I leave soon after shall reach Wurzburg in time to lie there tonight on my way up to Hanover. Should I then be lucky in catching a ship about to sail from one of the ports, I'll be in England in little more than a week. Seeing the nature of the business I am going upon, I feel confident that His Royal Highness will pardon me for not having lingered to kiss his hand. Be kind enough, Abbé, to explain and make my devoirs for me."

  "Gladly, my son." The Abbé raised a hand in blessing. "May God be with you in this worthy undertaking."

  As Roger watched Montgalliard bow, flash a swift smile at them, then stride from the room, he thought how fortunate it was that the Count, like himself, was no man to let the grass grow under his feet. True, his making for Hamburg or Bremen showed that, despite his long experience as a secret agent, he preferred to lose three or four days rather than take the risk of travelling through enemy-held territory. But Roger was concerned only to get rid of him, and for that, clearly, nothing could have served better than leading him to believe that he had sniffed British gold.

  For some ten minutes the Abbé and Roger talked about the war, then the black-clad groom-of-the-chambers appeared to announce that a tray had been set for Roger in the small library. The Abbé said that after his meal he would no doubt like to rest, and that he would have him called as soon as His Royal Highness got back from the chase; so with the usual expression of politeness they took temporary leave of one another.

  As Roger sat do
wn to a belated breakfast of cold roebuck and a half bottle of Moselle, he said to the servant: "When I have eaten I shall go to my room. Have ready, for me there a hip-bath and plenty of hot water; also a valet to take and brush my clothes. Be diligent in this, for as I think you saw a while back I am not accustomed to being kept waiting."

  He would never normally have used such a tone in a house where he was a guest, but having been given only cold meat and a half bottle of wine riled him; and as Britain was paying the bills for the household he was in no mind to be treated as a person of no consequence by its servants.

  In due course the man took him up to a small, chill room in the old part of the castle, but apologized for that, remarking that it was the best of the few remaining unoccupied; and as all Roger's other wishes had been attended to he accepted this new concern for his welfare graciously.

  After bathing and shaving the ball of his chin, he lay down on the bed. It was the first time for four days that he had been able to do more than doze while subjected to a rocking or jolting motion; so almost instantly he fell asleep.

  Some three hours later the valet woke him, helped him to dress, then led him down to a pair of double doors giving on to the first of a suite of large lofty rooms, and there handed him over to the Abbé Chenier. The first room was an ante-chamber, the second a big salon in which a score or more ladies and gentlemen were conversing. Nodding his way ingratiatingly through them, the grossly fat priest piloted Roger to the big doors at the end of the room, and, opening one just widely enough to squeeze through, drew him into a spacious bedroom.

  The Prince had evidently been changing in it after the hunt, and was now holding his petit levee. He was still only in silk stockings, breeches and shirt, while his buckled shoes, flowered waistcoat, and coat were being held by three of a small semi-circle of noblemen who stood deferentially by.

  Roger remembered seeing him several times at Versailles, and thought that six years had not changed him much, except to emphasize still further his protuberant blue eyes, sloping forehead and fleshy, hooked nose, which were such marked features in all the Bourbon Princes.

  On catching sight of him the Prince at once beckoned him forward and, with a toothy smile, extended his right hand. Roger duly kissed it and presented the letter from Lord Grenville. Throwing it unopened on the bed de Condé exclaimed:

  "Twill be time enough for us to attend to business when we have dined! The Abbé Chenier tells me that you have brought us excellent news. That dear Mr. Pitt is already thinking of our winter comfort Such tidings are introduction enough. You have no idea, Chevalier, how we suffered last winter. The river frozen, the horses dying in the stables, and ourselves with not enough cheese in the larder to tempt a hungry mouse. You are welcome, most welcome. After France your generous nation will ever be nearest to my heart."

  As Roger murmured his thanks and bowed himself away, he wondered a little uneasily if Mr. Pitt would, in due course, furnish the funds he had invented to get rid of Montgalliard. He was inclined to hope so, as one could not but pity these people, all of whom had been born to riches and since been robbed of everything; yet their evident petty jealousy, as they each endeavoured to draw the Prince's attention to themselves, and preoccupation with the necessities of an outmoded etiquette made him secretly despise them.

  Of the latter he was to have further evidence when they went down to dinner. Had he arrived at the Court of Russia, the old Empress Catherine, for all her vast dominions, would have had him sit next to her; so that she might the sooner hear the latest news out of England. So, too, in his day would have the late Gustavus of Sweden, the Stadtholder of Holland and even Queen Caroline of Naples; but the Bourbon Princes in exile still considered that it would be demeaning themselves to have any but the bearers of ancient names near them at table. Roger found himself placed near its bottom, between another Abbé and a nephew of the Marquis de Bouille. Both were pleasant men and the Abbé talked interestingly on the ways in which the Revolution had affected the numerous independent Prince-Bishoprics that peppered the Rhineland, but Roger was glad when the meal was over.

  Soon afterwards the Abbé Chenier drew Roger aside and introduced him into the Prince's cabinet. De Cond6 was already there and had just opened Grenville's letter. It would have been contrary to etiquette for him to invite them to sit down; so looking up at Roger, he said:

  "This expresses only his lordship's willingness to serve us, and states that you will convey Mr. Pitt's views to us on certain matters. Fire away then, and let us hear everything with which that most excellent of Ministers has charged you.

