The Dark Secret of Josephine rb-5

by Dennis Wheatley

  As he waited on the steps of the Palace for the porter to beckon up a coach to take him home, a tall, thin figure emerged from the shadows of the courtyard, stepped up to him and said:

  "May I have a word with you, Citizen?"

  By the flickering light of the torches Roger recognized Fouché; and, as the coach halted opposite them at that moment, he replied:

  "Certainly, if you wish. Jump in. I will drive you home."

  When they were settled in the coach, Fouché said: "So you are leaving Paris?"

  "Yes; how did you know?"

  'Things get about, and I hear most of them; just as I did that you would be among Barras's guests tonight"

  "It seems that you must have been very anxious to see me, to wait about in the rain. You've been lucky too in that I did not remain till the end of the party, as it will go on for some hours yet"

  "I have never lacked patience where my own interests are con­cerned," Fouché" replied acidly. "But you might have spared me the necessity of seeking you out in so uncomfortable a manner. Why did you not get in touch with me again, as you promised?"

  Roger shrugged. "I saw no point in doing so. Thirteenth Vendemiaire rendered the plan we had evolved quite impossible of execution; so there was nothing for us to discuss."

  "I disagree. The fact that Buonaparte ruined our.prospects does not affect the fact that you still hold the little Capet."

  For a moment Roger thought of telling Fouché that he could rid his mind of the hope that he might gain anything from that belief, because the boy was dead. He would either reach that conclusion or have to be told so sometime, and the fiction that the child was still alive had served its purpose. By keeping what he knew to himself, Fouché had given him a free run on his return to Paris. Luck and his own wits had enabled him to make excellent use of it He was now as safe as the Bank of England, whereas Fouché was still friendless and discredited. The ex-Terrorist might swear until he was black in the face that Roger was an English spy, but he had not one atom of proof and no one would believe him.

  But, on second thoughts. Roger decided that now was not the time to reveal to Fouché how he had been tricked. He might have a pistol or a dagger on him and, in a fit of ungovernable rage, attempt to use it The close darkness of the coach was no place to invite a fight, and it would be folly to risk death or serious injury to no purpose. So, after a moment, he said:

  "I waited in Paris to learn the results of the elections to the Directory, although I had little hope that they would provide us with a possible opening; and so it his proved. Letourneur is a man of straw. Larevelliere-Lepeaux is so intense an atheist that he would die rather than assist in the re-establishment of the Church, without which a Restoration is unthinkable. Carnot, Rewbell and Barras are all regicides. Their past deeds pledge them to fight to the last ditch for the continuance of a Republic. And behind all five now stands Buonaparte with his cannon. Surely you can see that the executive power aving been given into the hands of such men renders any attempt by us to use our Royal pawn more hopeless than ever."

  "To that I agree; but you could open negotiations about him with the Bourbon Princes."

  "No. When last we talked of this, you said yourself that the Comte de Provence having had himself proclaimed Louis XVIII blocked our prospects in that direction. It is certain that he would repudiate the child and declare him to be an impostor."

  "That is possible, but not certain," Fouché argued. "And I am in desperate straits. Nearly all our old associates have been more fortunate than myself. They have succeeded in burying their pasts, and are now accepted as honest men who did only what they were compelled to do for the safety of the Republic in the days of its danger. I. too, could have whitewashed myself had I remained a member of the Convention. But having been expelled from it makes me a marked man, and no one will give me employment. Will you not please consider approaching the Comte de Provence?"

  The drive from the Luxemburg to the Passage Pappilote, where Fouché had his little house, was a short one, and as the coach pulled up at its entrance, Roger said firmly:

  "To do as you ask would be to show our hand prematurely, and with little chance of gaining anything from it. I think you should consider yourself lucky not to have been sent to the guillotine with Carrier, or despatched to Cayenne with Billaud and Collot In any case, no man with a brain as good as yours is likely to starve. Mean­while, I can only suggest you should be patient until some new turn of events here decides me that the time has come to return to Paris with a good prospect of our being able to use the little Capet to the best advantage."

  Reluctantly Fouché got out, and, not very cordially, they wished one another good night

  Early in the morning Roger bade good-bye to the faithful Blanchards, and mounted a good bay mare that had his valise strapped to the back of her saddle. He had decided to travel by horseback so that no coach­man could later give away the direction he had taken. He also took the precaution of leaving Paris by its southern gate and riding some distance along the road to Melun before making a great detour via Rambouillet to Mantes, where he spent the night. Thence he followed the road north-west to Elbeuf, but then left the Seine and branched off to Pont Audemer. There he spent the second night, and soon after noon on the third day arrived at Harfleur.

  Dan Izzard had many friends among the smugglers on both sides of the Channel, and through him Roger knew how to set about finding one who would run him across. The war had caused a huge boom in smuggling, as the demand in England for French wines and brandies was as great as ever, and, now that luxury goods could again be sold in France, there were eager buyers there for Yorkshire cloth, Lancashire muslins and Nottingham lace. A few tactful enquiries soon produced the Captain of a lugger who was waiting only for better weather to run a cargo.

  The lugger was lying in Trouville, a little fishing village a few miles down the coast; so Roger moved to the inn there. Next day the weather eased a litde, so the skipper decided to sail on the night tide. It proved a horrible crossing, and Roger hated every moment of it, but the smugglers set him safely ashore twenty-four hours later not far from Deal. On the evening of November the 12th he reached London.

  There, one of the surprises of his life was waiting for him. At Ames bury House he found two letters from Amanda. Opening the one of the earlier date he saw from its first few lines that she was going to have a baby.

  She wrote that she had already been five months' pregnant when he had left Martinique, but had wished to keep her secret as long as possible. Then in the desperate rush of his departure there had been no suitable opportunity to tell him. Her health was excellent and she expected her child to be born about Christmas. He need have no fears for her, as Cousin Margaret was being more than a mother to her and had already engaged a French doctor of the highest reputation in such matters to attend the accouchement. She was plagued with no longings, except the natural one to have him near her when his child was born, but with the ocean between them she had resigned herself not to hope for that, though she did hope that his duty to Mr. Pitt would not detain him so long in Europe as to deprive her of the joy of presenting his first-born to him while still an infant.

  The second letter contained assurances of her continued good health and general news about social life in Martinique, including several paragraphs about Clarissa, who continued to be the toast of the island, but would give preference to none of her beaux for more than a few weeks apiece, and had now refused at least a dozen offers of marriage.

  Roger had hardly digested Amanda's great news when Droopy came in from a meeting of the Royal Society of Arts; and over supper together the two old friends drank far more than was good for them in healths to Amanda and her precious burden.

  Next morning Roger went round to Downing Street and sent up his name to Mr. Pitt His master kept him waiting for the best part of two hours, but then received him with a smile and said: "I feel sure you have much to tell me, Mr. Brook; so I have despatched my most urgent business
and am now free to listen to you with an easy mind. You will, I trust, join me in a glass of port?"

  With a word of thanks, Roger accepted the wine the Prime Minister poured for him and sat down on the far side of the document-strewn table, then proceeded to give a lucid account of his doings for the past seven weeks. He ended by saying:

  "So you will appreciate, Sir, that for several months at least our plans must lie dormant Without assurances of support in Paris, Pichegru will not move; and I am convinced that there is no hope of such support being forthcoming until some fresh turn of fortune's wheel displaces the rogues who have recently secured to themselves the supreme power in France. That I should have failed you in this I deeply regret but..."

  The Prime Minister held up his hand. "Say no more, Mr. Brook. I was always confident that once you set your mind to it you would manage to re-establish yourself in Paris, and that you should have succeeded so completely makes it all the harder that the events of 13th Vendemiaire should have robbed you of the chance to achieve a coup of the first magnitude. Yet you have returned to me far from empty handed. Your handling of General Pichegru was positively masterly, and is already having most excellent results."

  Roger smiled. "I thank you, Sir. I felt much apprehension in gambling so great a sum on Pichegru's good faith; but before I left Paris reports were coming in which seemed to indicate that he intends to earn the money. His failure to take Heidelberg can hardly have been anything but deliberate; and the possession of that city appeared to me to be the crux of the whole campaign, owing to the several com­municating valleys that all converge upon it"

  "Our military pundits confirm you in that; and for once the Austrians have not been slow to take advantage of an opportunity offered to them. General Jourdan's army is now dammed up behind the River Neckar, and as he is dependant on supplies from the distant Low Countries he must now either retreat or suffer defeat from his troops being weakened by starvation. Meanwhile the Austrians should be able to contain Pichegru in Mannheim; and even, perhaps, drive him out of it back across the Rhine. I would, though, that we were nearer to peace."

  "I fear that as things are there is little hope of that, Sir."

  "I know it" Mr. Pitt agreed unhappily. "Yet the nation needs, and is near demanding it On the 29th of last month His Majesty's coach was stoned when he was on his way to open Parliament by a mob yelling at him to make an end of the war. Such an occurrence, when he has for so long enjoyed great popularity with the masses, is indication enough of the state of public feeling."

  Roger sadly shook his head. "That is indeed bad news. I only wish that I could have done better for you."

  "Nay, Mr. Brook. You have done all that any man could. Were it not for you we should be in far worse case. The Austrians might have been compelled to sue for peace this winter. At least you have gained for them a breathing space until the spring; and that is much. Meanwhile it seems there is little we can do but continue to use our forces to the best advantage and hope for better times."

  "You are then, Sir, agreeable to release me; so that I may return to Martinique?"

  "Yes, if you wish. Though I would much prefer to have you nearer to me."

  "That is hardly possible if I am to do justice to my Governorship."

  "Harry Dundas tells me that you have done remarkably well there; so presumably you find such work congenial. But are you still of the opinion that a post so far from the centre of things will long content you?"

  "Not indefinitely, perhaps," Roger admitted. "Yet it has great attractions for me, and for a few years I am sure I could be very happy in it"

  Mr. Pitt frowned. "I wish that I could persuade you otherwise. However, should you tire of it you have only to let me know. Dundas will have no difficulty in finding a suitable man to replace you and pay you ten thousand pounds for the privilege. In the meantime I will instruct Mr. Rose to place five thousand to your credit, in recognition of the signal service you have rendered to the Allied cause."

  'That is most generous, and I am deeply grateful, Sir."

  '"Twould not go far in hiring foreign levies to much less purpose," smiled the Prime Minister, standing up. "Do you plan to return to Martinique at once, or first enjoy some leave in London?"

  Roger, too, came to his feet. "I mean to sail by the first ship available. I have received news that my wife is due to bear a child within a week or so of Christmas. As it is our first I would fain be with her at the time. Given an early start and a good passage that should be possible."

  "In that case I can aid you. A fleet with considerable reinforcements for the West Indies, under General Sir Ralph Abercromby, who is to be our new Commander-in-Chief there, is due to sail next week. I will instruct the Admiralty to find you accommodation in one of the war­ships. Please convey my compliments and congratulations to Mrs. Brook."

  Having expressed his thanks again Roger took his leave well satisfied with the results of the interview. Five thousand pounds made a hand­some addition to the little fortune he had succeeded in accumulating during the past three years, and he was clearly more strongly established than ever in the good graces of his master.

  On his return to England he had hoped to go down to stay for some nights at Stillwaters with Georgina, but the previous evening Droopy Ned had told him that she was taking the waters at Bath; so, unless the ship that was to carry him to Martinique sailed from Bristol, it now looked as if there was little chance of his seeing her. As a salve of sorts to his disappointment, he bought a number of expensive toys with which his godson was as yet far too young to play, men wrote a long letter to Georgina to be despatched with them.

  In the evening he received a chit from the Admiralty. The Fleet was to sail from Spithead for Barbados on November the 18th, and accommodation had been found for him in the frigate Swiftsure. To go in her promised a safe and swift passage across the ocean, and there was plenty of local shipping plying between Barbados and Martinique which, given a good wind, lay only a day's sailing apart; so, little knowing what he was being let in for, he felt that nothing could have suited mm better.

  The next three days he spent looking up old friends, and buying to take out with him innumerable presents for Amanda, together with a supply of beribboned baby clothes large enough to have clothed the inmates of a creche. Early on the morning of the 17th he bade farewell to Droopy Ned, drove down to Portsmouth with Dan, and that evening they went aboard H.M.S. Swiftsure.

  On the Fleet's very first night at sea it was caught by a terrible tempest in the Channel and entirely dispersed. When Roger had recovered from the miseries of sea-sickness sufficiently to drag himself on deck he found that Swiftsure was well out into the Atlantic, but had lost her foremast. The jurymast rigged in its place meant a great curtailment of her normal sail so an addition of many days to her. voyage.

  As she limped south-westward he could hardly contain his im­patience, but fret and fume as he did that added nothing to the speed of the frigate. It was Christmas Eve when, without having sighted a single one of her late companions, she docked in Bridgetown, Barbados, and a good merchantman could have made the crossing in considerably less than the time she had taken. Within an hour of landing Roger had hired a schooner to take him on to Martinique, and it brought him into the harbour of Fort Royal soon after dawn on Boxing Day.

  Leaving Dan to superintend the landing of his baggage, he went ashore at once and jumped into an ancient carriage that a sleepy negro had just driven on to the quay in the hope of picking up an early fare. He was driven up the hill to the Chateau, where, as it was now winter again, he felt sure that Amanda would be reinstalled. When he reached it the servants were just setting about their morning duties. As he ran into the spacious hall they stopped work and, taken by surprise by his unexpected appearance, stared at him for a moment as if he were a ghost.

  Then a woolly-haired young footman, the whites of his eyes rolling, ran off down a passage. A dusky housemaid gave a squeak and flung her apron over her head; another negress
fled upstairs, taking the steps three at a time.

  Smiling at the commotion he had caused, Roger strode up the stairs after the flying housemaid, who shot round a corner on the second floor before he was half-way up the first flight. At the time he did not realize it, but she had gone to tell Madame de Kay of his arrival. As he reached the second landing a door slammed and that lady appeared in a corridor to the left. Her hair was still in curlers and about her she clutched a hastily donned dressing-gown.

  With a laugh, he called to her. r'Am I in time? A cursed frigate should have got me here days ago, but we suffered every sort of delay imaginable."

  As she walked towards him she replied: "You have come too late, Roger dear. It was on Christmas Eve."

  "Ah welll" he shrugged. "Never mind. But Amanda and the boy— I've felt certain all along that she'd bear me a son. How are they?"

  Tears welled into Cousin Margaret's eyes, and she stammered

  huskily: "You ... you have a daughter, Roger. But poor Amanda...In giving birth... . She ... she is dead. We buried her yesterday."

  chapter XXIII

  MIDNIGHT INTERVIEW

  About those words 'we buried her yesterday' there seemed an even more terrible finality than the thought of death itself. Roger stood there aghast, rigid and motionless, shaken to the roots of his being.

  Amanda was such a strong, well-built young woman, and she had had hardly a day's illness in her life. He had accepted it as not uncom­mon for women to die in child-birth, but it had never even crossed his mind that such a fate would overtake her.

  Their marriage had been no idyll. Before it both of them had been the victims of passionate love affairs that had gone awry; so neither had had the illusion that the other was the only person in the world for them. But during their long honeymoon in Italy, and the year that followed, they had come to delight more and more in one another. After a further six months, debts and restlessness had driven Roger to resume his old work for Mr. Pitt in France; so for the next two years they had been together very little and had gradually drifted apart Then after Robespierre's fall and Roger's return they had had a genuine reconciliation. He had believed himself done for good with the hazard­ous life he had led and ready to settle down. The peril in which they had both stood for many weeks after the taking of the Circe had drawn them still closer together, and during their seven months in Martinique they had been happier than ever before.