The Dark Secret of Josephine rb-5

by Dennis Wheatley

  "Ah; thereby hangs a tale," snuffled Fouché. "I knew, and others knew, that before the Quiberon landing took place he had already been in secret negotiation with the Royalists. But he was betrayed. His wife, learning of it, sent him an express to Brittany, warning him of his danger. That he might be able to rend his accusers on his return to Paris, and stigmatize them as calumniators, he needed to produce fresh evidence of his incorruptible patriotism. That is why he had those six hundred poor devils butchered."

  "Surely, then, he must now be shaking in his shoes from fear of the fate that will overtake him should the coming coup d'etat by the Moderates prove successful?"

  "Of course. And only we can save him. Therefore, he will stop at nothing to aid us, and by gaining him we gain that clever aristocrat bitch, his wife, who in the past year has become the most powerful woman in Pans."

  "Who else do you intend to sound with a view to joining us?"

  "That requires' most careful consideration. We should need only two or three more at the most. Providing all are men of prominence and resolution a camarilla of six, including ourselves, should be sufficient. But what of yourself? Have you thought of a means by which to explain away your long absence from Paris, so that you may shave the hair from your face and go about openly as your old self to aid in this secret coup which we intend?"

  Much relieved that at last the matter that had really brought him there had been raised, and by Fouché himself, Roger replied:

  "That depends on what account you gave of my disappearance. If you told Paul Barras, and perhaps others, the truth, then I see nought for it but to remain under cover."

  Fouché made, what was for him, an impatient gesture. "Every secret has its value. Only a fool gives another information which may later prove to his own advantage, and this was a secret worth a fortune. I thought it possible that you might hand the boy over to Mr. Pitt. Although that would have been a stupid thing to do: as, at best, you might have got from him a few thousand guineas and the right to call yourself Sir Brook. I counted it much more likely that you would keep him in hiding until you judged the time ripe to offer him to the French Government at his true value. With myself know­ing you to be an English agent I felt certain you would not dare to reappear here and approach anyone of importance without first buying my silence. That meant you must share whatever you got for the boy with me, so, naturally, I kept my mouth shut."

  "You must have had to give some explanation of what occurred between us in the Temple."

  "Naturally. But you, myself and Ban-as were the only people who at that time had become aware that the child in the Temple was not the little Capet; so I needed only to invent a story which would satisfy Barras. I said that while there together we had stumbled on a clue to the whereabouts of the right child That we had then quarrelled violently over which of us should remain to prevent the jailers getting a sight of the substitute, and which should reap the distinction of bringing back the real one from his hiding-place. I said that you had won and locked me in, and that as soon as I was freed in the morning I' had set off post-haste on your heels in the hope of out-distancing you. I said that you had reached the farm­house in the Jura, where the boy was, before me, but that his pro­tectors had outwitted you and got away with him. That they had fled with him towards the Swiss border, and that you had gone after them. That on reaching Lake Geneva I had lost track of both them and you, and that I assumed you had followed them, in the hope that you might yet secure the boy, although he was on foreign soil and bring him back with you."

  Roger smiled. "That was certainly an ingenious explanation. But what story did you tell the guards at the Temple when, the morning after my flight, they broke the door in and found you on the floor trussed like a turkey cock?"

  "Simply that over a past disagreement which had arisen again while we were talking together, we had come to blows; and that to revenge yourself on me you had left me tied up there." With a slightly acid note in his voice, Fouché added: "I passed a far from comfortable night, but at least during it I had ample time to think out what I should say to the guards when they found me, and, with a view to future possibilities, a suitable tale to tell Barras should you succeed in getting away with the boy. Incidentally, what did you do with him?"

  "He had, as you know, been brutalized into almost a moron, and been persuaded that his idea that he had been born the son of Louis XVI was no more than a delusion. But he was still capable of working with his hands; and since he had been trained as a cobbler's apprentice under Citizen Simon, when I got him back to London I apprenticed him to another cobbler, in a quiet suburb called Camden Town."

  Fouché accepted Roger's he without comment, and asked: "Have you brought him with you?"

  "Nay. I wished first to reconnoitre the lie of the land."

  "That was wise. But I take it you could produce him at fairly short notice?"

  "Yes. I think, though, that every move in our game should be settled before I do so."

  "I agree; and I have no intention of even whispering anything of this to any man, until the coup d'itat which is now in the making becomes an accomplished fact

  Roger nodded. "I was about to suggest just such a policy of caution."

  "Of course," Fouché remarked after a moment, "there is always the possibility that, owing to some unforeseen factor, the coup d'etat may not succeed. But, even should it fail, another opportunity to use the boy as we have planned should present itself before very long."

  "Seeing the temper of the nation, that is as good as certain," Roger agreed, "and as I have already waited for so many months before attempting this big coup, I can quite well afford to wait a while longer."

  Fouché made a wry grimace. "No doubt you can; but I am already at my wits' end for money."

  "You surprise me. What have you done with all the jewelled crosses, chalices and copes of which you deprived the churches while you were acting as Proconsul for the Convention in Nevers? Surely you have not spent all the proceeds from them? But perhaps you have them buried and feel that it is now too great a risk to dig up and sell some of them."

  Snuffling again, Fouché shook his head. Like many others, you misjudge me concerning that. I swear to you I sent every single thing that I seized, both from the churches and private individuals, back to the Convention, so that they might turn it into money wherewith to help pay the armies. The plantation my family had in the West Indies has been burnt and ravaged by revolted slaves, so I no longer receive an income from that, and my wife's little fortune was swallowed up by two bankruptcies. Now that I have been deprived of my salary as a Deputy I cannot think how I am to keep my family and myself from starvation. I wonder, though, now we are become partners, if ... if you could see your way to making me a loan?"

  Roger had no means of knowing if the corpse-like man opposite him was really in desperate straits, or simply playing a part in the hope that he might get something for nothing. He had, however, come prepared to offer Fouché a heavy bribe, if that had seemed the most likely way to achieve his end, so he had several purses of gold distri­buted about him. Now he decided that it would be worth while to part with one, so that if Fouché was in fact near destitute, he would be the more likely to remain at least temporarily trustworthy, in the hope of receiving others. Standing up, Roger put a silk net purse on the table, and said:

  "There is a hundred louis. That should keep you from want for the time being." And, knowing that he who appears to give willingly gives twice, he added: "You are welcome to it.

  Fouché too stood up. Even now, his dull eyes showed no flicker of delight; but his voice did hold a warmer note that sounded like gratitude, as he picked up the purse and chinked the coins in it. "I shall not forget this. It means a lot to me. Perhaps a time will come when I may be able to repay you with some service that you could not buy for ten times this sum."

  Having diplomatically smiled an acknowledgment, Roger said: "One thing more. After my disappearance, many other people besides Barras must ha
ve wondered what had become of me. What form did their speculation take?"

  "That was attended to. Both Barras and I were anxious that no rumour should get around that the boy in the Temple was not the King; so the last thing we wished to do was to give people grounds for supposing that you had gone off in pursuit of the real one. The two of us put it about that you had been sent on a secret mission."

  That was all Roger wished to know; so he pocketed his pistol and prepared to take his departure. At the door Fouché asked him casually: Where can I get in touch with you?" But with a guile that matched Fouché's own, he replied:

  "For the time being I think it wisest to spend no two nights in one place, and to disappear from each without leaving an address, so I cannot give you one. But as soon as events develop in a manner satisfactory to our plan, I will communicate with you."

  As Roger walked back through the dimly-lit streets he knew that

  Fouché might be already running to the nearest police office to betray him, give a description of his new appearance, and have him hunted down. The ex-Terrorist was entirely capable of having played a part from the start to the finish of their long interview. On the other hand, he had been led to believe that by holding his tongue a wonderful prize was to be gained; so if he really had kept what he knew of Roger to himself so far, he now had the best possible reason for continuing to do so.

  That he had. in the main, been telling the truth seemed to Roger more than likely and, if so, no set of circumstances could have been more favourable to himself; for, if the explanations given about his disappearance were to be believed, it meant that he had very nearly a clean bill for reappearing in Paris as Citizen Commissioner Breuc.

  One fence, and a stiff one, still had to be got over. He had to explain his long disappearance to Barras, and give him some plausible account of what had happened to the little Capet If he could succeed in that he would be free to set about forming a secret camarilla pledged to collaborate with Pichegru in bringing about a Restoration.

  But Barras was one of the men who would have no truck with that, and to even hint at it to him would mean immediate arrest Yet, unless he could lie his way back into Barras's confidence, his apparent success with Fouché would be completely worthless. Barras, too, was too rich to bribe and too courageous to bully. Moreover, unlike Fouché, he was still one of the most powerful men in France; so to set about tackling him was an undertaking bristling with even greater dangers.

  After recrossing the Seine, in spite of the lateness of the hour, Roger found the central Sections of the city still restless. By dropping into conversation with a group on a street corner he learned that the electors of the Section Lepelletier, which was in the forefront of the agitation, had held a meeting in the Theatre Francais, and that all the evening the Place de l'Odeon outside it had been packed with sympathizers from other Sections. In alarm, the Convention had passed an emergency decree declaring the meeting to be illegal, then despatched police and dragoons to disperse it; but the mob in the Palace had driven them off and the meeting had passed a resolution declaring that the Convention no longer represented the Sovereign People.

  Next morning Roger had a horse saddled for him in the stable of La Belle Etoile and rode out from the city to the pleasant village of Passy. He was technically the owner of a charming little house there, as his friend M. de Talleyrand-Perigord, the wily Bishop of Autun, had made it and its contents over to him when he had had to fly from Paris in order to protect his property from being sold by the revolu­tionaries as that of an emigre. Roger had used it on numerous occasions since as a safe hide-out and when last there had left with a couple named Velot, who had been de Talleyrand's butler and cook, a con­siderable sum for their support until either he or their real master could come to the house again.

  He found old Antoine Velot working in the garden, and was both relieved and delighted because he was genuinely fond of the dear old man. Marie Velot returned soon afterwards from shopping in the village, and the couple could not have done more to make Roger welcome. All through the months, knowing that he never announced his coming, they had kept the best bedroom ready for him, and they both expressed the hope that he had come for a long stay.

  He told them that he might return late that night, or the next, and lie low there for a while, but as yet could not be certain; so, in case his return should be prevented, he made them a further liberal payment which would keep them in comfort for at least another year. They gave him an excellent early dinner, then he rode back to Paris, ap­proaching the centre of the city late in the afternoon.

  As he did so he could hear the roll of drums from several directions, which could be taken as an indication that the National Guards were being summoned to their respective Section headquarters. All work had ceased, and processions were marching through the streets carrying banners and shouting such slogans as 'Down with the Two-Thirds' and 'End the Tyranny of the Convention'. Among the marchers there was a high proportion of respectably dressed men. Many of them wore grey great-coats with black collars and green cravats, thus openly displaying the colours which had been adopted by the Royalists, while others in woollen caps with bobbles were obviously Breton Chouans, who had been brought into Paris to aid in a rising.

  On arriving at the Belle Etoile Roger got hold of Maitre Blanchard, who was always a good source of news owing to his many customers, and from him learned the latest rumours.

  The Convention had declared itself in perpetual session and, it was said, had sent for General Menou, who commanded the Army of the Interior, to bring troops from his camp at Sablons. In the meantime it had only the fifteen hundred men of its own special guard at its disposal; so, for its further protection, an emergency measure had been passed permitting the rearming of the 'patriots', as the sans-culottes were termed; and the weapons which had been taken from them after the quelling of the riots in the previous May had been reissued to many hundreds of them that morning.

  On the other hand, this official arming of the mob had been seized upon by* the Sections as an excuse to call out the National Guard, which was mainly composed of middle-class citizens and was over­whelmingly anti-Convention in sentiment. Nine Sections had already declared themselves in open rebellion, and called upon the others to join them in maintaining the public safety which, they alleged, was now - menaced by the Terrorists.

  Late in the evening General Menou arrived in the capital, but with only a limited number of troops; and that, together with the fact that had he obeyed the Convention's order promptly he could have reached it by midday, seemed to Roger a clear indication of his luke-warmness.

  Menou was the General who had put down the rising of the sans­culottes in May, and he had done so with considerable vigour; but he was now called on to do the very opposite. It was whispered that he had monarchist sympathies, and it was certain that he had many friends among the leaders of the Sections; so he could not be expected to use force, except in the last extremity, and his tardy arrival now made it seem possible that he was even in league with the Sections, and might go over to them.

  The rapid development of the crisis gave Roger furiously to think how it might affect his own affairs. He had hoped that it would be delayed for a few days, in order that he might first have an opportunity of seeing Barras privately in his own house. Now it seemed very unlikely that he would be able to do so for, the Convention being in perpetual session, and also the Committee of Public Safety, it was as good as certain that Barras would be at one or other of them.

  Yet, that he should see Barras before the clash occurred was imperative. During the last rising the mob had broken into the Chamber, slam a Deputy named Feraud, cut off his head, stuck it on a pole, and held it up face to face with Boissy d'Anglas, who had been occupying the rostrum. A similar fate to Feraud's might overtake Barras that very night If it did Roger would be debarred from pro­ceeding with his plans, owing to the extreme danger of resuming his old identity while still uncertain how many people knew the real reas
on for his flight from France. Only through Barras could he learn if Fouché had told the truth, or deceived him so that he should disclose himself and be promptly arrested.

  At nine o'clock he decided to take the plunge involved by going to the Convention. The risk was a high one as, should Barras prove an enemy, from his own house it might have been possible to escape, but there would be little chance of doing so from a crowded hall, or a Committee room, with soldiers within easy call. All Roger could do was to take the precautions he had already planned, by going in the emigre uniform under his long coat, and on horseback, so that if he had to make a bolt for it and could reach his mount, he would stand some chance of outdistancing his pursuers.

  Soon after ten o'clock he dismounted outside the Tuileries, tied his horse to a hitching-post and went inside. In the lobby leading to the Assembly Hall there was more than the usual crush of people, and they were now exchanging agitated rumours. It was known that General Menou's troops had surrounded the Convent of the Filles de St. Thomas, which was the headquarters of the Lepelletier Section; but he was said to be parleying with the enemy.

  On enquiring for. Barras, Roger learned, with almost stupefying thankfulness, that, having spent all day in the Convention, he had gone home to supper. Securing the address of his house, Roger ran outside, jumped on his horse and rode away, praying frantically that he might catch Barras there before he returned to resume his duties.

  The house was a large one in the Rue de Grenelle. When Roger reached it he saw that a coach was waiting outside; and as he tied his horse to the railings the front door opened. A man and a woman stood for a moment in the lighted doorway. The broad shouldered soldierly figure Roger instantly recognized as that of Barras; the woman was fashionably dressed, and had a willowy figure.