  Roger at once launched into the subject of Pichegru, but after a moment the Prince cut him short by exclaiming to the Abbé: "Ah, how unfortunate that de Montgalliard has already left! He knew far more of the ins and outs of this business than anyone else; and I am at a loss to see how we are to reopen negotiations with this traitor General without him.''

  "My instructions are," said Roger quietly; "that, subject to your Royal Highness's permission, I should now take over the negotiations with General Pichegru myself."

  De Condé gave a slight shrug. "Since that is your Prime Minister's wish, by all means do so. Are you acquainted with the fellow?"

  "No, Monseigneur. But that is of little importance, provided that you will make quite clear to me your intentions towards him. May I ear from your own lips the price you are prepared to pay him tor marching his army on Paris and restoring the monarchy?"

  The lavish list of rewards that Roger had had from Mr. Pitt was promptly reeled off by the Prince, who added with an ugly chuckle: "In the Chateau of Chambord there is an excellent oubliette. I hope he falls down it when drunk one night, and breaks his dirty neck."

  To Roger the wish seemed a miserably mean one, seeing that only as a result of Pichegru's staking his own life and honour could the thousands of people who had fled from France hope to return home, and have some prospect of regaining at least a part of their former possessions. Ignoring the remark, he asked:

  "Has your Royal Highness sent these promises to the General in writing?"

  "Mort dieu, no!" The Bourbon's pale blue eyes popped. "The word of a Condé is enough."

  "Permit me to observe, Monseigneur, that in this instance you are not dealing with a gentleman."

  "Oh! Ah! Well! Yes! I see your point, Chevalier. If you wish, then, I will give you written particulars of the proffered bribe."

  "I thank your Royal Highness. And now," went on Roger—for this most delicate of questions sliding behind the shadow of Mr. Pitt—"as a matter of form my master charged me to enquire if you, Monseigneur, had authority from His Royal Highness the Comte de Provence to offer these terms?"

  "You refer to His Most Christian Majesty King Louis XVIII," the Prince replied with sudden sharpness.

  For a moment Roger was taken aback. He knew that young King Louis XVII was dead, and he had told Amanda how the boy had died; but he had the most excellent reasons for supposing that they were the only people in the world who possessed that knowledge. De Condé's sharp rebuke must mean that, although Mr. Pitt had omitted to tell him of it, the child in the Temple, whom only Barras. Fouché, and perhaps now a few others, knew to have been substituted for the little King, had also died. Recovering himself, he said hastily:

  "Your pardon, Monseigneur. In England we have been used for so long to refer to His Majesty by his former tide."

  The Prince shrugged. "No matter. Your slip was understandable and you may set your master's mind at rest about my powers. For reasons of health His Majesty is now at Mitau, on the Baltic, and 'Monsieur’ his brother at present has only a small force under him in the island of Yen, off the coast of Brittany. Therefore, as Commander-in-Chief of the Royal and Catholic Army, I have been invested by His Majesty with full authority to act in his name, and use any and every means seeming good to me which may assist in restoring his dominions to him."

  Roger bowed. "Then it remains, Monseigneur, only for me to ask when the Comt
e de Montgalliard had his last interview with General Pichegru, and the outcome of it?"

  De Condé guffawed and the Abbé gave a wheezy titter. Then the former said: "The Count was far too wily a bird to go poking his own head into such a hornet's nest as a Republican headquarters. He employed a Swiss named Fauche-Borel to do his dirty work for him. You know the Count's cat's-paw better than I, Abbé. Tell the Chevalier about him."

  His great paunch wobbling with laughter, the Abbé proceeded. "Fauche-Borel is a common little man who has made a modest fortune as a bookseller in Neuchatel. He is the veriest snob that ever was born, and his one ambition is to hob-nob with the aristocracy. The Revolution gave him his opportunity. Many persons of quality took refuge over the Swiss border, and by trading on their urgent need of money Fauche-Borel ingratiated himself with a number of them. How de Montgalliard came across him I do not know; but the Count brought him here and, after making His Royal Highness privy to the use to which he was to be put, asked that he should be received. On being permitted to kiss the hand of a Prince of the Blood, he nearly fainted with emotion; but it made him our willing slave, and it is he who on several occasions has gone through the enemy lines to discuss matters personally with General Pichegru."

  Roger would have given a lot to have said: 'You dirty cowards; how dare you, on account of his simplicity, despise this brave little man', but disciplined tact of years restrained him; and, keeping the cold contempt from his voice with an effort, he asked: "Where is this person now?"

  "As far as I know, he is in Paris," replied the Abbé. "I gathered that General Pichegru asked him to go there and endeavour to find out what support might be expected for a counter revolutionary movement by the Army."

  That was bad news for Roger, as it confirmed the reason Mr. Pitt had given for Pichegru's hesitation in declaring his adherence to the Royalist cause, and meant that he, Roger, would probably have to follow Fauche-Borel to the capital on a similar mission, as the only means of bringing about the conditions which would induce the General to act. Still thinking about the Swiss bookseller, he muttered: