The Dark Secret of Josephine rb-5

by Dennis Wheatley

  As Barras led her down the steps Roger saw that she was about thirty, olive complexioned, brown-haired and beautiful. He waited until Barras had seen her into the coach, thei. as his quarry turned to re-enter the house he nerved himself to move forward. If a visit to Fouché's dwelling could be likened to entering a snake-pit, one to Barras's house was certainly equivalent to walking into a lion's den. Ready to spring back and run on the instant, he stepped forward and said m a loud, cheerful voice:

  "Good evening Citizen Commissioner. I am happy to see that you have not lost your good taste where the fair sex is concerned."

  "Who the devil are you!" growled Barras.

  Roger laughed. "It's not to be wondered at that you don't recognize me, but I am your old adherent, Citizen Breuc."

  The die was cast. In an agony of apprehension Roger waited for Barras's reply. It seemed an age in coming, yet actually it was only a few seconds. Having stared at him for a moment in the uncertain light, Barras exclaimed:

  "Ventre du Pape! So it is! Where on earth have you been all this time?"

  Roger breathed again. There was no trace of the hostility he had feared in Barras's voice, but a warm note of pleasure.

  "'Tis a long story." he replied. "But if I may accompany you inside I'll tell it to you as briefly as I can."

  "Come in, my dear fellow. Come in and welcome." Barras threw a friendly arm about his shoulders and side by side they went up the steps.

  In the lighted hall Roger was able to get a better look at him. He was, in his southern, Provencal way, as flamboyantly handsome as ever. His big nose and pugnacious chin proclaimed the forcefulness of his character: his full, sensual mouth and bright eyes, his boundless zest for good living. As a ci-devant Comte and an officer of the old Royal Army he had the easy manners and striking bearing of the born aristocrat who has long been a soldier.

  "You have not changed much," Roger remarked with a smile, "either in appearance or, it seems, in your devotion to the ladies. That was a rare charmer that you saw to her coach just now."

  Barras grinned back. "Oh, she is a little protegee of mine, and a friend of Madame Tallien. Her name is Josephine de Beauharnais. No doubt you will remember her husband the General, whose head some of our old friends had cut off. She is still a widow, and a deucedly attractive one."

  Roger almost exclaimed, 'Why! I met several of her relatives in Martinique', but just stopped himself in time. His heart lurched within him at his narrow escape, and when he recovered, he said instead:

  "From what I see of the condition of the streets, it surprises me somewhat to find you philandering at such a time."

  Barras shrugged his broad shoulders. "I had made an appointment some days ago for her to sup with me tonight a deux; and she is too excellent a morsel for me to put her off. As for the riots that are in progress, it would need more than noise to divert me from my pleasures, and if I am fated to die before morning I'd as lief do so here in my own house after a good meal shared with a beauty as on the dirty floor of the Convention. But tell me about yourself, and the little Capet?"

  "Fouché must have told you of our stupid quarrel in the Temple," Roger opened boldly, "and how I set off to secure the boy after we had stumbled on a clue to his whereabouts. Some Royalists had him hidden in a farmhouse in the Jura, but they proved too many for me and got away with him. I followed across the Swiss border, but once out of France I no longer had the power to seize him openly, so could only keep track of them in secret, hoping that some chance might arise to abduct him. After a short stay in Geneva they took him to England. Still imbued with the thought of how necessary it was for us to get hold of him, I followed them, and traced him to a country house in Hampshire. There he fell ill with diphtheria and, before I could make further plans, died of it."

  "Did he indeed! Well, that has saved us one worry. Although he could have caused us no great trouble after the death of the other boy enabled us to proclaim him officially dead. But why did you not then return?"

  Now well launched on the story he had prepared, Roger replied promptly. "I stowed away in a smugglers' yawl, but had the mis­fortune to be caught Since my name is known in England as a so-called terrorist, and I could give no proper account of myself, judging that I would receive better treatment as a soldier than as a civilian, I gave a false name and said that I was an escaped prisoner-of-war; so they sent me to a prison on the Isle of Wight Three times I attempted to escape, and each time failed. But last summer I saw a chance to get back to France. They asked for volunteers willing to renounce the Republic and serve as privates in the Royalist Army.

  "I took that course and for some weeks had to submit to training under strict supervision. I was, though, buoyed up by the rumour that the Quiberon expedition was preparing, and hoped to be sent upon it; for once in Brittany it would have been easy for me to desert. But my battalion was not sent with the first invading force, and when the news came that the landings had been a failure, our embarkation orders were cancelled. I had then to remain on there with such patience as I could until six weeks ago, when we were despatched via Hanover to join de Condi's army on the Rhine. As you can imagine, once there I lost not a night, but stole a horse and rode for Paris. I entered the city no more than two hours ago, and without even taking time to get a meal came straight to you."

  As Roger ended this dramatic account of his fictitious adventures he flung open his coat and cried: "Look! Have you ever before seen the uniform of an emigre ? The poor devils have only the cast-offs of the Austrians, upon which are sewn special facings. But I possessed no other clothes to come in."

  "Well, I'll be damned." Barras's hearty laugh rang out. "What a time you have had, my poor friend, through your zeal to serve the Republic. But you must be starving. Come into the dining-room, and my people shall bring you food and wine upon the instant"

  At last, Roger could breathe freely. Fouché had not lied, and the jovial Barras had swallowed his story, hook, line and sinker. But as they turned away from the door a violent banging sounded upon it

  With the courage that was one of Barras's greatest assets, although it might have been a mob coming to kill him, he did not call for a servant to open it, or even pull the pistol from his sash. Without a second's hesitation he opened it himself. On the door-step stood two officers of the Convention Guard. One of them gasped out:

  "Citizen Commissioner! General Menou has betrayed us! He has jammed? his men into a few streets adjacent to the Filles de St. Thomas. The houses in them are packed with National Guards, who man all the upstairs windows. Our troops have been led into a trap, for should they now raise a finger they will be butchered."

  Thrusting a despatch into Barras's hand, he hurried on: "This is from the Convention. They beg you to take charge in this terrible emergency and save them, By it they appoint you Commandant General of Paris."

  The other officer nodded, and burst out: "You are our only hope! We are five battalions at the most, with only a rabble of undisciplined patriots to stand by us. Thirty-nine out of the forty Sections of Paris nave declared for the insurgents. They can now muster near forty thousand National Guards, so we are hopelessly outnumbered. As Commandant General on 9th Thermidor you saved the Republic. You are the only man whom we can hope may save it again.''

  With a laugh Barras thrust the commission into his sash, and cried: "So be it then! I'll teach these miserable plotters a lesson, or die for it."

  Then he turned and slapped Roger on the shoulder. "Old friend, you could not have arrived at a more opportune moment. You were as good as another right hand to me on 9th Thermidor, and you shall be so again. Get yourself a sword! There are a dozen in the rack. And follow me!"

  It was the sort of courageous cry that went straight to Roger's heart. Turning swiftly he stretched out a hand to take a weapon from the hall sword rack. He had barely grasped it when he was seized with sudden dismay. Like a bolt from the blue a paralysing thought struck him. He had landed himself on the wrong side of the barricades.


  chapter XXII

  THE UNFORESEEN FACTOR

  There was no way in which Roger could get out of his most unhappy predicament. Barras had already acclaimed him in front of the two officers as a long lost comrade returned to the fold. Nothing could possibly have suited him better had it occurred a few days earlier. Then, he would have had the opportunity he had taken such risks to gain of re-establishing on a sate footing his connection with a score of other political leaders. That would have committed him to nothing. When the insurrection developed he could have pretended illness, so as not to have become involved on either side, awaited its outcome, then entered into secret negotiation with the most promising men of the party that emerged triumphant.

  But now he was committed, and committed irrevocably, to serve the party whose downfall it was his object to bring about. If he refused to accept the role that Barras had thrust upon him he would instantly lose his regained status as a good Republican. Should the Convention succeed in suppressing the insurrection, that would deprive him of all credit with many of his old associates and, at worst, possibly lead to his arrest as a traitor.

  On the other hand, to be seen by scores of people at Barras's side, fighting the forces of reaction, might land him in still graver difficulties. For, should the insurrection succeed, its leaders, amongst whom must obviously be the men most likely to lend a favourable ear to the proposals he wished to make, would put no trust in him. Worse still, unless he could escape, he would probably be arrested with Barras, and share his fate. Either way it now looked as if he stood a good chance of being sentenced to the 'dry guillotine' and transported to Cayenne.

  Faced with this most distressing dilemma he decided, after only a moment's hesitation, that to sacrifice Barras's confidence immedi­ately after having so fully regained it would be both rash and foolish. He must at least pretend to stand by his old colleague for the moment, and trust that as the situation developed some means would offer by which he might safeguard his future. Grasping the sword more firmly he hurried after Barras down the steps into the street.

  The two officers had come in a coach. Barras entered it with them, while Roger mounted his horse in readiness to accompany the vehicle. The evening had been dark and blustery, but now the wind had dropped and rain was sheeting down. That was all to the good, as it had already driven numerous bands of malcontents off the streets who might have held up the coach, and on finding Barras in it attempted to lynch him. Even as it was, the coach was three times challenged by pickets of National Guards, out on shouting that they were 'Sectionists on their way to a meeting' it was allowed to pass. Soon after midnight, much relieved, they arrived at the Ministry of War in the Boulevard des Capucines.

  Barras showed his commission as Commander-in-Chief to a duty officer down in the hall; then they all went up to a big room on the first floor. In it a dozen officers with gloomy faces were sitting and standing about Only one of them appeared to be doing any work; a thin, dark-haired young man in the stained and worn uniform of a Brigadier-General. He was seated at a table, poring over a big map, a pair of dividers in his hand, with which he was measuring distances upon it

  General Carteaux, the senior officer present came forward to greet Barras, and at once expressed his willingness to serve under him. Then Barras said; "Be good enough, Citizen General, to show me the dispositions of your troops and those of the insurgents."

  Carteaux led him over to the table. The officer seated at it glanced up and nodded. Roger recognized him then as a little Corsican Captain of Artillery who had got the better of him in a heated argument during the siege of Toulon. At the siege, partly because he was an enthusiastic follower of Robespierre and partly because he was one of the very few officers there who understood anything about the positioning of batteries, he had been given brevet rank as a Lieutenant-Colonel and the command of all the Republican artillery. Having witnessed both his competence and pushfulness, Roger was not surprised to see that, in these days of rapid promotion, he had so soon risen to Brigadier, and decided that he might be worth keeping an eye on.

  Meanwhile, Barras had asked: "What are you measuring there, Citizen Brigadier Buonaparte?"

  "Ranges," came the prompt reply. "So as to decide where I would position our forces were it my responsibility to put a swift end to this msurrection."

  "Let us suppose it is, then," said Barras. "How would you set about it?"

  The young Corsican stood up. He was below middle height and so thin that, although only nineteen months younger than Roger, he appeared a stripling beside him. His complexion was sallow, the yellowish skin being drawn taut across gaunt cheeks but becoming whiter towards the top of his fine forehead, the width of which was concealed by lank black hair, parted in the middle and falling over his ears nearly down to his shoulders. In profile his sharply defined features would have made an admirable cameo: full face he might, for a moment, have been taken for an ascetic, until one noticed the unusually powerful development of the muscles at the base of his lower jaw, and the expression—determined, contemptuous and ruth­less by turns—that animated the direct glance of his dark eyes.

  Turning towards Barras, he showed no trace of the diffidence usual in a junior officer submitting his views to his senior; but, speak­ing the chronically ungrammatical French of one brought up to use Italian, he gave in short staccato sentences an appreciation of the situation as if he were an instructor teaching a cadet a lesson.

  "At our disposal we have some five thousand troops of the line, a battalion of approximately fifteen hundred patriots armed yesterday, and the armed police. Total: eight thousand. Opposed to us we have over thirty-five thousand trained National Guards; the 'golden youth', numbering perhaps two thousand; the returned emigres, at least another thousand; and a considerable number of Chouans known to have been secretly drafted by the Royalists from Brittany to Paris. Total: approximately forty thousand. Were we in open country, vigorous and skilful direction, coupled with the better train­ing and discipline of our troops, might serve to outweigh the heavy odds against us. But street fighting entails scores of localized conflicts over which simultaneous control by one General is impossible; and for storming a barricade courage is a greyer asset than training. Therefore, to take the offensive against the insurgents must inevitably result in our defeat."

  "What, then, do you suggest?" Barras asked.

  Buonaparte's hands, which were of unusual beauty, began to move swiftly about the map. "We must regard the Convention as the keep of a fortress that is besieged. There, in the Tuileries, it could not be better situated. From the south it can be approached only across the river by three bridges, Pont Neuf, Pont Royal, and Pont Louis XVI. They are easily held. To the west lie the gardens, giving us excellent fields of fire. To the east is the Palais du Louvre, by manning the windows of which we can deny the streets to columns advancing from that direction. One thousand of our men should be sufficient to hold each of those three sides. That leaves us five thousand for the north, and no greater number can be brought against us through the streets there opening on to the Rue St. Honore. Naturally, I should give additional protection to our most vulnerable side by establishing strong advance positions in the Place Venddme, the Cul-de-sac Dauphin, and other places north of the St Honor6; and I should hold a reserve against emergencies, including all our cavalry, in the Place du Carousel. With such dispositions I consider we could render the area that should be held, impregnable."

  "All that is well enough," Barras commented. "But what if it develop into a regular siege? Within forty-eight hours our men would be out of ammunition, and starving."

  "Citizen General! do you take me for a fool?" the little Corsican snapped. "Were I in command here a strong detachment would already be on its way to secure the heights of Meudon and the Arsenal there. By morning sufficient munitions could be brought in to keep us supplied for a month. The same applies to food. Troops should be sent at once to commandeer the main stocks in the depots and bring them to the Tuileries.
I would, too, send arms to the Section Quinze-Vingts, which alone has supported the Convention. A rising of the patriots there could draw off considerable numbers of tho insurgents, and make our break-out the easier."

  "You visualize a break-out then?"

  "Sacre nom! Yes. What sort of general would contemplate sitting down to be shot at indefinitely? To entrench ourselves is only a temporary expedient forced on us by the superior numbers of the enemy. Our object is not to protect the Convention: it is to crush the insurrection. But for that we need cannon. Our one piece of good fortune is that the Sections were made to give up their cannon after the risings in the spring. They have none; and if we can bring in the batteries from the camp at Sablons we shall have the enemy at our mercy."

  "No, no!" General Carteaux shook his head. "We could not use cannon on the people. God knows, during the past three years there has been enough fighting in the streets of Paris, but cannon has never been used by either side?'

  "Where lies the difference between killing your fellow citizens with a pike or grape-shot?" asked Buonaparte acidly. "Personally I am against spilling any blood at all, if it can be avoided. In any case, whatever provocation may be given to the Convention's troops, they should be ordered to hold their fire until they have been fired upon.

  But if fight we must, let us be sensible about it The more potent the weapons we use, the sooner it will be over and the fewer people will be killed. Without cannon I would wash my hands of this. But if given leave to make such dispositions as I wish, and to call in the batteries of artillery from the camp, I'd pledge my head to crush all opposition against the Convention before the week is out"

  With a laugh, Barras brought a heavy hand down on the little man's shoulder. "That is the kind of. language it pleases me to hear. Go to it, then, Citizen Brigadier! Under me you shall handle tins thing; for I am convinced you will do it well. Give any orders you wish with my authority. I ask only that you should acquaint me with them."